Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sometimes, living with Orihime Inoue, twenty-one year old ex-prostitute and recovering alcoholic, could be rather difficult… and not for the obvious, aforementioned reasons.

Twenty-four year old Ulquiorra Schiffer, celebrity pianist-slash-composer and well-known hater of odd numbers, could proudly say that he hadn’t rearranged the furniture in his apartment since before the eighth of December, the day after he had brought Ms. Inoue home from the hospital. An impressive feat, considering that he’d acquired that nervous tick over several years and, by all accounts, it should have been a hard habit to break. No, he had taken the stress of that week—of almost losing the woman he had come to like a lot more than himself—quite well.

Ms. Inoue had been quick to tell him that buying entirely new furniture did not count as conquering his obsessive-compulsion.

It was a cold morning in late January when the elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor of the Las Noches apartment complex, a towering structure in the Hueco Mundo district that was infamous for being labeled backwards—the fourth floor was actually the seventh from the ground. Ulquiorra stepped out of the cart, dressed in a thick coat and a bright green scarf that his roommate… girlfriend… had purchased for him as a Christmas present.

Hmm… was she his girlfriend? They had been living together platonically for three months, “romantically” for one. She slept in his bed with him every night, occasionally made him dinner (but mostly insisted that he do it himself), wore his clothes when she was feeling too lazy to do laundry (which was often)… ah, yes, and their tongues had been in each others’ mouths (it was pleasant).

Yes, Ulquiorra supposed that by society’s standards, they were officially together, which wouldn’t have been all that bad had it not been for the fact that an amorous woman was so incredibly distracting.

As a man who appreciated his peace and quiet, Ulquiorra grew tense the moment he heard music coming from down the hall in the general direction of his apartment. Uh-oh… not this again. He looked down at the bag of groceries in his hand. Luckily he hadn’t bought much, so there was a good chance that he would be able to put it all away and run to the safety of his (their?) bedroom before she made him forget what he had set out to accomplish that afternoon—mainly, figuring out how much money her hospital stay had drained from his savings. He made a mental note to find her some health insurance. Really, it was like owning a dog… but Ms. Inoue wasn’t a dog, she was…. His brow furrowed in frustration. Did they sell health insurance for dragons?

Approaching the door—and here the music grew much louder, a lively beat making the floor beneath his shoes pulse—he straightened his back and took in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what he was about face. Then he took his keys from his pocket, inserted them into the knob and twisted it until the lock went click. Breathe in, breathe out. He pushed forward and burst into the dragon’s keep like a valiant knight with a shield made of produce.

It was worse than he thought.

Orihime Inoue, in all of her red-haired, curvaceous glory, was shimmying by the dining table, clad in a pair of gray shorts and a white tank top. She threw her hips to the side as she turned in his direction, a coy smirk spreading across her face. Ulquiorra swallowed a lump of air the size of a watermelon. Remember the mission, he thought grimly as the singing began.

“My body rocks a rhythm, you beat my drum hard. I might just kick it, kick it; you wanna lick it, lick it. I love to stick it, stick it, from London to L.A.; Yeah that’s the ticket-ticket, come on and kiss it, kiss it…”

Tearing his eyes away from the dancing girl, he removed his shoes (her antics would not stop him from upholding his own house rules) before hurriedly making his way across the carpeted floor towards the kitchen.

Really, Ulquiorra thought with a frown as the singer let out a loud cry, where did Ms. Inoue find these songs? He was beginning to suspect her boss, Rangiku Matsumoto, of being a horrible influence. Then again, she could have gotten it from Nelliel on the sixth floor. It was the sort of song that he could imagine his sometimes-best friend Grimmjow Jaegerjaques putting on to drown out his fiancé’s enraptured noises.

“I like your dirty mind —mine’s on it all the time; Oh let me shake it, shake it, oh Polaroid it, shake it; I’m a graffiti girl, I wanna spray it, spray it; I like to throw the paint… you wanna throw the paint?”

Ulquiorra threw open the refrigerator door and scrambled to free the milk and eggs from the plastic bag, which had become damp from the cold. Damn it! She was in the kitchen entrance now, coming towards him. Perhaps if he kept ignoring her she would go away.

Nope, it was getting worse. Ulquiorra felt her pass by, dancing all the way, as he shoved the groceries into the fridge, bread included. He would come back for it later. The current situation was too dangerous. He needed to get to freedom…!

Two arms slipped around his torso, fingernails biting into the front of his shirt, and the last thing he registered was the feeling of her lips pressing to the cartilage of his ear before she let out an obscenely erotic moan at the same time as the singer. A miniature earthquake traveled down the length of Ulquiorra’s body.

“I love the money, money; I’m dripping, dripping gold. I like to disco baby. You wanna kiss now, baby?”

And then the tempo of the song abruptly changed, and the woman promptly began dancing against him, as if they were two hormonal teenagers at a midnight rave. Ulquiorra remained rigid, his hand tightening around the handle of the refrigerator door. Then he turned and marched straight out of the kitchen with the grinning woman at his heels.

“My body rocks a rhythm”—Ulquiorra stopped and shot a glare at her over his shoulder—“You beat my drum”—her glossed lips formed around the word—“hard.”

He felt one of his knees buckle.

“My body rocks a rhythm, rocks a rhythm, rocks a rhythm…”

Orihime continued to dance, watching Ulquiora’s back as he limped down the hallway, disappearing into his bedroom. A moment later, he reemerged with a change of clothes, trudged into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut the second the song ended. Immediately she burst into a fit of laughter that had her staggering towards the couch, lest she fall onto the floor in her hysterics.

Ah, the poor sap! She made a mental note to torture him like this more often, though she knew that when he came out of the bathroom he would be out for blood. Oh well! Things were much more fun this way.

Clutching one of the couch cushions to her chest, she stared at the ceiling a moment longer before closing her eyes and breathing in the clean and comfortable scent that she had come to love almost as much as the man who was currently sulking in the shower.

“It’s good to be home.”

Chapter Text

Most women reapplied lipstick two or three times a day. Orihime often applied her lip gloss three times before leaving for work.

She was pretty sure that it was bad for her lips. A while back she’d read in a magazine that people who slapped on too much chapstick were in for trouble, that after a few years, their lips would stop naturally moisturizing and that chapstick would become mandatory. Knowing that Ulquiorra was fond of collecting interesting-but-useless facts to throw at Grimmjow whenever he wanted to avoid talking about something—Grimmjow was easily distracted by said interesting-but-useless facts—Orihime showed him the magazine. She circled the article with a bright red marker. She left it in places where he was sure to find it, like on top of his piano, taped to the television screen, in his underwear drawer, and in the driver’s seat of his car. He would politely remind her each time that he had read the article already.

But apparently it hadn’t sunk in.

It was a fine Tuesday morning in February, and Orihime was deeply engaged in her beautification ritual. Hair was done, foundation and mascara were on, a little bit of blush over yonder, and then the gloss. She was partial to the flavored variety, as she had a habit of chewing on her lip and preferred not to end up with weird tastes in her mouth at the end of the day. Ulquiorra had recently taken her to the mall—which she hadn’t been to in years and so entertained him with her delirious joy—which had resulted in her purchasing a plethora of sweet, sparkling glosses with names like Pretty in Pineapple, Absolutely Apple, Mango Tango, Succulent Strawberry and her favorite, Wild Watermelon.

Orihime wasn’t sure what was so wild about watermelons, but it had a nice pink tinge to it, which she’d tested on her finger before giving the strip of color an experimental lick. She’d then had to resist every urge to drain the whole tube into her mouth, as she was fairly certain that it could still poison her.

Of course, it didn’t matter what lip gloss she wore, she thought with a frown as she capped the tube and slipped it into her pocket, then turned to open the bathroom door. It would be gone in three… two… one….

She collided with Ulquiorra the moment she entered the hallway. He stared down at her, his expression unreadable. “Good morning?” Orihime offered, as he had been asleep when she’d literally fallen out of bed in her attempt to destroy the alarm clock. He said nothing in reply, but took a step forward, forcing her back into the bathroom. “Look,” she began as she ran out of floor to cover and felt her bottom press against the counter, “I appreciate the attention, but I also appreciate my money, and these lip glosses are very expen—!”

Ulquiorra cut her off with a kiss, which he wasted no time in deepening, his hands planting themselves on her hips to keep her in place. Orihime, who was beginning to suspect herself of having some kind of leg anemia considering how quickly they turned to pudding whenever he even gazed into her eyes for one meaningful second longer than usual, forgot that she was supposed to be discouraging him. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He lifted her up onto the counter and forced her legs apart to keep them out of his way. Her arms went around his torso, nails raking down his back. He tilted her head back and dragged his tongue across her lips before plunging it into her welcoming mouth. She moaned with excitement, pressing herself into him more firmly, tasting the watermelon lip gloss between them. He pushed her back into the bathroom mirror, knocking the toothbrush holder into the sink with a loud clatter.

“Mmm, Ulquiorra,” she panted between kisses, “I have to go to work….”

“Hmm?” Neither of them were quite sure what the word ‘work’ meant at present, only that it held some vague importance and was tied to money somehow. His hands were back at her hips, then slowly making their way up her shirt as he sucked on her bottom lip, causing her leg to give an involuntary jerk that hit the door, slamming into the wall with a bang that startled them both out of the gloss’s spell.

Ulquiorra looked at her as if he didn’t how he’d gotten there. “Good morning.”

“Oh, now you respond.” Orihime grabbed his wrists and pushed his hands away from her stomach. He allowed her enough room to get off the counter and straighten her clothes. “For the record, my first time with you will not take place in this bathroom.”

“Noted,” Ulquiorra replied dazedly. “It wouldn’t be very comfortable anyway.” He followed her out into the hallway, his green eyes flickering to her hand, which was digging into her pocket for something. When he saw the tube of lip gloss emerge from her jeans, he felt a powerful stir in his own.

“Anyway,” Orihime said, unaware of the fact that her boyfriend’s gaze had turned predatory, “I’ll be home a little later than usual today. Rangiku’s trying to fix the scheduling and whatnot so there’s an hour between the end of my shift and the beginning of my replacement’s, and the gap occurs during rush hour when people are actually needed. You can see why that’s a bad thing.”

“Bad for them.” Ulquiorra watched her elbow bend as the sticky gloss coated her luscious lips. Normally he found the woman easy to resist, as she came onto him frequently, but that sinfully delicious balm… the nectar of the gods, off limits for mortal beings…. He quickened his pace to catch up to her before she could seek refuge in the kitchen.

“Good for us, yes. I’m sorry. To make up for it, I’ll bring home some—ah!” Orihime gasped in surprise when she felt his hand encircle her wrist. He yanked her back, spun her around, crushed her against him, kissed the corner of her mouth, her neck, the pulse at her throat, all the while enticed and tortured by the watermelon scent emanating from the same place as her faltering breaths. Arms securing her midsection, he suddenly recalled the dancing lessons forced upon him by his adoptive family for the sake of his reputation overseas, and in one smooth move he dipped her onto the dining table.

Orihime stared up at him, eyes half-lidded, jaw slack. So he wasn’t a vampire or a crazed murderer, but he was definitely a lady killer, and she didn’t mind that in the slightest. His green eyes glazed over with lust, arms on either side of her, he looked like he was having a very heated argument with himself… or Paco. Probably Paco. Orihime was about to bring up work again when his hand moved, tracing her shirt collar and coming to rest on top of the first button. Her eyes widened. “N-Not here, either!” she cried.

Ulquiorra kissed her hard enough to bruise. “Of course not. We eat food on this table,” he growled as the first button was swiftly undone.

Orihime’s fingers tangled into his hair, bringing him close enough to antagonize him with the proximity of her lips but not allowing him the satisfaction of contact. She felt the cool air on her chest, and then the second button came undone, extending the chill to her well defined cleavage, then the third, to the top of her stomach…. “Ulquiorra,” she purred, and the scent of the gloss invaded his mind. He made quick work of the last button, then brought a hand to the back of her neck, kissing her slowly, sensually, feeling her heart race beneath his thumb.

She whimpered when he separated from her abruptly, wondering what was going on when she remembered that her shirt was wide open, her assets on full display, snug within a lacy white bra that she’d also picked up at the mall, almost as an afterthought. For some reason, though she had been more exposed in front of men that she hadn’t known nearly as well as Ulquiorra, she felt extremely embarrassed. Her face was on fire, eyes sweeping the room until they settled on something safe to look at: the piano.

Ulquiorra took notice of her agitation and traced a light circle around her bellybutton. “What are you blushing for?” He bent down and kissed the skin of her abdomen, satisfied to see her breathing uneasily again. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I do—ooh!” Orihime flinched when he bit down on the hipbone poking above the waistline of her pants. Hearing him chuckle, she had half a mind to meat-check him, as her leg was in proper position, but she forgot her anger the more he brought those lips to her bared middle. Her head fell back onto the table as he established a path from her navel to her chest, playfully avoiding her breasts altogether. Besides, she knew what he was really after, and pinched her lips together to block him from his goal.

His eyes narrowed at her. Oh, so that’s how it was going to be? Ulquiorra diverted his attention to her neck, moving her hair out of the way to sample the skin there. Plenty of sensitive spots, he recalled, to get her talking. He kissed her tender flesh, from the crook of her jaw to the collarbone jutting out at him invitingly, digging his canines into her occasionally. A squeak here, a whimper there, but no dice. Her lips remained fastened together as if the gloss had turned into glue.

So he took to utilizing more drastic measures, hoisting himself up to whisper in her ear. “Orihime,” he said, his voice low, “why do you insist on being so unreasonable…?” He moved her leg away from the danger zone in case she decided to strike; he knew how much it frustrated her when he used her name once in a blue moon, then took to addressing her otherwise on the daily. But in parting her legs, and still being able to smell the watermelon despite her resistance, something—this ‘Paco’ of hers, perhaps—possessed him to push up against her rather forcefully. Bingo. A loud moan broke the vice of her lips, and he was on her instantly, kissing her languidly, savoring every second of her divine torture.

Orihime’s body arched, the texture of his shirt soft on her skin. Her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles crossing at his lower back, preventing any form of escape. She felt the familiar lightheadedness of her mind shutting down before the day had even really begun, unable to concentrate on anything but the longing prompting her to meet every roll of his hips, his strong arms circling her torso and bringing her into each movement; a cheap, painfully clothed imitation of what she craved.

“Orihime…” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, nuzzling her cheek, then giving in to the temptation of her lips once more. He was fairly certain that by this point there was no lip gloss left to steal from her, but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. The hands at her back began to move of their own accord, finding the clasp that held her bra together, unfastening it with minor difficulty—

Bang! Bang! “Hime!”

Orihime shot up from the table so quickly that she nearly skull-bashed Ulquiorra in the chin. “Oh my God, what time is it?” she squeaked, her hands flying up to keep her upper body covered. “It’s Rangiku! G-Get the door!”

Ulquiorra glared at her. “I cannot.”

“What do you mean you…? …oh.” Orihime cleared her throat and reached back to hook up her bra. “Go hide in the kitchen or something, you useless lump of… and put that thing away! You’ll poke someone’s eye out!” she hissed.

“And whose fault is that?” he snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets and skulking off in the direction of the laundry room as Orihime fumbled with the buttons of her top.

“Give me a second, Rangiku!” she chirped before turning vicious. “Surely you’re not suggesting that it’s mine! I was in the bathroom, minding my own business, trying to get ready for work when a certain overeager boyfriend shoved his tongue down my throat—without even asking for permission, I might add—and got me all hot and bothered!”

A handful of running footsteps, and then Ulquiorra appeared in the kitchen, shock and anger apparent on his face. “Since when do I need permission?”

Orihime rolled her eyes, retrieved the lip gloss from the floor, reapplied it in what she hoped was a sexy, suggestive manner, then grabbed her purse off the sofa and slapped the crook of her arm in the Asian equivalent of an upturned middle finger. “Get a real job, you bum!”

“I don’t see you paying the bills!” Ulquiorra retorted as she stepped outside to where a bewildered Rangiku stood waiting in her manager uniform. Two seconds after the door had slammed shut, he left the kitchen and opened it again, poking his head out into the hall. “Have a nice day.”

Orihime winked at him over her shoulder. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Ulquiorra sighed, closing the door and giving the empty apartment a once-over before deciding that he was going to take a nice, long shower, then sneak into Grimmjow’s apartment and steal his Playstation.

Though perhaps he would find a place to hide the flavored lip glosses first, for the sake of his waning sanity…

Chapter Text

Grimmjow’s bachelor party was held a week before his wedding to Nel, mostly so that the bubbly French-German girl could have enough time to forgive her future husband’s transgressions before the blessed event occurred. Of course, Grimmjow didn’t have anything planned that would warrant forgiveness from anyone… except for maybe Orihime, who was putting the wedding together and had become quite scary recently. Who would have known the former prostitute to be such a perfectionist?

Sunset found the girl in question standing in the living room with her pianist boyfriend, attempting to straighten his tie, but in fact making it more crooked than before. She still wasn’t used to the whole housewife thing. Not that they were married. With all the wedding festivities going on around them, he had tried to engage her in conversation about the subject, but she’d distracted him with news that his mother had called; Fortissimo was at the vet for an infection in his airways. Ulquiorra had refused to put the phone down until he’d gotten news that the hideous English bulldog he’d adopted for his family was healthy again, thus forgetting that he was supposed to be asking the redhead if she even wanted to get married.

Thinking about marriage gave Orihime a migraine, so she would put it off until later. “I know that this is Grimmjow and everything,” she said, “but if you happen to lay eyes on anything that pops out of his cake, I’ll find out, and I’ll gouge those pretty green orbs out with a plastic spoon and make earrings out of them.”

Ulquiorra tried to swat her hands away to fix his tie. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“I’m just making sure” Orihime pulled it up a little too close to his neck for a nice gagging effect. “Call me if there’s trouble of any sort. I’ll be down there in no time.”

“What trouble could there possibly be? We’re just going to the karaoke bar. We’ve been there a million times.”

“Not all of you at once,” she grumbled. ‘All of you’ referred also to Gin, Szayel, Yammy, Starrk, Ichigo, Nnoitra, and half of Grimmjow’s coworkers. It was a tragedy waiting to happen, that was for sure, though Orihime couldn’t predict how it would begin to unfold.

Ulquiorra kissed her forehead. “Your fears are unfounded. If things become chaotic, I will attempt to police them back to sanity.”

Orihime blushed. She knew that he was doing it for the sake of her peace of mind. Otherwise, he probably would have let the boys run wild, intervening only when it involved him and his desire to stay out of their problems. Finally managing to set his tie straight, she offered him a smile, then turned him around and pushed him towards the door. “Go now before you’re late.”

“Alright.” Ulquiorra stepped out into the hallway and cast her a look over his shoulder. “Please don’t tear up the furniture while I’m gone.”

“I’m not a dog, you know.”

“Hmm, true. Please don’t set fire to the furniture while I’m gone.” He instinctively ducked behind the door, but she merely glared at him, so he continued. “Which reminds me… stay out of the kitchen.” Now she did throw something at him: one of the sofa cushions flew out of the apartment and bounced along the floor beside him harmlessly. Ulquiorra launched it back inside and closed the door.

Orihime rolled her eyes and settled in for a night of movies. She had half a mind to call Chizuru and invite her over, but the amorous woman was out of town with her girlfriend, and she wasn’t sure that Ulquiorra would be able to stand the thought of the rowdy pair alone in his humble abode. Hmm. Well, he had insulted her just now, which warranted an act of revenge. Seeing that they had recently borrowed Grimmjow’s Playstation, she got up and turned it on, putting in the disc for Soul Calibur IV and waiting patiently for it to load. Once she had gotten into the game, she went through and changed Ulquiorra’s controller settings. “A guaranteed win for me,” she said, feeling much better.

…

The phone call came three hours later, filling the living room with the sound of the Mexican Hat Dance. Orihime glanced at the screen, smiling at the picture of a very irritated Ulquiorra with tribal markings drawn on his face in magic marker. Ah, it had taken him hours to scrub the new tattoos off his body, as she had spared no visible part of him, and had proceeded to spend the rest of the day nagging him to perform a rain dance for their dying crops.

Pressing the green button, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Is this a distress call?” she asked.

There was a burst of static, a loud racket, followed by a “Give that back!” from Ulquiorra, who appeared to be somewhere in the background. Then the line went dead.

Yup, definitely a distress call. Orihime sighed and scrolled through her contacts for back-up. She would need Rangiku, Nel, and perhaps even Tia; if everyone in that karaoke bar minus Ulquiorra was drunk, it would take an army to get him out of there alive. She sent out three text messages, then went to grab her thickest jacket and the most savage boots she could find. This was bound to get ugly.

…

The four women had a general idea of what to expect when they arrived at the karaoke bar: someone would be singing (badly), someone would be passed out in a puddle of vomit, someone would be hanging from a light fixture, Yammy would have probably caused a hole in the wall somehow, and the husband-to-be would have a scantily clad woman in his lap (Nelliel was fully prepared to deal with both of them).

They were not in any way prepared for what they actually found.

The karaoke bar was surprisingly in one piece. No one was hanging off of anything. Nnoitra was on stage singing a rendition of My Heart Will Go On, but he was doing quite well, to the point where his best friend Tesla was crying dramatically into his beer. Grimmjow was stripper-free as well, sitting at the bar and patting Ulquiorra on the shoulder in what looked to be an attempt at comforting him.

Nel leaned towards Orihime. “Are you sure they were out of control, Hime?” she asked in her French accented English. “Everything look fine to me.”

Grimmjow lifted his head, noticed the women at the entrance, and cried out in alarm. “Oh shit! It’s your girlfriend!” he said a little too loudly.

“What?” Ulquiorra bolted upright, fell off his bar stool, and proceeded to crawl across the floor, hiding behind Grimmjow’s chair. “Tell her I’m not here,” he hissed, though he was clearly visible between the Frenchman’s legs.

Orihime, Rangiku, Nel and Tia stared at the pianist questioningly, then a light bulb went on above the redhead. “Oh my God,” she muttered, “is he drunk?”

“Ulquiorra doesn’t drink,” Tia stated plainly.

“I know.” Orihime’s eyes were wide. She approached the dynamic duo at the bar. Grimmjow was scratching the back of his head, looking at everything but her, and Ulquiorra shrank back further, repeating that he wasn’t there in a firm whisper. Sitting on the bar stool that her boyfriend had abandoned, she smiled at Grimmjow. “Hey buddy,” she said sweetly, “where’s Ulquiorra?”

“Who?” Grimmjow responded. A snicker came from the floor, but was immediately silenced by a kick from the Frenchman. “Shut up, asshole! You aren’t here, remember?”

Orihime’s smile dropped faster than an asteroid. “Grimmjow.”

“What?” he whined.

“Why is Ulquiorra hiding behind your barstool?”

“God, I don’t know,” he slurred, lifting a hand to his forehead. “One moment he was on the chair, and the next, poof! He’s so fast. It’s like magic, yo.”

“Certainly.” Orihime leaned down, coming face to face with the man in question. “Would you mind telling me why you’re hiding behind Grimmjow’s bar stool?”

“…you can’t see me.” Ulquiorra whimpered.

“Get off the fucking floor!”

“Alright!” He stood up as quickly as possible, swaying unsteadily on his feet and clutching the bar for dear life. “Scary… so scary… why is she so scary… I’m dating a monster,” he murmured, to which Grimmjow answered with another clumsy, sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Orihime was far too amused to deal with the situation properly.

“So, I’m dying to know how this happened,” she confessed, flagging down the bartender, “because we all know that Ulquiorra doesn’t drink.”

“I drink water,” he said, attempting to correct her.

Grimmjow sat up straighter, all too proud of himself. “Well,” he began with a goofy giggle, “it was Szayel’s idea, really. He suggested that we inject alcohol into Ulquiorra’s slice of cake, and even brought along a sy… zzz… a syringe… to help uzdoit.”

Ulquiorra held up his hand to stop the tale. “In my d’fense, I was told it was custard.”

“And you believed them?” Orihime placed her chin on her hand, all smiles.

“Okay, so he mightuv been a teensy bit drunk already.”

“We pinned him to the bar and forced it down his throat!” Nnoitra cackled from on stage, interrupting the song.

Suddenly reminded that they weren’t the only ones there, Orihime looked around to see what everyone else was doing. Gin was face down in a booth, laughing hysterically at nothing in particular, while Rangiku tried to soothe him. Nel had wriggled into the seat next to Tesla and was cheering Nnoitra on, beer bottle in hand. Tia and Starrk were standing in the corner—her arms were crossed over her chest, and he seemed to be apologizing for something. Yammy was squatting Szayel, the pink-haired doctor limp on the behemoth’s shoulders. Ichigo was arm wrestling with a group of mechanics, looking the most sober, until Orihime noticed that his pants were missing.

She turned back to Ulquiorra, who was now slung over Grimmjow’s arm, reaching out for her. “It wazzn’t my fault… you gotta believe me. I wouldn’t do this to you, Mizz Inoue. Not on purpose, anyway. Please don’t be mad. Please don’t put my social security number on a billboard like on that TV commercial… Fortissimo’s in the hospital. I’m not sure I could take another disappointment.”

Orihime considered this. “Sorry. I changed your controller settings in Soul Calibur.”

“Why would you do that?” Ulquiorra yelled in Grimmjow’s ear.

“Man, shut the fuck up!” the Frenchman tried to push him, but missed and smacked him in the face with his hand instead.

Orihime sighed. Well, if Ulquiorra wasn’t going to leave, then she would have to stay and keep an eye on him, right? And while she was there, she didn’t see any harm in having a drink or two herself. It wasn’t like she’d relapse into alcoholism or anything. She was better than that now! Cheered by her reasoning, she tossed back a bottle in celebration of getting to see her perfect pianist boyfriend in an inebriated state. Perhaps she’d get a blackmail picture or two while she was at it…

…

“Ms. Inoue.” Ulquiorra stared blearily at the bottles lining the counter behind the bar.

“Yeah?” she muttered, her head on his shoulder and a half-empty bottle in her hand, three or four more scattered nearby.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck did you do now?”

“I mean, uh… for, uh… all the other stuff, y’know.” His brow furrowed. “The anklet thing.”

Orihime groaned. The room was spinning. “You already apologized for that.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, like… back in… in January or something.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Ulquiorra draped his arm over her shoulder, leaning heavily to the side and threatening to knock them both over. “Just… just making sure.” He looked down at her seriously, albeit a little cross-eyed. “Because it was really, really bad of me to do it, okay? I’m a horrible person, but there was… simply no excuse for that. It was monstrous. I’m a terrible excuse for a human being.”

“Yeah, you are.” Orihime agreed, lifting a hand to her temple.

Silence. Ulquiorra shook her slightly. “D-Did you forgive me, though?”

“For what?” She hit the bar with her hands. “Damn it, Paco, what the fuck did you do now?”

“I meant the anklet thing, still!” he cried miserably.

“Oh.” Orihime shook out her stinging hands. “If I didn’t forgive you, I wouldn’t be sleeping with your scrawny ass… not for free, anyway.”

Ulquiorra stared at her. “So you did forgive me.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“But you said it… cryptically.”

“I still said it.”

“I was just making sure.”

Behind them, Grimmjow and Nel were half-clothed and on their way to the bathroom. Nnoitra and Szayel were stacking shot glasses on an unconscious Tesla’s head. Rangiku was straddling Gin, whispering things to him that were turning his expression into a frightened one. Ichigo and Starrk were arguing over the proper way to throw a football, while Tia shook her head sadly, being the only person who hadn’t had a lick of alcohol. Yammy was on stage, the tiny microphone in his enormous hand, singing Livin’ La Vida Loca and shaking his hips rather provocatively. The mechanics were outside, disassembling Grimmjow’s truck to relocate it onto the roof of Las Noches.

Orihime felt a little sorry for the employees who would have to clean up after them, but it was their fault for renting the club out to a bachelor party. She’d have cared more if she were sober, probably. “So, hey, Ulquiorra, what happens if… y’know… you and I do it, or whatever… and I get, like, pregnant or something?”

He lifted his head from her shoulder. “That can’t happen, though. We used protection.”

“I know, but I’m saying what if.”

He shook his head. “I-It can’t happen.”

“Well, many a condom has broken in the past.”

“Are you talking from personal experience? ‘Cause I don’t really wanna hear it.”

“I’m just saying, what if you and I had sex, and like… the condom broke. And we didn’t know, so I’ve got a bun in the oven right now.”

Ulquiorra seized her hips and leaned down to yell at her abdomen. “Hey! Hold on a second down there… can you give me a year or two? I’m not ready to be a dad. I haven’t gone skydiving yet!”

“What does skydiving have to do with anything?”

He looked up at her. “I don’t know, but… just in case.” He jostled her violently. “Can you hear me in there?”

“I’m not pregnant, dumbass!” Orihime pried his hands away from her. “Besides, I’m sure you’d make a great dad.”

Ulquiorra shook his head again, sullenly, and took the beer from her hand, drinking the rest of it. “No… no, I wouldn’t. I haven’t had a decent example. Wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a baby.”

“You change its diapers.”

“Groooooss,” he groaned.

“And you burp it and stuff.”

“Babies are disgusting.”

Orihime hiccupped. “I bet if I had your baby,” she said with conviction, “its eyebrows would be like up to here.” Her index fingers pressed into her forehead.

“Shut up about my eyebrows!”

“They’re like fucking caterpillars.”

“That’s it.” Ulquiorra began trying to push her off of the barstool. “I don’t like you anymore. Go home, pack your shit and leave.”

“You don’t mean that,” Orihime giggled, throwing her arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose. “I like your caterpillar eyebrows. They’re cute. You’re cute. I really, really like you.”

Ulquiorra grabbed her shoulders and attempted to pry her away from him. “You’re a liar.” He grumbled as she kissed him, though he was still shoving her weakly. “Stop it,” he complained against her lips. She merely frowned and kissed him harder, not letting up until his hands fell from her shoulders and he clumsily pulled her closer, successfully knocking them both onto the floor in the process.

…

The next morning was a peaceful one. Ulquiorra and Orihime remained buried under the covers, the window shades drawn, the alarm clock turned away from them. “Ms. Inoue,” the pianist groaned sometime after eleven, “if I ever get drunk again… please kill me.”

“Suck it up. It’s just a hangover.” Orihime mumbled in response, though she made no move to escape the sanctuary of the sheets.

“My head,” Ulquiorra told her, “is about to split in half.”

“You’re a wimp.” She cracked one eye open, staring at the wall in front of her, then flipped over and burrowed into his bare chest. “At least the sex was good.”

“Hmm… true.”

Chapter Text

Not even two hours into his morning, and Steilacoom High School student Ulquiorra Ingram was already holding onto the white porcelain of the toilet like a lifesaver in a stormy sea. His sides hurt. He’d broken out into a cold sweat, his dull green eyes were watering, insides clenching painfully, even though he was positive that there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. For ten minutes he endured the nausea, until finally he was able to sit back against the wall—though it was more of a tired collapse than a graceful descent—and stare blankly at the white bowl in front of him.

This had been his life for the past two months, and he’d been naïve enough to think that it was getting better. Just because he wasn’t in the hospital anymore. Just because he’d put on a little weight. But the glowing red number 114 still burned into his retinas each time he stepped on the scale. He could still see his ribs when he lifted his shirt. There was still no telling when he’d fall into one of his spells of illness, like the one he was suffering through now. He felt as he imagined a corpse would: so light and weak that it was tiresome lugging its own bones around.

If he had known that happiness would come at such an expensive price, he’d have been content to stay an orphan for the rest of his days.

It was dark in the bathroom. The lights were off, though the coming morning painted the space in a dark blue that suggested it would be overcast that day. Ulquiorra had always been fond of this blue. Once he had even considered it inspiring, but now, it was different. The color saturated his skin, slipped into the pores, traveled through his bloodstream to oppress his heart. He felt as if he were drowning, the bathroom submerged in water, and he’d already forgotten to hold his breath.

His stomach twisted. He pushed off the wall and reached for the toilet again, abandoning thoughts of imagined oceans for the sight of real water. Nothing came up. His throat constricted, his shoulders gave a rough twitch, his abdomen clenched as if an invisible hand was squeezing it tight. But if he was meant to be a tube of toothpaste, he was empty.

“Ulquiorra?”

The spasms stopped. He gasped for breath. His t-shirt stuck to his back, a bead of sweat rolled down his jaw lethargically. He pushed his hair away from his face with half a mind to cut it all off. “Yeah?” he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. “What is it?”

It was his mother on the other side of the door, he knew, and he heard her try the knob once like she always did. Of course, it was locked. He wasn’t about to let someone barge in on him in such a pathetic state. Though, it was no secret to the Ingram family that not all was well with their adopted son. How could he keep anything a secret in this house, especially after the last time, when someone had found him unconscious on the disgusting floor of the school bathroom and feared him dead? His brother Matthew had carried him to his car and driven him home, lecturing him about seeing a doctor for the fifteen minutes it took to get to their house on Cormorant Drive.

Oh, and the anorexia jokes from his classmates had been hilarious. He spat into the toilet bowl.

“It’s…” his mother trailed off, then picked up again. “It’s getting late, sweetie. But if you need to stay home today…”

He turned his head away from the door, ashamed of the hatred that he bore towards people who had no fault in his suffering. They were so kind to him, kinder than anyone he’d ever met. They had accepted him into his home with open arms… arms whose hands were now tightening around his throat. “I think I will,” he responded, if only to end the suspense. “Tell Matthew and Sarah to go on without me.”

There was no reply. He glanced at the lit space below the door. She was still standing there, for reasons unknown to him. Was she waiting for him to come out, or thinking that she could somehow take some of his pain away, simply by being near him? Was that the sort of thing families did? He really had no model to go from.

It was so new to him, being loved and yet miserable at the same time.

After a few more moments, her shadow departed. Ulquiorra breathed a sigh of relief. The nausea had subsided as well, but he made no move to get off the floor. He clumsily lowered the lid on the toilet seat and laid his cheek on it, glad for the cold against his feverish skin.

Fixing his gaze on the window above the shower, he wondered when the sun would come out, if it would ever come out again. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep, dreaming that he was sinking into the silent depths of the Pacific, struggling to regain enough strength to swim for the surface before he was crushed by the unbearable pressure of the darkness.

…

Ulquiorra couldn’t recall the first time he’d heard the piano played, but he remembered with unnatural clarity the first time he had ever touched one.

He’d been only three years old. On that sunny afternoon in the Seattle orphanage, he’d fallen and hurt himself, which prompted a crying fit that led to him being carried around by one of the older women who worked there. She sat on the bench of the old wooden upright piano that was kept in the common room and played on Sundays. Ulquiorra, having calmed down from the fright of his spill, stared at the musical contraption over the woman’s shoulder. He didn’t know much about it, only that music came from it and that the younger kids weren’t allowed to mess with it.

The reason for that was obvious. The piano, probably as old as the orphanage itself, was in a sad state of disrepair. It was a miracle that it was even in tune. The wood was faded, notched, scribbled all over by children who had come and gone. Its white keys were yellowing with age, its black keys marred with dust and grime.

Ulquiorra’s caretaker, having noticed his silence and attention on the instrument, smiled and turned around on the bench. “Would you like to hear some music, Ulquiorra?” she asked him, her aged face so sweet and trusting that he found himself nodding. “Well, look here then, and we’ll see what this old girl can give us.”

He perched on the woman’s lap, between her skinny arms, and watched her fingers settle over the keys. At first she played a simple, tinkling melody. Then she began to add chords, and the sound evolved into something vaguely familiar. “Do you know this song, Ulquiorra? You might have heard it on the radio once or twice.” She smiled and began to sing along. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away…”

Ulquiorra remembered being amazed at the fact that the piano knew a song from the radio. He’d always been under the impression that the sad old thing couldn’t hear. But with this new knowledge came a burning curiosity: what other songs did the piano know? How could he get it to play for him?

He leaned forward on the woman’s lap, reaching out his hand. She noticed him moving but didn’t stop him, watching with an amused smile as he touched one of the yellowing white keys with his index finger and, with a tiny push, brought it down. A sound was produced. He pushed the key next to it, and another sound came forth, this one a higher pitch. What power he must have had, to create sound out of nothing!

“If you’d like, I could teach you a song or two,” the woman offered, and he looked up at her with wide eyes. “You’ll have to learn how to read music, though, which is much different from reading a book. It’s a whole other language.”

Was it? He felt a bit troubled by this knowledge. If he couldn’t read a book, then how would he read music? But he turned his attention back to the piano, pressed down on a black key, and felt reassured. He could already make the instrument speak. All that was left was to figure out what it was saying.

…

Ulquiorra left the bathroom a while later, nearly tripping over his dog Largo on the way out. Largo was a large, sage-looking collie, with predominantly black fur, a smudge of brown around his snout, and white fur all down his underside. He’d been with the Ingram family longer than Ulquiorra, which had initially filled the teenager with a pressing concern that he would need to earn the dog’s trust and respect when he’d first been adopted. But Largo was an affectionate being, and Ulquiorra could tell by the way his bushy tail wagged at the sight of him that he’d been worried. He closed the bathroom door behind him, sat on the hallway floor and let the dog rest its head on his lap.

It was quiet in the house with Matthew, Sarah and their father gone. Ulquiorra could hear the kitchen sink running downstairs, dishes clattering. Occasionally there was the sound of tags hitting collars, and he would see one of the puppies run from one bedroom to the other. No doubt they were playing hide and seek, a game that Largo was too old and too tired to join in, which left his partner Forte to keep the younger dogs out of trouble.

Ulquiorra leaned over, looking into Largo’s large brown eyes. “Be honest,” he said before going ahead, remembering the confrontation he’d had with his father the night before, “do you think I’m being unfair? Unreasonable, even?” The collie blinked. “Do you think that I’m the villain in the house, just because I haven’t been able to play the piano as much as before?”

Largo either didn’t want to get involved in the argument, or simply had no opinion. He turned his gaze away, head tilting in the direction of the puppy games.

Ulquiorra scratched the dog’s chin, staring blankly ahead. Matthew’s room was directly in front of the bathroom, and there was an upstairs family room to the right of it, then came Ulquiorra’s bedroom. He could have gone in there, locked himself inside and slept for the rest of the day, but he had a tendency to get headaches when he napped in broad daylight. Besides, it felt like a waste of time. “You’re lucky,” he said to the dog quietly, “that no one expects anything from you.”

Largo let out a short whine and stood, trotting away from him. Ulquiorra stared after the dog. Seconds later, Forte appeared—she was a border collie, all black fur with a white underside—and gave Largo a look that Ulquiorra didn’t understand.

And yet, that look seemed familiar somehow. He felt a tug on his spirit, as if he shouldn’t have been there in that house, in that time, suffering in such a way. But where else would he be?

Where did he go from the home he’d been waiting his entire life for?

…

Ulquiorra soon learned that the piano did not know any songs at all. It was a means for people to reproduce them; it had no voice of its own. And yet he felt a kinship with that old piano, as if it were an orphan like him. He imagined that nobody else wanted to play with it because it was dirty, scratched up, hardly used to the point that it was falling apart. For that reason, he always pictured the piano like the little match girl from the Christmas picture books. She was dirty too, and no other children in the story ever came up and offered to play with her.

He decided to be friends with the piano and took lessons with the old woman every day in order to give that mute little girl a voice. He wanted the piano to express itself, to tell everyone how lonely it was. He wanted them to give it a chance.

Therefore, it took only two months for him to learn the basics of the foreign language of music. He studied it fervently, fueled by his childish desires. He learned to pick out and name each note the way other children learn how to identify animal sounds. He burned through the songbook on the piano stand within a week of gaining this comprehension, and when he was bored with those, he began teaching the piano to sing the songs on the radio.

The orphanage employees were stunned by the speed with which the three-year-old Ulquiorra Schiffer was learning to play. Why, he’d practically taught himself, said his instructor as she watched him match keys to the notes he was hearing. Soon the orphanage was filled with piano renditions of Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror, the Beach Boys’ Kokomo, and Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry Be Happy… and everyone stood in awe of the young prodigy, who had no idea that what he was doing could even be considered prodigious.

The older kids began taking an interest in Ulquiorra’s borderline obsessive piano playing. They would request songs and bribe him with candy if he wasn’t feeling up to the task of performing for them. But at the same time, he was glad for the attention he was receiving. People were listening to the voice of his friend, giving that old piano the recognition that it deserved.

And so, when he grew bored with the radio tunes, he began piecing notes together on his own. Music was a language. It could be read, written and communicated with. What was keeping him from accessing its secrets, from coming up with songs of his own? Nothing.

He had given the piano pieces of the world to understand. Now he would trust his lonely, mute friend with pieces of himself.

…

Whenever Ulquiorra missed school—which had been happening more frequently, much to his dismay—he made sure to be useful around the house. He helped his mother with chores, drove the dogs out to DuPont for a walk to keep the puppies from getting restless, or went into Lakewood for groceries. He was glad that his father never usually came home until after school hours—too busy with his other prodigies, perhaps.

If he was feeling particularly inspired, which wasn’t often anymore, he would sit down at the piano in the upstairs family room and play for a while. There were two in the house: the one downstairs belonged to the family and the one upstairs was his. He simply could not compose without that piano, a fact that Lowell Ingram called ‘neurotic’, especially when they had been overseas and Ulquiorra would become a pacing mute until he could get home to it. He’d drop everything—bags, keys, wallet, passport—and run upstairs to play on the piano that made the compositions in his head “sound right”.

They’d tried to break him of that habit once, but it had resulted in Ulquiorra hating the piece and insisting that it was no good.

He found himself at the upstairs piano later in the afternoon, once the dogs were tired out from their exercise and the home was relatively peaceful. Seated on the bench, he stared down at the keys, allowing his fingers to slide over them as gently as if he were handling an infant. No sound came forth. There was a jumble of noise in his mind, but it had no order. It was nothing worth trying to make sense of right then. His hands began to shake.

“So this is where you ran off to,” said Mrs. Ingram, who had just come upstairs with a basket of laundry balanced on her hip. She maneuvered it in front of her, using both arms to press it against her stomach. “Were you going to play something?”

Ulquiorra shook his head once. “What’s the point? Whatever I compose is going to be used for profit anyway.”

The older woman’s gaze turned sympathetic, her brows furrowing. “Oh, sweetie…” She came forward and, readjusting the basket to free an arm, reached up to smooth his hair down. “What are you talking about? You’re free to do whatever you’d like and keep it to yourself. Forget the rest, forget everybody else… and just play. Use the piano to express what’s in here.” She tapped his chest lightly.

Ulquiorra frowned. This was that familial kindness that he didn’t quite understand. “You aren’t going to take sides with Lowell?”

“Honey, I may have married the man, but that doesn’t mean I always agree with him.” Mrs. Ingram laughed. When he didn’t crack a smile or anything of the sort, she turned his head so that he would look up at her. Was that guilt that she saw, hidden in those emerald eyes? “Believe me when I say that I’m truly sorry for all of this, Matthew and Sarah as well.” Her gaze lingered on the piano. “You know, you aren’t nearly as quiet around us as you used to be. You’ve trusted us with things, and we’re so honored, so glad to receive that trust. But me, your brother and your sister… we’re absolutely convinced that somehow, that piano still understands you better than any of us ever will. We miss your playing, but it’s because through it you were able to convey thoughts and emotions that otherwise, you might have never spoken out loud.” She dropped her hand back to the laundry basket. “So work through this slump for you, Ulquiorra. No one else. When you can do that, we’ll be happy to know that you’re feeling better.”

He was left in the room alone, then, staring at the piano. It was his piano, really, rescued from the orphanage along with him. He’d begged his father to let him bring it home, had presented a new one to his caretakers as a gift in exchange. The news that it could not be restored had devastated him, and so he’d ordered it to be taken apart, its salvageable parts used to build a new one. Yes, this may have been a sleek black concert grand piano, but inside, it was held together by pieces of the old wooden upright that he’d learned to play on.

Express what was in his heart, his mother said? What was in his heart? There was that jumbled mess, certainly… but he pushed it aside, dug deeper, and lifted his hands to the keys again. He took hold of the root of his fear and carefully converted it into a will to play.

As a child, he had initially learned music in order to communicate with the piano, with that lonely little match girl sitting in the corner of the room without a friend in the world. He envisioned her now, wearing a beautiful black gown that matched her new design, staring at him with expectant eyes… and his fingers pressed down on the keys.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. But would it ever come out again?

You make me happy when skies are gray. Then why was he so angry, so tired, so sick?

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. His heart throbbed, his eyes closed.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

An image of Lowell Ingram’s scowling face invaded his mind. Ulquiorra ripped his hands from the piano, tore himself from the bench. He stood glaring at the sunlit instrument, at the match girl’s stricken expression, and suddenly became short of breath. The room tilted. The cold ocean washed over his body.

He ran to the bathroom and proceeded to lose his lunch as well.

…

“You really love the piano, don’t you?” Natalia Moretti, the aspiring Italian opera singer, said to fourteen-year-old Ulquiorra one sunny day in her thick accent. He’d been in Rome with the Ingram family for a few weeks now. It was the second time they’d gone that summer; the first had been for one of Ulquiorra’s performances, and after a brief respite in the states, they’d come back per his request.

He’d been inspired on his initial visit, when they had gone to a show and heard Natalia sing. The music had flooded his mind. All that he’d needed were lyrics… and his piano. He could not compose properly without it. Thankfully, through Mr. Ingram’s connections, they’d found an Italian-English lyricist to convert Ulquiorra’s expanding opera into song form, and from there it was only a matter of contacting the singer.

Getting a hold of Natalia had been slightly difficult, but he could not be stopped once he’d set his mind to something. He’d asked so politely, been so insistent. He’d named her his muse. And she had been moved, either by his determination or the fact that he was getting a little taller and losing his boyish features.

“What makes you say that?” Ulquiorra asked her, though the truth of the statement brought a rare smile to his face.

Natalia, seated next to him on the bench, blushed a little, and tucked a lock of wavy black hair behind her ear. “You just seem so… at peace. When you play, it almost looks like you are communicating with a lover. It’s mesmerizing.”

Ulquiorra considered this while going through a line in the second act of the opera, in which the demon, discovered by the princess, attempts to scare her away. “You know,” he murmured, toying with the volume, seeing if he would have to adjust his own markings, “you’re not the first person who’s brought that up.”

“I think it is very admirable!” Natalia added quickly, hoping that she hadn’t offended him somehow. “Not many people have that sort of passion for what they do.” Her lashes fluttered, whether consciously or unconsciously, he wasn’t sure. She’d been putting the moves on him all day, and quite clumsily.

“Hmm.” He supposed that it was true. When friendship had turned into love, he wasn’t sure. He’d heard all sorts of things about the emotion, of what it entailed: having someone with whom he shared a special bond, someone who knew him better than anyone else.

That mute phantom of a girl, who had grown up with him. The girl who brought forth his best kept secrets, the girl that only he could make sing. Sure, he could see that: her hand in his as they walked through life together, facing every challenge, sharing a connection like no other. When he was upset, she was the only thing that made him happy, and when he was in a good mood, she chirped cheerfully beside him. Ah, but a love affair with a piano would be completely unnatural. He chuckled at the thought of it, puzzling Natalia.

How silly. He’d given his one and only heart to an inanimate object.

…

It never failed: when Lowell Ingram came home, he and Ulquiorra fought. The teenager could scarcely remember a peaceful evening in that house. Raised voices bantering across the dinner table, barking dogs, mother and children trying to mediate and getting nowhere. They were tossed about by the force of Lowell’s will, iron-clad, and Ulquiorra’s, quickly deteriorating.

But if there was one thing that arguing had done for him in this particular instant, it was to bring to order the chaos in his mind. His sentence died on his breath, and a crooked smile brought an arrogant sort of triumph to his entire demeanor. “You want one more piece for the collection?” he asked Lowell, who sat at the opposite end of the table with fork and knife clenched tightly in either hand. “Alright, fine. One more piece.”

“Ulquiorra!” Mrs. Ingram cried as he abruptly left the table, headed for the stairs with purpose quickening his stride.

Lowell threw down the fork and knife, following after him. Matthew and Sarah quickly did the same. Mrs. Ingram stayed behind. Largo and Forte barked to silence the agitated puppies.

Meanwhile, Ulquiorra was beginning to suspect that he was losing his mind. There was a wild sort of giddiness bouncing around inside of him, filling him with so much energy that he just had to take it out on something.

And he knew who would be there, waiting faithfully for him in the upstairs family room. He took no care in dragging the piano bench out from its tucked position, gave no mind to the cover that he slammed upwards as he settled into place.

He waited for no one before his hands came down on the keys with force, drawing a startled cry from his so-called lover.

“One more piece,” he whispered, fingers mashing, fury rising. It was a beautiful mess, this violence that his father had stirred within him over the past few months. He would have never thought himself capable of it. Not someone like him, no. He was quiet, he was patient.

Surely his little match girl had thought the same thing.

She was screaming, but he didn’t care. She’d brought this upon herself. It was her fault that this happy family, this loving home had turned into a place of nightmares. It was her siren song, her illustrious voice that had crooned into his father’s ear, that had brought in the money. Hell, now that he thought of it, she was nothing but a common whore, wasn’t she? She’d sing for anyone that knew how to touch her just right.

There was nothing special about him. He was just another sucker caught up in her filthy games.

Lowell stood stock-still in the entrance with Matthew and Sarah behind him, listening to the madness that had descended upon Ulquiorra’s soul, the fervor that drove him to treat that piano, the thing that he loved most in the world, with such brutality.

The piece was almost over, the dance nearing completion. She shrieked, she cried, she begged him no more. No more. No more! It hurt so much. His hatred, his hostility, his betrayal, his pain. All that rage, rapidly building to a profound climax. He was climbing towards his freedom, he realized. Just a little more and he would break the surface of the Pacific, see the sun shining for the first time in over a year.

And as he reached that peak, his fingers froze over the keys, eyes widening as he was greeted by the sight before him:

Nothing.

There was nothing. He’d finally come up for his precious air, but there was no land around for miles. It was simply ocean: vast, empty, churning beneath a clouded sky and stretching towards the horizon.

And the silence was deafening.

…

He titled the piece Nihilism, and somehow managed to reproduce it for a recording a few days later, played on a strange piano with nowhere near the same amount of feeling.

Of course he couldn’t bring it up to par. He was regretting it now, taking his anger out on the piano like that, leaving her trembling and bleeding and scared and then just… walking away. But when he’d calmed down the next morning and went looking for her, he’d found her dead in the family room. Body intact, no spirit.

She was gone, and with her, the music as well.

Ulquiorra sat in numbed silence for days. He was sick for a while, and then logically, he tried again. What kind of pianist would he be if he didn’t? He placed himself on the bench and remained motionless for hours, waiting for a tinkling of keys, for a flash of inspiration to move his locked limbs, but nothing came.

When Lowell began commenting on the silence over dinner one night, Ulquiorra lost it.

“What, so all of the sudden you’re worried about me?”

“Of course. We couldn’t get you away from that piano when you were younger. Now you won’t even look at it.”

“I hope you’re not trying to be funny.”

“Ulquiorra…” his mother began, but he cut her off.

“Because that’s a sick fucking joke, father. You want to know what I think?” He laughed. “I think that you really are worried about me. Your concern is so genuine that it’s blinding. God, somebody turn down the light on Patron Saint Lowell Ingram before my eyes melt!”

“Bro, come on…”

“You’re worried, alright! Your biggest cash cow’s fallen ill and won’t give you anymore milk. Pity! You’d consider chopping it up for meat, but let’s face it. You won’t make nearly as much on a few cuts of beef as you would on years of dairy. Am I right?” He had been trying to occupy himself with his dinner, but now he dropped the utensils and glared at his father, whose livid expression was promising violence. “That’s what this whole thing has been about, isn’t it? Let’s take advantage of the poor little orphan boy! Let’s put him on strings and make him dance! Oh, but he’s gotten older, and his limbs are locking up and the paint’s chipping off his body, but let’s keep dragging him across the stage so everyone can have their laugh at his expense! Let’s take away his identity, put him out in the rain until he’s weather-beaten and hardly recognizable! Let’s expect him to keep painting a smile over his face so that we can, I don’t know, wiggle him a little more and see if the audience still throws a few coins his way!”

Lowell stood from his chair, knocking it to the floor. “How dare you!” he bellowed, his face reddening in his anger. “After all that I’ve done for you, you would talk to me like this? After I took you in, gave you clothes and food and a family and everything you ever asked for? What an ungrateful child!”

“I’m the ungrateful one? Me?” Ulquiorra matched his volume. “It was you who couldn’t be satisfied with what I gave you!” He pointed at Mrs. Ingram. “Your wife and your kids were happy with what little I offered, but not you! ‘More songs, Ulquiorra, so that we can afford a chandelier for the foyer!’ Does that sound like gratitude to you?”

Sarah buried her face in her hands, prompting Matthew to put an arm around her shaking shoulders. Mrs. Ingram yelled to silence the dogs.

Then Ulquiorra pushed out his chair and left his dinner, cool and getting colder, without another word. He grabbed his jacket off the hook in the living room, took his car keys from the ring by the door. “Where are you going?” Lowell Ingram demanded when he passed by the table on his way to the garage door.

Ulquiorra turned on him. “I’m done,” he said, shoving his arms into the jacket sleeves. “Done with you, done with the fucking record company, done with… with this. I’m tired of sitting here and acting like another happy member of the Ingram family. You can tell the press I died.”

“You can’t leave!” Lowell shouted, moving around the table. “Where will you go? You’re under contract! You’re completely dependent on me for money, or have you forgotten that?” When his words did nothing to stop Ulquiorra, he sputtered on. “I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got!”

“Sue me, then! It’s your money anyway!”

More barking. Sarah sobbed and sniffled. Matthew and Mrs. Ingram watched Lowell disappear in pursuit of his adopted son. A door slammed, then opened, then slammed again. “Ulquiorra!” Lowell’s muffled voice shouted. There was the mechanical buzz and groan of the garage door lifting. Another slam, then a car started. “Ulquiorra!”

The sound of the engine grew distant. Moments later, they heard the garage door humming again, shutting out the world beyond. Mr. Ingram came back into the house, his face still red, but his step was slow and heavy. He looked winded.

Now a silence settled upon them that even the dogs dared not break, their heads raised towards their master, awaiting orders. But it was Mrs. Ingram who spoke first, in a voice so low and tremulous that it almost went unheard. “If you sue him, I’m leaving you.”

Sarah pulled away from Matthew and left the table. Her footsteps were heard on the stairs, quick and light, and then her bedroom door slammed shut. Matthew didn’t stick around, either. “I’m going to find him, Mom,” he said, then went into the living room for his jacket and keys. He brushed past his father wordlessly on his way to the garage.

Lowell Ingram and his wife were left in the dining room, refusing to look at each other, a vast and empty ocean between them, to drown in Ulquiorra’s silence.

…

A gentle hum was what brought Ulquiorra out of the darkness, beckoning him with a slender, curling finger. Come here, it seemed to say. He followed it, out of the barren shore on which his oceanic drifting had deposited him, through a charred landscape full of black, dead trees, some still smoking. The hum led him across the ravaged field, and though he was tired, he pressed on, dragging his heavy limbs and feeling quite corpse-like again.

And then his feet touched lush green grass. A cool breeze soothed the fire burning across his skin, and when he lifted his head, he came face to face with the sun.

Fiery auburn strands tickled his cheek. A pair of gray eyes blinked above him. “You’re awake.” Slender fingers pushed his hair back from his damp forehead. “God, Paco, way to scare the crap out of me.”

Ulquiorra slowly became aware of his living room, of the fact that his head was resting on someone’s legs, of the bad taste in his mouth and the utter exhaustion weighing him down. “Ms. Inoue…”

“Szayel was here earlier. Do you remember?”

“I don’t.” He was completely bewildered.

“You were throwing up a lot throughout the night, but the good news is that your fever’s gone down. Guess it wasn’t just a cold like you thought. Of course, I’m the idiot for getting the flu shot last month. It’ll do more harm than good. Who said that? Certainly not me. But I can think of someone whose name starts with U and rhymes with… rhymes with… fedora…” She scowled. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Ulquiorra muttered tiredly, closing his eyes. “I just…”

She waited, but he said nothing further. “You just… what?” He turned onto his side, facing her, and his arm circled her back as if he were embracing a pillow. “Ulquiorra…?” Something wet landed on her leg. She pushed his hair back again, saw the glassiness of his eyes and the glistening trail over the bridge of his nose. She recalled the things that he had been muttering throughout the course of his fever, and she promptly fell silent.

You’re amazing, she wanted to tell him. Look at everything you’ve done on your own. Look how far you’ve come from where you were. She wished she could tell him that everything was going to be alright, that what was in the past was done.

But those were empty words. They were pretty, airheaded thoughts invented by a world that simply didn’t understand how deeply emotional scars could run. They were lies made up for children, to blind them to the fact that sometimes there really were monsters in the closet or under the bed…

“Orihime.”

“Hmm?”

…demons that had to be fought every single day…

“I…”

I love you.

And Orihime sat paralyzed as those three whispered words set her demons free.

Chapter Text

“Go ahead; tell me you’ll leave again.

You’ll just come back, running,

holding your scarred heart in hand...”

Because Ulquiorra was recovering from the flu, he did not notice any changes at first. Everything was normal, peaceful, as exciting as it had always been: he would call Orihime fat for eating three waffles at breakfast, she would retaliate by cutting holes into his boxers, and he would respond by throwing all of her clothes into the building’s elevator while she was in the shower—even the spare outfit she kept hidden in the cabinet in case of pranks. No, there was never a dull moment in the Schiffer apartment, except for when they decided to act like a normal couple.

On those quiet days, they would conveniently forget to set their alarm clocks and stay buried beneath the covers until noon. Lunch became breakfast, which was a collaborated effort: Ulquiorra would make the pancakes, fry the bacon, and scramble the eggs; Orihime would burn the toast. Then she’d throw a fit and claim the toaster was possessed, and that if he owned a toaster oven like a normal person such things wouldn’t keep happening to them. Meanwhile, he would be pushing her out of the kitchen.

Breakfast was eaten at the table, which had sported only five chairs since Orihime had taken the sixth apart and neither of them had ever figured out how to put it back together. The odd number bothered Ulquiorra, but Orihime wouldn’t let him buy a new chair. This was often the catalyst of their morning argument—they were prone to three a day, but Ulquiorra would always instigate a fourth before midnight to even things out.

It was a rather simple arrangement, really. If no one saw either the pianist or the redhead in the morning, or heard from them by noon, then they knew it would be wise to stay away from the apartment. These days were strictly reserved for each other. Unimportant phone calls and texts went ignored, non-life-or-death emergencies would have to wait until the next day, a world outside of their own did not exist.

And Orihime would have carried on as she usually did, wouldn’t have had a problem in the universe had it not been for that look in Ulquiorra’s eyes.

In the past, that look had always been eclipsed by something else. The first time that she’d seen it had been the morning after the Halloween party that had almost taken her life, before he’d kissed her softly enough to prevent alarm, but with the conviction of someone who knew, anticipated, and accepted the terms of whatever came next. He had pulled away from her, and in the depths of his green eyes she had seen it, suppressed by the secret he’d yet to tell her.

The day that he had broken her heart, she had seen the look again, first clouded by lust, then drowning in… anger? No, fear. His words had been cold, but he had been dreading her reaction—and she’d given him a damn good reason to.

Orihime was perfectly fine with that look so long as it was diluted, distracted and dim. But lately she’d found herself unable to meet his eyes. She would turn her head, fiddle with something, start a fight.

Anything, anything to get him to stop gazing at her as if she were the entire Christmas season wrapped up in a bag of flesh and bone.

And it was hard to do this without being too obvious, especially on the days they spent together, just the two of them. On one such afternoon, with the fever and the residual coughing and the general grossness gone, Ulquiorra began to feel that something was amiss. He had her pinned to the sofa, arm extended towards the remote control that she held out of his reach (for she insisted on watching Judge Judy, even though it was a rerun), but the struggle had stopped. “Are you alright?” he asked her.

“Yeah, why?” she said to the back of the sofa.

Ulquiorra abandoned his quest for the remote and turned her head to face him. It was the easiest way to tell if something really was bothering her, as she tended to hold onto her feelings, despite their strict “no secrets” rule. She caught his eye, blinked, then shifted her attention to the television. “Can you believe this chick? She still thinks that she can talk out of turn. Didn’t she hear Judge Judy when she told her to shut up the first time? Learn something, bitch!”

Ulquiorra abruptly yanked up her shirt and dragged his fingertips across her stomach. Orihime burst into giggles and hooked her leg around his, pulling until he lost his equilibrium and had to lean to the side to catch himself on the coffee table. She took the opportunity to wriggle away from him and stand from the couch. “Hey, let’s watch a movie. Something random, like Free Willy. I don’t really care. I just want some popcorn.”

He set both feet flat on the floor, leaning forward, elbows on his thighs. “Mmhmm.” He watched as Judge Judy, fed up with the insubordinate plaintiff, dismissed the case entirely.

And without enough evidence, he would have to do the same.

…

“Hey, Orihime,” Rukia said one morning as they, together with Tatsuki, had frappucinos at the café next to Tiburón. “Can I ask a weird question?” She fiddled with the green straw poking out of the froth.

“Sure, go ahead! I’m all for weird questions.”

Rukia stared at a fixed point on the table. “Remember when we were in middle school and stuff, and we’d always, like, pretend to be cool, then go stupidly boy crazy when we were alone?” She lifted her head, violet eyes reflecting her reluctance. “Did that ever make you feel… out of place?”

“Rukia!” Tatsuki hissed, an anxious glance darting between them.

Orihime laughed and waved her hand. “It’s fine, Tatsuki. We’re all big kids here. Water under the bridge and all that crap.” She stuck her straw between her lips, getting down a gulp of warmth while reflecting on the question. “Out of place, huh? Yeah… I guess. Not that I didn’t have crushes or anything, because I did. Who was that freaking gap-toothed kid with the blond hair…? Swear I swooned over him once or twice.” A small smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Though I never imagined it going very far. My idea of romance was a blow… err… …it was different.” She traced the outline of a picture frame hanging on the wall with her eyes. “Always thought the gooey stuff on TV was for other people.”

Rukia’s cheeks colored. They trudged through a moment of silence before Tatsuki decided to break the tension.

“But it’s okay. You’ve got Ulquiorra,” she said, in the hopes that she could erase the distant expression that had settled on Orihime’s face. “From what you’ve told us, it’s safe to say that he loves you more than anyone else ever will.”

I love you.

Orihime squeezed her cup so tightly that the lid came off with an audible pop. The three of them looked at her hand, now covered in whipped cream. “Heh,” she choked out, so quietly that it could hardly be heard over the lounge music in the background. “Heheh…”

…

Ulquiorra stared down at the bowl on the table in front of him. Macaroni and cheese, with bacon bits. He lifted his hand, and it hovered above the plastic fork to the right of the food for a few seconds, then fell back to his side. Across from him, Grimmjow’s face was practically buried in his bowl.

They were currently in his apartment on the sixth floor, sitting at the table like civilized human beings—which worried Ulquiorra—and for once, he had been the one called over for dinner. But Grimmjow was not the greatest chef in the world, which had been red flag number two. Something was bothering his… neighbor, comrade-thing. Something so big that it couldn’t be discussed over texts or Facebook chat, their usual means of communication-slash-Grimmjow’s easiest way of annoying him.

Ulquiorra pushed the bowl two inches away from his body. “So,” he began slowly, “we’re sitting at the table, and you have a napkin tucked into your shirt. Did Nelliel break out the dog whistle or was she forced to call that British woman from Animal Planet?”

Grimmjow dropped his bowl. “Dude, I think Nel’s pregnant.”

“Congratulations.”

“Don’t congratulate me yet, you piece of shit.”

Ulquiorra blinked slowly. “I can leave…”

“No! Stay!” Grimmjow pointed at him and raised an eyebrow practically to his hairline. The pianist remained still. “You’re a smart guy… kind of. What do I do about this?”

Ulquiorra looked at his fork suggestively. “Well…”

“Hey, I want serious input.”

“Have you tried asking her whether or not she’s pregnant?”

Grimmjow considered this, stroking his chin. “…but if I do that, and she isn’t pregnant, she’s going to think that I’m calling her fat, and I’m going to get my ass kicked.”

Ulquiorra lifted his head. “You mean women don’t enjoy being called fat?” He stared off into space. Huh. Usually when he said it to Ms. Inoue, she yelled at him, but then she’d get all pink in the cheeks and avoid him the way she did whenever she felt affectionate. Perhaps he wasn’t reading the atmosphere correctly?

“Focus.” Grimmjow snapped his fingers.

“Asking is the only way that you’re going to get a straight answer,” Ulquiorra said with an air of finality, “and if she is pregnant, then be a man and own up to the responsibility. She’s your wife. You should have known that this was going to happen eventually…” And then he trailed off, realizing what he had just said and uncharacteristically allowing his jaw to go slack. He stood from his chair. “I have to go.”

“Huh? Oh, sure. Aren’t you gonna eat that, though?”

“I’ll pass.”

…

That night, Ulquiorra and Orihime lay in bed, reclining on their backs for a change. They stared at the dark ceiling, wide awake, half a foot of space between them. Then they shared a long sigh.

Ulquiorra finally decided to break the silence and glanced at her. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Nope,” Orihime answered, not even bothered by the question. “How ‘bout you?”

“…”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

This was followed by a moment of peace. And then Ulquiorra turned onto his side, draping an arm across her abdomen, and rested his chin on her shoulder. She made no move to get closer. “You never said anything.”

“Hmm?”

“About that day when I was sick.”

Orihime’s heart suddenly felt like the cup that she had crushed that morning. “Was I supposed to?” She did her best to sound aloof, keeping her gaze fixed on the ceiling and her hands at her sides. But then there was more movement, and suddenly he was above her, green eyes narrowed. “Hey…” She stared at his neck. “You’re blocking my view.”

Ulquiorra leaned down, kissed her heatedly and whispered against her lips, “There’s nothing to see.”

…

When he awoke the morning after, she was gone.

Hours before, Orihime had slipped out of bed, taken a shower, gotten dressed and left the apartment building. She’d wanted space, some time to clear her head… and pie. With a comfortable pair of tennis shoes on her feet, she didn’t mind walking all the way to Urahara’s convenience store outside of the Hueco Mundo district, close to her old apartment. She knew for a fact that the first pie of the day usually came out somewhere around seven, but because she’d never been a morning person, the hat-and-sandal clad store owner was quite surprised to see her.

“Ms. Inoue! Were you dreaming of dessert for breakfast?” he asked as she approached the counter.

“Something like that. What’s the flavor?”

“Blueberry! They’re good for digestion, you know. My girlfriend has been harassing me about making healthier pies.” Urahara brought out a slice for Orihime and set it on a disposable plate.

She grinned. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Of course. Did you think that a stud like me was still on the market? I’m a little hurt, Ms. Inoue.”

“Right.” Orihime rolled her eyes. “Sorry.” She offered him a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

Sunlight came in from the store windows, so she took up a seat on one of the high tables there, placing the slice of pie in front of her. The steam rolled upwards from its surface, curling in the air. Orihime couldn’t help being reminded of the day she’d met Ulquiorra. In fact, hadn’t it started just like this, with her sneaking out of his apartment and coming down here for a snack? Only this time, her treasured anklet was safe and secure on her leg. She didn’t have to go back if she didn’t want to…

Her bottom lip trembled, and she quickly shoveled a forkful of pie into her mouth. There was no way she would do that to him. Not without warning, anyway. But what could she possibly say to make him understand what was going through her mind?

Nothing. Ulquiorra was a world away from her in that respect, a rich patron tapping on the glass of a freak show’s container. He could pity her all he wanted, he could be entertained by her, he could love her… but she, in her cage, would never know why.

She’d been having nightmares for the past few days. Visions of her father, sitting in the armchair that had stood in the corner of their living room, with a beer bottle in hand, laughing at her. “What, you think you’re happy now?” She’d wanted to tell him yes, but she couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. “Where do you get off, thinking you can forget me and all the others? You haven’t changed, girl. You’re nothing more than a—”
 

“Stop it!” she’d screamed at him, covering her ears, but she couldn’t drown out the word no matter how hard she pressed. Whore, whore, whore. A thousand accusing fingers pointed at her, the shining teeth of mocking smiles glared at her like spotlights.

She could run from it, but she couldn’t hide. She could try to stand up to it on her own, but it would keep on bowling her over, like a freight train, howling and churning, rails screeching, clouds of toxic black smoke pouring into her blue skies.

Ulquiorra couldn’t change his past, and she couldn’t change hers. Nothing was different, nothing was new, nothing was less broken just because they had found each other in the darkness. She couldn’t undo her wrongs or take back what was stolen from her.

And no amount of love in the world was going to save her.

…

Predictably, he was waiting for her when she returned to the apartment. She could see it in the way that he looked at her from the piano bench: he wanted an explanation, but he wasn’t going to press her for it. They had made an agreement, after all. No secrets… but they wouldn’t harass each other for details, either. If they had something to say, they’d say it when they were ready to.

“I brought pie.” Orihime held up the white box from Urahara’s shop. “It’s blueberry.”

“Hmm.” Ulquiorra’s fingers began moving over the piano keys. It was Chopin’s Nocturne in E minor, which Orihime remembered only because she’d liked it so much that she’d asked for the name of the piece several times. But today, it did nothing to soothe her, nothing to bring forth a smile. It was a series of ups and downs that dragged her heart along for the ride and made it hard for her to breathe. She set the pie on the kitchen counter and joined Ulquiorra on the piano bench, sitting rigidly to his right, with her head bowed.

The ease with which he played never ceased to amaze her. Then again, this was his form of expression, his way of telling her that he knew something was wrong, and that he’d help her get through it. She just had to let him in.

But how? The two of them were mere pain killers; they could treat each other’s pain, but they couldn’t heal each other’s wounds. That was up to her, and she didn’t have it in her to stitch the bleeding cuts, to ice the bruises. Not when the scarlet letters burned brighter than ever behind her eyelids. Not when she remained convinced of her own worthlessness.

The song ended. Ulquiorra gazed at her, expression unreadable. She didn’t acknowledge him. He reached out and touched her cheek, turned her head in his direction, saw the unshed tears in her eyes.

They were so close to each other, like the very first unexpected time. Same place, same proximity, same tension, as if they’d never kissed at all.

Orihime’s courage failed her. She pushed away from the piano bench, though where she would go in that small apartment, she didn’t know. Once she had found the space comfortable, but now the cleanliness was stifling, reminding her of just how little she fit into this world. She was toppling from her pedestal, humbled by her nightmares.

She couldn’t stay here. There were too many things unsaid, flooding the apartment like water, forcing her towards the ceiling for air. If she could just open a door or a window…

Ulquiorra’s hand seized her wrist. “Orihime,” he called out to her, willing her to snap out of it. She was hyperventilating. Her body was shaking. What had brought this on, all of a sudden?

“No!” she gasped, trying to yank her arm away.

“Calm down! What’s—?”

Smack!

Orihime stumbled backwards, nearly falling over the couch. Her now free hand covered her mouth, the other still trembling in front of her, palm and fingers stinging. Ulquiorra stood frozen by the dining table, green eyes wide, his cheek slowly reddening. Neither of them spoke a word.

And then Orihime came back to life. “I-I…” she choked out, but managed no more. What could she say? A simple apology would neither suffice nor convey her remorse. She peeled herself off the couch. “I need… some time…”

“It’s alright,” he said, not looking at her. “It’s fine.”

“Ulquiorra…” She swallowed the knot in her throat. Her body moved on autopilot, taking her to the door. She wanted to tell him that she would come back, that if she didn’t, he could come after her, tear the whole city apart if he had to.

But in the end, she slipped out wordlessly, leaving him standing by the dining table with a hand held to his throbbing cheek.

Chapter Text

“And I’ll take you for who you are

if you take me for everything

and do it all over again.”

Grimmjow came into Ulquiorra’s apartment a few hours later, a half-eaten pastry in hand. The fact that the place was seemingly unoccupied didn’t deter him; he had a good idea of where he would find the pianist. He approached the couch and peered over the top of it. Yup, there he was, lying face-down like a teenage girl in the midst of a fit. “Let me guess: She didn’t ask you to prom.”

Ulquiorra’s head turned enough for one narrowed eye to be visible. “Why are you in my home? And dropping crumbs on the carpet, no less?”

“I came to see how you were doing.” Grimmjow put his free hand on the top of the sofa, cleared it in one leap, and landed heavily on Ulquiorra’s back. Ignoring the pained groan beneath him, he propped his feet up on coffee table. “You’re talking, so that’s a good sign.”

“Does gossip really travel that fast around here?” came the grumble from the cushions.

“Not at all. Your chew toy showed up at my place a while ago. Nel kicked me out because”—he lifted his hands and made finger quotes—“I wasn’t helping and I was being a pest.” He took a savage bite out of the pastry, then held out what was left to Ulquiorra. “Want some?”

“I would rather not have your saliva in my mouth.”

“Why not? I brushed my teeth.”

“Get off of me,” Ulquiorra snarled. Grimmjow complied with a roll of his eyes, and Ulquiorra pulled himself up—slowly, and with a wince as his back popped once or twice. He turned onto his side and put his feet on the floor. “How is Ms. Inoue doing?”

Grimmjow finished his dessert and licked his fingers clean. “She’s alright. Wasn’t crying anymore by the time I left, but I’ve got one of these”—he pointed at his crotch—“so I couldn’t make heads or tails of what she was saying. Something about love… I don’t know.”

“Fantastic help you are.”

“Can’t say that I never did you any favors… oi, what happened to your face?”

Ulquiorra blinked. “My face?”

Grimmjow gestured to his cheek. “Hand print.” He got no response from his best friend. “Oh, I see.” His lips stretched into a maniacal grin. “She got you good, huh? Haha!” Ulquiorra looked away from him. “Hey, don’t even worry about it! Chances are, it won’t be the last time that it happens, so you should get used to the sting.”

Ulquiorra tuned him out, focusing instead on what had been said before. She wasn’t crying anymore… good. He could rest easier that night. If she hadn’t left the apartment building, then she wasn’t planning anything stupid. At least, he liked to think that he knew her well enough to make that assumption. “By the way,” he said, cutting Grimmjow off mid-sentence, “did you ask Nel if she was pregnant?”

The Frenchman’s smile faded, replaced by a blank look. “Yes.” He leaned closer to Ulquiorra. “And she laughed at me. No yes or no, just… laughter. What the hell does that even mean?”

“Beats me. She’s your wife.”

…

Because Nel was married, Orihime ended up spending the night at Tia’s apartment. The habitually quiet woman fretted over making her guest sleep on the couch, but Orihime promised she didn’t mind; she’d slept on Ulquiorra’s couch long enough. “I’m totally used to it,” she swore.

Tia nodded, though her expression was still conflicted. “You can stay as long as you like, Orihime.” She offered her a shy smile, which the redhead returned. It was nice to see her whole and beautiful face. Ever since she’d started dating Starrk, her confidence had really soared. She no longer seemed to mind the scar that marred the right side of her jaw.

“It won’t be long.” At least, Orihime hoped it wouldn’t be long. If all else failed, she would beg Chizuru for an apartment while she sorted her feelings.

Tia sat down next to her on the couch. “Mind filling me in on what’s going on?”

Oh, where to begin? Orihime drew her knees up to her chest, staring at the television set across the room. It was off, its black screen sporting a shadowy reflection of her. “We…” She shook her head. “I’m having problems.” Tia nodded encouragingly. “I’ve never been in a situation like this before. It’s strange.”

“A situation like what?”

“Being loved,” Orihime whispered. She hugged herself tighter. “I have so many questions… but I’m afraid that his answers won’t be what I want to hear.”

Tia put a hand on her shoulder. “Orihime, I used to think a lot like you,” she confessed, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Back before you came along, I’d been holding onto my feelings for Starrk, too afraid to do anything about them. I was terrified that when he saw… this”—she gestured to her scarred face—“he wouldn’t say what I wanted to hear, though at the time I had some pretty warped ideas of what those words would be. And you know, I was right. He didn’t say what I wanted to hear.” Orihime looked up at her. “He said what I needed to hear.” Tia smiled again. “But I felt so much better afterward.”

Orihime sighed. “I suppose…”

“I’m not saying that it’s a guarantee. You and Mr. Schiffer are vastly different from Starrk and me.” Tia checked the time on the DVD player and stood up; it was late. “But whatever you do, Hime, give him a chance. You should see how miserable he gets without you.”

Orihime continued to stare at the blank television screen, lost in her thoughts. She remained virtually motionless until she was sure that Tia had gone to bed, and even then, she couldn’t bring herself to sleep. Work in the morning, and then she and Nel would go to Rangiku’s apartment. The busty blonde was moving out at the end of the month, seeing as she and Gin were marrying in a matter of weeks… it was sort of a pre-bachelorette bachelorette party.

Perhaps she would ask her manager for advice. They were kindred spirits, after all: both had had their virginity stolen from them by despicable men. How had Rangiku gotten over her fears, she wondered…?

Orihime arranged one of the cushions beneath her head, then unfolded the blankets that Tia had given her and laid back, searching the shadows of the ceiling as if she would find the solution to her problem there.

Three floors beneath her, Ulquiorra lay awake on his couch, doing the exact same thing.

…

It was slow at the Haineko diner for most of the morning, but once two o’clock rolled around the high schools, given an early dismissal, released their students and the place filled up instantly. Luckily, Momo was one of those free high school kids, and came in to help with the rush. “Good afternoon, Orihime!” she said with her usual cheer, practically floating in through the door.

“Hey Mo—oh!” Orihime dropped the menu she’d been holding onto the bar, eyes widening at the sight of the girl. “Is that a letter jacket?” She may not have been gung-ho for tradition back in her own high school days, but she remembered the apparel. Momo grinned and twisted from side to side, showing off the thick jacket that enveloped her modestly, a giant letter K on the left side. “I didn’t know you were an athlete.”

“I’m not,” Momo said with a blush, and turned around to let Orihime see the back. Hitsugaya was written from shoulder to shoulder. “It’s Toshiro’s jacket. He just got it for junior varsity soccer.”

“Whoa, and it actually fits you?” Orihime grinned.

Momo pulled the jacket off, carefully draping it over her shoulder as she approached the podium. “He ordered it a few sizes bigger, since he’s still growing and all. I’m so proud of him, though!”

“Tell him I said congrats.” Orihime leaned in closer to the girl. “By the way, does this mean that you two are official now? ‘Cause back when I was in school, sharing letter jackets meant you were practically engaged.”

“O-Orihime!” Momo squealed, tucking the jacket into one of the podium’s shelves. “It isn’t like that! Even if Toshiro did have feelings for me, he’s still a sophomore. I’d be going off to college while he stays behind, and it’s just… it’s weird!”

Orihime rolled her eyes. Obviously the kid hadn’t gotten up the guts to tell Momo yet. “And if he did confess to you?”

Momo fiddled with her name tag. “Gee, I don’t know…” She shifted a shy glance to Orihime. “Isn’t Ulquiorra older than you? It’s easier when it’s the guy who’s the more mature one, huh?” A pause. “Well, no… that’s not really true either,” she said quietly.

“No, it isn’t.” Orihime thought of Aizen, hopefully rotting in a jail cell somewhere far away from them. “In fact, Ulquiorra and I are taking a bit of a break at the moment.”

“Oh no!” Momo’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

Orihime shook her head. “It’s not… bad, I guess. I needed a little time to think is all.”

A customer came in and Momo directed them to an open seat at the bar. Then she turned back to Orihime, all smiles. “In that case, I won’t worry. You and Ulquiorra have a great relationship. It’s sort of like a fairy tale: he was your prince charming, saving you from a bad life and whisking you off to a castle…” Orihime couldn’t help but snort. “Okay, so it isn’t perfect.” Momo leaned on the podium. “But I know plenty of girls in my school who would kill for that kind of romance… for a guy who takes them at their absolute lowest and is happy with that.”

“In other words, an idiot.”

“Of course. Aren’t they always the good guys in teen movies?”

The two burst into giggles, earning annoyed looks from nearby customers. Orihime hugged the affectionate girl. “Thanks. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

It was true: Ulquiorra was an idiot, in more than just the romantic sense of the word. But wasn’t that part of his charm? She made a face. Of course not. What charm? He wasn’t princely or anything remotely close. Shame on her for falling in love with a man with such a repulsive character… and shame on her for continuing to love him, despite having the facts in front of her.

…

Rangiku may have had two more weeks to clear the premises, but plenty of her things had already been packed. Several boxes sat around her apartment, labeled and ready to be transported to Las Noches. In the mean time, she danced around the kitchen counter, two drinks in hand, presenting one to Orihime and one to Nel. “Yours is virgin,” she said to the French girl, who put on a disappointed frown.

“You aren’t drinking, Rangiku?” Orihime asked her, taking a sip from her glass.

Rangiku and Nel grinned at each other. “Nah,” the blonde replied, “that stuff’s bad for me. Besides, it’s not like I need it anymore.”

Orihime glared at her. “Who are you and what have you done with my boss?” she demanded, to which the other two snickered. “You guys are acting sheisty. And speaking of which, Nel, what’s this I hear about you being pregnant? I had a feeling Grimmjow was trying to ask me last week and I didn’t know what to tell him, so I scared him into thinking you were.”

Nel burst out laughing, kicking her legs and holding her drink tightly to avoid spilling any on Rangiku’s couch. “What an imbecile!” she squealed. “Although, not completely stupid. He is probably catching onto festive atmosphere.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m pregnant,” Rangiku said.

“What? Oh my God, shut up! Seriously?” Orihime, completely bewildered, put her drink down on the table and flung herself at Rangiku. “Congratulations, boss! Wait, why was I the last to know? I’m not the last to know, am I? How could you do this to me! What the fuck, there’s a baby in there!” She put a hand on Rangiku’s midsection. “Can it hear me?”

Rangiku flushed happily. “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. I’ve neglected to look at those little growth charts online, but… yeah.” She smoothed her own hand over her belly. “There’s a baby in there.”

“Is it Gin’s?”

“Girl, who else’s would it be?” She tore away from Orihime, looking offended. “And for your information, the reason that you were almost the last to know is that I want you to be the baby’s godmother. But after that little quip, I’m not so sure anymore.”

“I was kidding! Geez, that stuff about pregnant women being hormonal must be true, huh?” Orihime commented dryly, and Rangiku stuck her tongue out at her. But then the other half of what her boss had said reached her brain, and suddenly the situation wasn’t quite as funny or exciting. “Godmother?” she asked. “Really?”

Rangiku’s expression relaxed into a smile. “Yeah. I mean, if it wasn’t for you and the whole Aizen thing, I probably wouldn’t have even met Gin again, let alone gotten this close to him.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “And to think that when you turned up at Haineko asking for a job, I thought I’d be helping you… but it turned out that you were the one who helped me.”

“Oh God.” Orihime hugged her again. “Come on, boss. Don’t be such a sap. You’re going to laugh at yourself once the baby’s out.”

But now Nel was blubbering too, despite being perfectly sober and baby-free. “I am so ‘appy for you!” she wailed, her English becoming muddled with emotion. “You know what? I cannot wait any longer. I am going to go get pregnant right now!” She stood up and ran to the front door.

“Please don’t,” Orihime called after her, but the door slammed shut, and she wasn’t sure if she’d been heard.

Rangiku pulled away from Orihime, fanning her face. “Sorry Hime. You’re absolutely right about these hormones.” She shook her head. “And I know that I kind of sprung this godmother thing on you, but promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

Orihime nodded absently as Rangiku bent over to retrieve Nel’s abandoned drink. She sat back down on the couch, watching her boss move around in the kitchen, still sniffling. So this was the ideal, then? Getting married, having babies, crying happy tears as opposed to sad ones? It was a fantasy that she had imagined untouchable until recently. And yet here Rangiku was, someone similar to her in circumstances, stepping foot into a life that seemed like a dream.

“Were you scared?”

The question came out before she could stop it. Rangiku paused and looked up at her as if she hadn’t quite heard it, rinsing out Nel’s glass. “What do you mean?”

Orihime drew in a breath. Might as well keep going. “Getting close to Gin, after years of distance and… after what happened with Aizen.” She picked at the edge of the sofa cushion. “Didn’t it scare you?”

Rangiku sensed there was a lot behind this question. She put the glass down to dry, patted her hands on her jeans, and went into the living room where Orihime was seated. “Why would it scare me?” she asked, frowning. “Is this what you and Ulquiorra are fighting about?”

“We’re not fighting. It’s… it’s me,” Orihime whispered, running a hand through her hair. “He says that he loves me, Rangiku. But how can he? Why should he? I’m… broken. I’m no good to him. Why should he give his heart to someone like me?” She sent Rangiku a sidelong glance. “You and I experienced something similar. Didn’t you have fears like mine? Or am I just looking into this way too much?”

Rangiku’s gaze softened. “You’re not.” She reached out to fix the hair that Orihime had displaced. “To be honest, I was terrified. Gin’s done so much for me… gave up whatever dreams he might have had for his future to get revenge for me. Romantic, sure. But I wondered if it would bother him that, after all that effort, I wouldn’t be able to give him my best. And it took a lot of courage to get up the nerve to ask him, but eventually, I did. I asked him whether or not it bothered him that I wasn’t a virgin… if the rape changed anything.”

“And what did he say?” Orihime asked, rather curious. She tried to picture goofy Gin Ichimaru addressing such a serious question with a straight face.

Rangiku laughed. “Well… he smiled at me and said, in a tone of complete surprise, You were raped?” She lifted her legs and stretched them out on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I knew that he was joking, of course. But I got what he was trying to say: No, it didn’t matter. He was willing to pretend that it had never even happened, that I’d spent my whole life waiting for him. And in a way, I had. I’d never been with anyone else… I never wanted to be.”

Orihime took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And here I thought he was an idiot.”

“He is an idiot. He thinks he can say things like that so that I’ll overlook the fact that he abandoned me for twelve years to hatch this desperate scheme.” Rangiku rolled her eyes. “But even then… it was exactly what I needed to hear. And look what’s come of it!” She laid her hand on her belly. “We’re getting married, and bringing a mini ‘us’ into the world. The halves of two broken hearts, coming together to form one beautifully whole and imperfect being… his words, not mine.”

“And you’re trusting me with your little miracle.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else with him. Or her. It. Whatever it is.”

Orihime laid her head on Rangiku’s shoulder. “Well, I’m not the most responsible person on the planet, and you could probably find a million better candidates out there, but… if you and Gin are sure.”

“We’re positive.” Rangiku grinned. “It’s Ulquiorra we’re worried about.”

They stayed there for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts and enjoying the peace, the calm before both their lives changed forever. Orihime knew what she had to do, knew where she should have gone from there… but she felt that she needed one more boost.

And so she left Rangiku’s apartment at around sunset and set off for the bus stop. It was still cold enough for her to need a fairly thick jacket, but she could tell spring had been trying to break through lately. Bare trees planted along the concrete sidewalk sported tiny budding leaves, and the sun’s warmth could be felt during the day, though it was a far cry from summer weather.

And it had been a long winter—one of the longest of her life, if she could remember clearly. She was glad when the bus pulled up, heat blasting from all sides as she stepped inside and took a window seat. It carried her out of her old neighborhood, to the side of the city that she had only visited once since her childhood with Ulquiorra at her side. But tonight, she was doing it alone, because she refused to let him see her like this before she was ready.

When they arrived at the city’s west side, Orihime got out and walked the rest of the way to the cemetery where her brother Sora was buried. Thankfully there were no guards around to harass her about time. She would want as much time as she could take.

She passed blocks of headstones, some decorated with flowers and flags, others forgotten. Her breath began to cloud in front of her as darkness fell. There was still enough light in the sky to discern the names on the tombstones, and soon she found the one marked Sora Inoue, the grass before it yellow from the cold.

“Hey.” Orihime smiled and lowered herself to the ground, sitting cross-legged as she might have done had Sora been across from her. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, bro.” She leaned back on her palms. “But I guess you have all the time in the world to listen.”

…

Ulquiorra hadn’t been expecting any form of company at midnight, so he was surprised to hear the front door unlock with ten minutes left in the day. He had been sitting on the couch, piecing together a new composition, but he left it neglected on the sofa when he looked over his shoulder and found that it was not Grimmjow coming in for some video games, but rather a rosy-cheeked Orihime.

She closed the door behind her, spotted him, and froze. “Oh… you’re awake.”

Ulquiorra stared at her. “I do not sleep well on my own anymore,” he admitted.

Orihime shuffled from one foot to the other. “Neither do I.” She felt tremors sneaking back into her body, felt her courage wobbling like a toddler trying to stand. He wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t coming closer to her. She guessed that he was going to give her the opportunity to explain now that she’d had the chance to sort things out on her own. So she stepped away from the front door, slowly making her way into the living room.

This place was becoming notorious for their more interesting and complicated moments, she realized with a wry smile. Here was where they had shared their first kiss, where she’d first heard him play the piano, where he’d stolen her anklet and later admitted to doing so. Too many memories in one small space. She almost wanted to drag him elsewhere.

“I, uh… I have a question,” she said, deciding that this would be the easiest point to start from. “And I want you to answer to the best of your ability.”

Ulquiorra regarded her with a bit of apprehension, though it didn’t show on his expression. “I’m listening.”

Orihime swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Why do you love me?” And suddenly, she couldn’t stop talking. “Don’t take this the wrong way. It’s really nothing to do with you, nothing at all. You’re perfect—well, I say that loosely. You have a horrible personality, but it suits you. I like it. No… I love it. And I’m fine with that. But you, loving me, it just… it doesn’t add up”—she tapped her temple—“in here.” Her voice sounded as weak and scared as she’d felt since she’d slapped him. “You… or, me, I should say… I have nothing to offer you, Ulquiorra. You won’t gain anything from being with me. It really isn’t fair. I get this nice apartment to live in and someone to teach me how to cook, but you… you get a pain in the ass roommate.”

Ulquiorra hadn’t said anything, nor did he look ready to interrupt her, so she pressed on. “You know what I was. In fact, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you don’t know about me. There’s not much to tell, because there isn’t much here. I’m not… anything special, you know? I’ve been used and thrown away so many times that there’s hardly anything left of me. And you… you don’t deserve sloppy seconds. You’ve had it bad enough. You can do so much better than me. Which is why it’s so weird for you to say that you love me. I just… I can’t do that you.”

“Do what to me?”

Orihime blinked in surprise. “I can’t give you something like this.” She gestured to herself. “I don’t want you to ruin this nice world that you’ve built for yourself with something so unsightly… so worthless.”

“And what if I want to?” Ulquiorra demanded, effectively shutting her up. “You can’t just walk into my house and tell me that I’m not allowed to have what I want. You can’t make that decision for me, Orihime.”

She flinched. “But… but why?”

Ulquiorra shook his head, sighed, and beckoned her forward. “Come here.” He didn’t wait for her to respond before he set off down the hallway, and Orihime was left with no choice but to follow him into the darkness, like she had done so many times already.

The bedside lamp in Ulquiorra’s bedroom was on, providing the only light in that corner of the apartment. Orihime walked in after him, half expecting him to sit on the bed while he organized whatever he was thinking. But the moment she was past the threshold, he pushed the door closed, trapping her between it and himself. “What…”

“I finally know why I was so happy on my own before,” Ulquiorra said quietly, not quite looking at her. “After that blowout with Lowell, I realized that I had lost… everything, really. I had no family, no home, no identity, no inspiration. Absolutely nothing. But having nothing meant having nothing to lose. And I was fine with that. I’d been let down so often that I couldn’t take the pain of being happy anymore.” He sighed. “I tried to bring the piano back because it was the most harmless thing I knew. It wouldn’t come back on its own, however… and that’s where you came in.”

Orihime held her breath as his free hand lifted and gently touched her cheek. “You were supposed to be harmless, too.” She closed her eyes, briefly feeling the sting of his confession back in December. “But you weren’t.” He kissed her forehead. “You were too much for me. How can that be, if there is hardly anything left of you?” He lowered his hand, caught hers, and their fingers intertwined. “How can you say that you’re worthless when I can no longer live without you?”

Orihime screwed her eyes shut tighter. “But I can’t give you anything…”

“I don’t want anything but you.” Ulquiorra tilted her chin up, pushed her hair out of her face. “Used, broken, tarnished… I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.” He heard her whimper. “And you’re wrong, by the way. You’ve given me something that I’m fairly certain you’ve never given anyone else.”

Orihime opened her eyes and found that he was only a few inches away from her, looking neither angry nor annoyed. He was as calm as if they were discussing what to have for dinner. “I have…?”

“Surely you’ve noticed.”

She shook her head.

Ulquiorra placed his free hand over her rapidly beating heart. “This,” he said even quieter than before, “belongs to me.” He brushed his lips against hers. “No one else can have it. I will not allow anyone to take it from me, not even you.” He kissed her fully, pulling away only enough to speak. “You can leave this apartment if you want, but I’m not returning it. And you had better believe that if anybody tries to steal it from me, I will fight to the death for it.” His emerald eyes bore into hers. “Your heart is mine, Orihime. You may not think much of it, but trust me when I say that it’s the most beautiful gift that I’ve ever been given.”

Orihime choked out a sob. “You think too much of me,” she whispered, succumbing to his kiss.

“Somebody has to.” Ulquiorra pulled her closer, and when he looked at her again, she didn’t shy away from the love that she saw there. No… she wouldn’t run away from him anymore. She couldn’t. She didn’t have the strength to do it.

But that was okay. It was alright to be weak in front of him, because she knew from experience that he would protect her, and help her get back on her feet, no matter how long it took. She could give in to him and be fully assured that he would never hurt her again.

And give in, she did. Losing herself, her control, like she never thought she would. Clinging to the best thing that had ever happened to her, to the only honest man she had ever met; finding him in the darkness. He was the surest thing in her world. And after all of the uncertainty, and all of the fear, and her father and the scarlet letters and the alcohol and the sea of faces and the suicide attempts…

…someone had saved her.

“I love you, Ulquiorra…”

Someone had finally saved her. 

…

When neither Orihime nor Ulquiorra turned up the next morning, and when no one had received texts or phone calls from either of them by noon, it was assumed that they had made up, and that this would be one of those days set apart for each other.

But when three days had passed with no word from the couple, their friends grew a little concerned, and Grimmjow was elected to tempt fate by calling Ulquiorra.

“I really need to find a quieter ringtone for you,” the pianist grumbled on the other line.

Grimmjow, sitting next to Nelliel on their living room sofa, glared at the phone. “Dude, where the hell have you been? We were starting to think that you and your little princess had been kidnapped and murdered or something.”

“Mmm... not quite. Though I must say that you have quite the imagination.”

“Eek!”
 

“I told you it would be cold, Ms. Inoue. Honestly, why doesn’t she listen to me?”

Grimmjow looked at Nel, who blinked at him, her expression curious. “So… where are you two, exactly?”

“Oregon.”

“What the fuck are you doing in Oregon?” Grimmjow yelled, startling his wife.

“Ms. Inoue wanted to see the ocean,” came Ulquiorra’s casual response, as if it was normal to up and drive across the country on a whim. “And what sort of man would I have to be to deny her that wish? Thus, I took her to the most beautiful ocean I knew.” Another squeal erupted from the speaker. “Now then, if that is all, you may bother me again next Thursday.”

“Next Thurs—?”

Click.

Somewhere along the Oregon coast, Ulquiorra dropped his smart phone into the sand as Orihime came running back to where he sat, a thin blanket draped over her shoulders, her feet and ankles soaked. “You’re right. It was totally cold.” She lowered herself onto the sand next to Ulquiorra, and leaned her head against his shoulder. It was a few hours earlier here; the sun was still pulling itself away from the horizon, the sky splashed with color, and the humidity in the air was promising spring. “Where to next?” she asked after a considerable amount of silence.

Ulquiorra stared out at the dark blues of the Pacific, the ocean in which he had once imagined himself lost and drowning. He closed his eyes, took the hand of the woman next to him, and relished in the deep sense of peace that had recently settled in the vicinity of his heart. “Wherever you want to go.”

Orihime kissed his shoulder. “Paris?”

“Within the country.”

She nodded once, then stood, pulling him to his feet. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

“You’ve decided already?”

“Nah… I’ll do that when we get there.”

Chapter Text

The air in Las Noches was charged. A festive atmosphere had come over its residents, for tonight was the reemergence of their own personal celebrity into the music world. Yes, the time had finally come for Ulquiorra’s first public concert in almost seven years…

…and, had his friends not known him better, they would say that by the way he was acting, he’d consumed some amount of alcohol in the last few days. One moment he would be pushing furniture around and making a nuisance of himself, the next he would be head-down somewhere, wishing he had never been born and blaming everyone from the president to Buddha for his misery.

Orihime found his mood swings highly entertaining, particularly when a passing Grimmjow tripped over Ulquiorra, who had been sprawled out on the floor in an attempt to soothe his stomach.

But she couldn’t blame him for being nervous. The Ingram family was coming down from Washington to watch the performance, as were record company executives, and all of their friends from Las Noches as well. Even Chizuru and her girlfriend were coming, the latter wanting to double check that Ulquiorra was indeed suitable enough for “her precious Orihime”.

It would be nice to see everyone, and honestly, Orihime needed the distraction. She wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with his nerves or not, but lately Ulquiorra had been…

“Ms. Inoue.”

She looked over her shoulder and found him seated at the piano, staring at the keys. “I thought we’d agreed that you would refer to me by my proper name.”

“Ms. Inoue is your proper name. Come here.”

She rolled her eyes, having half a mind to stay put just to irritate him, but in his fragile mental state, she feared that something not going his way would result in a meltdown… or a suicide attempt. So she stood up and ventured over to the piano, where he was scanning a sheet of music in front of him. “What is it?”

“I know that it’s marked pianissimo on the page, and I do not normally second-guess myself on these things, but lately I have been wondering if it might sound better as piano instead.”

“I don’t think the audience is going to notice the difference.”

Ulquiorra glared at her. “Keep in mind, Ms. Inoue, that there are people in this world who are more musically inclined than yourself. Surely they will notice the difference.”

Orihime glared back. “Keep in mind, Mr. Schiffer, that just because we’re dating doesn’t mean that I won’t still break your nose if you talk to me like that.”

Commence staring match. She was about to blow air in his face when his cell phone went off, the classic rock music ringtone indicating that it was his brother, Matthew Ingram. Ulquiorra answered it while Orihime went into the kitchen, trying to ignore the slight sadness that crept through her heart. This was the umpteenth time that they’d argued—no matter how short—in the past two weeks.

It had started out subtly, with Ulquiorra making a crisp comment here or there that left her wondering who’d put itching powder in his boxers, because she certainly hadn’t. Then his mood had gradually worsened, and he’d started staying away from the apartment longer. When he was there, he either avoided her or picked fights that were nowhere near as fun as they should have been. She’d called him out on it, of course, and he’d apologized at once.

“It’s not your fault,” he’d say, then improve for a while, only to sink back into his insufferable attitude later.

Whatever it was, Orihime hoped that he would be cured of it when the concert was over. She was two more arguments away from grabbing one of the dining table chairs and assaulting him with it.

Ulquiorra came into the kitchen then, his phone conversation finished. “I’m picking them up from the hotel,” he announced as she filled a glass with filtered water. “And we’re heading straight to the concert hall from there. You’re getting a ride with Grimmjow and Nel, correct?”

“Yup,” she drawled, not looking at him.

He nodded absently. “Sounds good.” There was a pregnant pause, broken only by the sound of ice clattering in the freezer. “Orihime,” he said, the use of her name drawing her attention. “Tonight… after the concert, I mean… you and I need to talk.”

…

“He said what?” Nel, Rangiku and Szayel yelled, their expressions equally appalled.

Orihime sat on the couch in Szayel’s apartment on the eighth floor of Las Noches, taking at least five tissues from the box that the pink-haired doctor offered her. She was humiliated, of course. After Ulquiorra had left to get his family, she’d barely managed to finish taking a shower before she had thrown on a bathrobe and run out of the apartment. Her original plan had been to go to Nel’s place, but Szayel had been in the elevator, so he’d gotten the brunt of the breakdown.

Within minutes, Orihime had been reduced to a mess that would have made a broken-hearted Nel look sane. Thus the assembled now bore witness to this embarrassing display of emotion that her past self would have punched her in the face for. But this was what friends were for, right? To confide in when one was feeling particularly shitty?

“I don’t get it!” She blew into one of the tissues and gazed up at them woefully. “E-Everything was going f-fine! And then he just… it was him who… and we kept getting into stupid fights a-a-and now…”

“I thought fighting was a staple in your relationship. A sign that things were going well… weirdoes,” Szayel muttered.

Orihime wailed and threw herself into Rangiku’s bosom, though she hardly made it, considering how large her boss’s belly had gotten in the past few months.

Nel pat her shoulder. “Come on, Hime. There is no guarantee that he is dumping you.”

The redhead sobbed louder. Rangiku wrapped her arms around her. “I think we should refrain from using the d-word for now.”

“Sweetie, you have to calm down,” Szayel said over the noise. “If you keep that up your eyes are going to swell up, and you’ll have to face his family like that. Trust me, it won’t be pretty. And let go of Rangiku! You’re going to scare the baby.”

Orihime did as she was told, pressing balled up tissue against her eyes. “Th-there’s no way… he wouldn’t just say that. Don’t you watch television? ‘We need to talk’ is a death sentence for relationships!”

“Maybe he is just going to complain that electricity bill is too high!” Nel threw in hopefully.

“Yeah, that’s likely, when he’s got money to spare,” Orihime snarled, falling back onto the couch. “What am I going to do?” If he was dumping her, staying in the apartment with him would be out of the question. She’d have to find a new place to live—how much had Rangiku’s old place cost, she wondered?—and trying to do that with a broken heart was sure to cause some massive migraines.

The other three looked at each other, then Rangiku crossed her arms. “You’re going to go upstairs, wash your face, get dressed, and go to the concert.”

“I don’t want to,” Orihime sniffled, and added miserably, “he doesn’t need me there…”

“Orihime! Of course he does! Nel’s right, you know. There’s no guarantee that he’s going to end things. Maybe he just wants to apologize for being such an asshole to you these past few weeks. I mean, aside from the fights, nothing’s changed, right?”

Orihime’s bottom lip trembled. “He’s slept on the sofa for five days!” she cried, falling apart into tears again.

Rangiku and Nel went pale. Szayel, on the other hand, looked pissed off. “Well, it’s his loss, then!” he yelled, prying Orihime’s hands away from her face. “Pull yourself together, Orihime! You know there’s something wrong with the guy’s head. That doesn’t make you the problem, okay? You’re beautiful, you’re… stronger than this, usually… and you’re not afraid to deliver a good ass-kicking to anyone who deserves it, which he will, if he is dumb enough to dump you.” He began wiping tears off her cheeks with his thumb. “Getting dumped does not make you ugly, or stupid, or anything less than the amazing person you are. And if I have to go bisexual just to date you and prove it, then damn it, I’ll try.”

Orihime grabbed another tissue and wiped her nose. “Thanks, Szayel…” she whispered, giving him a tight hug. “And you two as well. I’ll… I’ll go to the concert. Whatever happens afterward…”

“You have us to talk to,” Nel reassured her, squeezing her hand.

Orihime nodded and got up a bit shakily. She’d do it, sure. She would go upstairs and fix herself up so well that Ulquiorra wouldn’t be able to help buying a gun to shoot himself in the foot with. She’d make him regret his decision, alright.

But all the while, she couldn’t help but wonder where things had gone wrong...

…

Tickets to the concert had sold out weeks before. Thus, Orihime was not surprised to find traffic so bad the closer they got to the concert hall. She was packed into the front of Grimmjow’s truck with him and Nel, who had elected to sit in the middle to keep her husband from complaining too much about the little progress they were making. “I mean, watch us have the last fucking parking space in the entire lot, even though our seats are in the fucking front row. Too much walking! Why do we even have to walk? We’re VIPs! Shouldn’t we get free valet services?”

“It is not that serious,” Nel told him cheerfully.

Orihime rolled her eyes. The radio was on a classical station, which was going to be broadcasting the concert on a national scale. She could only imagine how nervous Ulquiorra was, knowing that people all over the country would be listening to him, expecting nothing short of godliness after such a long absence.

“…first performance since 2003. There have been many rumors surrounding his disappearance, but he seemed to have cleared most of them in a recent magazine interview. Schiffer gave a brief recount of the arguments he’d had with the late Lowell Ingram, his adoptive father, that led to his loss of inspiration and estrangement from his family. Regarding the silent years he said, quote, ‘It was like being placed under house arrest. I had no legitimate reason to be miserable, and yet, I was. Losing the ability to play had affected me so profoundly that I started to do things I swore I’d never do: being dishonest, wasting my time, alienating myself from people who cared for me...’

Orihime sighed. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.

“And what did he say about the return of his inspiration?”

Nel and Grimmjow had gone quiet now, also listening.

“Well, for the benefit of our listeners who have yet to read the article, I quote, “One night, on my way home, I came across something beautiful. I could not remember a time in my life when I had felt such burning curiosity. In that moment, a question formed in my mind, one that I became obsessed with finding an answer to. And it was in that thirst for an answer that my inspiration returned. I felt as if I had been shaken awake, like I was coming to life after years of being on autopilot, and all for something so seemingly insignificant, so tragically ignored by the rest of the world.’ Being pretty vague, wasn’t he?”

Orihime blinked back fresh tears. He was telling them about the night that he’d seen her in the alley, yet he kept her identity a secret. “Idiot,” she muttered. Grimmjow shifted uncomfortably and honked at the car in front of them, for lack of anything better to do.

Finally, after twenty more minutes of moving along at a snail’s pace, they reached the concert hall. Orihime and Nel got out at the entrance while Grimmjow went to find parking, and almost immediately, they spotted the Ingram family. Not that they were particularly hard to find. The press had descended upon them, firing questions at Mrs. Ingram, who seemed quite composed despite the unwanted attention. There wasn’t a single gray hair on her head, though she’d gained a few more lines on her face in the year since her husband’s death. Next to her, Ulquiorra’s adoptive siblings, Matthew and Sarah, looked annoyed.

“Yes, we’re very happy to see him return to the stage. We’ve had a lot of time to talk as a family, and I can assure you that he’s quite… excited about tonight.” Orihime didn’t miss the slight cringe on Mrs. Ingram’s face. If Ulquiorra were any more “excited” about the concert, he’d keel over dead before walking on stage.

Sarah caught Orihime’s eye and grinned, waving happily. They’d have to talk later. If she wanted to avoid the press and their uncomfortable questions, she had to get inside before one of them remembered her as The Help from the funeral.

Inside, the concert hall was large and impressive, several statues and works of public art on display around the lobby area. Upon presenting their tickets to an usher, they were led to their front row seats, and Orihime couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as people far richer than she would ever be watched her walk past the velvet rope closing off the reserved area.

The three chairs next to her were empty. Had Ulquiorra placed her right next to his family? Why would he do such a thing if he was going to break up with her later that night? She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked around to distract herself. The stage in front of them was so brightly lit that even she was beginning to feel anxious. How would Ulquiorra fare in the spotlight after his blissful invisibility? She wouldn’t be surprised if he was backstage retching into a bucket at the moment.

Suddenly, Grimmjow appeared and sat on the other side of Nel, looking surly. “Anyone else but me feel horribly out of place?”

“We knew he was famous,” Nel reminded him, “so you should have expected it.”

“Right. Like I’d ever imagine Batman playing piano in front of a bunch of yuppies and rich geezers. You’re talking about the guy that regularly forgets to clean his ears.”

“I’ve cured him of that habit,” Orihime said, remembering fondly the time that she had attacked his ears with a toilet brush. Her traitorous eyes began to water.

But there was little time for tears. Soon they were joined by the Ingram family, and the rest of their guests: Gin and a waddling Rangiku, Starrk and Harribel with Lilynette between them, Yammy (who could hardly fit into his chair), Nnoitra and Szayel, Toshiro and Momo, Luppi and Kira, Chizuru and her girlfriend, and even Urahara had been invited (for his Thanksgiving pie contribution). Most of them were shocked to find that Ulquiorra came from such a normal family, considering his eccentricities.

“It’s a musician thing,” Starrk told them, and Lilynette agreed.

When it came time for the concert to start, the crowd’s murmuring grew much quieter. Orihime shifted in her seat, making sure that her dress was wrinkle-free, that her hair was in place, and that her dangling earrings weren’t twisted or messed up in any way. She even checked her reflection in the compact mirror she’d thrown into her purse. And when she put it down, she gave a startled squeak. Ulquiorra was on stage, dressed in the smart tux that she’d seen in his closet.

Oh, the poor thing was so pale that he could have been mistaken for a corpse. This wasn’t new, though. On days that she had been home while he was at work, she’d taken the opportunity to find clips of his former concerts, and he’d always looked the same: like he was two breaths from his last. But despite the obvious terror, his voice had never wavered, and she wondered if this would hold true tonight.

Ulquiorra’s ashen face was fixed into a blank expression. “I was told that I should speak,” he said into the microphone, “if only to let everyone know what I was up to.” That got the audience to laugh. He looked a little better. “Thank you for joining me this evening. I’m hoping in vain that I will not make a fool of myself, for I know now that it’s impossible. Please excuse me for that, at least. Everything that I play for you tonight has been composed in the last few months.” He blinked. “That is all.”

Orihime heard Grimmjow snickering, followed by an ‘oof’ as Nel elbowed him in the ribs.

As Ulquiorra turned towards the piano, he caught sight of Orihime, and her heart jumped into her throat. He looked away quickly.

What was she even doing there, she wondered? Taking part in something like this, being treated like someone important when he was going to… She didn’t have to be there. She’d already heard every piece that he would be playing—more than once, for that matter. What was the point of witnessing his rise to classical fame if he would be rising out of her reach?

The concert hall was silent as he sat down and took his customary deep breath, hands hovering above the keys. When he began to play, Orihime tried very hard not to look around at everyone else. She recognized this as the first piece in the suite that he had composed before they had gotten together: his feelings for her, in music form.

She wondered what the others were getting out of it, because all she could see were those first few days of living with him, of trying to guess what kind of person he was behind the polite façade that kept dropping, without warning, only to come up again. And despite the fact that she’d heard these pieces before, she found herself being swept away by them. Back to the days when she’d been snooping around, trying to find out why he had stopped playing the piano. Back to the Washington rainstorm in which she had socked him, and told him about her past, and he’d held her and refused to let her go…

Had she fallen for him then, without even knowing it?

And she remembered how everything had come together slowly, how he’d saved her from Aizen, how he’d gone through so much trouble to make her Thanksgiving special, how he’d broken her heart with the truth behind their meeting…

The music abruptly stopped.

Orihime opened her eyes. That wasn’t the end of the piece. She sensed tension in the air, heard the audience begin to whisper. “What is he doing?” Grimmjow hissed to Nel. Even the Ingrams seemed surprised. Orihime looked up at Ulquiorra…

…and found him staring right at her

There was an awkward silence, and then he just barely jerked his head to the side, motioning for her to join him. Was he insane? Orihime heard people wondering who he was glaring at. There was no way in hell that she was going up there! What would they say, then? She could practically hear the comments of the radio announcers on the station broadcasting the concert.

But Ulquiorra’s eyes narrowed, and he dropped his arms to his sides. Oh, so he was going to be childish and stubborn in front of an audience? She could sense Nel and Sarah staring at her now, and was sure that the rest of their friends and neighbors were, too. Damn it.

Left with no other choice, and hoping to avoid a riot from the ticket-payers, she very slowly stood from her seat and approached the stage. There were a few steps leading up to it, and as she got closer, she saw Ulquiorra stand from the piano bench, signaling to the audience to wait for a moment. The murmuring grew louder. Orihime went up the steps carefully, sending nervous glances at the thousands of staring eyes. She could hardly see them thanks to the blinding stage lights.

Ulquiorra’s hands went into his pockets. Orihime stopped in front of him. “What?” she whispered.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Ms. Inoue, but I can’t wait anymore. We need to talk right now.”

The blood that had recently rushed to her cheeks drained from them faster than an unstopped sink. “H-Huh?”

“I’m really, really sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I am every bit as humiliated as you are, and then some. It’s just that… this has been on my mind for weeks, and it’s affecting my piano playing. I’m not sure how I managed to make it this far into the suite at all, and I wanted to do it earlier, but there were so many interruptions and…”

“Just to be clear, what are we talking about, exactly?”

Ulquiorra blinked. “Our relationship.”

“Oh… right.” Orihime felt her heart sinking. “What about it?”

“I’m not happy with it anymore.”

“I had a feeling it’d be something like that…”

“So we’re on the same page, then?”

“No, Ulquiorra, we’re not on the same page,” Orihime snapped, figuring that as long as she was already embarrassed, she had nothing else to lose. “How could you do this to me in front of all of these people?”

“I said I was sorry…”

“And you think that’s going to make things any better?” She tried to keep her voice from rising. “I mean, what the hell! I thought that things were great!”

“They were great…”

“How could you even be considering this when I was under the impression that everything was fine the way it was?”

Ulquiorra’s eyes widened. “You were?”

“Yes,” she growled, wiping her cheeks as a few tears managed to escape. Damn it, her makeup was going to run.

Ulquiorra lowered his head. “Oh.” He sighed. “Well, that makes things significantly more awkward.”

“You think?” She sniffled and crossed her arms. “God, Paco, you could’ve picked a better time to dump me.”

His head came up, eyebrows drawing together. “Wait, what?” He grabbed her arms. “Who said anything about dumping you?”

Orihime blinked twice, two more tears sliding down her cheeks. She checked around her feet to make sure that a trap door hadn’t opened, because she suddenly felt like the rug had been swept out from under her. “What?”

“Why the hell would I break up with you?” Ulquiorra demanded, annoyance spreading through his face.

“But you said we needed to talk.”

“We did.”

“You said you aren’t happy with our relationship anymore!”

“I’m not!”

“So you are breaking up with me!”

“You’re not listening, Orihime. Or maybe I’m just not being clear…” Ulquiorra let go of her and pocketed his hands. “What I meant by that is that I’m not happy things haven’t progressed any further. Things were great for those few months, yes. But I can’t be satisfied with that anymore. Maybe I’m just insecure after the first two times, but… I have to be sure that you won’t run away from me again.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and a tiny object caught the light of the stage.

Orihime turned away from him, almost missing the audience’s voices becoming louder, Nel and Rangiku’s excited screams, Grimmjow’s maniacal laughter. She buried her face in her hands, taking several steps in the opposite direction of Ulquiorra and the ring.

She hated him. She absolutely hated him. She couldn’t believe this was happening. As if she hadn’t been humiliated enough! Now she was sobbing like an idiot in front of hundreds of people—technically more, with the radio listeners—and trying to hide herself on a spotlighted stage. She chanced a look over her shoulder, in case she’d been imagining things, but he was still waiting for her, his expression becoming more doubtful with each passing second, the ring catching the light from above.

“I take it that’s a no…” Ulquiorra ventured cautiously.

Orihime shook her head, ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, crying even harder and muttering so incoherently that even she couldn’t understand herself. But Ulquiorra got the general idea. He pulled her against him, rubbing her back soothingly. “Ms. Inoue… this is kind of embarrassing.”

“I won’t run away again,” she hiccupped with a sharp intake of breath. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She managed to compose enough of a smile for him to slip the ring onto her finger, but then she became a mess, and Nel and Tia had to help her off the stage. She was filled with so many conflicting emotions, so many rampant thoughts… and yet, over the wild applause, she still heard Ulquiorra excuse himself to the audience.

“Sorry everyone. I told you I’d be making a fool of myself tonight.”

Chapter Text

The thick fog rolled onwards in every direction, white in some places, tinged in a million shades of gray in others. It would probably rain most of the day, and then the clouds would break in the afternoon.

A woman stood alone, clouds drifting past her. She wore a white dress and held a clear clipboard, which she tapped on impatiently with a long finger, occasionally glancing at her watch. He was late. Her patience, short to begin with, was nearing its end. If he didn’t show up in two more minutes, she’d—

“Wait!” a distant voice broke the silence of the foggy morning. She lifted her head, searching the gloom. There. A tall male figure dressed in white ran towards her, arm waving in the air, signaling for her to stop as if he could sense her desire to leave. She checked her watch again as he approached, completely out of breath.

“You’ve made it right on time…”

“That’s great!”

“…to be tardy.” She looked at the clipboard. “Name?”

The man straightened and smiled sheepishly. “Sora Inoue.”

“Sora Inoue,” she repeated, removing a pen from behind her ear and scanning the sheet on the board. “Taking out a visitor’s pass to attend…” she paused. “Your little sister is getting married today. Congratulations.”

“Oh, uh, thank—”

“She’s not in the books yet.” The woman’s eyes widened. “And that’s quite an impressive record for someone so young.”

“She’s gotten better…” It was true, and he was very glad for it. There was a time when he’d had to keep a constant eye on Orihime, to make sure that she didn’t die as a result of one of her more dangerous acts. But since the day she’d met her soon-to-be husband, he’d been able to rest a lot easier.

“We’d better get going,” the woman said, tucking her pen back into the clipboard, which then evaporated and joined the surrounding mist. She plastered on a bored expression. “I would advise you to refrain from moving much. Keep your arms and legs and other protruding body parts close to your center. You may hold your breath if you like, though it is not required. Today’s destination is the wedding of one Ulquiorra Schiffer and Orihime Inoue. Time limit is three hours.” The clouds around them began moving faster, a howling wind pushing at their clothes. “Feel free to wander, but not too far from me, or you might not make it back when the time limit is up, and trust me, you do not want to fill out all the paperwork involved when that happens.”

Sora nodded, looking slightly terrified.

“Furthermore, if you’re entertaining any wild ideas about making my job harder than it needs to be, drop them now, or I will kill you.”

“But we’re already—!”

“If you have any other questions, my name is Gloria.” She gestured around them. “We’re here.”

Sure enough, the clouds had given way to an overcast morning, beneath which stood a chapel in the midst of a bustling city. Sora absorbed the sights with a mixture of amazement and embarrassment. How could anyone be happy living in this dirty world? The air smelled of moisture and exhaust from passing cars on the street beside them. The pavement was grimy and cracked and covered in used chewing gum.

A few feet away from them, a blue-haired man, looking extremely uncomfortable in his tuxedo, glared at a sheet of paper and muttered to himself. Gloria arched an eyebrow. “That hair…”

“That’s, uh…” Sora racked his brains for what Orihime had told him on her last tombstone visit. “Grimmjow, the groom’s best friend.”

“The groom has interesting taste in companions.”

“Yeah, well, according to my sister he’s a pretty interesting guy.” Sora turned to her, frowning. “And by interesting, I mean he’s a total nutcase. He was nothing but rude to my baby sister in the beginning. You should hear how much she complained about him! How they even got together, I’m not sure, but she seems happy… Anyway, I swear if I wasn’t dead, I’d thrash him!”

“Uh-huh,” Gloria replied, digging into her ear with her pinkie.

Sora’s anger deflated, and he shuffled from side to side. “I guess we should go wait in the chapel?” he suggested.

They walked past Grimmjow, just as he lowered the paper in his hand and attempted to repeat everything he’d read. At one point he trailed off, sneakily checked the sheet, then continued his sentence.

The entrance of the chapel was crowded with a bizarre assortment of guests. Sora felt a sense of pride at being able to remember the majority of them by Orihime’s descriptions. He saw the maintenance man, the buttons of his suit jacket straining to contain his broad chest. The two tall, attractive figures—a shaggy-haired male and a woman with an unfortunate scar marring her lovely face—with a blonde preteen wearing a pink dress. An even taller man with a leering face chatted with a pregnant green-haired girl… “Oh, that’s Nel!” he said, pointing her out to Gloria. “She’s got a baby on the way!”

Gloria nodded absently. Sora blinked, taking in her gloomy expression and wondering, vaguely, if she felt a bit out of place. It must have been hard, having to escort scatterbrained people like him to the happy events of their living relatives. He opened his mouth to ask her what her family was like when she lifted a finger, pointing ahead.

Sora recognized Ulquiorra Schiffer immediately, despite the fact that the man’s face was devoid of color, and he leaned against the wall looking very much like he was about to die. One of his hands was clasped in that of a gray-haired woman, who spoke comforting words to him. “That’s the groom… and his mother, I suppose.”

Gloria cracked a smile, her clipboard materializing in her hands. “Hold on, let me make sure that we aren’t collecting him today.”

“Don’t say that!” Sora cried in alarm.

A silver-haired man with a wide smile, carrying a sleeping blonde baby girl, came out of the sanctuary and began telling everyone to head for their seats. The groom uttered a low moan. His mother rubbed his back soothingly.

There appeared to be a number of reporters there as well, recognizable by their small notepads, recording devices and shifting eyes. Gloria stared at them curiously. “Mr. Schiffer is famous,” Sora told her. They followed the reporters into the sanctuary and took seats at an empty pew in the back. For a while they watched the wedding guests file in, half-listening to the conversation of the groom and his mother, who were still outside.

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

“What if I can’t make her happy? You know how ill-tempered dragons are. So hard to please…”

“Ulquiorra, stop calling your wife a dragon.”

“Mother, I cannot deny what she is. I am making promises before God today—oww, oww, please let go. That is my ear. I need that ear…”

“I’d have hit him too,” Sora muttered, crossing his arms. “Calling Orihime a dragon…”

Gloria examined her fingernails. “Would that not be an accurate description of her personality?”

“It doesn’t matter! It’s still insulting!”

“Quiet. We’ve been spotted.”

“Eh?” Sora’s anger dissipated. He threw a look over his shoulder, and sure enough, the blonde preteen in the pink dress stared straight at them, a perplexed look on her face. “No… how could she possibly see us?”

Gloria let out an exasperated sigh. “Weren’t you paying attention to a word your Adjustment teacher said in your first few postmortem weeks? Preteens are liminals. Because they are at transitional ages and thus walking on the dividing line of both worlds, it isn’t uncommon for them to see spirits.” She turned away from the girl, focusing her attention to the front. “Just ignore her. Hopefully she’ll ignore us as well.”

Sora arranged himself into a stiff sitting position, though he couldn’t help sneaking glances at the girl—Lilynette, was it? She appeared to be debating whether or not to address them, but her brother tapped her on the shoulder, and she went along with him to the front of the church.

“That was close,” Gloria murmured, reaching up to fix her dark brown hair.

Sora nodded and decided to keep his mouth shut, in case Lilynette could hear them from where she had chosen to sit. Besides, the ceremony was soon underway, and except for Ulquiorra’s nervous behavior—one would have thought there was a plot to trash the wedding by the way he kept fidgeting—everything went smoothly.

Sora felt for the guy. His own heart was racing in anticipation of Orihime’s entrance. What would his little sister look like on the day she became someone’s wife? He’d always had such high hopes for her, even when she was stumbling along the slums of the city, half-conscious and reeking of cigarette smoke. Ever since she was born, he had prayed that she would find her way out of the miserable life they’d lived in the beginning. He’d begged any attentive deity to help her amount to more than their wretched mother and alcoholic father. He’d made more wishes for her than he had for himself. He’d always put her first. He’d sacrificed so much for her happiness.

And on his dying day, he’d held her hand and quietly wondered if someday, somewhere, she’d meet a man who would do the same for her.

Movement caught his eye. Gloria had conjured a tissue and was waving it under his nose. “Need one?”

“Heh… thanks.”

He made sure his eyes were dry as they stood, held his breath as his beloved sister, the most important person in his life, stepped through the doors. Some gasped, some sighed, others cooed. The strawberry-blonde bridesmaid covered her mouth and sobbed. Grimmjow had stopped muttering lines to admire the approaching bride. The groom’s mother wiped her eyes.

Orihime seemed to hesitate for a moment at the sight of all the people. Her dress, white with little flecks of crimson, billowed around her, and her hair had been pinned up and curled at the ends. A glittering necklace borrowed from her future mother-in-law caught the dim light of the overcast day as she recovered from the shock and moved forward.

Sora flinched in surprise when he felt Gloria’s hand lightly touch his arm. She, too, watched Orihime stride down the aisle, too distracted to notice what she was doing. Sora understood and patted her hand, which she quickly retracted.

He had avoided taking note of Ulquiorra’s reaction until the very end, afraid that he would see anything less than rapture on the man’s face. However, he wasn’t disappointed. The groom’s expression was a strange combination of someone who’d just had the wind knocked out of them and someone who had just been humbled. Anxious, yet beside himself with joy, like a child who had gotten everything and more than he’d wanted for Christmas and didn’t quite know what to say.

Sora felt his own worries easing as his sister took her place beside the man she loved. He could tell by looking around at the strange collection of witnesses that these people weren’t the sort that the old Orihime would associate herself with. How they had come to be her friends, her neighbors, her family… it was a story that he only knew pieces of, but he didn’t need the details to guess how it ended.

“Dearly beloved…”

What a beautiful life she was living now, he thought, warmed by the sheer amount of love in the room.

Gloria must have felt it, too, judging by the silent tears that streamed down her cheeks. Sora offered her the dry side of the tissue she’d given him, but she glared at him and stepped on his foot.

…

Sora’s three hours were almost up, but he couldn’t resist following the crowd to the reception hall, where they would be congratulating the newly married couple. Gloria, who had recovered from her brief emotional episode, walked behind him with the same stoic face that she’d worn when he’d first met her that morning, and reminded him constantly of the time.

“I know, I know,” Sora grinned as they slipped through the doors, pulling her along with him. “I just wanted to get one last look at her.”

“It’s not like you can’t visit again,” Gloria reminded him, yanking her arm away and wiping it on her dress as if she had been contaminated.

“It won’t be her wedding day, though—yikes!” He froze, as did Gloria.

Lilynette stood in front of them, arms crossed over her pink dress. They stared openly at each other. “Did you guys just come through the doors?” she asked, her head tilting as she donned a suspicious look.

“Yes,” Sora said automatically, only to be elbowed in the ribs by Gloria.

“I mean through the doors. Like ghosts.”

Sora paled. “No… how could we possibly do that?”

“You’re Orihime’s brother,” Lilynette said flatly.

Gloria rubbed her temples. Sora, on the other hand, knew the jig was up. He extended his hand to Lilynette. “You’ve seen a picture of me, I take it? Sora Inoue. Nice to meet you, Lilynette.” When she didn’t shake his hand, he drew it back to his side. “I was just, uh…”

“Hey, no need to explain. Tia’s sisters were here earlier. They said they wanted to pass on congratulations to the chick that helped their big sis be happy again.” Lilynette gave Gloria a once-over. “So that must make you…”

“His escort,” Gloria finished stiffly. “Nice to meet you.”

Lilynette nodded and uncrossed her arms. “Well, now that I know I’m not crazy, I’m gettin’ my grub on.”

Sora leaned closer to the confused Gloria. “It means ‘I’m going to eat’.” The two watched the preteen walk away, then Sora focused on his sister again. She was at the far side of the room, enduring a tight hug and much crying from her pregnant best friend. He sighed. “Is it sad that I’m too nervous to approach her?”

“Not at all. I wouldn’t suggest it anyway.” Gloria tapped her wristwatch. “So if you’re going to talk, talk.”

“A-Alright.” Sora took a deep breath, watching Orihime with a sad smile. “Take care, baby sis. If he ever hurts you again… you know where to find me. I’ll put in a request for some serious suffering on his part, and, uh… yeah.” He chuckled. “I’m glad I was able to come and see you today, even though you can’t see me… and even though it would have been nice to give you away.”

Gloria waited patiently, but Sora had gotten too choked up to continue. “Done?” she asked, conjuring another tissue.

“Yeah… I’m done.”

She brought out her clipboard, pulled the pen from the top and made a mark on his arm. The ink turned a brilliant shade of gold and his form began to lighten. “Be sure to keep protruding extremities close to your chest, yada yada… same deal as before.”

Sora laughed. “Thanks Gloria.”

“Just doing my job,” she drawled, waving at him as he disappeared. Now alone, she turned and surveyed the reception hall. It was packed with smartly dressed men and women, all of them wrapped up in their joyous celebrations. She observed a white-haired boy caught in a growth spurt being fed cake by a slightly shorter, black-haired girl. A scruffy man wearing a weird hat and clogs was telling a joke to a pink-haired man with glasses. A short man with black hair was flirting with the male reporters. She saw a red-haired man feeding a grape to his petite wife, a carrot-topped boy next to a tall girl cackling with an intellectual type, and a dark-skinned, muscular youth standing silently between them.

Everyone looked so happy… but none more than the group that Sora had been watching. The groom’s mother, flanked by her children, hugged her daughter-in-law, who had broken away from conversation with her ecstatic bridesmaids. They seemed to have been saying something embarrassing, because the bride had turned a lovely shade of red, and her husband glared at them before being put into a headlock by his best man.

Gloria watched them a moment longer, and when the groom looked her way, she felt her breath catch in her throat, held her clipboard a little tighter. But of course he couldn’t see her… and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize her.

She took a step away from the scene, unsure if the mistiness gathering in the corner of her green eyes was fog or tears. The room was fading, the group in front of her framed by clouds, a moving photograph that she would keep close to her heart for the rest of eternity.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the roomful of strangers, “for taking care of my son.”

And she smiled at Ulquiorra one last time before she disappeared.

Chapter Text

April

“Put me down! I’m serious! And what the hell are you laughing about?” Orihime screamed. She was completely red in the face, the backside of her dress soaking wet, a lopsided hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear, and Ulquiorra was carrying her into their hotel room, unable to breathe. “God, I can’t believe this! Less than two hours in Hawaii and I twist my freaking ankle! Why was it raining, anyway? Everyone talks about the sun in Hawaii, not the rain!”

Ulquiorra was trying very hard to compose himself; his wife was injured, after all, and on their honeymoon no less. “No one told you to take off running at the sight of the exotic birds.”

“No one told you to be born,” she snapped back icily.

He set her down on the bed and arranged her into a comfortable position, the enormous pout on her face so amusing that he had to laugh again. She whacked him with a pillow. He confiscated it from her. “Please, don’t strain yourself anymore. Here”—he lifted her leg and slipped the pillow beneath it—“I’m going to get you some ice. By tomorrow, you’ll be fine.”

Orihime sighed. “Promise?”

“Look at it this way. If you’re not, I have the money to extend our vacation the entire year if you’d like. Besides”—his green eyes took on a mischievous quality—“no one’s waiting for us at home.”

Orihime crossed her arms and tried to stay disgruntled as he kissed her forehead before sweeping out of the room. Who’d have thought that such an annoying guy would make a decent husband? She lifted her left hand, admired the glittering set of rings on her finger, and burst into a fit of giggles.

“I saw that,” came Ulquiorra’s voice from the door.

“AH! Get out! Get out!” she shrieked, further hurting her ankle in her effort to send as many pillows at him as she could.

May

“God, I can’t stand Pomp and Circumstance,” Rangiku muttered under her breath, jiggling baby Misao on her knee. “Did I ever tell you that I was in band in high school?”

“No! What did you play?” Orihime asked, then held up her hand. “Wait, let me guess. You were a flute, right? That or a piccolo, for sure. I heard this joke once: How many flute players does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

“Orihime,” Gin cut in, grinning, but she waved him away.

“Five. One to change the light bulb, one to kick the chair out from under her, and three to complain about how they could have done it better.”

Ulquiorra, sitting on her other side, snorted. “What’s this? You know jokes about musicians? Why was I not informed?”

“Ooh, do you know any piano jokes?” Nel asked, which instantly wiped the smirk off Ulquiorra’s face.

“For your information,” Rangiku said, “I played the clarinet.”

They all stared at her, save for Gin, who had already known and was busy tickling Misao, who he had rescued from Rangiku. “Clarinet? A loud-ass gossip like you?” Grimmjow said.

“Hey, no profanity around the baby!” Gin protested, covering Misao’s ears.

“Yes! No profanity around the babies!” Nel echoed and whacked Grimmjow on the arm before passing a hand over her own belly.

Orihime snapped her fingers. “I’ve remembered a pianist joke!”

“Oh, look,” Ulquiorra interrupted, “isn’t that Momo down there?”

“Oh my God, it is!” Rangiku, Orihime and Nel jumped to their feet, leaning over the convention center’s railing and bursting into screams and whistles. “Momo! Up here, sweetie!”

“We’re so proud of you!”

“Class of 2011!”

“Ooh, you look so cute in your cap and gown, baby girl!”

Grimmjow, Ulquiorra and Gin slouched in their seats, certain they would be thrown out of the ceremony before the poor girl even received her diploma. Misao, getting into the festive spirit, began shrieking as well.

June

“Could you imagine living in Italy?”

“Italy?”

“Use your brain, Mrs. Schiffer. Just think about it. Renaissance times. I would be a tortured artist, living in my grimy studio, attempting to compose.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And then you come along. A muse from above, seen in a vision or some similar hallucination.”

“Can I have laurels and a toga?”

“I believe you have gotten your historical facts mixed up, but go ahead.”

“You weren’t thinking about roleplaying this in bed, were you?”

“No. No! Absolutely not.”

“…”

“…why? Did you want to?”

“Ulquiorra!”

“I’m kidding.”

“Good.”

“Although… I meant what I said about living elsewhere.”

July

“We’re going to the hospital,” Ulquiorra declared, glaring at his pale mess of a wife, who was sprawled across the bedroom floor in a dramatic attempt to drag herself into the living room. “Take a shower and put on some clothes. You have ten minutes.”

“That isn’t even time to wash my hair!” Orihime protested with a miserable groan. “And I don’t want to go to the hospital! There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“It was the Chinese food. We shouldn’t have gone for Chinese so late at night, but no. Somebody just had to have greasy, fried eggrolls alongside God knows what else was in that bowl you so hastily devoured.” Ulquiorra threw open their shared closet and began rifling through her clothing for something that would match the sickly pallor of her skin. “Food poisoning, in case you were unaware of this Ms. Inoue, causes severe dehydration—”

“Then I’ll drink water!” she croaked from the room.

“—and needs to be treated immediately! I let you have your fun at three in the morning when you first locked yourself in the bathroom, but it’s been two days.”

“I had a dream that I was on a rollercoaster! The ups and downs, you know…”

“I don’t know why you’re lying there talking to me when you’ve only got six minutes left to put on some clothes. Here, this looks presentable. Get dressed.”

“Ulquiorra, I’m not suffering from food poisoning!”

“You can argue all you want, but—”

“I’m pregnant, you moron!”

There was silence from the closet, and then Ulquiorra appeared, a very strange look on his face, as if he was torn between continuing to scold her and vomiting himself. He turned off the closet light, stepped back into the bedroom, closed the door behind him and fell back against it, just staring at her.

Orihime took a momentary interest in his shoes, then chanced another look at him. His face had gone completely blank. “I-If you don’t want it,” she said, “you’re out of luck. I’ve already grown attached.”

He held up his hand for quiet. Two deep breaths later, he came back to life. “You’re sure about this?”

“What, did you expect me to take the first bus to the abortion clinic or something?”

“No, I mean, are you sure you’re pregnant?”

“That’s what the pee stick said.” She chewed her lip. “But, I don’t know, it was Nel’s and it might have been expired.”

Another hand for silence, and another deep breath. “Get… dressed.”

“Oh, come on! I’m sick as a dog down here!”

“And get off the floor! Shouldn’t you be a little more careful now that you’re… that you’re…” Ulquiorra staggered away from the closet door and sat on the bed. “Wow.” He bent in half and put his head between his knees. “Oh wow.”

Orihime pulled herself over to him and patted his knee. “You gonna be alright, Paco?”

“The room is spinning.”

August

“This is so sick,” Lilynette said with a wicked laugh as a group of Las Noches residents gathered around the video camera’s tiny screen to witness the birth of Klaus Jaegerjaques. “I mean, I’ve seen this shit on TV, but they always blur out the good parts.”

“Watch your mouth,” Starrk muttered, cringing at the gory miracle taking place.

On the other side of the hospital room, Ulquiorra and Orihime, who had watched the video first, were matching shades of slight-green. In front of them, Nel lay in bed with Grimmjow sitting beside her, the infant swaddled in her arms. Everyone had agreed that Grimmjow’s hell spawn was surprisingly cute; he had a wispy tuft of hair towards the center of his head, but was otherwise bald, and they decided that he had his father’s nose, but everything else was Nel.

The tired young woman glanced at Orihime and laughed at the expression on her face. “I know what you are thinking,” she said, “but it is worth it.”

“Gross!” Luppi squealed as the baby came sliding out on screen.

“Yes, why have you two been looking so out of sorts this morning? We thought you’d be happy for them at least.”

“We are,” Ulquiorra and Orihime muttered in zombie tones.

Nel stroked her son’s cheek. “Orihime… how you say… has bun in the oven!” she told the others.

“What?” came at least five shouts.

September

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting.” Orihime lowered the book and glared at Rangiku. “Really?”

“It’s just a guideline, girly,” her boss replied as they stood at the welcome podium of Haineko with Momo, who was beside herself with joy at the news of Orihime’s pregnancy. “I mean, I could sit here and go on and on about what works for me and Gin with Misao, but believe it or not, babies are people. They have different temperaments, so not everything will be like it is in the book.”

“It’s true,” Momo threw in. “I gave my mother hell!”

Orihime tossed the book onto the podium. “I’m having second thoughts.”

“Orihime!” they both cried.

“Not about having the baby! Geez!” She poked her stomach gloomily. “Keeping it, though…”

“You are not giving this baby up for adoption.”

“Why the hell not? I’m not… mothering material! Hardly had a decent one myself. I mean, what if I forget to feed it? What if I get angry with it and set it adrift in the Nile for some nice woman to find, only it gets eaten by a crocodile? What if I let it get hurt, o-or if it gets violated like I did? Or worse, what if I go crazy and start hearing voices telling me to drown it in the bathtub?”

Rangiku slapped her. Momo, a bartender and two waiters stopped what they were doing and stared.

Orihime’s eyes filled with tears as she pressed a hand to her stinging cheek. “Wh…why did you do that?”

“Because I love you, and it was for your own good,” Rangiku replied. Orihime burst into sobs and buried herself in her boss’s bosom. She rubbed comforting circles into her back. “Come on, Hime. Don’t be such a sap. You’re going to laugh at yourself once the baby’s out.”

October

“Well, it’s official,” Orihime said as she came into the apartment and threw the door shut behind her. “No one’s speaking to me.”

Ulquiorra looked up from the table, where he had been working on his computer. “You couldn’t have expected them to take it well.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then don’t look so disappointed. Come here.” He pulled out the chair next to him and patted the cushion once. Orihime dropped her purse on the couch and walked over to join him. “Mother has just sent pictures of the house’s progress.”

Orihime pulled the chair closer to Ulquiorra, slipped her arm through his, and waited for him to bring up the pictures again. But rather than the lovely house, the first thing she saw was… “What is that hideous creature doing on our lawn?”

“Fortissimo is not a hideous creature. He was making sure that it is a suitable living space for us, so you should show some gratitude next time we visit.”

“I do hope I’m not expected to touch it.”

“What do you have against my mother’s dog?” Ulquiorra muttered before pointing out the house on the screen. “It’s just the basic frame now, but it seems to be coming together nicely.”

“And this is… not Steilacoom, right?”

“Correct. It’s Dupont. Steilacoom is down the road… well, I say that figuratively. It’s a ten-minute drive through the forest.” He went through the other pictures, which featured his mother and two siblings, along with the other dogs, Allegro, Caprice and Andante. “But the best part about this house,” he said, stopping at the last photo, “is the view.”

Orihime gasped. The house was situated on a hill, so the roofs of the other residences were a bit lower, allowing for an unobstructed view of Mt. Rainier, its snowy peak visible above the treetops. “It’s gorgeous,” she breathed, her hold on him tightening. “Let’s go there now!”

“Right now?”

“No one’s talking to me anyway.”

November

Ulquiorra was somewhere between the living world and the dream world when he heard Orihime sniffle. Registering that something was wrong, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and glanced at the clock. 2:16 in the morning, and she was sniffling with increasing frequency. “Are you crying?”  he muttered without turning around.

He heard her head move up and down on the pillow, followed by a small, miserable noise. Truthfully, he’d been anticipating this ever since he’d found out that she was pregnant. Given her past, and everything that they had gone through together, it was only natural that she would break down at some point. Luckily, he was prepared.

“I know. It has to suck being pregnant. You’re delirious with emotion. Your bladder works but your colon doesn’t. You’re in pain in random places, you’re becoming the size of a whale, and you’ll never get your figure back. And on top of that, you have to worry about being a decent human being so that you can raise a decent human being.

“But you know what? I have faith in you—myself, not so much, but I’m getting better about it. You’ll love the smithereens out of that baby. And even if your hips never go back to their proper places, you can lose the weight.”

“Th-thanks for the vote of confidence, but… that’s not why I’m crying.”

Ulquiorra looked at her over his shoulder. “It’s not?”

She shook her head, lifted her hands and fluttered them uselessly. “I just really… really… want Dunkin Donuts right now.”

“…”

She sobbed.

“Right now?”

A nod and a whimper.

“Will Krispy Kreme work instead?”

“No!”

Ulquiorra rubbed his eyes again, then reached over and clicked on the lamp. “Woman, you are fortunate to have that baby inside of you, because if it wasn’t, I would suffocate you with your pillow.”

Half an hour later, still in his bathrobe, he stood glaring at the tired gas station employee ringing up a box of donuts. “Pregnant wife?” the man guessed.

“Mmhmm.”

December

“Let us toast”—Szayel lifted a glass of champagne to the sunny blue sky—“to Orihime Inoue’s achievements.”

It was him, Nel, and Orihime seated on beach chairs they had stolen from Las Noches’s rooftop swimming pool, logically closed for the winter. Nel and Orihime had apple juice in their glasses but humored him nonetheless and raised them as well.

“Hmm, where to begin? You survived having no-good parents, and then lived on your own as a teenager. You didn’t kill yourself, or contract any questionable diseases…”

“You helped put Aizen in jail,” Nel added.

“You brought Luppi’s Zumba business a great deal of customers. You played a good matchmaking game for quite a few people. Hell, you even got Kira a date!”

“You survived two weddings.”

“You took Ulquiorra’s virginity.”

Orihime snorted so hard that her nasal passage throbbed in complaint, and the baby gave a startled kick. She rubbed her growing stomach. “How about we wrap this up before you dig up any more embarrassing details—which, I might add, my daughter does not need to hear.”

“Fine, fine,” Szayel said with a grin and clinked his glass against theirs. “May we always remain in your thoughts, you traitorous bitch.”

“May you always remember us from ze heights of Ulquiorra’s fame!”

“Shut up!” Orihime took a large gulp of apple juice, her eyes stinging with tears. “Bunch of drama queens, I swear.” And sure enough, when she looked over at her two best friends, they were crying.

January

“Careful… careful. Please, be very careful.”

“You might want to listen to him. That piano’s more valuable to him than any of your lives,” Orihime commented dryly from where she sat in the mostly vacant living room of her new home. She was still taking it all in. She sat on a fold-out chair with a pillow on it, using a box as a footrest, and sipping from a bottle of water she’d pilfered from the model home down the street. So far, all she’d done was sit and admire the view, breathe in the smells. Everything was so new… so clean… so unfamiliar.

It wasn’t home yet, but she had plenty of time to make it so.

Ulquiorra didn’t tear his eyes from the piano, which was now halfway up the stairs. “You could help if you wanted to.”

Orihime made a face. “Ooh, can’t.” She pointed to her large belly. “Pregnant.”

“And yet you were willing to swing from the chandelier a moment ago—watch the wall!”

“Ulquiorra, honey, you’re going to have a heart attack. Why don’t you come sit with me and your daughter for a while, huh?”

“If I let the anticipation build, it’s only going to be worse.” He disappeared up the stairs, though his instructions were still heard throughout the house.

Orihime put her water bottle down and placed both hands on the mountain growing out of her body. “Daddy’s with his first wife, so he’s too preoccupied to spend time with us. But don’t worry, I’ll give you the grand tour.” She struggled out of the chair and pointed her front at the window facing the street. “That’s the neighborhood, also known as the outside world. It’s scary, but don’t worry. I’ll let you play in it someday.” She waddled through the spacious living room and into the kitchen. “This is where I’ll be attempting to cook for you. I haven’t poisoned Daddy yet, as sorely as I’ve been tempted. The good news is that you’ll be living off milk and convenient, pureed meals-in-a-jar, so that gives me an extra few years to practice.”

“Gently… gently…” Ulquiorra’s voice carried from up the stairs.

“That’s what she said!” Orihime yelled back at him, then moved through the laundry room and into the garage. She flipped on the light switch. “This is where Daddy will sleep when he makes Mommy mad.”

“You’re hilarious,” Ulquiorra said from behind her, his voice devoid of emotion.

Orihime turned and smiled at him. “Oh, is your wife finally comfortable? I bet she gets to sit on the couch, huh?”

“Come upstairs, and quit lying to… to…”

“…the baby?”

“You haven’t come up with a name for her yet?”

“It’s on my to-do list,” Orihime answered defensively as they went back through the living room and up the stairs. She held onto his arm, walking slowly. He kept her pace without complaint. “These are the stairs,” she narrated to her belly, “which you will not be allowed on until you’re tall enough to grab the rail. That means that you’ll have to rely on Daddy to carry you.”

Ulquiorra tilted his head towards her. “And where will you be?”

“Fulfilling other housewife duties and being too tired to put up with your crap.”

He put his hand on her enormous front. “I assure you that your mother does not do all the chores in this marriage, and if you are smart, you will never even think of bringing a man home. However, if you do end up screwing yourself into holy matrimony, you should at least find a man who does not make you his slave. Or I will kill him. If I haven’t already.”

“Umm…”

“I will gut your first boyfriend like a kipper, but please, don’t let that discourage you from trying.”

Orihime put her hand over his. “He will do no such thing. By all means, bring them home, but if you become sexually active before the age of thirty, you’re dead to me.”

“Thirty? Why not forty?”

“I want grandchildren… I think.”

They arrived upstairs, which opened into a family space in which the piano had been placed. Ulquiorra pulled the bench out for Orihime and sat next to her, lifting the cover off the keys as she inched forward until her belly touched the piano. “Now then, all joking aside, this is a very special member of our family—and no, not Daddy’s first wife. Mommy gets a bit jealous of her because she’s been with Ulquiorra since he was a baby.”

Ulquiorra played something light for them. Orihime’s smile widened as she felt her daughter react, shifting around, letting music fill her cramped little world. Even the men from the moving company slowed down to listen as they passed, their arms loaded with boxes.

Orihime let out a blissful sigh, the notes carrying to every corner of the building. This was it… now the house was home.

February

“This cannot be.”

“What?”

“This stroller. It’s impossible.”

“Hey, surprise baby shower was your idea, as I recall, so you will assemble the big things without complaining.”

“The instructions are in German.”

“Tell your mom not to have rich foreign friends, then.”

March
 

“Grimmjow is going to enjoy this.”

Orihime glared at Ulquiorra tiredly. He had his laptop open, headphones on, an amused smile on his face. “I don’t think there’s anything funny about it,” she grumbled.

He freed one ear. “I don’t think you’re aware of just how much profanity you were screaming. And the looks on the poor nurse’s face! How could you not find that funny?”

“Pardon me for being busy at the time!”

Ulquiorra closed out the video and sent the e-mail, then stood and put the laptop down in his chair. “Think I can hold her now?”

“No. I’m not done yet.”

He leaned over his frowning wife and gazed at the scrunched-up face of the swaddled bundle in her arms. The baby girl was a bit smaller than she should have been, but otherwise healthy. She’d woken up earlier, long enough to stare inquisitively at her parents before finding them boring and dozing off again. Ulquiorra stroked her thin black hair. “Why Scarlet, by the way?”

Orihime shrugged. “She looked like a Scarlet when they showed her to me. Still looks like one. You don’t think so?” she asked, turning their daughter towards the light.

“I think Scarlet suits her fine.”

She reluctantly handed her baby over, surprised at how sad it made her to be separated for even one second. There were a lot of new emotions going through her. She’d thought the books, the magazines, and even her friends had been exaggerating the feelings, but… it was true. One look at that tiny face and she’d become instantly certain that she’d never loved someone so much in her life.

Ulquiorra leaned a bit closer, inspecting Scarlet’s face. Orihime’s heart jumped. “What?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing… I was just thinking, she looks human enough, but I’m not fully convinced. When do dragon babies start breathing fire?”

“Give me my daughter back and get out.”

April
 

They celebrated their one-year wedding anniversary at the Las Noches apartment complex. To say that everyone was happy to see them was kind of an understatement; Yammy lifted them both off their feet at the same time, and Nel kissed their cheeks until she’d run out of lip gloss.

Scarlet, of course, was the main attraction. Curious to see what the moody pianist and the ex-prostitute had birthed, the lobby was soon filled with coos of adoration.

“She has her daddy’s hair!”

“But look at those eyes! Definitely Orihime.”

“See that, Misao? It’s yer newest friend,” Gin said, holding up his daughter so that she could get a glimpse of what had everyone so excited.

“Baby!” Misao exclaimed.

“That’s right!”

“Hey, put her next to Klaus and see if it’ll cure him of his colic.”

“Whoa, whoa, keep your hands off the miracle, please!” Orihime swooped in to guard her daughter. “She doesn’t need people grabbing her more than necessary. Don’t want her getting shaken baby syndrome, or sick from your germs.”

Szayel whacked her on the back. “Look at you, being all maternal! Who’d have guessed it?”

“Oh, come on,” Orihime muttered, blushing. She noticed Ulquiorra standing apart from the rest of them, taking in the slight changes that were made to the lobby in the last few months. How did he feel about being back, she wondered? She couldn’t really read his expression…

“Picture time!” Lilynette declared over the noise and began shooing people towards Ulquiorra. “Everyone over there! Parents in front… Starrk, you’re too tall. Get over… no, Yammy, the dog can’t be in the… oh, fine. Go get him. But hurry up!”

Orihime removed Scarlet from her carrier and walked over to the group. “You okay?” she asked Ulquiorra. He nodded. “Feeling nostalgic?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

“Kira, you get in here, too!” Lilynette said to the front desk attendant.

“Who’s taking the picture?”

“Uh… oh, hey! Tsukishima, come here a second!” She waved over a tall, dark-haired man who had just stepped off the elevator. “Think you can get a quick shot for us?”

“Certainly,” he agreed with an easy smile.

Yammy returned with the dog on a leash a minute later and squeezed into the back of the group, pardoning himself the entire way. Klaus, held by Grimmjow, started whimpering as a prelude to a tantrum. He jiggled the baby in an attempt to soothe him. “Quick! Take the shot!” he yelled.

Everyone squeezed in closer and put on their best smiles—save for Klaus, who was about to explode, Scarlet, who was asleep, and Misao, who looked confused.

The picture would later find its way into the living rooms and photo albums of everyone present.

Chapter Text

At around the crack of dawn, thirty-nine year old Orihime Schiffer was rudely awoken by a dramatic and deafening chord being struck on the piano in the hall of her Dupont, Washington home. This chord was soon followed by a rainstorm of notes, going from the top of the keyboard to the bottom, where more dramatic chords were hammered out. This was the life Christine would have had with the Phantom, she thought, and turned her head into the pillow. “Ulquiorra…” she growled.

“What?” her husband, forty-two year old Ulquiorra Schiffer, answered groggily from beside her. He, too, had been yanked out of dreamland by the music.

“Please do something about your daughter.” Yap, yap, yap! “…and the idiot dog.”

“The dog is not an idiot, and she’s your daughter from”—he lifted his head enough to look at the clock on the nightstand—“two in the morning to ten in the morning. It’s 6:32. We had an agreement.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. He’d come to expect it, so at first he was alarmed when she didn’t say anything. But then he felt one foot on his back and the other on his bottom, and had only time enough to choke out a “Wait!” before he was shoved off the bed, blankets, comforter and all.

The sound of him hitting the floor brought the barking dog into the room to investigate. It left just as quickly when Orihime chucked a slipper at it. “Too early…” she hissed, throwing her blankets over her head.

Ulquiorra untangled himself from the mess of sheets, stood, balled them up and tossed them at his unsuspecting wife. “You owe me.”

He stifled a yawn as he wandered out of the bedroom and into the hallway, following the sound of the piano he knew so well. To think that he and Orihime had agreed, very early in Scarlet’s life, that they wouldn’t pressure her into taking up the instrument. Perhaps it had been her prenatal exposure to music that had done it. Ulquiorra had been playing something for her one afternoon when she was two or three years old, and when he’d finished, she’d stretched out her small hand and had begun a clumsy attempt to replicate what she’d heard. More shocking still was the fact that she hadn’t missed a single note of the basic melody.

She’d been playing the piano ever since.

Ulquiorra entered the upstairs living area and found his daughter Scarlet seated on the bench on which he and Orihime had shared their first kiss. She was out of her pajamas, but dressed in baggy, stay-at-home clothes that (thankfully) hid her figure. In that department, she took after her mother; though her chest was average-sized, she was as shapely as they came. She also had Orihime’s eyes, which was part of the reason that Ulquiorra found it so difficult to say no to her at times. Her hair, however, was his, as were some of her sharper facial features.

“Good morning Scarlet,” he greeted her in a deflated tone, making a point to show how tired he still was.

“It is?” Scarlet answered mournfully, striking a dissonant chord that made the Cocker Spaniel beside her let out a whining bark. She put on a tragic expression—which, taking into account how much she resembled her father, was downright pitiful—and slumped against the piano.

Ulquiorra hoped that whatever this theatrical display was about, it would have nothing to do with boys. “We’re having company today. You get to see Misao and Klaus for the first time since…”

“Eighth grade.”

“That was, what, last year?”

“Try three years ago, Dad. Do you even know how old I am?”

“Of course I do. I just like to pretend that you’re still in middle school.” He sat down on the piano bench next to her, pushed her hands away, and opted for playing something that would rouse his sleeping beauty in a more pleasant way, lest she decide to spit in their breakfast later. “What’s the problem, then? I thought you were excited about having your friends over.”

“I am,” Scarlet said with a huff that pushed her black bangs upwards. “But it’s like, what do I say, you know? Misao’s graduating this year and going off to college in the fall, and she’s always been prettier and better dressed than me, so I feel intimidated… and as for Klaus…”

Ulquiorra froze.

“He’s a moron. Remember last time they were here, we went bike-riding in Steilacoom and he forced me to drag race him downhill to the ferry dock? I thought I was going to die!” She crossed her arms. “I don’t trust him.”

He relaxed. “You didn’t have to say yes. And Misao is pretty, but you shouldn’t let that intimidate you because she’s your friend and… why am I the one who has to participate in girl talk? Go wake your mother. She’s better equipped for these kinds of questions.” Ulquiorra left the piano bench, scowling. For one terrifying second he’d thought Scarlet was going to announce that she had feelings for Klaus.

Killing some random boy from school would be nothing. His best friend’s son, however…

…

Scarlet was not the most social person in the world. In a room full of strangers she would make herself as invisible as possible, which was admittedly difficult, being the daughter of a local celebrity.  She wasn’t without friends, though. The small number of girls and guys that had approached the “unapproachable” Scarlet Schiffer were very protective of her, and always offered to pay for their own things when they went out, mindful of how self-conscious she was about her father’s wealth.

But despite the fact that they lived thousands of miles from each other, she’d always considered Misao Ichimaru and Klaus Jaegerjaques to be her very best friends. She’d known them her entire life, after all. The fireplace even sported a picture featuring the three of them, still babies, with their parents and neighbors: Misao, a little over a year old, Klaus at almost eight months, and Scarlet herself, barely a month old. They were, as her mother called them, the babies of Las Noches.

“Oh, I can’t wait to see Nel and Rangiku!” Scarlet sat on the sofa, watching her now wide-awake mother prance through the living room, pushing the dog aside with her foot when it sat in her way, expecting to be petted. “I promised I’d take the two of them shopping in Seattle, and your aunt Sarah’s coming along too. Did you want to join us?”

“Maybe. Klaus is driving up in his own car so we can do whatever,” Scarlet answered, playing with her beaded necklace. She’d changed into a soft pink, ruffled dress and a pair of flip-flops, along with the silver anklet inspired by her mother’s favorite gold one, featuring her name etched into the thin plate. She’d wanted to look nice, but not over-dressed. Misao would outshine her either way.

Orihime grinned over the kitchen counter. “Couldn’t fit the entire family into their car, could they?”

“He hit a growth spurt so, yeah, they can’t squeeze him into the back with Heidi, Josie and Olive anymore,” Scarlet laughed, thinking of Klaus’s three little sisters. They were probably in junior high by now… two of them, anyway.

She’d find out soon enough. Her father had left a while ago to meet with their friends and direct them to the right house. Sure they’d visited often, but Grimmjow and Gin were bad with directions and getting to their place was a bit tricky. Scarlet’s heart had been pounding for a straight hour, as it tended to do when she was expecting company.

What could they do together? Shopping would bore Klaus. She imagined he’d want to go to Mount Rainier, which would send her parents’ anxiety levels through the roof for being sketchy mountain terrain, on top of being quite a distance away. There was a movie theater in nearby Lakewood, and things to do in Tacoma… or maybe they could tag along after their mothers and investigate Seattle after all.

The dog’s long ears twitched and it took off for the front door, yapping up a storm. That could only mean that Ulquiorra was home, and Scarlet was out of time to think. “Shut up, Dexter!” Orihime yelled from the laundry, and the dog quieted immediately, its butt wiggling at full speed. “You take a dog to obedience school and expect it to learn something, but no, my husband just has to have an eye for ugly and stupid pets that nobody else wants.”

Scarlet looked up at her, remembering the story of how her parents had gotten together. “So what does that say about you, then?”

Orihime’s eyes narrowed. “You’re grounded.”

The front door opened, and there was an explosion of noise and movement. Dexter threw himself at Ulquiorra, yapping despite Orihime’s orders. A multitude of voices filled the house as, one by one, familiar faces filed into the living room. Nel was first, and she immediately ran to Orihime and engulfed her in an embrace. Grimmjow followed her, and seeing as Orihime had already been tackled by his wife—and now Rangiku—he turned his eyes instead on the sixteen-year-old standing from the sofa.

“Yo Batman,” he said, looking at Ulquiorra, who had scooped up the dog and was treating it to a belly rub, “where the hell’s your daughter?”

“Obviously, that would be her right there.”

Grimmjow clapped Scarlet on the shoulder. “Who, her?” He grinned. “You were a munchkin last time, kid. What happened?”

“Puberty, I guess,” Scarlet answered lamely.

“Scarlet!” She hadn’t even time to look up before she was being squeezed to death by a slightly taller, much bustier, and hopelessly blonde Misao Ichimaru. Just as Scarlet had predicted, her best friend had gotten even prettier in the last three years. She had her mother’s wavy hair, her father’s icy blue eyes and fox-like smile. And her clothes, in comparison to Scarlet’s, somehow looked as if they had arrived straight from Paris, though they were probably a cheaper brand. She can make anything look good, Scarlet thought, though she didn’t let the tiny negative drown her happiness.

Misao finally broke away from her, talking a mile a minute. “Oh my God, look at you! You’re so freaking pretty, Scarlet. I hate you! Only, not really, of course. Girl, we’ve got three days to paint the town red, you and me. We’ll hit up the mall, get our hair and nails done, stuff our faces with donuts, shop for clothes, talk about boys—”

“What?” Ulquiorra and Gin said simultaneously, having heard the magic word over the rest of the commotion.

“—and school, and college, and your piano playing! You have to play something for me. I bet you’ve gotten, like, tons better since last time. But anyway, we’ll go down to the bay and gossip like old ladies and…”

“No offense,” a deep male voice cut through their one-sided conversation, “but that sounds boring as shit.”

“Up yours, Klaus!” Misao barked, wrapping her arms around Scarlet again. “You can just stay home, then.”

Scarlet had stopped paying attention right after the word “up”, for standing in front of her was not the hell-raising kid that had forced her into a drag race three years prior. It had to be Klaus, sure: he had his mother’s hair, short and combed-back, and his father’s nose. Everything else, though… Where had the extra height come from? And that toned body? And that strong jaw, those thick arms?

Klaus arched an eyebrow. “You alright, Scarlet? You’re staring.”

God, even the way he arched his eyebrow was sexy. Scarlet’s gray eyes swept the room for something more interesting to look at, but couldn’t find anything, so they settled on Misao’s boobs. “I’m fine…”

Then suddenly, three more voices were clamoring for her attention: Klaus’s little sisters, Heidi, Josephine and Olivia Jaegerjaques, who decided to cling to whatever part of her Misao wasn’t touching, all of them squealing Scarlet’s name and talking a mile a minute.

“Kind of noisy in here, isn’t it?” Misao said, relinquishing her hold on her best friend as the dog ran past in a frenzy of delight.

“Oi, munchkins, let her breathe! She’s pale enough without you cutting off her circulation. Back! Get back!” Klaus came in, waving his sisters away from Scarlet like insects. “One at a time, geez!”

“Scarlet,” said the oldest, Josephine, “I’m in middle school now!”

“Me too!” Olivia piped.

“I’m not…” Heidi muttered. “But I will be next year!”

“Scarlet, play something for us on the piano!”

“Yeah!”

“Say please!” Klaus ordered, whacking Heidi and Olivia upside the head. “And quit bothering the dog!” he added at Josephine, who was cradling a squirming and barking Dexter in her arms. “Mom!”  Nel looked up and yelled something in French at the three girls and they scrambled for each other, huddling by the couch, chorusing an apology before cooing over the dog. Klaus sighed. “Definitely too noisy in here.”

“We can go upstairs,” Scarlet suggested, the blood rushing to her cheeks before she added, “Misao’s coming too!”

“Obviously…?” Klaus and Misao said. “You sure you’re feeling alright?” the latter added, though comprehension was beginning to dawn on her.

Grimmjow called out for his son, beckoning him to come to the adults. Klaus looked at the two girls and shrugged. “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

“Good idea! Come on, Scarlet,” Misao said, hooking her arm through Scarlet’s and dragging her up the stairs before she could protest. Klaus paused to watch them depart, his gaze lingering on Scarlet until she disappeared behind the wall.

“Damn…” he muttered, and held a hand up to his chest, where his heart had taken off at a gallop.

…

If there was one thing that Scarlet hated about Misao, other than the raging inferiority complex she got standing next to her, it was that Misao was painfully observant. This shouldn’t have been surprising, considering that her father was a detective, but somehow Scarlet was always whiplashed by the speed at which the girl reached conclusions. For example, the moment they entered Scarlet’s bedroom and the door was closed, Misao turned on her with a devious smile. “You’ve got the hots for Klaus, don’t you?”

“No!” Scarlet cried, her voice rising two octaves in a telltale sign of dishonesty. “Damn it!” she hissed.

“You do!” Misao skipped after her, both sitting on her bed. “Girl, I had a feeling it would happen, and I give every single one of my blessings. Really, I do. However, since you don’t have the pleasure of going to school with him, I feel responsible for filling you in on things about Klaus that you may not know.”

“Like?”

“He’s a player,” she declared. “He’s handsome, and he knows it, too. Practically gets off on all the attention the girls at school give him. Luckily, I know him well enough to be immune.”

Scarlet frowned. “I thought you two had a thing in ninth grade?”

“And it was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had,” Misao replied with a nod. “We’re so wrong for each other, it’s not even funny. But you’re different, Scarlet. You’ve always been different… in a good way. Klaus would think more than twice before hurting you.”

Scarlet fidgeted uncomfortably. She knew Misao was right. Klaus was her childhood friend, an annoying kid with a bully streak. He’d never been her type before… what was so different about him now? A few inches of height and some muscle? She tried to fight back the excitement that had clambered up her stomach at the thought. What had mother said about guys like him?

Prince Charming types are always hiding something, and more often than not, it’s another damsel in distress.

There was a knock on the door, and then it creaked open and Klaus slipped inside, shutting them in to cut off the noise from downstairs. His eyes swept over the room, taking in its changes. There was a lot less pink than last time, though the trend of light colors remained in furniture and bedding. Hanging from Scarlet’s wall were two framed compositions: one by her father, named after her; the second one the first she had ever written. There was no television, but a laptop sat on her desk, from which they’d had several webcam conversations.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t physically seen her in the last few years, so why was he suddenly feeling nervous just being in the same room with her?

“What did your parents want?” Misao asked, flopping over on Scarlet’s bed as if it were her own.

“To brag about my so-called achievements,” Klaus answered with a hint of embarrassment. He avoided Scarlet’s gaze, and refused to move away from the door. “Soccer and all that.”

Scarlet considered her own achievements. Recently she’d played alongside her father at a big charity concert and had gotten a standing ovation—which had made her turn as scarlet as her name—but she wasn’t going to tell them that. She also played alongside her school’s orchestra and jazz band. Other than those few things, she kept her grades up and stayed out of trouble. Not much to say. God, was she really that boring?

Misao eyed the two of them, mischief brewing behind her blue eyes. “So what are we going to do today? It’s still early.”

“I’m starving,” Klaus said, patting his flat stomach and looking at Scarlet. “That pizza place in the town centre’s open, right?”

“Y-Yeah…” She stared at her anklet, shaking her foot so that it’d turn around her ankle until her name was visible.

“You two go. I’m not hungry, since I didn’t oversleep this morning and miss the hotel’s breakfast hour.” Misao turned onto her stomach and closed her eyes. “Besides, Scarlet’s bed is so comfy… I really don’t want to move.”

Scarlet glared at her, knowing exactly what she was up to. But here she was, feeling sorry for herself because she was boring, so why not try something new and exciting? Why not go and get pizza with a cute French guy? Wasn’t that the sort of fantasy middle-aged housewives entertained? The more she thought about it, the better it sounded. So she had inherited some of her mother’s adventurousness… it was just a little delayed. “Sounds good to me,” she said, pushing herself up from the bed. “If you’re going to nap, try not to drool on my comforter.”

“If I do, consider it a gift,” Misao said with a wink. As soon as they’d left the room, she brought out her phone and sent a text message to Josephine. Want to see your brother make a fool out of himself?

…

Downstairs, Orihime and Nel were already cracking up with laughter at one of Rangiku’s stories from the Haineko Diner. Grimmjow and Ulquiorra were arguing about something completely trivial, as usual, leaving Gin to threaten putting them in holding – the garage and the backyard, in this case – until they calmed down. It didn’t help that Josephine, Olivia and Heidi were taking sides.

Scarlet and Klaus descended into the mayhem, and would have remained unnoticed had Dexter not started barking at them. Orihime looked up, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Where are you two going?”

Scarlet turned to face the adults, who were watching them curiously. “Just getting lunch in town. Misao’s tired and full from breakfast so she isn’t coming.”

Josephine and her sisters were staring at her cell phone screen with wicked grins.

Ulquiorra’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t stay too long. We’re all going out tonight, right?” Nel asked Orihime.

“We won’t,” Scarlet promised, grabbing her jacket and ushering Klaus out the door before her father could say something embarrassing. It was a nice spring day: temperatures in the fifties, near sixties, but sunny for once with a few passing clouds. The small cherry blossom tree in the lawn—an accessory given to most of the houses in Dupont—was in full bloom, its pink petals trembling in the breeze. “You up for a walk?” she asked. “Gas isn’t cheap these days.”

“You aren’t cold?” he asked, swatting at the air in front of him as if he could generate heat that way.

“Please. I live here, remember? That’d be like expecting me to break out an umbrella whenever it rains.” Scarlet smiled at him, surprised by the courage she was extracting from some hidden inner reserve. Or, she thought, maybe she was finally remembering that no matter how attractive he was, this was still the same guy who’d shoved birthday cake up her nose in elementary school. Just another stupid guy beneath the handsome exterior.

The house’s front door opened. “Klaus, come here real quick!” Grimmjow yelled from inside.

Klaus sighed. “I’ll catch up… again.” Why was it that everyone always seemed to want his attention? Parents, sisters, girls. Misao gave him enough crap for it already. He went back to his father as Scarlet headed down the street. “Yeah?”

“Here.” Grimmjow handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “Be a gentleman.”

“What? But—!”

“Just don’t make it too obvious that you like her, or Ulquiorra will drug you tonight and bury you alive in the backyard.” He clapped his son on the shoulder, then sent him on his way. The front door closed on the noise and laughter inside, leaving Klaus on the doorstep, annoyed and embarrassed. What the hell, first Misao was bailing on them, and now his dad was offering advice? Was everyone in that house—Ulquiorra excluded—placing bets on them already?

He started down the front walk again, but something half-hidden in the grass caught his eye. Scarlet was far ahead of him, staring off into the trees. Mount Rainier was hidden by clouds. The neighborhood was otherwise silent. Klaus walked closer and bent down to inspect the object.

Silver… thin… it was Scarlet’s anklet. Had the clasp come loose after years of faithful use? He picked it up from the grass, wiping moisture off the plate on which her name was carved. She’d freak out the moment she noticed it had gone missing. She’d beg him to come with her, to retrace her steps. She’d be so happy, so relieved, so grateful when he gave it back to her and shattered the illusion of it being lost.

Klaus looked towards her again, but she was still focused elsewhere, probably composing some festive springtime piece in her mind. The longer the anklet was gone, the happier she’d be when she found it, and the better it’d make him look, right?

He closed his hand around the silver chain and slipped it into his pocket, then walked over to meet her.

Cheap, dirty, perhaps a little cruel… but undoubtedly effective.