Bleach fanfic - Waiting For Him

[akuni]

HAPPY (almost) BIRTHDAY, Looky! ♥

Title: Waiting For Him
Author: Akuni
Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst
Rating: R (for mature themes)
Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime
Spoilers: Massive spoilers through manga chapter 316.
Warnings: This is a touch darker than my normal fare. It’s still not actually dark, because I am a wuss, but there are fewer fluffy rainbows and more mindfuckery than usual.
Word count: 7183
Summary: Orihime always seems to be waiting for Ulquiorra… and he always goes to her.

A/N: I’m sure my flist is picking themselves up off the floor after seeing this pairing, hehe. But it’s your birthday present, so you get your OTP if I’m at all capable of writing it. I didn’t know if I could do it, but apparently deadlines motivate me. ;)

This story follows Orihime after her incarceration at Las Noches, through the events of the Hueco Mundo arc. It conforms to on-screen canon, while reading between the lines to flesh out some scenes and adding new ones. Just when I had everything done, ch316 came out and I had to make a few last-minute adjustments. It’s actually a relief that there’s no chapter this week, because I don’t think I could've managed decent overnight changes purely on the chapter rumours that come out mid-week, and we couldn't have waited any longer to give you your pressies. :)

Many thanks to
moshesque for the beta, even though she doesn’t like Orihime or UlquiHime, not even a little bit. I owe you one, bigtime.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, I'm just borrowing it for a while.
Distribution: This is just for
r0ck3tsci3ntist, so no. :) Crossposted eventually to
kurosaki_clinic,
bleach_het, and
ulqui_hime.

Dedication: For Looky, for her upcoming birthday. :)

Waiting For Him

“This won’t change anything,” Orihime said. “The shinigami won’t change their minds about stopping Aizen.”

“They will all die.” Ulquiorra stepped toward her, divided by a sharp line of moonlight and shadow. Bathed in light, skin as white as fine porcelain glowed; drenched in darkness, fiery green eyes gleamed.

Clinging to her convictions, Orihime refused to back down. Instead, she forced herself to meet his cold stare and stand still as he approached.

“That won’t stop them, either,” she told him, her voice reflecting a calm she didn’t feel, doing her best to hide the panic twisting her insides. “The shinigami will come, and nothing you can do will change that. If they die, they’ll die content knowing they’re doing what they believe is right.”

Ulquiorra stopped right in front of her. She began to tremble as he inspected her intensely, every instinct screaming at her to flee. Then, when she thought she couldn’t take another second, he cocked his head and gazed out the small window.

“Your righteous ideals are meaningless,” he said, no inflection whatsoever in his tone. “Whether Aizen-sama sweeps out one insignificant bug or twenty is irrelevant - it is all trash in the end.”

An image of her friends lying broken in a trash heap defeated the shreds of her courage at last, and Orihime cringed, shrinking back in denial of such a cruel fate. A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered that it was her fault, all her fault… her friends were going to die, Kurosaki-kun was going to die because she was the weak link.

Ulquiorra stared at her, unblinking, for another long minute, then held out the neat white bundle he carried. “Change,” he ordered.

Arrancar clothes. “I… I don’t want those,” she objected weakly, clutching the sides of her school skirt.

Ulquiorra’s eyes narrowed, but his outstretched arm remained steady. “Change, or I will change you.”

The matter-of-fact way he said it chilled her more than any threat. Gingerly, Orihime took the bundle of clothes. She might have to wear their clothes, but she still had her womanly pride. Holding her head up, she took a deep breath and waited, resisting the urge to clutch the bundle to her chest.

Ulquiorra’s unnerving stare appraised her coolly, then he turned his back on her and strode out of the room.

When the door clanged shut behind him, Orihime dropped the unwanted clothes, clasping her hands to her chest and looking out the barred window at the crescent moon. She didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that flowed down her cheeks as she began unbuttoning her sweater.

*
    Ulquiorra had returned to her cell not long after she’d changed, and said two things that spun Orihime’s world upside down.

The first was his appraisal of her new clothing. “Surprisingly, it looks good on you,” he’d said.

Her stomach had flipped over, and a curious buzzing in her ears underscored both the babble she couldn’t contain and his request for her to desist.

The second drove her discomfiture at the first clean out of her head. “There is news,” he said, not noticing or caring about the effect his strange compliment had had on her. “Your nakama have come for you.”

Shock dulled her mind. On one level, she was aware of having a conversation, but on another she was just… blank. Total awareness only returned when Ulquiorra informed her that her willing adaptation to the arrancar uniform was proof that her fate was sealed, and commanded her to speak her obeisance.

She wouldn’t believe that. They were just clothes, they meant nothing. The small voice in her mind wondered why, then, had she resisted, clinging to the clothing that would now undoubtedly be taken away?

She wouldn’t believe it, but she already knew he was giving her an order, not a choice.

“The only purpose of my body and soul is for Aizen-sama and his ambition,” Orihime repeated obediently, lowering her lashes, using every scrap of her will to speak demurely and keep from trembling.

Ulquiorra favoured her with another of his unsettling gazes. “Good. Do not forget.”

The dull tap of his departing footsteps seemed ominously loud, and Orihime waited a full minute after they’d stopped before turning her thoughts inward. She never let herself think of her plan when he was in the room. There was no way he could read her mind, she was sure - even Hachi thought such a thing would be impossible. Even so, she took care to guard her thoughts until she was alone.

The servile words had tasted like dust in her mouth, but she’d already resolved to set aside her pride as a willing sacrifice for the cause. She indulged a brief fantasy, imagining herself as a hero - fantastically armoured and mounted atop a feisty chestnut stallion, flashes of bright sunlight reflecting from her polished silver shield as she stood by her friends and helped defend against a horde of evil albino nukekubi.

It was hard to hold on to such a shining fantasy, though, when every time she opened her eyes she was surrounded by stark white walls and pale moonlight that created deep, dark shadows around her.

Nevertheless, she would find a way. Orihime clenched her fists at her sides. She would reject the hougyoku, and all of this would just go away. Aizen would have no reason to fight her friends anymore, and Soul Society wouldn’t have to worry about an ever-expanding army of arrancar. Those he already had were terrifying enough, and the thought of facing an endless army of the powerful fighters was too daunting.

It was habit by now, thanks to Hachi’s lessons, to think out the possible ramifications of her actions. She envisioned rejecting the hougyoku, erasing it before it existed. Hachi’s explanation of why it wouldn’t change the events that had brought them all together was too complicated for her to fully understand, but there were other consequences to consider. If she unmade the hougyoku, what effect would that have on the arrancar?

It was startling, after wearing a false expression for so long, to feel her face wrinkle as she frowned. Since the arrancar were made with the hougyoku, would they be unmade along with it? Would they devolve back into ordinary Hollows? Would they explode in a burst of energy, or fizzle out like spent fireworks? It didn’t seem possible that someone as vividly, profoundly there as Ulquiorra could just be gone, be not there anymore.

A faint sound beyond her door sent a stab of fear that froze her heart, and it was only then Orihime realized that she hadn’t yet heard Ulquiorra’s footsteps walking away.

*
    The sharp crack of flesh on flesh reverberated in the high-ceilinged chamber. Vision blurring with unshed tears, Orihime was shocked as she registered the heat blooming in her hand, her palm stinging and her fingers numb from the force of her slap.

His heartless words rang in her mind over and over. Stupid… foolish… pathetic… losers… Sado-kun wasn’t dead. There was simply no way that could happen to one of her nakama. They would definitely win, they always did.

Panting, Orihime clung to the tattered remnants of her self-control, glaring her impotent wrath as she pressed her fist against her chest in an effort to keep from lashing out again.

Head still turned in the direction of her slap, Ulquiorra slid his eyes toward her, and for one awful moment she felt her life hang in the balance. His expression never shifted, his eyes never leaving hers as he slowly turned back to face her fully. Weighing, measuring, judging.

Then Ulquiorra looked away and turned his back on her completely. Her hand twitched, and Orihime clenched her fist tighter, suddenly certain that she’d been allowed this one act, and that a second would not be tolerated.

“I will return in one hour,” he said, striding to the door. He paused, and glanced at her over his shoulder. “If you haven’t eaten by then, I will restrain you and force you to eat. That is a promise.”

She didn’t doubt it.

It seemed she was always waiting for him - waiting for him to arrive, waiting for him to leave. When he did, the last of her strength gave out. Huddled in on herself, Orihime slumped against the wall, weeping softly, too exhausted to sob properly.

Eventually her tears ran out. A person could only cry so much before they became numb. It was a relief to be all cried out, to feel that empty calm after the storm, where everything was crisp and clear in its simplicity.

Thinking about her friends and her own predicament just hurt too much, though, so she turned her mind back to its continued analysis of her captors. The arrancar all appeared devoted to Aizen in one manner or another. In particular, the espada seemed to hold an even greater reverence to the shinigami who had elevated them.

Orihime wondered how much of it was due to the manner of their creation. Once she rejected the hougyoku, would they be free of Aizen? Ulquiorra’s worship of the man was blinding in its intensity, and every indication was that he’d follow Aizen unflinching into the flames of Hell - but how much of that was him, and how much was the nature of his being?

Though they all bowed to Aizen, not even the espada were alike in their behaviour toward him. Grimmjow didn’t hide his disdain for authority well at all, not even when Aizen had had her restore his arm, and Luppi had acted like a sullen child.

Did that mean that Ulquiorra had chosen Aizen more willingly, or that Aizen had wielded the hougyoku with more skill by the time he’d altered Ulquiorra? She almost felt sorry for him, if that was the case.

Would rejecting it free Ulquiorra or infuriate him? Would he react, or even care? There was no way to know, but one thing she did know was that she would inspire a reaction, a repugnant one, if she didn’t obey his order to eat.

Banishing all rebellious thoughts, Orihime steered the wheeled tray over to the couch and sat in front of it with determination. The food was entirely acceptable, if a little bland for her tastes, without even a dish of wasabi or red bean paste to flavour the soup, but every bite was a challenge that threatened to choke her.

When Ulquiorra returned after the designated hour - to the very minute, she was certain - she was standing beside the completely emptied meal tray, hands clasped at her waist. “Gochisosama,” she said, softly but clearly.

Ulquiorra eyed the tray, upon which only crumbs remained, and offered her a barely perceptible nod. “Good. Aizen-sama will be pleased.”

He wheeled the cart toward the door, then paused and said over his shoulder, “Force-feeding you would have been tiresome.”

“Yes, Ulquiorra-san,” she said as placidly as she could manage.

“I know you are a strong woman, Inoue Orihime. But do not waste your strength by resisting now.”

Orihime looked away, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment. He must be wrong. She wasn’t strong, she’d always just gotten in everyone’s way.

That night Orihime dreamed of defending her castle against an endless sea of arrancar. The image of a hundred million implacable warriors was even more frightening when the first wave broke against her walls, and she saw they all had Ulquiorra’s face.

*
    “The first of your nakama has encountered a true espada.” Ulquiorra stood before her with his hands in his pockets, as calmly if he hadn’t just announced her dear friend’s dire peril.

Orihime felt guilt flush her face as she dropped her gaze to her lap. She’d refused to rise when he’d entered her cell, her stomach knotting painfully as images and information bombarded her senses.

“Kuchiki Rukia battles Aaroniero Arruruerie, noveno espada - and you already know this.” His tone was sure, and almost… pleased? “One of his abilities is to instantly transmit all of the information about an enemy he fights to any of his comrades.”

The implication of that simple explanation was staggering, battering at the denial she’d built around herself when the onslaught had begun. Orihime refused to accept it, stubbornly pushing away the flood, attempting to close her mind. It had to be some kind of trick.

“It can be disorienting at first, but you will grow accustomed to the sensation in time, and you are strong enough to learn to filter it without thought,” Ulquiorra told her almost softly, his lowered tone nearly soothing compared to his normal brusque demeanour.

His reassurance was anything but. Her stomach heaved, and for an instant she actually considered leaping to her feet and bolting for the door. Any attempt to flee was surely doomed - he would catch her, no doubt, and punish her, but if she was fortunate he’d kill her outright, putting a stop to the madness filtering into her.

But no, Ulquiorra would never disobey his Aizen-sama, and even if she managed to get one of the others to kill her, that would make this entire exercise meaningless, and her friends would be in danger for nothing.

Fight or flight, and flight wasn’t an acceptable option.

Instead, Orihime smoothed her hands over the folds of her coat and stood to face him. They were the same height, but that never seemed to matter - his presence always dwarfed her.

“Why do you keep coming here?” she asked evenly. There was no logical reason for it. If it wasn’t such an absurd idea, she’d almost think he was lonely.

His stare didn’t make her flinch anymore. She waited patiently, but Ulquiorra didn’t answer. He simply stared at her unblinking for several heartbeats before he turned away and left.

*
    It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real, she was a human, one of the good guys. Orihime steadfastly refused to watch, refused to see the fight that played in her mind as clearly as her favourite television program.

But the longer it went on, the harder it was to ignore. At the last, Orihime felt the blow that felled her friend, sympathetic pain erupting in her own middle. A brief moment of triumph as Kuchiki-san gathered her strength and defeated her opponent couldn’t take away the sting of the wound Orihime knew to be fatal.

She couldn’t deny it anymore, not with the image of Kuchiki-san hanging limply from the end of Aaroniero’s trident - insult to injury, skewered by the form of her fallen mentor’s zanpakutou - burning in her very soul.

“Let me out!!” Orihime cried, beating her fist against the door. “Let me out of here!!” Throat raw from her sudden desperate shouts, she pounded harder. “Please let me out! Let me out!”

No one would come, she knew it, but she couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. Maybe they’d let her out just to heal her friends, just enough to send them home alive. Maybe…

“Let me…” Her fist trembled against the door as hope died, and she leaned her head against it in despair. She’d thrown Sado-kun’s survival up in front of Ulquiorra as a shield, holding fast behind the strength and security that was Sado-kun. But his reiatsu was still weak, and growing fainter by the minute.

Now Kuchiki-san had fallen; this time she not only sensed it, but she could see it as well, and…

“No… it’s too much,” Orihime whispered, tears falling unchecked. “Kuchiki-san…”

They’d been through so much together, it was unthinkable that it should end this way. Kuchiki-san hadn’t survived all these years to be defeated by a demon with a stolen face. The Soukyoku had been worse, and she’d made it through that…

…with a little help from her friends.

“Hold on,” she urged under her breath, shame at her perfidy twisting in her heart. “Kurosaki-kun, Renji-kun, Ishida-kun, they’re all on their way.”

Wiping her eyes, she stumbled away from the door and collapsed, exhausted, beside the couch. “Don’t let her die, Kurosaki-kun. Please save her.”

*
    Orihime had always been sensitive to her friends’ energies, taking it for granted that she could feel their presence. It was especially strong concerning Kurosaki-kun, whose reiatsu was like no one else’s, and whose scent seemed permanently imprinted in her memory.

Now for the first time, she wished with all her heart not to have that ability. On her knees in front of the couch, her head was bowed as that ability tortured her relentlessly. The fabric of the cushion was rough beneath her reddened, clutching fists, and she trembled from head to foot as she suffered through feeling Kurosaki-kun and Ulquiorra fight.

Kurosaki-kun was strong, but so was Ulquiorra. When Kurosaki-kun had fought Grimmjow in the living world, he’d been hurt so badly. Would he have improved enough in a month of training to defeat someone even higher in the power rankings?

Her head snapped up when she felt his reiatsu drop. “Kuro…sa…ki…-kun?” It couldn’t be. She didn’t want to think why he wasn’t fighting anymore, why Ulquiorra wasn’t attacking anymore.

A loud rattle at the door set her heart thumping madly in her chest. It wasn’t possible, he couldn’t have returned from that fight so quickly, and he’d never be so clumsy, but still his name formed on her lips automatically as she began to rise. “Ulq-”

She froze when two faces full of malevolent mischief peered through the doorway. “See that? The princess is all alone.”

Cold sweat broke out as they approached, eyes gleaming. “Orihime-chan, let’s play~!” one of them singsonged.

The “game” hurt, more than she’d ever been hurt before. Worse than when Yammy had crushed her to the ground. She couldn’t fight them, and she couldn’t defend against them. For some reason, she didn’t want to. But the entire time she knew, indisputably, that Ulquiorra would return.

She had to hold on, just a little longer. He’d said she was strong, so she would be strong. She just had to hold on until Ulquiorra returned… and then there would be peace.

*
    When Grimmjow flung her out from under the dusty cloth he’d wrapped her in to smuggle her out of her cell, she was blinded by the bright light. She stumbled awkwardly, falling hard on her knees. Blinking away the sting, she forgot the stabbing pain in her legs as her vision cleared.

Orihime thought knowing he’d fallen and even feeling the blow was torture.

That was nothing.

Seeing it was so much worse. “Ku…Kuro…saki…-kun.” Robbed of breath, Orihime could only stare, her eyes returning over and over to the gaping hole in his chest that seemed a fitting match for the dreadful ache burning in her own. In a way it was a good thing; her heart would shatter if she had to look too long at his glazed eyes staring sightlessly at the artificial sky.

“Fix him.” Grimmjow’s brutal order shocked her out of her stupor. She shot him a startled look over her shoulder, not quite believing he could be serious. But his face was set, watching her expectantly. He meant it.

Mechanically she called forth Ayame and Shun’ou. It wasn’t too late. She’d healed worse, hadn’t she?

Orihime focused all her attention on healing, barely noticing the guilt-ridden, heart-rending shrieks from the tiny arrancar girl.

The large spiritual pressure surrounding his wounds kept getting in her way. Unbelievably, she found she couldn’t reject it. But that simply wasn’t possible - she’d always been able to reject anything she wanted, even death. Shinigami and arrancar both had come back after having half their bodies disintegrated or torn away. He’d said she was strong, so she could do this.

“Who… who would do such a thing?” she asked herself, once again refusing to acknowledge the truth in front of her. She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Grimmjow replied.

“It’s Ulquiorra.”

Her eyes flew open wide and her lips went numb. Hearing it stated outright stripped her carefully constructed delusions. Grimmjow’s explanation of Ulquiorra’s habit confirmed her growing suspicion about Ulquiorra.

The Hollow hole was the focus of all the pain and loss and desire of a lonely spirit. And Ulquiorra inflicted that same wound on enemies that caught his interest. Despite everything, she felt a growing sympathy for him; she knew too well what it was like to feel so alone, what that kind of ache did to a person.

Orihime concentrated harder on her task as Grimmjow began ranting and the little arrancar sobbed noiselessly. A twitch and a groan brought three heads whipping around as Kurosaki-kun blinked back to life.

“Nel… and… Inoue?” he rasped.

“Kurosaki-kun!” Relief slammed into her, and she smiled for the first time since she’d followed Ulquiorra away from her home. The arrancar child - Nel - clung to her shoulder and sobbed his name.

Her happiness was short-lived, as Grimmjow started snarling again and revealed that he wanted Kurosaki-kun healed so they could fight again.

No. She wouldn’t do it. Kurosaki-kun would survive now, that was enough. Before she could refuse, though, everything shifted.

The buzz of a sonido and an unmistakeable shift in the energy around them announced the arrival of another.

All three of them turned to see Ulquiorra standing behind Grimmjow, hands stuffed casually into his pockets as always, but wearing as intense an expression of displeasure as Orihime had ever seen on the milky white face.

“Ulquiorra,” Grimmjow snarled.

“… What are you doing, Grimmjow?”

The tension thickened as the two espada stared each other down. Orihime looked between them, and measured them, smooth green against jagged blue.

“I said what are you doing?” Ulquiorra repeated. “What are you trying to accomplish, going to all this trouble to heal an enemy I already defeated?”

Grimmjow remained silent, teeth clenched tightly.

“… Are you not going to answer?” Ulquiorra waited, and then for the first time, his eyes slid toward her. His expression flattened, and she didn’t know how to read him. Was he relieved? Disappointed? Surely he didn’t expect her to fight Grimmjow. He’d said she was strong, but she’d never be strong enough for that. But should she have tried anyway?

It was too much. She lowered her head, casting her eyes to the side, and sent her energy into the healing shield still surrounding Kurosaki-kun.

There was another long pause, and she could feel the weight of his stare. “…Very well. But first, I have been ordered by Aizen-sama to take care of that woman next to you. Give her to me,” Ulquiorra commanded.

“I refuse.” Grimmjow spoke at last, his reply sharp and immediate.

The moment held. “What did you say?” Ulquiorra asked evenly.

Grimmjow’s eyes flicked back toward her, and then his mouth curled up in a sneer. “What’s the matter? You’re sure talkin’ a lot today, Ulquiorra!” He lunged, and Ulquiorra’s eyes widened fractionally as he raised his left hand to catch Grimmjow’s fist.

“I know all about it, Ulquiorra!” Grimmjow crowed, his tone so suggestive even she couldn’t miss the innuendo. “You’re afraid to fight me, aren’t you? Afraid we’ll crush each other to pieces!”

Reckless energy swirled around him, and the red glow gathering between their joined hands spat and sparked wildly. Open surprise painted the normally stoic face as Grimmjow released a cero point-blank on them both.

Orihime bit her lip to keep from crying out as Ulquiorra flew backward. Why did they fight? Weren’t they supposed to be on the same side? It made no sense; it would be like Ishida-kun and Sado-kun fighting each other.

They weren’t even fighting for the same thing. Grimmjow was fighting for her to heal Kurosaki-kun, and Ulquiorra was fighting for… for what?

For her. “Give her to me,” he’d said. Ulquiorra was fighting to protect her, against one of his fellow espada.

That thought really shouldn’t warm her as much as it did, but it seemed like forever since anyone had shown her such kindness. The longer she spent in Hueco Mundo, the farther away it all seemed, her old life reduced to flashes of memory while she sat in her cell. Her life had been reduced to the basics: tension when Ulquiorra was with her, and empty inanity when she was waiting for him to return.

Grimmjow laughed, rough and ugly. “So you deflected it, I guess one shot won’t be enough!” He swung his arm forward and another cero began to form.

Ulquiorra’s sonido buzzed again, and before Grimmjow could release the second blast, one long, black-nailed finger was unleashing a cero straight at the back of his head. Grimmjow blocked, but only barely, and the two espada were caught in another explosion, dust and debris obscuring their continued battle.

Orihime couldn’t see, but by the repeated sounds of rapid sonido she suspected she wouldn’t be able to follow the fight visually even if she could see it. But she felt it, each blow, each blast, each exchange she sensed from Ulquiorra - along with his unprecedented astonishment when Grimmjow hooked him by his Hollow hole and he was sucked away somewhere she couldn’t follow. Her sense of him faded when the rift closed, and she blinked at the loss; she hadn’t realized how attuned she’d become to his presence.

“Wh…what was that, just now?” Orihime asked tremulously.

She shouldn’t have been relieved when Grimmjow explained that Ulquiorra wouldn’t be trapped for more than two or three hours. Even that was bad enough. Trapped, alone, in a place of absolute sensory deprivation… a more horrible fate she couldn’t imagine for the lonely espada who was her protector.

“Hurry up and fix him,” Grimmjow ordered, his tone impatient.

Orihime ducked her chin stubbornly. “I don’t want to,” she said. No more fighting. Not for her, not if she could help it.

She choked when Grimmjow grabbed her by the throat and screamed at her, but she remembered she was strong, and stood her ground.

“You’re going to hurt Kurosaki-kun again if I heal him, won’t you?” This time it might be more than he could take, and she couldn’t live with that on her conscience. “I definitely don’t want to heal him for that!”

When Kurosaki-kun intervened, she didn’t know whether to be grateful or disappointed.

He wanted to fight. He didn’t even look at her at first, as he asked her to heal him. When he did, it was to ask her to heal Grimmjow as well.

The better to tear each other apart again, she supposed, her heart splintering.

At least Kurosaki-kun had said “please”.

*
    “Don’t die, Kurosaki-kun!”

Even as the words had burst out of her, she’d known.

What had happened to, “Kurosaki-kun is definitely going to win”?

What of, “any time Kurosaki-kun says he’ll do something, it’s as good as an oath”?

What of her vow to herself, to believe?

Empty words, from an empty heart.

She’d lost faith in her friends again, and this time in the one person she’d always counted on, always cheered for, who’d never let any of them down. He’d rescued her more times than she could even remember, and she rewarded him with distrust.

The look he’d given her before springing away had tugged the strings of her girlish heart, but now she knew it to be only fleeting nostalgia. The same kind eyes had shone out at her when the mask had fallen away and Grimmjow lay dying, but the damage had been done, and she’d never be able to forgive herself.

She wasn’t worthy; Urahara-san had been right, she was just getting in the way.

When Zaraki-san and Yachiru-chan arrived, they brought with them a revelation that would have brought Orihime to her knees had she not been held in Nnoitra’s iron grip. Her friends would survive, would thrive even with their comrades from Soul Society behind them. They didn’t need her after all, and would probably be better off without her.

The arrancar were the ones in danger, now.

So why wasn’t she more relieved?

Orihime was still puzzling over that when Stark arrived, speaking softly and politely as he retrieved her right in front of Zaraki-san and Kurosaki-kun, grasping her shoulder gently and whisking her back the throne room.

*
    Their eyes met unerringly across the echoingly empty expanse of the throne room. Hands in his pockets, he strolled toward her, face as expressionless as always.

“Are you afraid?” Ulquiorra asked as he approached, his steps unhurried.

Orihime wondered what he thought she should be afraid of. Afraid for the invaders now that Aizen had begun making his move, or for herself?

“You’re worthless to Aizen-sama. There’s no one to protect you now.”

Oddly, that thought didn’t worry her. Since she’d come to Las Noches, the other inhabitants of the palace had ignored her, reviled her, or beaten her; at this point, there wasn’t much left to be afraid of. She didn’t know how to explain that, though, so she remained silent, watching him slowly draw nearer.

“It’s over for you. You’ll die here alone, with no one touching you.”

Orihime stared at him curiously; something in his voice wasn’t right. Ulquiorra had pressed her to the breaking point before, but the way he was taunting her now felt different, somehow… sharper, and more personal. The strangeness of it overrode any concern she might have had about his prediction of her death. She turned to face him fully, and in an instant he was standing before her, radiating the same confidence and calm as always, seeming unaffected by having been locked away.

Apparently she’d worried for nothing. Orihime wondered when she’d started worrying about him, but it was hard to think when he was right in her space, so close, almost too close. Inexplicably, her pulse began to race, and she wrapped her arms around her middle to keep from trembling.

Ulquiorra remained where he was as he continued. “That is frightening, or so I am told.”

It was impossible to look away. She knew he saw everything, knew that he would know his proximity was having a confusing affect on her, but his only outward indication was hidden deep within his eyes. Big, bright, and green, they glowed faintly in the shadowed room, and the longer she looked into them, the clearer she could see the flicker of suppressed emotions burning beneath his nearly flawless façade.

Did he want her to be afraid? Maybe she should be, but Orihime couldn’t find any fear in her empty heart.

“I’m not afraid,” she told him, proud of the composure she managed to project. “Everyone came to save me, so now my heart is there with them.”

It was a lie, plain and simple, but she’d had enough of his pushing. Orihime didn’t know what had happened to annoy him, but with Aizen already moving there was no reason for her to pretend to be docile any longer.

Unsurprisingly Ulquiorra ignored her, but there was a brief flash in his eyes that told her she’d inadvertently scored a hit. But why should that have bothered him?

Releasing her gaze at last, Ulquiorra looked her over intently, no doubt cataloguing every new bruise, every new rip in her clothing. The bruises Nnoitra had left on her face and neck while forcing her to watch Tesla beat on Kurosaki-kun earned a faint frown, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

Finally Ulquiorra seemed satisfied and broke off the visual examination. “You are not seriously harmed. That is good.”

“I… I’m fine.” His concern confused her even more, but she had something more pressing to worry about.

“Is it true?” she asked, fearing the answer but needing to know. Ulquiorra would tell her the truth, she knew, he’d always told her the truth without any sugar coating.

Odd how such an honest, straightforward man had come to serve such a dishonest master. Everything about Aizen was based on deception, secrets wrapped in illusions, lies hidden within truths. Ulquiorra was exactly what he seemed to be, no false veneer. In that respect, she couldn’t have asked for a better guardian during her imprisonment.

“Yes. You were brought here as a diversion.” Ulquiorra almost seemed as if he would say more, but he looked away. A wave of his hand and a muttered incantation made the air shimmer briefly.

“I have put wards around this room that Aizen-sama himself would need to work to break.” Abruptly he turned and began walking away. “You will be safe here. I will return for you after the battle.”

Of course there would be a battle now, one that that would shake the entire dimension, she was sure - and he had chosen to protect her from it, and everything else outside this room. Without orders, and without explanation.

“Be careful.” Orihime blinked; she had no idea why she’d said that.

Ulquiorra stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. He nodded slowly, then vanished.

*
    It wasn’t strange anymore, hearing the battle with her mind instead of her ears. She’d even learned to identify the fighters by their unique battle cues.

The soft, silky swooshing, like a thousand butterflies taking wing, was Byakuya-san. She closed her eyes and saw him standing proudly, one hand sweeping wide as he directed Senbonzakura’s flow, the other sending a flash of white lightning lancing through the ranks of those who stood against him.

The screaming roars and sharp clicks were Renji-kun and Hihiou Zabimaru. The fur of his cape was ruffled by the wind of Zabimaru’s rapid coil-and-strike tactics, and blood dripped unheeded into his fierce eyes.

Between them, Orihime felt the intense chill of the spray of ice from Kuchiki-san’s Sode no Shirayuki. Searing balls of blue fire leapt from her hands as she guarded Renji-kun’s flank. The shy little healer whose name was so hard to remember made a stand behind them, his miniature zanpakutou clutched in his fist.

Sado-kun and Ishida-kun were fighting together, she could tell, covering each others’ backs. They both felt so controlled; Ishida-kun’s spirit arrows sizzled toward their opponents over and over with uncanny precision, and no one got past Sado-kun’s solid protection.

A high-pitched laugh and a wave of darkness made her sigh in resignation. Kurosaki-kun had put on his Hollow mask again. Orihime wondered why it felt so different, why Kurosaki-kun’s reiatsu got so heavy and thick and was always roiling, when Ulquiorra’s was just as dark but felt so much lighter, and was always smooth.

Orihime marked Zaraki-san and Yachiru-chan by their laughter. Death danced happily in their wake.

She wrinkled her nose at the putrid smell that hung around Kurotsuchi Mayuri like a cloud of noxious perfume. Nemu-san was broken again; he wouldn’t like that.

The soothing aura of serenity that swooped in and out of the battle was Unohana-san. Isane-san was the drone of excited energy that buzzed around her.

Ulquiorra’s deep green energy was everywhere. He was the general, she realized, the last true espada in Hueco Mundo, charged by Aizen to deal with the situation at Las Noches. Orihime easily caught the sense of him through the battle, and could almost hear him issuing firm orders in his dispassionate tone, his speedy sonido taking him instantly to where he needed to be on the field.

Spots of bright colours marked the presence of an arrancar directing the ranks of ordinary Hollows. They sparkled and flashed like a rainbow in a sun shower. Most of the Hollows were dull, their minds slow, their straightforward fighting based on brute strength. Their deaths were quick and relatively painless, but she felt the sting when one of the arrancar fell. Sometimes their colours lost their shine slowly; sometimes they simply went out.

At the first long, piercing wail that stabbed her ears, her hands flew up instinctively before she lowered them again, realizing it would do no good. The scream was purely mental, an espada’s dying cry, projected to all of the other espada through some connection that transcended dimensions, and through Ulquiorra to her.

On and on it went, for countless hours, and she sensed all of it. Every blow, every parry, every explosion. Every death. She couldn’t turn off the empathy that had grown so strong since she’d come to Las Noches. It was like a consolation prize for failing in her self-assigned mission to reject the hougyoku and put a stop to the carnage.

Their timeline had been off, so far off. Aizen wasn’t supposed to leave so soon, and the shinigami weren’t supposed to invade yet. She should’ve made the attempt the very moment Aizen had brought her in range. Now it was too late, and all the blood spilling onto the sand was flowing over her hands.

Aizen’s casual declaration that she’d been a pawn, a tool used to manipulate the important people in her life, people who cared about her, had torn at her conscience. She had always been the weak link, she’d made them vulnerable, and now shinigami and arrancar alike were paying the price.

Why didn’t they know? How could they have fallen so easily into this trap?

No more.

He’d said she was strong, so she could do better from now on.

Orihime had no idea how long the battle had been raging, had long since given up trying to follow the flow, when Ulquiorra released his zanpakutou. Instead she’d clung to a single thread at a time in an attempt to keep from being swept away, but if it went on much longer she thought she might go insane.

Now the frayed edges of her mind latched onto the impression of dark, leathery wings that accompanied the colossal burst of his power as Ulquiorra assumed his true form. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw it for the first time. He was magnificent, a shining dark prince hovering protectively over his master’s castle. His energy appeared boundless - he fired cero and bala at his opponents in quick succession, and though she knew he wouldn’t let so much as a drop of sweat show, she could feel how much each blast drained him, feel his body straining from the effort of channelling so much energy at once.

It was with great sadness that she realized all his efforts would ultimately not be enough. The arrancar forces had been whittled away to a fraction of their size, while the invaders were still strong, brought back from the brink over and over. It was like a zombie film, only this was real, and the zombies were coming for her.

Orihime shook her head, trying to clear the cacophony and confusion; that didn’t make sense, did it?

A curious rushing sound overrode the other sounds of battle, drawing nearer and nearer. It sounded like she’d always imagined flying would sound, with the air whooshing past her ears. She’d have to remember to ask Ulquiorra when he returned. Funny how she always seemed to be waiting for him.

Then the entire room shook as something smashed into the roof. The ceiling cracked overhead and great chunks of it broke away to reveal the sky outside, followed by an enormous boulder. Fascinated, Orihime watched the debris fall toward her, only to disintegrate as they touched the glowing green shield that flashed with every impact.

Orihime smiled. He’d thought of everything.

Orihime turned her face up to the exposed patch of sky. She knew the sunlight wasn’t real, just another of Aizen tricks, but it was still warm and comforting. As she stood looking up at the Las Noches sky, she basked in the false sun and let it burn away her doubts and insecurities.

*
    Once again, their gazes were drawn instinctively across the abandoned throne room.

It was like a slow-motion scene from a film, she thought as he staggered toward her, his normally pristine white coat in bloody tatters.

“Ayame! Shun’ou!” Not waiting for permission, Orihime ran toward him. “Souten Kisshun!”

The sight of the mangled, sad-faced figure crashing to his knees triggered all of her protective instincts. A half dozen more steps and she was there, flinging herself down before him. Both hands slapped hard against the floor, and her hair spilled over her shoulders as she ducked her head to try and catch a glimpse at the face hidden by the bowed head.

“Hold on,” she whispered fiercely, willing him to look up and pierce her with his intense green stare. “Please, it’s all right now.”

Ulquiorra raised his head just as the healing shield sprang up between them. His left eye was gone, the hollow socket collapsed, the other swollen and bloodshot. He was missing three fingers on his left hand, and his right wrist was cocked at an impossible angle. But as he looked up at her, head tilted unnaturally to one side, the corner of his torn mouth turned up just enough.

“I can’t… the left, I can’t get around your energy,” she fretted, biting her lip in consternation.

“It will… regenerate on its own.” Blood bubbled out of the side of his mouth as he spoke, but his one eye remained fixed on hers.

It was almost a shock when the battle sounds ended, and only the sound of his wet, rasping breaths filled the air. Ulquiorra’s eyebrows rose high, then his face fell.

Orihime knew what that meant. If she could bear to spare the energy from healing him, she knew she’d sense the shinigami forces had been victorious. Her heart ached when a low, lost sound rose in his throat, his unflappable composure finally cracked with Aizen’s death.

She watched as his wounds shrank and closed, the skin and bones restored without so much as a single scar. It never failed to fascinate her, this remarkable power she possessed. It was unlike anyone else’s.

He was right. She was strong.

“It’s all right,” Orihime told him again, letting the shield drop and dismissing Ayame and Shun’ou as he flexed his uninjured hands. “Really.”

“How?” Ulquiorra demanded. “I’m an espada, what am I supposed to do…” He swallowed, throat working soundlessly as he faltered, unable to say the words - but they weren’t really necessary, because she already knew.

What was left for the last remaining espada now that his Aizen-sama was gone?

They knelt a half a pace apart, two white-clad figures on the dark stone dais. Something unspoken and unnameable rose between them, inexplicable yet undeniable.

Orihime lifted her hand to Ulquiorra’s face, brushing her fingers over his cheek.

Ulquiorra flinched away from her touch, but remained right in front of her. Orihime smiled at him, understanding, then slowly reached for him again. Gently placing her hand on his cheek, she caressed the pale, shadowed skin under the mask without trepidation.

His eyes grew wide, then his fingertips came up and pressed lightly against the back of her hand.

Frantic footsteps thundered in the corridors beyond, signalling the imminent arrival of the victors, but that didn’t matter now.

They didn’t need her, not anymore. But he did.

END

A/N2: Shelagh is in on the birthday action, too, of course! :D I was happy to give her a good excuse to draw UlquiHime (we enable each other terribly, lol!), and it was an interesting challenge for me to write this pairing.

As ever, click the pic to view full size at
xshelaghx's gallery, and leave your pic-love there.

'You Make Me Strong'



Aren't they pretty? :)