The Model Servant: Battle Strategy
Ulquiorra stared over the prone figure tossing and writhing in a tangled mess of sheets on the bed. After visiting Sazyelapporo and seeing the poor state of the Quincy, Ulquiorra had been compelled to visit his own - What? What was the Woman now? His prisoner? His servant? His fraccion? He hadn't thought of what she was exactly to him... but he supposed her current position didn't matter.
The Woman choked back a sigh, and the Fourth Espada moved half a step closer to her bed. He watched her intently. Orihime was dreaming again. Tears stained her eyes. Her mouth moved and sobs came out. The Woman could be so brave in front of him, with smiles and casual exchanges of words, but she could not hide the pain in her heart. He knew the Fourth Tower kept her in isolation. She heard and saw no one but him. Her current circumstances and the traumatic demise of her friends had wounded her. She was haunted. She was weakening. The Woman was flower slowly choking with no water or sunlight.
“Please no,” she whimpered and jerked her head.
Instead of waking the Woman or soothing her, Ulquiorra fisted his hands in his pockets.
What have you done to me?
The heart. He had one now. It was still surreal to believe. She had saved his worthless life and restored him. He wanted to hate and despise her, but he could not deny the benefits his new heart gave him. For once in his existence - or for as long as he could remember - he could empathize with another individual. It gave him extra foresight on the battle field. It gave him an alternate way to strategize.
“I'm sorry.” Ulquiorra narrowed his eyes as he watched the Woman cry out.
He had provided a grand bed for her with white cotton sheets and a small library of human books of history to read and a desk to write at. She had been given a small wardrobe of different - and decent - Arrancar uniforms to wear and a tiny kitchen with the barest necessities had been installed to cater to her needs. It such a nuisance, but a necessary one. The Woman was suffering. At her current decline of mental state and physical health, she would die soon. That was not something he could allow. He had read in books the fragile state of the human mind. She was suffering from heart ache. The destruction of her friends weighed heavily on her.
Ulquiorra had yet to experience the previous nonsense he had labeled as faith and joy and fear and pain - and if the Woman's suffrage was anything to go by, he wasn't sure he wanted to.
What have you done to me?
“Please don't go!” the Woman begged in her sleep and the thin strap of her white night shirt slide down her shoulder. She was still decent In every sense of the way, but the sight made Ulquiorra pause once again.
With his new heart came other sensations and odd things that he had never thought about. The taste of food suddenly became delightful - or horrible - depending on what he ate. The false sun light underneath the dome now made him pause and appreciate it in a way he never had before. Colors and textures suddenly had more meaning. There were other things too, terrible things like how one could devastate a soldier on the battlefield not in death and not by loss, but by dark and cruel things that would last the inflicted a life time and more with the guarantee to never recover. His heart made him more aware.
The Woman moaned again and turned over onto her side. Her fiery locks cascaded down her neck and disappeared into the loose fabric at the top of her shirt. Ulquiorra followed her fiery tresses with his eyes. He was more aware now...
What have you done to me?
“Don't leave me!” the Woman suddenly gasped and tossed herself over the edge of the bed. Ulquiorra stood back and watched as she smacked her head on the cold tile and cried out softly. The smell of blood wafted his senses and his eyes narrowed in on the split flesh above the Woman's forehead. Assessing the wound, he soon dismissed it as inconsequential. Wincing, Orihime rubbed her head. Her hair was messed and tears smeared across her cheek bones. Sitting up, she turned to him in confusion.
“Ulquiorra? You scared me,” She murmured and slowly stood up. The blankets clung around her shoulders and waist, trapping and effectively concealing her legs underneath the fabric. He stared at her until she looked away.
“Get up,” He commanded and Orihime's brow furrowed. Slowly she rose to her feet.
If she was ever going to be a proper servant to Lord Aizen, then she needed practice. The Woman was a wild element, sharp and unyielding; but with the proper instruction, he was sure the she could be molded into something useful. That was of course a far way off. It had been a half of a year since Aizen had conquered Soul Society and with everything that had come after, his master had yet to express any interest in the prisoners that had survived.
“If this is about the bed, then I can share -”
“Silence,” He ordered in monotone. To his satisfaction, the Woman complied. She looked vulnerable there, shivering and clutching the sheets. She looked like prey. Ulquiorra slowly circled her. She wasn't eating enough. There were days when he knew that she ate to satisfactory and then there were other days when she ate nothing at all. She was thinning out. Dark rings wrung under eyes indicating her lack of sleep. Her skin lost it's healthy glow as it turned to paper. Her hair lost its sheen. She was still beautiful - but in a tragic way, more than anything.
It was unacceptable. She was his now and he would have her life. She would live.
Reaching out, the pad of his finger traced the blood of her wound up her skin until he found the source of the broken flesh. He knew his probing caused her pain, but she kept silent and bit her lip. Her eyes briefly met his - and for a moment he saw his reflection in them - before she looked away. Humans were so fragile. The visage of the damaged Quincy in Granz's lab flashed before his eyes.
How could he train her when she still rebelled? How could she surrender when she still thought there was freedom? He stood on a delicate scale. On one hand obedience was required and absolute; but on the other her mind was damaged and her fragility all the more apparent. How could he nurture her spirit and bow her will? How could he make her bend without breaking her?
His problems stemmed from her damnable heart. It was the reason she was in so much pain. It was the reason she was still able to gather strength and stand. Her heart burned and the fires from it made her unpredictable.
“Get dressed.”
How could he tame the fire in her heart without extinguishing it? How could he remove it without killing her?
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