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CHAPTER 14
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Her brother always used to tell her, don't lose hope when the sun goes down. The stars come out.
When she was afraid of the dark, when the other children tortured her on the playgrounds, when he struggled to support her with no support of his own, when he himself was nothing more than a child raising another child - he'd take her in his arms and whisper the words into her hair.
The stars come out.
She had always loved the stars.
Unfortunately in Hueco Mundo there was no sun to set in the waning hours, there was no day or night… and there were no stars. There was only darkness. Never would light peek over the distant horizon. Not even in the dome where those things were nothing but fakes.
In her bed Orihime tossed and turned. She'd fallen asleep mulling over the way Ulquiorra's hands had felt gliding over her body, only to be plunged into a world of nightmares. Perhaps it had been because he was the last thing on her mind before she'd dozed off, or perhaps it was because of the bitter note their encounter had ended on. Either way, her tangled ruminations were a far cry from the dark turn her unconscious mind had taken.
Orihime jerked in her bed as she awoke, sweating and shaking with anxiety. Resting on her side, her blankets were still wrapped tightly in her arms as if she'd been clutching them in her sleep.
Orihime ran a hand over her face as she released a long sigh. Her pulse was still racing. After a time, it slowly ebbed down to a tolerable pace as she gathered herself. The images that lingered in the wake of her nightmare were fading fast, but a few remained. Most were vague recollections of Ichigo, her heart torn between him and the new unwilling participant that was her warden. She'd turned to Ulquiorra with little hesitation in that dream, despite the unforgiving teeth and the dig of unfamiliar claws.
The problem was, in her twisted dreams, Ichigo took exception to her betrayal and had…
The thoughts caused her heart to leap again. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to force the memory away.
Dwelling on it sent a tremor of apprehension through her frame and caused a distinct burning to prick at the back of her eyes. Tears that hadn't fallen during her dream were now threatening to spill over.
Up until now she had never really thought of the repercussions of what her friends' presence in Hueco Mundo would amount to. Ichigo and the rest would come and they would fight the Espada. It's what all of them had prepared for. Even she had been training with Rukia before she'd been spirited away to the desert landscape.
She didn't want anyone to get hurt. Violence was never something that sat well with her…even if one was fighting for their beliefs. It troubled her. She wasn't against it, but she didn't prefer it, either. The thought of everyone fighting upset her, particularly since they would be fighting because of her. In her own efforts to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, she had unintentionally sealed all their fates with an outcome that would undoubtedly result in more violence and fighting than what would have initially occurred. Now they would come to foreign territory where they were at a disadvantage, and risk their lives to free her.
As much as she longed for their company, a part of her wished they would just stay away and respect her decision to protect them.
Ichigo's face flashed through her mind, his hands dripping with the blood of another.
Orihime suddenly felt very sick to her stomach.
Ichigo would never hurt someone in such a way. She refused to believe it. He would never kill anyone, no matter the circumstances. He was too good to ever stoop so low. He only fought to protect others. It wasn't as if it was his choice that he had to fight…
She pressed her face into her pillow. She really didn't want to think about it, but those fears were getting to her again. The nightmare had opened her eyes to a very real truth about her situation. Her freedom would only come at the price of her warden's life.
Ichigo would be forced into a confrontation with Ulquiorra if he had any intention to break the chains of her bondage. She wished pain on neither of them, but in her mind Ichigo had always ruled over all on the battlefield. In her mind, Ulquiorra had already fallen to his sword as all inevitably do.
Because he was perfect, he always won. Because he was perfect, he would never die. Because he was perfect, everything always had a happy ending.
She failed to think of the possibility that he could be the one to suffer at the hand of Ulquiorra. For once, she worried not for her friend, but her enemy. The concerns she'd recently been experiencing about Ulquiorra were beginning to have a new meaning, and a very serious one at that. Sure, she'd always worried about her friends suffering wounds on the battlefield, but she'd always known deep down in her heart they'd come out alive. With Ulquiorra, she didn't always feel that certainty. The luxury of his presence felt as if it were a fleeting thing, like it just wasn't going to last forever.
It also seemed the closer she grew to him the more she tormented herself over the possibility that he'd become just another casualty in the upcoming war. Orihime had always been the type to fret over people's health, no matter who they were. Now, what started as occasional flickers of concern for Ulquiorra's wellbeing (usually at the behest of Aizen's hand possibly punishing him for something she had done) had evolved into something much stronger, making her suffer vivid nightmares. No doubt his gruesome statement earlier had played a role in guiding the direction of said nightmare into something darker.
She didn't want anyone to die, not if she could do something to prevent it. She wasn't so naïve to believe she could curb the violence of war, or that war could occur without sacrifice, but it didn't mean she would simply let that violence pass her by without making an effort to curtail the damages.
Orihime sighed, vividly remembering the way her warden had once again made his cruel statement outside the hall of the kitchens.
It seemed she was beginning to make a habit of developing feelings for men who did not care to return them…
"My, my…" a chilling voice drawled from the darkness, causing her to gasp and lurch upright at the unexpected intrusion. "Why so sad, angel face?"
Orihime's eyes widened at the lone figure standing at the foot of her bed. Faintly haloed against the light, its silhouette was a sharp contrast to the brightness leaking in from her open door. "Ichimaru-san?" she edged nervously. She quickly checked the position of the moon hanging outside her window. It was late. Really late.
At the sound of his name, his sly grin spread slightly. It shone with an eerie glow. Appearing as the only distinguishable feature on his shadowed form, it radiated in harsh disparity against the dark profile of his face.
"Such a pity…watching flowers wilt away always depressed me." He sighed softly.
Orihime cocked her head a bit and clutched her blankets close to her chest as she blinked at him in confusion. "Excuse me?"
"Cutting their stems, shoving them in vases…staring on as their beauty ever so slowly wanes into decay," he paused and Orihime began to wonder if he'd been standing there before she even woke up. "It all seems rather morbid, wouldn't you agree?"
There was a lingering silence as she tried to process and make sense of his words.
"You were crying his name," he said abruptly and his grin stretched even wider as if he were entertained by his own words.
"Oh…Kurosaki-kun's," she whispered. She was a little embarrassed to think he may have been drawn there by her unconscious cries, even if the words pulled out from her lips in the throes of her nightmare were beyond her control.
He tittered quietly, dark and amused. "Something like that, angel face." His grin finally seemed to reach its peak, crinkling the smooth skin under his lashes. "Something like that…"
Her brows drew down and a blush warmed her cheeks. Now she was left even more confused by his puzzling words than before. "Ichimaru-san…?" she said curiously. "What are you doing here?" Her head tilted again inquisitively. In the back of her mind she wondered what he could possibly want with her so late at night. Biting her lip at the thought, she abruptly flinched back when it agitated the torn and tender flesh.
Pain throbbed through the tiny cuts, deepening her lip's soft pink hues to a darker shade of red. Even in the dim room Orihime could feel his eyes on the puffy flesh. A little self-conscious, she looked away, trying to hide the mess that Ulquiorra had made of her mouth. The thought that he'd even done so intentionally still jabbed at her pride.
It was the first time he'd ever really, truly hurt her.
"Oh, my," Ichimaru drawled, tsk'ing low and shaking his head in mock reproach. With dry interest, he ran a finger along the footboard of her bed as he idled his way around to her side. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to play with sharp objects, Orihime-chan?" His head slanted with a wicked smile. "They can be very dangerous."
Despite the disturbing air that practically vibrated around him with amiss, Orihime failed to recognize the mocking in his words as she tried to turn her head away even further. "I-I just…it's not…I mean, what happened was…" she stuttered and blushed hard, completely forgetting about her previous inquiries. "Ichimaru-san, you really shouldn't be here," she said worriedly. "Ulquiorra will be upset if he finds you in my quarters again."
"Oh?" Turning from her to examine the bouquet of branches she kept on her bedside table, Gin didn't seem too concerned with her warning. "Would he, now?" he intoned with feigned ignorance. "Perhaps he wouldn't mind so much." He glanced back at her with a sly grin, only for it to fall into a mild sneer. His tight expression receded slightly, allowing his eyes to peek open and drop to the shredded flesh of her lips. "Then again…he has been rather uptight lately." It wasn't exactly hard to figure out why. A man would need a libido of steel to tolerate her company for as long as Ulquiorra had and not go crazy.
Orihime pursed her lips into a small smile and tried to hold back a snigger. Ulquiorra could definitely be a little uptight at times, she understood that well enough. Though, in her ignorance, she completely missed the true gist of his remark.
"Tell me…do you like games, Orihime-chan?" he asked. Distracting himself, he slowly drew a lone finger down a particularly long twig in her peculiar bouquet of branches.
"Games?" she echoed, her brow knitting in bewilderment.
"Yes. Games." He turned back to her with a crafty grin. Leaning down, he twirled a strand of her hair around his finger and gently tugged her close. Bunching her shoulders up, Orihime giggled at the way his breath tickled her neck. "How would you like to go see a game?" he whispered temptingly into her ear.
Scrunching up her expression slightly, Orihime shook her head with uncertainty. "I don't know…I don't think Ulquiorra would like me leaving the room with you, Ichimaru-san," she said, her words shaded with vague indecision.
"But that's the best part," he said persuasively. "He will be there, too."
Orihime pulled back in surprise.
"He will?" she asked, her hesitancy waning.
"Of course," he coaxed. Straightening up, he proceeded to casually tuck his hands into the sizable sleeves of his uniform. "You should hurry, though, or else you might be late…and we really wouldn't want that." Moving towards the door, Gin made to leave. All the while, his wheedling had made it seem as if he were leaving it up to her to decide, rather than the mental trap that it actually was.
"Well…"
"Unless, on the other hand, if you wish to stay here I suppose it wouldn't really make any difference…" He sighed and, with a faint shrug, began to glide indifferently out the door.
"No, please wait! Ichimaru-san!" she called out quickly. With a shove to her blankets, Orihime slid out of her bed and hurried straight to her chifferobe. "Just give me a few minutes and I promise I'll be ready." Pulling the cabinet open, she grabbed a clean uniform and headed for the bathroom to change.
Pausing in her step, she turned back to level him with an insistent look. "Please wait for me?" she requested, holding her dress tightly to her chest as she stared at him, waiting for an answer.
With a soft chuckle, his grin slowly returned to his face.
"Of course, angel face," he said. "I would never think of leaving you behind."
"Thank you, Ichimaru-san." Orihime smiled. "I won't be long!" she added over her shoulder as she rushed into the bathroom.
Leaning back against the doorframe, Gin crossed an arm over his abdomen and propped his elbow upon it to rest his chin in his hand. "Such a naïve little thing…" he mused to himself. "No wonder Ran was so protective of her."
Orihime recognized the halls. They were the same ones Ulquiorra took her through when he forced her to fight Yammy.
"Are we going to the arena?" she asked aloud.
With a sly glance over his shoulder, Gin merely gave her a clever smile before turning back to the path ahead.
How odd, she thought uneasily. He seemed to be acting even more mysterious than usual. She couldn't help the curiosity thrumming through her. He had said something about games, but even Orihime didn't think the Arrancar seemed like the type to enjoy the kinds of games she was familiar with.
The last time she'd had an encounter with Gin it hadn't turned out for the better. She'd come away from it with the sense he was not so much interested in her than he was Ulquiorra. It was hard to fathom why, but there was a nasty tension sizzling there between them that remained just out of her grasp of understanding.
As it was, she had never gotten the impression that Gin wished to hurt her or cause her harm, despite his peculiar nature. In fact, it almost felt the opposite at times. Although there was nothing she could directly place her finger on to pinpoint the exact sentiment, it was there nonetheless. In a way, it made her more suspicious than she would have been originally. The possibility that he may have ill intentions for Ulquiorra only made her want to keep a closer eye on him, but for her she felt incredibly safe in his presence. It was confusing, to say the least.
A quiet, droning rumble pulled Orihime's attention away from her inner thoughts. The sound echoed through the halls, growing louder and more intense the closer they drew to the arena. Gin took her down a hidden passage and led her up an impressive flight of stairs. As she neared the top, the noises meshed together into the recognizable drone of voices in a crowd. It was loud and thrumming, pulsing as if it were a living thing.
Orihime swallowed nervously. Whatever they were gathered for they didn't sound very happy.
At the summit of the dark stairwell, light from the arena shone through. Beside her, Gin crept through the dark shadows like a phantom, his steps always gliding and smooth. She lifted her skirts a little higher so as not to trip when she finally reached the top. Once they crested the landing above, Orihime was hit with not only the noise but also the brightness. Just like the rest of Las Noches, everything was blinding in its white purity, and without the walls of the stairwell to shield her the noise level reached a new high, prompting her to wring her hands together anxiously.
Of what she could tell, they were high in the rafters, raised above the arena on an observation platform. Before her, positioned not ten yards away, sat a throne: simplistic but commanding in its design.
From behind the tall, imperial back of the chair, her eyes caught the slight movement of a hand just before it disappeared behind its frame once more. Just to the right of the throne sat a short plinth, decorated with a large pillow of the whitest silk.
A little ways in front of the throne Ulquiorra stood as still as ice, his arms folded behind his back in a semi-militaristic manner.
Her heart immediately leapt at the sight of him. Unable to erase the memory of his wandering hands from her mind, Orihime felt her pulse kick back into action and begin pounding in her chest.
Before her nerves had the chance to kick in, Gin was ushering her forward to her seat. As she drew closer, the brown hair and effortless confidence contained in the posture of the throne's lone occupant slowly came into view.
Aizen sat like a king, leaning back and staring out over his kingdom with dull interest.
Orihime quickly lowered her eyes as Gin took her hand and helped her onto her little pillowed podium beside Aizen's throne. She recalled all too well how badly she'd upset him the last time she was in his company. It made her more than a little tense to be seeing him again so soon.
Aizen's power was something that demanded respect, no matter who you were. It was no different than being faced with a natural disaster. If you didn't respect the strength and force of nature, you would pay the price for your foolishness. Even Orihime understood these things. Yet, when it came to the man himself, she knew little else about his character. She had only ever seen the aftermath left in the wake of his heinous deeds. As far as she was concerned, that was all she ever needed to know about Aizen Sosuke to understand just what type of person he was.
However, after her slip up, she had to wonder if he was a man to hold grudges or retain his anger easily from past offenses. The thought that he could destroy her with naught but a flick of his spiritual pressure was more than enough incentive to remain wary of him, particularly after he'd scared her senseless for simply mentioning Hinamori's name in his presence.
She made sure to keep her head down as she tucked her legs under herself and folded them to her side. Her skirts hung over the rim of her platform and pooled against the floor, sliding like silk against the large pillow she sat upon.
It was comfortable and lavish and utterly humiliating. She felt like a pet sitting beside her master.
Perhaps she should not mind so much. After all, there were worse places she could be.
"How nice to see you again, Orihime." Aizen's smooth voice reached her ears, sounding soft and cultured against the drone of the crowd. From her periphery, Orihime could see his profile as he stared off into the multitude of his creations. With his posture relaxed he seemed very casual but always polished and composed. "I trust you have been well?" he asked, still not bothering to spare her a glance.
"Y-yes," she said and made sure to keep her eyes glued to her hands cupped neatly in her lap. Swallowing the giant lump in her throat, she licked her sore lips and threaded her fingers together. "And yourself?"
His deep chuckle seemed amused.
"Well, my dear," he answered back. At his temple, his forefinger lightly tapped a dull cadence as if he were waiting for something. "Very well."
She was glad when he said nothing more.
Out in front of her Orihime caught the hint of something that sounded suspiciously like a yawn. Risking a sidelong glance, she was surprised to see the lazy, stretched out form of Starrk lying on the very edge of the platform. Resting on his side, he had his elbow propped up to support his head and looked as if he might slump over the edge at any moment. Occasionally his head nodded and drooped as he fought off sleep, utterly impervious to the amount of noise surrounding him.
She wondered at how she had been distracted enough to miss him when she first arrived. It also made her more curious as to what was going on. It was late. Incredibly late, actually. Though, she did remember Ulquiorra once telling her that Las Noches never really slept. It was always bustling about with some sort of activity. She supposed it had just been difficult for her to imagine, what with how quiet and eerily calm the fourth tower always seemed.
Daring a peek out from under the curtain of her hair, she took in the massive crowd lining rafters that had been designed almost like bleachers. Hollows were everywhere. Arrancar of all sizes and types had gathered en mass, all of them roaring and demanding action of some kind. Their collective reiatsu suffocated any air left in the room, making it a little difficult for her to breathe. That unsettling feeling stirred in her gut again. She had to wonder at the source behind all their rage.
Unable to hold back any longer, Orihime peeled her eyes from the mob of Arrancar to cast a shy glimpse towards her warden. His back was to her, standing several feet in front of her and just a little off to the right. He hadn't moved an inch.
Staring impassively out over the stadium, he hadn't spared her a single glance since her arrival.
Her gaze traveled along the sleek lines of his shoulders and followed the layering of his jet black hair. She remembered what he felt like against her, strong and lithe. Just the thought of the gentle suction of his mouth on her breast and his hips rocking into hers had her on fire. And that thickness he'd momentarily pressed against her…
Orihime squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, trying to rub her thighs together to ease the ache that had abruptly flared up between her legs.
She shouldn't care about those things, and he'd left her with a painful reminder why.
Even now, her lips still hurt from his torturous kiss.
With a long sigh, she dropped her head again to stare at her lap. Of course Ulquiorra's kisses would never be anything but cruel. She supposed the act itself didn't really bother her. Nor had it surprised her. Rather, it was the intent behind it. After all, she had long since known what type of man Ulquiorra was. A woman would have to possess an exceptionally strong and forgiving heart to love a man like him.
Orihime tensed.
Love?
Absolutely not.
It was out of the question.
Her heart suddenly felt as if it were beating a mile a minute. As most things tended to do when she thought about Ulquiorra, Orihime's brain lost all focus.
Did she love Ulquiorra?
The thought had never really occurred to her before. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to love someone like him. The temperance a woman would have to have…it simply boggled her mind.
Deep inside she knew there were parts of her that were still frightened of him in certain ways. As a human, it was only natural to be scared of things that she couldn't understand. Most of that fear revolved around the issue of what he lacked in his chest. Without a heart, he didn't seem to be interested in love or anything pertaining to emotions. That in itself was quite scary for her, especially since her emotions were felt so profoundly. If she opened up to him, he could tear her apart without a second thought and that was what truly terrified her.
She knew.
He'd already done so before, only in lesser degrees.
Though, when it came to the heart, he wouldn't just burn her like in their past encounters, he would utterly break her. He'd already promised her that.
It was back in the library on the day she'd been poisoned when she had felt the first inklings of that fear. Like always, he'd sensed it. He had thought she was afraid of him and apparently didn't mind pointing it out, either. It had been based on nothing but raw emotion. Now it had lessened over time with her desire to prove to him that hearts were a very real thing. However, the only way she knew how to do that was by connecting with him, rather with his heart, and that left her vulnerable.
Though she had come to trust him with her safety, there was still hesitancy inside of her. For every inch she allowed him closer to her heart, it only made it that much easier for him to reach inside and rip it out. If only it weren't so complicated. If only she wasn't putting her own heart at risk with each new interaction. If only he weren't so stubborn.
Besides, she couldn't love him because…
Kurosaki-kun.
Orihime's mouth twisted into a frown as she recalled the reason why she couldn't love him. That seemed to be happening a lot to her lately.
Her friends' faces had been getting blurrier and blurrier with each passing day. Their details were becoming vague, making her afraid of forgetting.
Ichigo's face flashed in her mind, only now it was distorted by the anguish and tears she had seen in her dream. Orihime shivered. Clearly she'd been away from her friends for far too long. Their features were beginning to grow hazy when she tried to picture them in her head. Perhaps that had been the reason behind her dream. With their faces fading, her imagination had run amok and filled in the blanks with something warped and nightmarish.
What a troubling thing, she thought.
Ulquiorra had indeed invaded much of her thoughts lately, and there was a curiosity inside of Ulquiorra that he didn't even seem to be aware of at times…a curiosity that revolved solely around that thrumming, beating muscle in her chest.
Orihime twiddled her fingers in her lap, trying not to get her mind too wrapped up in things she didn't really understand.
A distraction came quick enough when, from the other side of Aizen's throne, several figures stepped forward and entered into her peripheral. Giving a quick check to make sure Aizen's attention was elsewhere, Orihime leaned back and peered around behind the throne to see Harribel and her fraccion standing off to his left.
She had to stop herself from chewing on her lip when she really began to wonder what was going on. Her curiosities were diverted, however, when her eyes landed on the tall female Arrancar she had saved from the brink of death.
She'd never gotten the chance to meet her since she was unconscious. Now, seeing her up and healthy and not on her deathbed, Orihime couldn't help but notice just how much she resembled Rangiku. Albeit, a larger and more muscular Rangiku. Still, with her exotic dark skin and equally dark hair, she was really quite beautiful. She looked like an Amazonian warrior.
The three women lingered behind their mistress, their faces serious. Before them, Harribel stood with her arms crossed under her breasts, her cold eyes impossible to read.
Orihime had seen the female Espada many times in meetings and in brief passing in the halls. Since saving Mila-Rose's life, Harribel had always made sure to show her some degree of acknowledgement. It was something Orihime noticed she didn't give to many people. It gave her a sense of pride and so she returned the respect with equal candor. However, she rarely saw her fraccion and never had any interaction with them at all. Seeing as how they were all women, she couldn't help but think it a shame. She would have liked to get to know them better.
Standing with confidence, poise and an air of self-reliance, even Orihime noticed how secure they all seemed to be in themselves.
Maybe…if she built on her own conviction enough she could be like that. Maybe she could even make a difference in the war. Maybe she could prevent that awful nightmare of hers from playing out in real life.
Sensing her stare, Mila-Rose made an inquiring noise in the back of her throat as she slid her gaze over to the pair of eyes peering at her from behind Aizen's throne.
"What's this?" she said as she leaned closer.
Seeing she was caught, Orihime quickly ducked away and resumed staring at her lap.
"Huh?" Apacci drawled from beside her. The fraccion glanced over her shoulder, only to go back to staring at the stadium upon finding no real interest in her comrade's source of curiosity. "That's the bitch that saved your ass," she said dismissively. "All the worse for it, too…at least we wouldn't have to listen to your mouth anymore if she hadn't agreed to help Harribel-sama." Her scoffing words confused Orihime, considering she'd seemed quite distraught over her companion's condition at the time.
"Her?!" Mila-Rose's voice escalated in disbelief. When her companions only ignored her, she turned back to Orihime with intrigued eyes.
Circling around behind the throne, Mila-Rose drew closer to the young human girl seated upon the podium next to their Lord like a trinket put on display. Under her scrutiny, Orihime straightened her spine even as she kept her eyes down, trying not to appear weak or afraid.
Small and young, Mila-Rose found it hard to believe the girl had been strong enough to save her from the throes of her deadly ailment.
"Well, I guess there's no point in fussing about it now." With a sigh, she planted a hand heavily upon her hip and leaned in to inspect the girl. "Shy little thing, ain't she?" she scoffed, causing her large breasts to jiggle with the sharp motion.
At her side, Orihime heard Aizen's soft exhale.
"Harribel," he said quietly, his tone laced with intolerance.
"Mila-Rose!" Harribel's stern, unforgiving voice snapped out like a whip, even making Orihime flinch. Said fraccion straightened to attention at once and was met with her mistress's strict stare.
"Yes, Harribel-sama," she replied, immediately understanding the order behind that harsh glare. "Forgive my behavior." Repentant of her apparent faux pas, she gave a quick bow to Aizen, who didn't even spare her any acknowledgement. Without another word, she returned to her station behind her mistress and fell silent.
It wasn't but a few seconds later that Gin reappeared by Aizen's side, making her question when he'd ever left. Leaning forward, Gin whispered a hushed message over Aizen's shoulder. His grinning lips moved, conveying silent words that she couldn't hear.
Ever so slowly, a smirk spread across Aizen's bored features.
Rising fluidly from his seat, his hands pushed against the arms of his throne as he stood. Orihime gasped as, like a trigger, the crowd erupted into eager roars. She remained uneasy as he strode to the edge of the platform and smiled down on his creations, all of them utterly rapt by their master's presence. They cried out impatiently, demanding action for something that still had yet to be revealed to her.
"Comrades," his voice stilled them somewhat, easing their restlessness. "It would seem we have a traitor in our midst."
All at once, they exploded again in pure outrage. Hatred burned within them, radiating outwards until she could taste it in the air, thick and bitter.
Turning slightly, Aizen paced along the edge of the platform before he stopped and looked down into the arena. "Bring him out," he ordered. Even against the raised volume of his tone, the command in his words were still as strong and calm as if he were chatting over another cup of tea. Always articulate, there was nothing tense or harsh in the quality of Aizen's vocabulary.
At his word the large doors to the access tunnel on the other side of the room began to creep open. Orihime leaned forward in her seat, trying to get a better view when a figure appeared from the dark opening. Heckles and jeers hissed through the mob, openly voicing their loathing for this apparent traitor.
Squinting her eyes, she focused on the features as the person drew closer. Fairly pale skin and light teal hair were what she noticed first, along with the Arrancar uniform that he wore. Against his face, a jaw bone that was quite similar to Grimmjow's hugged his upper right cheek before it fanned out into an impressive crown that stretched around the entire side of his head. Upon seeing the elongated points spanning the border of that crown, Orihime was certain it was undoubtedly the most unique mask she'd ever viewed on a Hollow thus far.
Thin in build and wearing a scowl that could rival Ulquiorra's, it was impossible to miss the utter disdain in his yellow eyes when he leveled them upon Aizen's form.
"Arturo Plateado," Aizen said, not the least bit offended by the abhorrence in the man's gaze. "Welcome to your trial."
With a gasp, it dawned on Orihime with disturbing awareness.
This wasn't a game…at least not any type that she would wish to be involved in.
"Conspiring with Shinigami, betraying your own kind, aiding the very people whom you fought to destroy…the very people who imprisoned you for centuries and stole away your revenge," Aizen droned above the lowered growls of the crowd. "How very ironic. To see your eagerness in facilitating the Reapers responsible for sealing you in that endless void, is rather pathetic." He smirked when Arturo grimaced at the reminder. "And I, the man who brought you forth from the chains of your captivity - this is how you have repaid me. Do you have anything to say for yourself now…traitor?" Wrathful barks burst through the rafters, concurring with the degrading label of 'traitor' that had been placed upon him.
"The day I have anything to say to you will be the day I place your head upon a platter…and they will be the last words you will ever hear." Abruptly Arturo's eyes shifted to Orihime, making her flinch back from the intensity of his glare. "Resorting to kidnapping little girls now, Aizen?" he scoffed. "Why don't we see how long you can keep your war at bay after I dispose of your darling pet…" His hand extended out before him, glowing softly as he gathered energy for a cero.
At once the multitude of Hollows exploded with aggression. Their reiatsu flared throughout the room, practically bristling with belligerence over the fact that a traitor would dare raise a hand against the property of their beloved Lord Aizen. Not for her, not for Orihime, but for his favored trinket, the adored one…the one he'd given to his favorite soldier.
Soon Orihime was staggering in her seat as Aizen's spiritual pressure released, concentrated solely upon the lone form of Arturo standing below him. Instantly, he fell to his knees and began panting like a dog.
All around, whispers and murmurs erupted from the crowd.
Aizen's human pet…Our Lord's property…Master's toy…precious belonging…belonging…belonging, they all prattled under their breaths.
Aizen's cold brown eyes stared down at the accused with not an ounce of mercy behind them. "So be it, then," he said. "You will face one of my Espada in recompense for your crimes. Survive and you are free," he stated with finality. "Fail…and you will pay the ultimate price."
As Aizen turned away Arturo was finally able to lift his head, still trying to catch his breath after the ex-Reaper's impressive display of power. "Am I allowed no trial?" he spat mockingly, as if the very idea of a trial at all was beyond ridiculous.
With a brief pause, Aizen cast him an utterly remorseless glance over his shoulder.
"This is your trial," he smiled, soft and cruel and utterly ruthless in his suave beauty.
While striding back to his throne, the entire room suddenly erupted with reiatsu so dense and thick that Orihime feared her lungs may collapse.
Crying out, her upper body buckled over the arm of the throne she sat beside. Her arms shook as the energy only grew stronger. She'd never felt anything like it. Solid and impenetrable, she struggled to raise her head against it and find its source as Aizen took his seat. Before her, neither Ulquiorra, Starrk, or Harribel seemed affected by it in the least. They merely stared out across the massive grounds, looking on as if it were nothing of consequence…as if it didn't feel like the entire gravity of the room had shifted.
The spiritual pressure riled the crowd, stirring them back to life. Their liveliness brought her back to attention. Holding up her chin, Orihime gathered her resolve and allowed her body to adjust to the new pressure until she remained as unaffected by it as the rest of them.
In all her experience, she couldn't remember anything being so potent. Aizen's energy had always been controlled, even during the times he released it onto others. But this energy was just wild and free flowing. She had to wonder if she'd been completely disillusioned about their strength.
Had they all been holding back that much?
Finally raising her eyes enough for a quick scan, Orihime noticed another platform directly across the stadium. There, standing in a small, albeit dispersed group was the rest of the Espada. Some looked bored, some looked incredibly engrossed with the violence about to play out, and some looked downright evil with their wicked smiles.
At the very edge of that ledge stood the source of the terrible energy pulsing through the room like a fist trying to beat her into the ground.
Orihime gasped. The electric blue hair and muscular build was a dead giveaway.
"Grimmjow-kun," she uttered as she took in his gleeful appearance.
With feral blue eyes, he smiled down at his prey. Every breath he took only wound his entire body tighter with anticipation, making his muscles bunch and bulge and quiver with excitement. His lips were stretched into a wide, ferocious grin, exposing rows of viciously sharp teeth that, with a deliberately slow motion, his tongue crept out to drag along as if he were eyeing a potential meal rather than an opponent.
The utterly predatory aura radiating from him was palpable.
Before him was his quarry, and he was the beast poised for the kill.
Sensing the danger, Arturo turned and leveled his opponent with a narrowed glare.
Grimmjow's eyes lit up, carrying with them an open display of pure elation at the challenge.
Faster than she could blink, a cero was hurtling from Arturo's hand towards Grimmjow. With a wave of his arm he deflected the deadly blast and jumped from the platform, landing solidly on the hard floor of the arena.
Orihime's mind scrambled with utter disbelief at the violence of it all. The crowd howled, feeding off the brutality and carnage and demanding more.
They were cheering for blood, for anyone's blood. Traitor or no.
She watched as, not one second after setting foot in the arena, Arturo charged the Espada. With his sword drawn and his reiatsu primed, fear for Grimmjow's safety sent a jolt of pain straight through her heart. Her hand gripped the arm of Aizen's throne as she leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat.
"Grimmjow-kun!" she called out in shrill panic, piercing the drone of the crowd.
Down in the pit of the arena, Grimmjow's head snapped up at the sound of her voice, completely pulling his focus away from his opponent.
His eyes widened as they zeroed in on her figure, fleeting confusion skittering through their depths. After so many days away from her, the mere sound of her voice had caught him off guard and sucked him in like a trap.
With everything happening too fast for him to process or edit his thoughts, the first instinct that rushed to the forefront of his mind had been to protect. Yet, while staring up into her dark eyes, his own gaze had narrowed at the unfettered concern pouring from them.
It was nothing more than the blink of an eye, but that was all the time it took. With his opponent distracted, Arturo seized the opportunity and drove his blade deep into Grimmjow's abdomen, then followed through with a reiatsu charged fist that sent him flying back into the wall of the stadium in one strike.
His body plowed into the solid partition like a wrecking ball, leaving a large hole in its wake. Under the force of the impact part of the wall collapsed, caving in the opening and burying the blue haired Espada without mercy.
Orihime threw her hands over her mouth and gasped. Around her the crowd bellowed and cheered over the first blood drawn, their sounds making her feel dizzy.
"Grimmjow-kun," she whispered, fearing the worst.
Without even a real fight, it seemed the battle had already been determined. She shook her head, unable to fathom how nobody cared to protest the mock 'trial'. It was appalling, vicious, and sadistic…it was everything she stood against. Her brow drew tight in sadness and her lashes slid closed as she wondered if she would ever be strong enough to face the war if she couldn't even face this.
A fierce explosion rocked the stadium and jerked Orihime's attention back up with equal fervor, lifting her hopes.
Rocks flew back from the force of Grimmjow's reiatsu as he emerged from the massive indentation his body had created in the face of the wall. Gripping the mouth of the cavity, Grimmjow hauled himself forward and kicked away a particularly large boulder blocking his path. Lifting his head, he leveled his opponent with a nasty frown. With his hair in a shaggy mess and his clothes in rags, he gave a surly snarl of displeasure. Now covered in blood and with his previous mood seemingly gone, he only appeared interested in payback.
Giving the smaller man a terrifying grin, he wasted no further time in attacking.
From that moment on, it was nothing more than a massacre.
Like an animal, he toyed with his prey, taunting and stringing him along and laughing all the while. He wanted to make sure his opponent knew who was superior. Over and over, Grimmjow let Arturo believe he'd gained the upper hand before knocking him back down with enough brutality to make her look away, almost as if he wished to make him regret ever attacking him in the first place. His amusement shone on his face and the beating he was giving Arturo seemed to entertain the hordes of Hollows just as much.
No matter his speed or skill, Arturo simply couldn't withstand Grimmjow's superior strength.
Blood soon painted the walls and floor of the arena, filling the air with its metallic stench.
When Grimmjow knocked Arturo to the ground once more and growled out a cruel insult, Orihime turned to grip the arm of Aizen's throne resolutely.
"Please, stop this!" She stared up at him imploringly, having flashbacks of Luppi's fate. Resting his chin languidly against his knuckles, he merely continued to observe the fight with waning interest. "Surely he has learned his lesson!" she reasoned.
The corners of his lips tilted slightly.
"Surely," he agreed offhandedly before releasing a contemplative sigh. "But what kind of message would that send to the others if I were to let him go…no, that wouldn't do at all." He inclined his head to level her with a mellow smile. "Everyone must learn their place, my dear. There is no need to upset yourself over such small matters."
Aizen paused then as his eyebrow suddenly dipped in an analytical manner. There was a terribly eerie silence that settled over him after that. Very slowly, his smile faded and a strange glimmer of darkness briefly flashed in his eyes as they descended to her lips.
Orihime squirmed in her seat, uncertain of the serious look he was giving her.
Not a moment later, the corners of his mouth were lifting again in a deceptively gentle smile.
"Orihime," he said softly. Reaching out, his thumb swept across her lips in a casual caress. "What happened here?" With his cheek still planted atop his fist, he peered at her mouth in silent appraisal.
Orihime stared up at him with wide eyes, too embarrassed to speak. Feathery light in its motions, his thumb traveled smoothly along her bruised flesh before it dipped under her chin to lift her face. Feeling herself start to turn red, she wanted nothing more than to pull away and direct her gaze elsewhere - anywhere that wasn't under his dauntingly calm stare. She tensed, meaning to turn away, but his firm hold only froze her in place.
With a slightly rougher touch he swept his thumb over her bottom lip again. Pressing more firmly into the swollen mound, Orihime flinched when he hit a particularly sore spot.
Involuntarily her eyes flickered towards her warden, her gaze not quite reaching him.
There was something disturbing in the way Aizen smiled at her just then, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. When he pulled away, Orihime quickly sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as he turned to stare dully out over the battle.
"Ulquiorra…"
Instantly, she watched as her warden's back stiffened, every muscle pulling taut and rigid at the dangerous voice.
Ulquiorra remained silent and unmoving, offering no reply or acknowledgement. But in the air, Orihime felt an agonizing tension beginning to build.
"Grimmjow seems to be having some difficulty putting down the traitor." Eyes shining with darkness, Aizen smirked as if he were satisfied with some internal matter of great interest. "He does tend to torment his prey a little too much at times." He sighed in a show of exasperation. "Perhaps he needs some assistance…" Shifting his hand from the arm of his throne, his fingers curled into her fiery mane, petting her hair in a tender caress.
"…kill him."
Sucking in a soft breath, Orihime felt her heart stop.
At her temple, Aizen's fingers twirled around a lock of her auburn strands, twisting and coiling in lazy strokes. She hardly registered the touch of his fingers as they traced down the shell of her ear, weaving around her titan locks as she stared wide-eyed at her warden's back. Forgetting to breathe, she put every ounce of her energy into trying to eradicate any images of Ulquiorra killing from her mind.
It wasn't like she thought he was completely innocent of such deeds, but…she didn't want to see it.
Screwing her eyes shut, Orihime clenched her hand tightly over her heart and prayed that after all this time she could somehow reach him with her feelings.
He had to feel her. He had to know. He couldn't do something like this. He didn't have to!
"Yes, My Lord."
Orihime bit back a devastated whimper at his mechanical, unfeeling words, wishing he wouldn't actually carry through with the command. The man down in the arena was clearly beaten. There was no point in furthering such a bloody spectacle for the sport of it.
She watched as his arms unwound from his back and his hands dropped into his pockets. Moving forward to the edge of the platform, Ulquiorra glanced down at the one-sided battle taking place below. He looked on for only a few short moments longer before he stepped over the ledge and plummeted to the floor of the arena.
Gasping, Orihime wrenched herself from her seat and ran forward. She barely caught herself when she reached the ledge and fell to her knees. Gazing over the sheer drop off, her hair tumbled over her shoulders as she nearly skidded straight over the crest of the platform in her hurry.
Like a damper, the cries of the Hollows quickly died out and an eerie silence fell over the stadium the moment his feet touched down, landing with graceful ease.
Leveling his green eyes upon his target, Ulquiorra strode forward. In response, several Hollows in the rafters took a step back as if they were apprehensive of even being near his very presence. Long gone were the wild voices demanding riotous violence, replaced with cautious and narrowed glares.
It was rare to see the upper ranks of Espada in such a place as the arena. Such tasks were normally granted to the ilk of Grimmjow, Nnoitra, or Yammy. For the Cuatro, of all people, to be down there put the hordes ill at ease.
From across the arena, Grimmjow had delivered a brutal kick to his prey, sending the Arrancar flying straight at Ulquiorra - whose presence he had yet to be aware of.
Dragging a single hand from his side, Ulquiorra outstretched his arm into the Arrancar's path. Without batting a lash, his fingers clamped down on Arturo's neck, catching him with deft ease. Limp and weak, the Arrancar barely seemed to be breathing after suffering round after round under Grimmjow's savagery.
Noticing the company, Grimmjow's eyes widened briefly, utterly incensed at the sight of his prey in the hands of another. In the blink of an eye he was inches from Ulquiorra's face, snarling in displeasure.
"Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, Ulquiorra?" he asked with a deadly sneer. The muscles in his shoulders bunched impatiently, his breaths heavy as he fought to control the anger surging through him.
After a long moment, the shorter man turned to examine the pathetic creature hanging from his hand. Scanning Arturo's form, he took in the damage Grimmjow had already dealt to the traitorous Hollow.
Disinterested, he tossed the limp body away and dropped his hand back into his pocket.
"Finish this," he stated coldly. "Or I will."
Infuriated, Grimmjow's reiatsu exploded in a rage. Around them, the walls of the stadium quivered under the pressure, unable to withstand the force.
With a deliberately intimidating step closer, Grimmjow leaned down and bared his teeth in a menacing display.
"Is that a threat?" he growled, his anger only growing in the face of Ulquiorra's indifference. "You gonna steal my prey?"
The sound of a curse pulled their attention away briefly. Off to their side, Arturo was shakily struggling to his knees. Lifting his bloodied head, he frowned up at Ulquiorra's presence. "Aizen sent another of his lackeys to finish what he can't?" Throwing his head to the side, he spat out what appeared to be several teeth entombed in a thick coating of blood. "Pathetic."
Turning to the Arrancar, Ulquiorra looked down upon the broken body of the man he'd been ordered to kill.
Arturo suddenly tightened his hold on his Zanpakuto when an uneasy chill crept through him at the feel of those large, sinister eyes peering down at him. His arms tensed when Ulquiorra approached him, inspecting him as one may inspect an insect crawling underfoot.
With slow, measured steps, he circled the kneeling Arrancar bleeding out all over the white floor.
"You spend too much time on him, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra commented as he continued to gaze at Arturo, his gait never wavering.
"Fuck off!" the taller Espada spat, keeping a protective eye on him to ensure Ulquiorra didn't make a move on his quarry. "Ain't you got better shit to do?" he scoffed bitterly. "I bet princess is wondering where you're at by now, what with you being out of her sight for two fucking seconds and all…"
At this, Arturo frowned even deeper. "So you're the one watching over the human." He scowled at Ulquiorra with a hint of disgust. "I'm surprised…with all the things I've heard-"
"Shut it!" Almost as if he couldn't bear to hear what he'd been about to say, Grimmjow hissed and stomped his foot onto the back of Arturo's head. Forcing him down into his own puddle of blood, Grimmjow ground his boot into his skull hard. "Fucking dirt bag." With a kick to his side for good measure, he pulled his foot away and crouched down to reprimand his quarry. "You don't talk unless I tell you to. Understand?"
Looking on indifferently, Ulquiorra redirected his aloof gaze to some distant spot in the arena, apparently finding it more interesting than the scene playing out before him. "You are wasting your energy on him, Grimmjow," he said. "Kill him now and be done with it."
"And why the fuck do you even care?" he snapped over his shoulder. There was no reply and, after a halting moment of hesitation on Grimmjow's part, he turned his sharp blue eyes to glare at the shorter man. "Lord Aizen sent you down here for this shit…didn't he?"
Ignoring him, Ulquiorra still didn't offer an answer.
Grimmjow narrowed his eyes suspiciously and gauged the unresponsive Espada, knowing that if he had been wrong Ulquiorra would have undoubtedly rebutted with some passive aggressive bullshit insult to correct him. Dragging his eyes up to the lofty rafters, Grimmjow settled his sights upon the girl staring down at them.
Something wasn't right about this…
Given an order, Ulquiorra would have snapped the bastard's neck the second the command was issued.
Ulquiorra didn't dawdle. He was quick and merciless. The little fucker didn't normally take his time when it came to killing.
Not only that, but this was the kind of dirty work Aizen solely reserved for Espada such as himself. Aizen never gave these kinds of jobs to the likes of Ulquiorra.
Up above, the princess carefully tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she watched them closely.
Ever so slowly it dawned on him.
The bastard had been caught with his hands where they didn't belong, and now Aizen was putting him in his place–in a manipulatively roundabout way that only Aizen could do.
Just as slowly, a conniving grin spread over his features. Loud and unrestrained, he burst out into wicked laughter.
This was too fucking good!
Pushing to his feet, Grimmjow curbed his maniacal cackles enough to pin the smaller man with a nefarious glare, still chuckling darkly.
Oh, yes, he thought gleefully. This he would readily sacrifice his prey for.
From the corner of his eye, Ulquiorra assessed Grimmjow with quiet scrutiny as he reached down, dug his claws deep into his prey's scalp, and hauled him up. Broken-boned and only half-conscious, there was very little struggling as Grimmjow dragged him forward and unceremoniously dumped him at Ulquiorra's feet.
Smiling wickedly, Grimmjow leaned close and whispered in his ear.
"Come on now…we all want her to see, don't we?" he purred.
Staying close, Grimmjow circled him, baiting and antagonizing with each step. "What are you waiting for?" he taunted as he came to a slow stop at his back. "Afraid she'll hate you?" Bending down over his shoulder slightly, Grimmjow stared up at the princess who watched them from the rafters. "Don't want her to get a good eyeful?" Grimmjow paused. Up above, wide doe eyes stared back, and from his perspective behind Ulquiorra it almost felt as if she were looking at him with all those longing, yearning emotions he was so unfamiliar with…rather than at the man her eyes were really glued to.
Suddenly feeling agitated, he snarled near Ulquiorra's ear. "Do it, you piece of shit," he bit out impatiently. "I want her to watch." When he received no response, Grimmjow frowned. "Go ahead, show her what a monster you are. She'll never touch you again…"
Pulling back, he sauntered around to stand before the silent Espada.
"What a coward." He scowled as if he were disappointed at the Fourth's inaction. "I always knew you were a gutless weakling terrified of fighting me, but I never thought I'd see the day when you'd shirk your duties for a woman."
Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed. "What was that?"
"You heard me," Grimmjow growled and leaned close. "You don't even know which fucking head to think with anymore."
"Perhaps you should consider your words, Grimmjow, and reexamine which of us is truly so desperate to rut after a human female-"
Ulquiorra had barely gotten the words from his mouth when the back of Grimmjow's fist smacked into his face. With a sickening crack, his head violently snapped to the side. Dead silence fell over the arena. Several of the surrounding Arrancar that were standing too close in the rafters moved back in a rush, desperate to flee the scene.
Head angled down and hidden behind a layer of jet black hair, Ulquiorra remained unnervingly still as blood poured from the corner of his mouth. In the hush of the room the crimson drops slipped to the floor with a glaringly soft patter that seemed ten times louder than it should have been.
Grimmjow's upper lip curled in a silent snarl, his anger escalating as the large split in Ulquiorra's hierro closed up within seconds, the bruising on his cheek completely gone. His breath came in deeper heaves as he fought to hold himself back from an outright attack against the shorter male. Wild-eyed and tense, his gaze dropped to the small hint of movement at Ulquiorra's hip.
Painfully slow, his hand began to emerge from his pocket.
Almost instantly Aizen's excruciating reiatsu fell over his slender form, warning the pale Espada off from any retaliation he may have had in mind.
Ulquiorra's arm abruptly stilled at his side.
Trembling and shaking, Orihime watched on as her warden's head gradually rose to fix the ex-Reaper with a terrifyingly intense glare. Empty and dark, the severity it carried sent chills straight down her spine. Emotionless as Ulquiorra's features may be, his eyes shone with an unearthly quality that seemed to speak so much more clearly than any frowns, grins, or words ever could.
Slouched against the arm of his throne, Aizen smiled ominously down at his soldier. From under his thick lashes, Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed faintly in response, but obeyed nonetheless.
Bitter and insulting curses flew from Grimmjow's mouth as he watched the Cuatro Espada get sufficiently muzzled. He nearly turned his rant over his shoulder toward Aizen, pissed that his opportunity had been stolen yet again, but didn't dare raise his voice to his Master. However, before the tension had another second to build, Arturo's crimson coated figure managed to push up onto two wobbly legs. Weak and barely able to keep himself steady on his feet, Arturo had hissed out some random, egregious insult through his pain and tried to mount another attack.
With his ire boiling under the surface with no other means to escape, Ulquiorra's focus quickly shifted to the closest available option to release his dissatisfaction upon.
Before he even knew what had hit him, Arturo was hurtling across the stadium and had been propelled into the far wall with enough force to break bones. In his wake, his impact had made a sizable crater in the solid stone structure. Gasping and wheezing, Arturo's head sagged forward as he tried to fight through the pain of what Ulquiorra's steel-like fist backhanding his chest had felt like.
Gazing up from under the fringe of his hair, Arturo froze at the sight of the pale figure in the distance slowly making its way closer.
For the first time in his life, a sliver of fear coursed through his body.
Struggling to gather what little energy remained, he fought to free his limbs from the stony cage that his impact had created in the wall. Giving a quick, cursory sweep of the arena, Arturo gasped and jerked back at the unexpected sight of the Espada suddenly standing directly in front of him.
Cold, blatant apathy stared right back at him from behind large, impossibly green eyes.
"Normally I would not waste my time on trash such as yourself," Ulquiorra said, impersonal and emotionless. "However…" Pain shot through every nerve in Arturo's body as the sensation of thin, unforgiving fingers slowly sank into his chest. "I am certain you understand my position."
Empty, unfeeling eyes were all that he could see as Ulquiorra's fingers gouged deeper, breaking past his sternum and ribcage as if they were mere twigs. He stared through him as if he wasn't even there…as if he were nothing…as if he wasn't closing those boney fingers of his around his heart and squeezing without an ounce of mercy behind that hauntingly soulless gaze.
By the time the screaming reached her ears Orihime had turned and raced from the scene. Tears of anguish flooded her eyes as she hurried down the stairs on weak legs. She pressed her hands over her ears as the screaming only grew louder, then abruptly stopped as his reiatsu suddenly snuffed out.
It was almost like a candle in the dark: flickering with life in one moment, extinguished in the next, leaving tendrils of smoke lingering in the air before floating away completely.
She ran hard, searching for the only place she felt relatively safe in that terrible palace. The halls blurred together like a maze, but memory had served her well enough in automatically guiding her feet back to her room. Before she knew it she was standing before her quarters and pressing all her weight against the heavy door, prying it open with frantically shaking hands.
Once inside she threw herself onto her bed and tried desperately to purge the images of Ulquiorra's hands torturing that Arrancar to death from her mind. But it was painfully quiet in her room, causing the sound of his screaming to echo in her head over and over like a bad song.
Sadness poured into her soul in torrents, tormenting her heart as if it were her own that he had taken into his hands and plucked from her chest.
How could she have ever wanted such a monster?
He hadn't even cared.
He'd touched her with those very same hands, taken liberties in places no other had yet explored.
Could such a man even feel anything at all? Would she have ever been able to reach him with her heart? Had she just been lying to herself all this time, too blind to see his true nature? She knew he wasn't like her friends, but still…she had hoped…
It hurts…she wilted pitifully, clenching her chest and wanting to just reach in and pull out all the pain. She had seen plenty of violence in Hueco Mundo, but for some reason she could not fathom, seeing it come from Ulquiorra broke her heart. She had wanted something more than that from him. She had hoped he was something more than that.
She wasn't sure how long she lay there staring blankly at the wall, but the shadow that fell over her room did little to stir her from her grief. She had left her door open in her haste and, seeing this, the figure stepped closer at the sight of her limp form laying on her bed.
"Hey, princess!" a familiar gruff voice called out to her.
With a gasp Orihime lifted her head.
Puffy, red eyes greeted her visitor as she sniffled once, unable to hide the grooved lines of distress engraved on her brow.
"Grimmjow-kun?" Her voice was hoarse as she whispered his name. Standing near her doorway, he was all bandaged up from his fight and even had on a fresh uniform, leading her to believe quite a while had already passed without her knowing. Seeing him for the first time in days, her face began scrunching up as her emotions overcame her weary, heartbroken mind. Her eyes grew watery all over again and her bruised lips twisted into a pouty frown. She was happy to see him, but he'd been just as guilty as Ulquiorra in torturing Arturo. Granted, Orihime had come to expect that type of violence from him.
"Fucking really?" Grimmjow cursed in annoyance. "I don't see you in days and that's the face you give me?" His upper lip curled in a small snarl.
Like hell he was going to let her pull that shit again. He wasn't going to get sucked in. He'd come there to gloat, nothing more.
She stood from the bed and looked up at him with wounded eyes, like she was about to give up all hope. With her hair in disarray and her eyes that were red and swollen from crying, she looked like a mess. Glaring down at her, Grimmjow's brow only drew in tighter at the sight of her tattered lips.
"The fuck happened to you?" he snorted with an amused smirk. "Looks like you tried to make out with a goddamned meat grinder."
His comment only seemed to worsen her condition as new tears began welling up around her already damp lashes.
"Geez, it's just a joke," he huffed and leaned back against the frame of the doorway. It wasn't like it was his fault she went and stuck her mouth in a wood chipper, or whatever the hell had caused it. Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, he looked away with a heavy sigh. Staring blankly out into the hallway, his expression carried an uncharacteristic tightness. What the hell was he doing there anyways? He wanted to gloat over Ulquiorra, not the princess.
"You know what," he began irritably, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. "I knew I shouldn't have bothered coming back here," he muttered under his breath.
Roughly pushing from the door to leave, he froze in his tracks at the sound of her voice.
"Grimmjow-kun," she called softly.
Almost hesitantly he pulled his gaze from the floor.
Standing there, frail and small and beautiful with tears trailing silently down her cheeks, she looked as if she would break at the slightest touch.
Tentatively she stepped closer.
Every fiber and cell in his body wanted to push her away, to hurt her somehow, to warn both himself and her to never let her get near him again. Yet, against every one of those instincts, he didn't stop her when she reached out and gently flattened her palm over the bandages of his wound. Just above his hollow hole the soft glow that radiated from her hand slowly spread into his body, warming him with her reiatsu. She remained unusually quiet, staring blankly where her fingers lay splayed over his abdomen. As the ache eased she inched closer, her small hands grasping and searching for purchase. They clung to his jacket, burning him with her very real, very human heat.
Her forehead dropped against his sternum as she seemed to become even quieter than before.
He never should have come to her room.
It wasn't difficult to see what she was so upset about. Hell, it was the very reason he'd come back in the first place. He'd wanted to flaunt his metaphorical victory. He'd wanted to watch as she fell apart after witnessing her perfect little warden wasn't as perfect as she believed him to be.
If anything, it had probably saved her from further suffering by revealing Ulquiorra's nature sooner rather than later. Although Ulquiorra's attempt to avoid slaughtering the traitor in front of her had seemed like a semi-valiant bid to spare the overly sensitive girl from trauma, Grimmjow had known better. He suspected there was a much darker ulterior motive to his efforts. Ulquiorra was the farthest thing from compassionate. The reason he seemed so cruel was because he simply didn't give a damn about others. To see him even remotely displaying something similar to chivalry was a dead giveaway in and of itself.
"You're wasting your tears, princess," Grimmjow said acrimoniously, suddenly finding himself in a very bad mood.
When she hiccupped against his pectoral, Grimmjow nearly shivered from the feel of her hot breath exhaling over his cold, dead flesh. Nothing was ever warm in his world, not in Hueco Mundo. To suddenly feel such heat was a shock to the senses.
He couldn't help but growl in annoyance when she looked up at him with questioning eyes. Did she truly not get it?
Why couldn't she just see she was upset over nothing? Why was she such a slave to her pathetic human emotions? Why did she bother to heal him when she herself looked as if she were about to crumble to the floor? And why - fuck why - did she care about Ulquiorra?
"It's pointless to even care about what happened to that traitor. He would have blasted your pretty little ass right off the face of Hueco Mundo if Aizen hadn't put him in his place," he muttered between clenched teeth. "And you're here, absolutely beside yourself…just because you can't stand the thought of his death at Ulquiorra's hand."
With a startled gasp, Orihime stumbled away from him as he abruptly threw his fist out to the side, slamming it into the wall just to the right of her door in a fit of rage.
He stared down at her, bitter resentment coursing through his veins at the sight of her wide eyes gazing up at him in fear.
"You're out of your fucking mind," he ground out.
Shock and uncertainty registered on her face. But it was the flood of pity that spread through her eyes that was suddenly making him want to kill something. Deep inside, his blood boiled in his veins, threatening to swell to the surface.
Abruptly he turned away and stormed from the room, unable to take it anymore. His entire body was shaking and seething with something he didn't even remotely trust himself to control around the girl. He was unused to control, unused to restraining himself. Grimmjow knew he was going to snap. He could feel it. His claws ached to sink into flesh. He yearned for blood, bright and fresh and spilt by his hand. He wanted to smell its zesty aroma in the air and taste its metallic tang on his tongue. He really needed something like that…or a good, rough fucking.
An image of the princess writhing and panting underneath him as his dick stroked deep inside her came to mind and he quickly pushed it away.
The high from the beating he'd given Arturo earlier had suddenly faded and now he wanted more. But after that split second thought of her had crossed his mind, the only thing that would get him off now was a big breasted, red headed bimbo in his bed.
This was all Ulquiorra's fault. It was his fault he'd made the princess cry, his fault Grimmjow had to look at it, and it was his fault for not fighting him when he had the chance.
Standing alone and motionless in her room, Orihime flinched when the sound of Grimmjow's fist violently impacting a wall somewhere in the tower reached her ears.
"Fuck!" The echo of his voice reeked of his wrath, heavily laden with the angst of a sentiment she couldn't identify under the layers of fury.
Underfoot, the floor shook from the force of the collision, rattling against his unbridled rage.
As the walls settled and fell silent, Orihime slowly descended to her knees and stared blindly out the open doorway. With a tentative touch, she rested the tips of her fingers over her tumultuous heart, thinking how much she wished the palace wasn't such a terrible, loathsome place.
She wished her circumstances were different. She wished the occupants of Las Noches weren't so cruel. She wished there wasn't a war and she wished she hadn't just watched an arena full of Hollows cheer for the demise of one of their own, bequeathed a pitiless death sentence for things she still didn't understand.
So, why then…?
…why could she still not hate them?
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TBC
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