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The silence was deafening as Orihime stared out the window, pale hands curled around the bars obscuring her view of Hueco Mundo’s starless sky. She couldn’t tell whether it was morning or night—she’d lost much of her sense of time over the past several months, and it hardly mattered anyways. Thus far, she’d only been permitted to leave her cell to meet with Aizen and take care of her basic hygiene needs.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she wished, inexplicably, that she could still follow the passage of time. As it were, the days bled into one another, dripping into endless nightfall that bit by bit wore away at the resolve deep in her heart. Orihime knew she had to stay strong—for Kurosaki-kun, and everyone else waiting at home—but looking into the depths of that empty desert, despair rocketed through her veins.
A knock sounded at the door. Orihime didn’t turn to look, but she knew who had come by the twist of the doorknob, by the tapping of his shoes against the floor.
“Ulquiorra,” she said, fingers tightening against the cool metal.
He didn’t say anything, and Orihime suddenly feared that she had guessed incorrectly, that whoever was lurking behind her was not the familiar figure of her jailer. She looked over her shoulder, cautious, and strange relief pooled in her fingertips when she saw him standing there, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Woman,” he said tonelessly, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Aizen-sama has ordered that I take you for a turn down the halls. He worries after your health and how it could potentially affect your capabilities.”
“That’s very kind of him,” said Orihime, a hint of sarcasm creeping into her voice as she turned back to the window. While she knew blatantly disrespecting Aizen in front of his loyal servant would inevitably invite punishment, she couldn’t help but wonder whether Ulquiorra actually cared enough about defending his reputation to respond to her provocations.
“Yes,” said Ulquiorra, stepping forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t harsh, but his grip was firm, and the frigidity of his skin soaked through the fabric of her uniform.
Orihime shivered, and leaned back into the touch. She hadn’t felt such direct contact in what felt like an eternity, and the feel of his hand on her body was so comforting she pushed away all thoughts of betrayal festering in her mind.
Ulquiorra’s hold tightened slightly, squeezing, before he released her shoulder. “Aizen-sama’s orders were immediate,” he said as he strode towards the door. “I suggest you follow, or I will have to use force to ensure your cooperation.”
Orihime took a breath, head hanging, and let her hands fall to her sides. After a second’s pause, she took off after him, barely slipping through the heavy doors that had already begun to close in his wake. They slammed shut behind them, the sound of the lock clicking shut reverberating in the still, otherwise silent hallway.
Ulquiorra was a few paces ahead of her, and though Orihime knew he must have heard her, he didn’t stop to wait.
“Hold on, Ulquiorra,” she urged as he turned a corner, heading off into parts of Las Noches she had never seen before. “I—I don’t know where to go…”
Scurrying forwards into the dark, she yelped when she bumped into something solid. She reached out to determine what she’d stumbled upon, and an embarrassed flush settled on her cheeks when she grasped cold hands with her own. Ulquiorra had obviously stopped to wait, and Orihime, like a moron, had run right into him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, jerking her hands back. “I didn’t—I had no idea that you…”
Ulquiorra grabbed her wrist, and pulled her closer. “I believe there has been a malfunction,” he said green eyes bright even in the unlit corridor. “The lights should be on at this hour.”
“And, um… what hour would that be, exactly?” asked Orihime, heart racing at her proximity to Ulquiorra’s chest. They were so close now that if she took a single step towards him, she would be essentially wrapped in his arms.
Ulquiorra shot her a look, and Orihime thought she could see a flick of curiosity in his expression. “Five in the evening,” he said. “Do you not have a means of determining what time it is, woman?”
Orihime shook her head, embarrassed. “No,” she admitted, staring down at her long nails. “I have no clock in my room and outside it’s always nighttime, so… I’ve never had to.”
“I will ask Aizen-sama to put one in place, then,” said Ulquiorra with finality, relinquishing his hold on her wrist and sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Now come. I do not want to waste more of my time on this than is required.”
Orihime’s cheeks burned. Here she was, imposing her own desires and problems on Ulquiorra, who probably wanted nothing more than to see her dead and gone. There was something so upsetting about her helpless selfishness – she had to reach out and ask because Aizen didn’t give her anything, hardly let her do anything more than sit in her dingy cell and languish away until her friends swept in to rescue her. “Sorry, Ulquiorra,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I’ll stop now.”
Ulquiorra, ignoring her apology, said, “Grab onto my sleeve, woman. Aizen-sama would be displeased were anything to happen to you, and prior experience shows that your coordination is lacking.”
Cheeks darkening even further, Orihime reached out to hold onto the fabric at his elbow. It was cold, but being near him wasn’t unpleasant—it was comforting and exciting to be so close to someone again, even if that person was her captor.
They walked, Ulquiorra in front and Orihime trailing behind, until they happened upon an illuminated section of the castle. She could hear the faint rustlings of life (or, she wondered as they progressed, would it really be life if everyone was technically dead?) emanating from below, and dread crept through her. If there were really so many people there – if there were enemies lurking around every corner – how would Ichigo and everyone fare? Could they really single handedly defeat the force of Las Noches?
"You seem discontent, woman,” said Ulquiorra, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between them. “Is our fortress displeasing? Would you like to voice your complaints to Aizen-sama?”
Orihime bit her lip, and dipped her head in opposition. “No, Ulquiorra,” she began softly, running her fingers over the seam of the fabric at his elbow. “It’s just… All this fighting, the war always going on here. Doesn’t it bother you?”
Ulquiorra seemed to consider this for a few seconds, eyes drifting to the high, arched ceilings of Las Noches. “No,” he finally answered, taking a sharp turn around a corner to progress down the path Aizen had prescribed. “The other Espada and I were created with one sole aim: to defend Las Noches and follow the orders of its leader. I feel no longing for a different world as you do; this is the world I was intended to live in, and it is likely the world I will die in, too.”
Letting her eyes slide shut, Orihime squeezed the fabric of his uniform, pulling it taut towards her. “Would you change it, though?” she asked, splotches of color dancing in her field of vision as she closed her eyes tighter and tighter. “If you had the opportunity, I mean. Would you want to be… freed from that responsibility?”
There was a moment of silence, then: “Perhaps. But we have little time for hypotheticals, woman. Aizen-sama awaits our arrival.”
+
The walk to the jail cell was cold. Orihime shivered against the thin material of her school uniform, goosebumps spreading like wildfire down her exposed arms. She hadn’t anticipated that she would have to go so far. Mayuri’s directions had been vague at best and deliberately misleading at worst. Turn the right, he’d said with a wide, uncontained grin, and he’ll be straight ahead.
Straight ahead, as it turned out, had not even begun to cover the distance she’d travelled. It had been at least a mile since the last jail cell she’d passed, and three miles before then was the door to the isolated, high security containment centers hidden in the heart of Seireitei.
After a few more minutes of walking, the door Mayuri had described – red, plastered with signs warning visitors to stay away – came into view. Heart stuttering in her chest, Orihime took off running in its direction, ignoring the unpleasant squelch of her shoes against the damp floor.
Fingers closing around the doorknob, Orihime twisted open the imposing door and stepped into the room, greeted immediately by the sight of thick, grey bars.
Beyond them, she thought she could see a figure in the darkness out of the corner of her eye. And that was all the hope she needed.
“Ulquiorra?” called out Orihime into the mist, cupping her hands around her mouth to project her voice. “Are you here?”
There was a rustling and then, out of depths of the murky cell and into the light stepped Ulquiorra. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, not anymore. Clad in simple white robes tied with a belt around his slender waist, he looked like any other denizen of Soul Society. Or perhaps he could have, had he not been imprisoned.
“Woman,” he said, voice tinged with uncharacteristic surprise. “So you have come, after all.”
“Yes,” replied Orihime, stepping forwards to wrap her fingers around the cool metal bars. “Sorry it took so long. I meant to come earlier, but there were so many complications and rules surrounding the whole process that it took me weeks to get permission, let alone to actually make the journey. Please forgive me for the wait.”
“I had thought you would visit initially,” he said in lieu of response. “I was informed by many of your compatriots that it was you who brought me back to life, though I had assumed that your power was used without having been told.”
“I did,” admitted Orihime, lips curling into a disappointed frown. “It took me…some time to come back. Kurosaki-kun was involved in fights and Kuchiki-san and the rest of them were too, so I couldn’t help you right away…"
Ulquiorra’s expression didn’t budge, and somehow Orihime felt that he understood that there had been more than scheduling problems behind the wait between his death and reconstruction. “No matter,” he said evenly. “I suspect your shinigami was not pleased by your decision, especially after the allegations of betrayal that Aizen-sama spread before your disappearance.”
The only sound permeating their bubble was dripping water, landing on the cement with a satisfying plink. They were so quiet Orihime thought that her companion might have heard her heart beating in her chest, racing as she considered what to say next.
“It doesn’t matter what Kurosaki-kun thought,” said Orihime, after a second’s pause. Her firsts were curled into tight balls at her sides, and she saw Ulquiorra’s eyes flicking to them right before she started to speak again. “I… I can make decisions for myself. I chose to heal you because it was my power and my responsibility, Ulquiorra. No one—not even my closest friends—can take that away from me.”
“You’ve grown,” remarked Ulquiorra, coming closer to the line of bars between them. He didn’t reach out to touch as Orihime had done, but there was something exploratory in his eyes, something that indicated that he wanted to. “The woman I knew would not have made such a brazen statement. Why is it, exactly, that you’ve changed so much? Have you and the shinigami consummated your relationship?”
Though she was flushing to the tips of her ears, she stayed firm. “It’s Inoue Orihime, not ‘woman,’” she corrected, anxiety pulling at her fingertips when his brow raised slightly. “And…no. There is no relationship between Kurosaki and I. Not like that.”
Stepping forwards again, hands curled around the bars so that his white knuckles faced Orihime, Ulquiorra said, “No? But I thought he was your first love, woman. Humans do tend to place emphasis on firsts.”
“He might have been my first love,” said Orihime, brushing the tip of her warm nose against his hand. “But, Ulquiorra—he most certainly won’t be my last.”