Work Text:
Part 4 - Sensation
There was a time when nothing held meaning for Ulquiorra Cifer. Nothing held significance. He felt nothing, believed in nothing. Then he’d faded into nothing, and he discovered he hadn’t truly known the meaning of the word. For awhile, he was nothing. No sensation, no sense of self, no true existence. Everything that had made him Ulquiorra was gone, scattered into wind across a lonely desert.
When he first began to regenerate amongst the sharp spines of the Arbol Madre, he remained unaware. Mind still lost, body shredded and torn as it tried to reform, he hung crucified from the crystalline branches, blissfully oblivious to everything. Nothing existed that his eyes could not see, and his eyes could see… nothing. They would not open, heavy lids blanketing him from the world outside of him. He could not feel the crystal spines that pierced his wings. He could not sense the reishi that the tree was drawing into itself, using it to regenerate him as he was reborn amongst its branches. Time wasn’t even something he was conscious of. It had no meaning, it held no reason, served no purpose for him. Time slipped around Ulquiorra Cifer like moonlight over the desert sands.
When consciousness returned, it was in the same state as his body, fragmented and broken, still cut off from stimuli, but slowly regaining his sense of self. Finally, Ulquiorra was aware of the nothingness around him and it was a mockery of the emptiness that had held him in death. The void that surrounded him now was defined by what it was missing. Lack of sight, of scent, of taste. Lack of feeling in both the physical and emotional senses of the word.
It was an absence that necessitated there was once something more. Something that had come before the numbing embrace of emptiness, something that lived beyond it. Memory of it twisted through his unconscious like a diaphanous thing that he could not quite comprehend, forever out of reach no matter how he tried to grasp it. Wisps of words and whispers of colors that held no significance to attach them to, they slipped through his fractured mind like ghosts of a pale past he could not remember.
When those ghosts began to visit him, Ulquiorra latched on to the fragments they brought with them, pulling them to him with greedy fingers, as he began to rebuild himself into something more than the nothingness he’d become.
*************
Words, softly spoken, shattered the void, dragging him back to awareness. A presence, a voice, that carried with it memories of a time long past, a time forever lost. Pale green and bright pink and a smile too warm for the cold world around it. A strong but gentle soul cut down by a smiling insect with too many teeth.
“Halibel said we can’t get you down from there yet, Ulquiorra. Not until you finish regenerating. But I promise I’ll come and check on you again soon!”
The words held little meaning. The presence faded, leaving Ulquiorra alone again in the emptiness. Except, it was no longer as empty. There was now a memory — pale green and bright pink — tucked into his awareness along with the promise of more.
*************
The voice returned and brought others with it.
“What the— ?! Is that Ulquiorra!?” A different voice, carrying memories of garish orange and brown eyes that wanted to be hard but could not fully mask the softness of the soul that wore them. “How the hell is he alive?” Memories of an animalistic roar and a battle that should’ve been fought with honor but wasn’t and hadn’t been even before Ulquiorra was reduced to trying to keep all his limbs.
“We think it’s because his regenerative powers were so strong, Ichigo.” The voice from before. Pale green and pink. The other voice now had a name attached. Ichigo. Unbidden, a different one slipped into his thoughts: Kurosaki.
“Ulquiorra was a natural Arrancar. This is where he evolved.” Another voice, another memory. Twisted sneer filled with sharp teeth and a sky blue so pure it should not exist in a land of endless night. “Those branches are sharp. Fucker crawled in there, pierced himself on ‘em, and ripped his mask to fucking shreds. Arbol Madre must’ve held enough of his blood, reiatsu, and Hollow mask that his regenerative powers latched on to them and kicked in.”
“How do you know that’s how he evolved?”
“Cause I’m the one that found him here the first time, Kurosaki. I told Aizen about him.” Aizen. Memories of loyalty and kindness that could not be trusted, a thin veneer barely masking harsh cruelty. The memories were ephemeral, at best, sliding through his grasp with hardly any notice. Unimportant in the moment. “After a quick trip through the Hogyoku, Ulquiorra Cifer came to Las Noches as the Cuatro we all knew and hated.” The number four stark against pale skin. The Cuatro. The first memory he could tuck away with Ulquiorra. Something more of himself. A meaningless badge of pride.
“I didn’t hate him, Grimmjow.”
Grimmjow. The name carried with it more memories, more words. Sky blue, twisted sneer, and a deep, maniacal laugh. Brash and arrogant. Jaegerjaquez. Sharp claws and an even sharper bite, intelligence hidden behind chaos and destruction. Sexta. Dark six reforming under a golden shield on skin burned and scarred.
He tried to tuck those memories in with the others, but Jaegejaquez and Kurosaki didn’t want to go together. Pieces missing or lost or never known were needed to make them fit.
“That’s because you’re fucking soft, Nelliel.” Nelliel. Pale green and bright pink. Memories long forgotten but perhaps not lost forever. “You didn’t even fucking hate Nnoitra, and that fucker tried to kill you.” Nnoitra. Smiling insect with too many teeth.
“I didn’t hate him, either. Ulquiorra, I mean. Nnoitra can fucking rot.”
A chuckle that lacked the madness of battle. Unfamiliar to him. New, his mind whispered, as it tucked it away with sky blue chaos.
“It shouldn’t have ended like it did.” Softly spoken. Kurosaki. Battle fought without honor or intention. Regret. A battle never finished.
“Bleeding fucking hearts, the both of you.”
“I think you're actually glad to see him.”
“Fuck you, Kurosaki.”
“You two are so sweet together.”
“Fuck you, too, Nelliel.”
Laughter. Bright pink and pale green.
“We have to tell Inoue.”
Inoue. Orihime. Woman. Sad eyes and a strength Ulquiorra could not comprehend. Golden light filled with warmth that obliterated the nothingness of the void, threatened to destroy it entirely. Ulquiorra quickly pulled back his awareness, dragging the new memories with him to tuck into the corners of his thoughts, to fill the vast emptiness around him.
Even buried with the others, the golden light of Orihime Inoue overwhelmed all else.
*************
Consciousness returned, dragging him out of the darkness he hid himself in when he wasn’t wrapping himself around the memories of more that he gathered like a dragon hoarding treasure. There was a presence of others that was becoming familiar even before their voices reached him in the void.
“Leg’s almost back. Almost got his full fucking wing, too.” Chaos and a cocky grin. Sky blue anger that carried a calmness with it now that was unknown from before. Something new, something different, something changed.
“They’re the first part of him that started to fade. Makes sense they’d be the last to come back. Hopefully, the bastard was able to regenerate his internal organs this time.” Brown eyes filled with regret and horror. The offer of a level battlefield that bordered on absurdity.
Kurosaki and Jaegerjaquez.
Together.
Something still didn’t fit, was still missing, still didn’t make sense.
“You really think she can handle this, Kurosaki?”
“What the hell, Grimmjow? Telling her was your idea!”
“It was yours first.”
“And you called me a dumbass!”
“Tch. That’s cause you are a fucking dumbass, Shinigami.”
Words without anger, only insult and amusement. Battle without bloodshed. A clash of orange and blue. The pieces Kurosaki and Jaegerjaquez started to work together in a way they couldn’t before.
There was a pause, a poignant moment filled with something Ulquiorra could not see, could not sense, and therefore held no meaning to him. Then, “I think Inoue’s lonely.”
Inoue. Wide eyes and soft pink lips. Sad smile and an empty room lit only by the silver gloom of a isolated moon, its pale light nothing in comparison to hers. Once again, thoughts of the woman threatened to overwhelm, but this time Ulquiorra didn’t pull back, reaching instead for the tiny bits of memory that were within his grasp.
“You really think seeing this sad sack of shit is going to help her with that, Kurosaki?”
“Don’t you?” Spoken with an sharp, underlying edge of meaning that Ulquiorra could not understand.
“Well, shit. Guess that means I’m gonna have to learn to live with the bastard.”
A huff of laughter, amusement hiding something brittle beneath it that brought forth the memory of hard brown eyes that wanted to be gentle. “Guess we both will.”
“Then what the fuck you worrying about so much, Shinigami?”
“What the hell do you think I’m worried about, asshole?!”
“I think you’re worried about your wife.”
Wife. The word held no meaning in relation to anything Ulquiorra could connect it to, no context to place it within, but it still caused him to hiss and spit, and stirred something in him that threatened to shake the void around him until it trembled and broke.
“I don’t want her hurt. He could hurt her.”
“And we could fucking kill him.”
“You know what I mean, Grimmjow. I’m worried this might not be good for her.”
“Tch. Ain’t like the two of us are the perfect paradigm of a healthy fucking relationship.”
A huff of amusement, little more than an exhalation of breath holding humor in it. “I don’t think we’re that bad.” Voice full of fondness that was unfamiliar, though Ulquiorra still named it affection.
“Really, Kurosaki?” Words a low growl that made Ulquiorra think of a hunter stalking its prey. “You want me to fuck you before or after I make you bleed?”
“You wish, asshole. I’m going to kick your ass so hard you won’t even have enough blood left in your body to get a boner.”
A bright bark of laughter, surprised delight filled with battle-lust and a sharp-toothed grin. “Wanna bet? Try me, Shinigami.”
“Yeah, I’d lose that bet. Fighting you until you aren’t turned on seems counterproductive.”
The emptiness of the void pulled at him, and Ulquiorra slid into it, bringing the clash of blue and orange with him, only now they wrapped around the bright light of the woman without muting or stifling the memory of golden warmth and tear-filled eyes. Orihime Inoue still threatened to overwhelm Ulquiorra, overwhelm everything, until he buried himself in it and slipped back into unconsciousness.
*************
They came back. The clash of blue and orange. Kurosaki and Jaegerjaquez, bringing with them a presence that was familiar without any introduction. Bright light and beauty, blue barrettes and a stinging slap. Her presence was gentler than the brash arrogance around her and was made all the more potent by its quiet humility.
“Ulquiorra.” A whispered prayer, a plea, that filled the emptiness around him. Soft words with hints of power, just as strong and unassuming as the woman who wielded them. “Santen Kesshun. I reject!” A glimmering triangular shield made of golden light.
“Oi, wifey! What the fuck you think you’re doing!?” Sharp-toothed grin missing, violent edge of chaos tempered by the bright light of the woman.
“I want to get closer. My Santen Kesshun can carry me up there.” Soft and humble with a power that rivaled the gods.
“I’m not so certain you should be doing that, Inoue.” Brown eyes conflicted with concern and indecision.
“Eh, leave her be, Kurosaki. You know we can protect her.” Pride and certainty that wrapped around the both of them and bound all of them together. Familiar from Kurosaki; unexpected from Jaegerjaquez.
“Ulquiorra… it really is you.” Whispered words filled with awe and wonder —as unfamiliar as they were coveted —spoken closer than before, carrying with them the awareness of proximity and the new sensations held within. The scent of flowers and salt-filled tears, familiar and enticing. The touch of trembling fingers that ghosted over his cheeks, following a phantom trail of tears to drip from his chin and alight upon his chest where the number four should rest stark against pale skin over a hollow heart.
The heart. The word brought memories of a pale hand hovering over a white-clad breast, the sound of the rapid heartbeat beneath it audible to his sensitive ears. The glimmer of something strong and unshakable that stared out at him from sorrowful eyes. Love. Something that could’ve been within his grasp that instead slipped through his fingers like dust.
It was overwhelming, and consuming, and threatened to completely fill the emptiness around him. It promised to unravel all that he was, unmake him, until the warm light and sad smiles forged him into something new and different. The void shivered and trembled around him and breathed a sigh of relief when the moment was shattered.
“Hey, Inoue? I’m not so certain you should be petting the unconscious Arrancar.”
A bark of laughter. Bright blue and lacking the blood-lust of battle.
“I just had to know he was really real.” Said with embarrassment. Pink cheeks and a self-deprecatory smile. “That he was actually alive.” Said with quiet wonder, with joy that was undeserved but still desired.
“Hate to break it to ya, Princess, but he’s not. We’re Hollows. Even if the bastard’s back, we’re still dead.”
“That’s not what she— you know what, never mind.”
“You gotta problem, Kurosaki? Don’t like being reminded that you’re fucking a dead man?”
“What!? I’m not—”
“Heh. Technically, you are.”
“You know what? Fuck you, Grimmjow.”
“Yeah, that’s the part that makes you a necrophiliac.”
A bright burst of giggles, golden and warm, fluttered across Ulquiorra’s awareness. A new sound, unfamiliar to his ears, but one that he lusted after now that he’d experienced it. It carried with it an image of sad eyes brightened by amusement. He wanted to hear the sound again, to feel the warm breath of laughter that danced over his skin carrying with it the soft scent of mint. He wanted to taste it, to indulge in it with all five of his senses until it overwhelmed him and consumed him, filling the empty void with nothing but her.
“They’re always like that. You get used to it.” A soft confession, for his ears alone. One filled with fondness and affection for the others. “Or, well, I did. You’d probably want to kill them most the time.”
Not if they made the woman laugh like that, Ulquiorra thought as he slipped back into the darkness.
*************
Ulquiorra floated on the edges of the void, awareness drifting in and out, memories and sensation ebbing and flowing around him. The woman and the others had remained, keeping him from sinking back into his empty existence, holding him on the brink of consciousness, though he faded in and out. Orihime Inoue stayed close, the scent of flowers and salt-filled tears — the feeling of soft, warm light — greeted him every time he began to resurface.
“Hey. I just wanted to check on you.” Kurosaki. Too close to him — too close to the woman — for Ulquiorra’s liking. Garish Orange and concerned brown eyes settling beside her on a golden shield rendered into reality by godlike power. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, I was just drifting.”
Perhaps they had been drifting together.
A yawn broke the silence, and his mind supplied the memory of the woman, sitting up from a white couch, with her arms reaching over head as she stretched. Sleepy eyes and a hesitant smile. A softly spoken question. ‘Is it time to wake up already?’ Followed by an even more hesitant, ‘ Good morning, Ulquiorra.’
“You know I can’t sleep too deep while using my Shun Shun Rikka.”
“Yeah.” Said with too much fondness and affection for a single word. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen you healing people when you couldn’t even keep your eyes open.”
“And I usually wake up on the floor next to them when I give in.” A laugh, bright and happy but with an edge of exhaustion. “Hopefully that won’t happen this time. It would be a bit of a drop, but it would probably wake me up!”
“Maybe you should give it a rest for a bit.”
“I’m all right. Thank you for worrying about me, Ichigo. I just… I don’t want him to be alone.” Whispered words. A confession to both Ulquiorra and Kurosaki. “I want him to know I’m here.”
A pause so tense that the void shuddered and quaked at the invisible presence. A sensation felt, but not in anyway that Ulquiorra could explain. “You know… we’ve never talked about what happened, Inoue.”
“I knew how bad you felt about it, Ichigo. I… I didn’t want to add to your burden.”
“I killed him. I think that’s a burden I should carry.” Words spoken with the exhausted sense of a pride long held; a weight never put down, only added to. “I didn’t realize, back then, how much you cared about him.”
The void reached out, trying to pull him back into unconsciousness, but Ulquiorra fought the emptiness that tried to wrap around him, striving for the next words spoken so he could pull them into that darkness with him, their bright light keeping him warm.
“Ulquiorra… he thought emotions were pointless. He didn’t believe the heart existed. He wanted me to prove that it did. I think… he wanted to understand. That’s what allowed him to find a place in my heart.”
“During our fight, I asked him if he was becoming more human or if I was becoming more Hollow. I guess it was both.”
“Oh!” A soft breath, almost a gasp. “I bet Ulquiorra didn’t like that much.” A slight tint of amusement.
“Well, he was already trying to kill me, so it was kinda hard to tell, but I’m pretty certain I pissed him off.”
Laughter. Incongruent, but still bright and warm. Ulquiorra kept it wrapped around himself, still holding back the void, even as the words turned somber. “I didn’t realize until the end… when he reached for me… that Ulquiorra finally understood.” The smell of salt in the air. Sad eyes, soft sobs, and spilled tears. “His world had been so empty, and so sad, for so long, Ichigo. But then he found his heart. I couldn’t help but think about all the things he would finally get to experience. Like… like the happiness of watching a kitten playing with a ball of string! Or laughing while you dance in the rain! Like the excitement of seeing the first buds of cherry blossom before the Hanami Festival! Or—”
“Falling in love?” The gruff voice was disruptive, but not unwelcome. Not when it caused the woman’s voice to hitch, caused her to suck in a sharp gasp of air as her breath caught before she released it with a sigh.
“Or feeling what it’s like to fall in love,” the woman agreed. “I wanted to him to have all those things. I wanted to show him all of them! Except… except he was just… gone. It… it broke my heart in a way I never quite figured out how to heal.”
“I think that’s because a piece of it was missing. I’m sorry, Inoue, that it was my fault.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t. I think… I think everything is turning out the way it was supposed to, you know?” Soft smile, tinged with sadness, and gentle eyes shimmering with tears held at bay by quiet strength. “I don’t regret the last few years, Ichigo. The life we have together… I wouldn’t change that. I mean, if I did, who knows what else might change! I might never have set you up with Grimmjow if you hadn’t married me!” Something dark and possessive rose up out of the void, hissing and slithering around him, kept calm only by the teasing tone of the woman’s words.
“You didn’t set me up with Grimmjow.”
A giggle, bright and sharp in the salt filled air. “I kinda did.”
A splutter of indignation. Annoyed and amused. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t expect us to… you know.” Embarrassed.
“It wasn’t like I was that surprised by it, Ichigo.”
“It’s not like I’m surprised by this, either.” Emphasis that wrapped around Ulquiorra, pulling him in, including him and connecting him to the woman. “You know, except the part about him not being dead. That’s still kinda surprising.”
“I’m glad that he’s not.”
“That’s pretty obvious, Inoue. I am, too. Glad, I mean, that he’s not dead. For your sake, more than his.”
The void beckoned. Ulquiorra wrapped himself in bright light, golden and warm, filled with soft smiles, the scent of flowers, and promises of more. Memories of her surrounded him, soothed him into sleep, and he submitted to them entirely. The void shivered and shook, and the emptiness was filled with dreams of kittens playing with string and the woman laughing in the rain.
*************
The distant sound of steel against steel, and maniacal laughter that lacked the expected edge of madness. The clash of orange and blue. The soft scent of flowers, of the woman, and gentle golden power. Close, still close, Ulquiorra realized with something that he named relief . He wanted her close.
There was a soft gasp of surprise and alarm. Ulquiorra wished he could open his eyes, could see what had startled the woman. The void trembled with his urge to grab her, wrap his arms and wings around her, and make certain she was protected and safe.
“Medic! We need a medic out here.” Kurosaki laughing, but his words echoed strangely. Double-edged and layered, it brought to mind the image of a white mask with red markings, black sclera and yellow eyes.
Grimmjow’s yell of, “Oh, fuckin’ hell, Shinigami!” More amused than angry.
A giggle and a call of, “Soten Kisshun! I reject!” Golden power that bordered the realm of gods, and a soft smile. “I’m beginning to agree with Grimmjow, Ichigo. I think you are doing it on purpose.” Voice tinged with laughter and a gentle reprimand.
“Not my fault he keeps making it so easy! He leaves that arm wide open!”
“I think your Hollow’s gotta fetish, Kurosaki.”
“Don’t even get him started, asshole!”
Another giggle from the woman close to him. “I can’t help but wonder what you would think of all this, Ulquiorra.” Said soft. For his ears alone.
He found it all intriguing. But then, he was intrigued by everything about her.
*************
Another clash of orange and blue. Kurosaki and Jaegerjaquez seemed incapable of not fighting, be it through words or swords. The woman was still close. Ulquiorra wondered how long it had been since the three of them had set up camp around him. Time had no meaning to him. But she’d stayed close, her golden shield holding her beside him every time he’d resurfaced. She hadn’t slept. Had she eaten?
It had once been his job to worry about such things. It wasn’t any longer.
He worried about them more now.
*************
“Oh, Fuck! Goddamnit!”
“Shit! Inoue, watch out!”
Fear, this time. Not amusement. Bright power, chaotic and distant, racing towards them.
“Santen Kesshun! I reject!”
Golden power that the woman perched upon shifting and moving. A soft exclamation of surprise, a brush of fingertips against him, as the woman was falling, dropping to the ground below them without her protective shield to support her.
The void shattered around him.
Instinct took over.
His serpentine tail lashed out, catching on the woman’s slim waist, it coiled around her gently. Her weight — though insignificant — still caused Ulquiorra’s wings to pull where the crystalline branches of Arbol Madre pierced him. That was not his concern at the moment.
The woman released a soft grunt of air as her momentum was abruptly stopped. It was followed by a small wondrous, “ oh! ” as delicate fingers traced along the soft fur of his tail.
“ Why the fuck did you deflect that, Kurosaki!? ” Gruff voice filled with anger and fear. Ulquiorra didn’t care.
“ I wasn’t thinking! Inoue!? Are you all right?! ” Their concern was insignificant. It did not matter. Their words skittered across his awareness and were dismissed. They meant nothing.
“Ah, I’m all right, Ichigo.” Those words held meaning, importance. “I’m- oh! I’m, ah ha ha…” Soft exhalation of surprise and laughter as Ulquiorra began to lift her, long tail sliding and twisting around her as he brought her to his chest. Green and yellow eyes opened to see wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears and a soft smile. Blood rose to the woman’s pale cheeks, painting them a delicate pink. “Hi,” she said shyly. Three streaks of light, bright orange and warm, arched back to her now that her shield was no longer in use.
Long claws carefully slid around the woman’s hips and across her shoulders. Thin, black fingers cradled the back of her head. Ulquiorra drew her in, pressing her to him, as he tucked her face into the curve of his neck. He felt dampness against his skin and turned to her, breathing her in, the scent of flowers and tears.
“Damnit. Looks like the bastard finally woke up. What now, dumbass?”
“Try not to kill him again and get Inoue back?”
Ulquiorra cradled the woman to him and gave a low hiss of warning. His wings stretched and flexed, shattering the crystal branches that had held him crucified to the Mother Tree. The sharp shards rained down around them along with his reiatsu, heavy and dense.
“I don’t think he fucking likes your plan much, Kurosaki.”
“You got a better one?”
With that, the two men attacked.
*************
His consciousness crashed into him at the same time that his back slammed into a solid wall of power, warm and familiar even before Ulquiorra saw the golden glow of the Shun Shun Rikka. “Woman?” he murmured questioningly.
“I’m all right, Ulquiorra,” her soft voice answered. Ulquiorra looked down to find her held against his chest, his large hand splayed on the back of her head to press her against his pale skin. His wings, he noticed, were wrapped tightly around her, shielding her from the violent outpouring of reiatsu he could feel pressing in on them.
The reiryoku felt like Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, but amplified and twisted to the point of almost being unrecognizable. It poured off of the Arrancar like blue flames scorching the desert around him. White sands wrapped him in a cyclone of fury that crackled with bright blue lightning.
Ulquiorra caught glimpses of the form held within. The bone armor of Grimmjow’s Resurreccion was gone. In its place was something primal and only the long mane of pale blue hair named it Grimmjow. He was covered in sleek black skin, fur that was somehow even darker along his legs and arms, and the electric blue of his reiatsu danced over claws and along the whip-like tail.
“Segunda Etapa,” Ulquiorra said in recognition.
“First time using it, so this might get messy,” a voice said from behind him. Instincts still too strong, Ulquiorra turned with a hiss, arms tightening around the woman in case he had to flee with her.
Ichigo Kurosaki blinked at him from the other side of a the woman’s healing shield. The Shinigami must’ve been injured enough that she intervened. “Thought you might be back with us,” Kurosaki said with a frown. He was, but Ulquiorra saw no need to correct him. Ulquiorra wasn’t his concern, anyway. “You all right in there, Inoue?”
“I’m fine! Don’t worry about me, Ichigo!” the woman called, small hand emerging from the cocoon of Ulquiorra’s wings to wave at him.
“Good,” he said gruffly before looking at Ulquiorra. “I don’t know if you can hear me or not, you bastard, but if you can, you just keep doing what you’ve been doing. Protect her.”
Ulquiorra looked away, though the fur between his wings bristled at turning his back on the man who killed him. “What I do is not your concern, Shinigami,” he said blandly.
“It is if it involves my wife,” the other man replied. Ulquiorra felt his hands clutch at the woman tighter. He remembered how the void had shivered around him when he first heard that word. It had context now. He liked it even less.
“Really, Ichigo?!” The woman said in exasperation from her place in Ulquiorra’s arms.
There was a huff that might have been laughter. “We'll talk. Later. After I kick Grimmjow’s ass.”
“I wouldn't underestimate him in this form, Kurosaki,” Ulquiorra warned.
“I never underestimate him.” There was arrogance in his voice with something else laced underneath it that sounded like pride. Not in himself, but in Grimmjow. “You two might want to get away. Zangetsu’s looking forward to this, so I’m not going to be holding back.”
Despite already being in the form that Ulquiorra knew was his Bankai, the Shinigami started pouring out reiatsu in thick red and black waves. Sand swirled around him, trapped along with his power under the golden dome.
“Can, uh, can I climb on your back?” the woman asked hesitantly. “I want to be able to see what it going on.” Reluctantly, Ulquiorra released her. She ducked under his wing, small hand coming to rest on the fur between his shoulders. Delicate arms draped around his neck once he’d lifted her onto his back with his powerful tail, so she nestled between his wings.
“Inoue!?” Kurosaki called in warning. Cracks were forming along the golden dome that still covered him.
“Oh!” She didn’t waste any time before calling out, “Ayame! Shun’o!” She didn’t summon them back into her clips, instead yelling, “Shun Shun Rikka!” and pulling forth the others. Ulquiorra could feel her power, bright and warm, as it swirled softly around them. Her hands twisted against his chest, and Ulquiorra glanced down to see she had the fingertips of three fingers from each hand pressed together, thumb and pinkies interlocked. She called out, “Hachi Kekkai! Hako Okuri! ” and yanked them apart.
Golden light surrounded them. The world outside of it momentarily blinked from existence.
*************
“Woman,” Ulquiorra asked once his eyes registered what had happened. The plumes of power pouring off the other two were now distant. Still monstrous and growing, but no longer an immediate threat due to proximity. “Did you just teleport us?”
“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I guess I should have asked first.”
“No need to apologize. I am merely… surprised. You have grown more powerful.”
There was a long pause before she whispered, “You were gone a long time, Ulquiorra.”
Ulquiorra didn’t ask how long it had been since he’d died. It is doubtful he would’ve been heard over the deafening roar that Grimmjow split the desert air with, though it didn’t drown out Kurosaki’s call of, “Bankai!”
Ulquiorra felt a slight shudder when he saw the form Kurosaki took. The pauldron that covered one shoulder reminded Ulquiorra of a Hollow’s bone armor. The black shihakusho was crossed by slashes of white, making it look as much like an Arrancar’s uniform as it did a Shinigami’s. Dark, jagged lines of estigma covered him, converging on a circle where his Hollow hole had been. The wicked looking horn that rose from one brow, all that had been left of Kurosaki’s mask once he’d shattered it, reminded Ulquiorra of a merciless death.
The two fighters vanished in a burst of sonido only to reappear in the middle of the battlefield, claws striking sword in a flurry of attacks. There was a familiarity in the way the two fought despite the new forms they both took, a natural way they moved together that spoke of long practice. Ulquiorra was reminded of the incessant clash of orange and blue that had pulled at his consciousness while he was awakening.
Unlike some of the other Espada, Ulquiorra had never craved battle for the sake of battle. He’d been more apt to watch from the sidelines, analyzing the fighters strengths and weaknesses, storing that information away for future need, since even then he’d known the Espada would eventually come to blows with each other. He had watched the Sexta especially, knowing Grimmjow was too chaotic to be fully trusted, more apt to act on his own desires than Lord Aizen’s.
It wasn’t just Grimmjow’s strength and speed that made the blue-haired Arrancar a formidable opponent. All of the Espada had possessed those, to varying degrees. But unlike Yammy or Nnoitra, Grimmjow was intelligent and maintained the ability to strategize even in the madness of battle. He showed none of that now. The thing Grimmjow had become, since it wasn’t truly Grimmjow at the moment, was driven purely on instinct. No thought or planning behind the action. It was feral and wild, attacking with a ruthlessness that was made all the more deadly by its unpredictability.
Yet, Kurosaki adapted to it with a seamless skill that was still incredible to see. The orange-haired Shinigami’s ability to adapt and grow to meet every challenge Lord Aizen had thrown at him was impressive, but what Ulquiorra was witnessing now was beyond that even.
“How often do they spar against each other?” Ulquiorra asked.
“Every chance they get,” she answered, her breath warm against his cheek. “At least once a week, though.”
“They are well matched.”
“Ichigo says that Grimmjow is his perfect partner.”
Ulquiorra thought about that comment along with what he’d heard of the trio’s conversations. “They're more than just sparring partners, are they not?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.
He could literally feel the woman’s blush against the side of his neck. “Yes, they are,” she admitted.
“Yet you are married to Ichigo Kurosaki.”
She sucked in a slight gasp. “It’s, ah, complicated,” she hedged before adding, “Ichigo and I, we aren’t, um….” She trailed off. Her face was impossibly hotter against his skin. “Let’s just say that Grimmjow doesn’t share, ” she finally finished.
“Good,” Ulquiorra said, monotone voice holding an edge of authority to it. “Neither do I.”
The noise she made was… intriguing. Somewhere between a gasp and a whine before she let all of her breath out in a long, slow exhale. Ulquiorra found that he wanted to make her do it again, under completely different circumstances.
“How much of our conversations did you hear?” Her tone was tinged with embarrassment.
“I heard enough,” Ulquiorra admitted. “I was in and out of consciousness.”
“Sorry if we were disturbing your rest.”
“It was an interesting distraction,” Ulquiorra told her, and he found he was actually having to fight his expressions, as his mouth wanted to twitch into a smirk.
The conversation was interrupted by the battle still happening before them. Ulquiorra’s tail tightened around the woman’s waist, getting ready to jump into sonido. Before he got a chance, she called out, “Santen Kesshun!” and her shield sprung up between them and the shock wave that would no doubt reach them soon.
“Will it hold, woman?” Ulquiorra asked, realizing the two idiots were charging Gran Rey Ceros to throw at each other.
“It’ll hold,” she promised.
Ulquiorra remembered cracking her shield with a sword strike. Yammy obliterated it with a single hit. Now, it held up against the backlash of Kurosaki and Grimmjow’s ceros colliding. And she’d had no doubt that it would. “You haven’t just grown stronger. Your confidence has increased as well.”
“Ulquiorra, I’m not certain there is anything less confident than a teenage girl,” she told him, her soft laugh ghosting over his jaw. “I don’t think I’ve necessarily grown stronger. I’ve just grown up.”
This time, Ulquiorra asked. “How long has it been since I died?”
“Eight years. A lot has happened in that time.” She was hesitant with her words. “After Aizen’s defeat… there was another war. One that threatened the balance of all three worlds. Halibel — she’s queen of Hueco Mundo now — was taken prisoner. Grimmjow and Nelliel fought on our side. There’s… there’s a truce now, between the remaining Espada of Las Noches and the Gotei 13.”
“How many of the Espada remain?”
“Only those three. The rest were killed during the war with Aizen. Halibel can probably fill you in better than I could since she was there.”
Ulquiorra allowed himself to close his eyes briefly. “The details do not matter,” he said dismissively. How they died was irrelevant; that they had was the only thing of importance. He was not close with most of the other Espada. There were a few he found tolerable. More than anything, he mourned the loss of his own kind. Aizen had evolved the Arrancar beyond their known ability. It would be a long time before Hueco Mundo saw their like again.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured into his neck.
“What are you apologizing for, woman?”
“I guess… I am apologizing because I sympathize with your pain,” she said after a moment, “and I know there is nothing I can do to make it better.”
“Hmm,” Ulquiorra replied, feeling his lips flatten from their normal frown. “It would seem there are some things that have not changed. You are still foolishly sentimental.”
“I doubt that will ever change, Ulquiorra,” she replied with an amused huff.
*************
While time usually held little meaning in Hueco Mundo, after so long watching the battle between Ichigo Kurosaki and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Ulquiorra found himself suffering from an uncharacteristic restlessness. “Woman,” he said, breaking the silence that had surrounded them as they both focused on the fight in front of them, “how do their battles usually end?”
“Um… usually in a draw,” she told him, “after they both collapse from exhaustion. Usually from blood loss.”
“I see,” Ulquiorra said succinctly. Unfortunately, what he saw was that the battle would not be ending anytime soon. Kurosaki had high speed regeneration, and every wound he got healed almost instantly. Grimmjow… Ulquiorra was uncertain what was happening, but every wound placed on him by the hybrid’s blade now crackled with bright blue reiatsu. They didn’t heal, but they no longer bled, either. It wasn’t regeneration, but Ulquiorra wasn’t certain what the technique was.
“They’re probably going to be at this awhile,” the woman said, having reached the same conclusion. “You, ah, you can put me down if you want,” she added hesitantly. “I think we will be safe enough.”
Other than the occasional cero blasts connecting, or Grimmjow’s Desgarron, there wasn’t much that had threatened them where they were. The woman had expertly shielded all of them. Still, Ulquiorra was reluctant to release her. He wanted the excuse to keep her close. The thought of not being able to feel her pressed against him anymore was… unsettling. Except he had no intention of holding her against her will — not anymore, at least — so he lowered them to the ground.
The woman slid off his back, small fingers resting for a moment in the fur on his shoulders before she let go and ducked under his wing to stand beside him. His tail remained wrapped around her waist, but she didn’t comment on it. A moment later, he felt the soft touch of hesitant fingers against his clawed hand. “Is, ah, this all right?” she asked shyly, her cheeks tinging a pale pink.
Ulquiorra studied the way her human hand rested in his with an expressionless gaze. There was something unnatural looking about seeing her delicate fingers pressed against his black furred palm. Her small hand was warm, though, as he wrapped his clawed fingers gently around it. The faint flush that he felt settle over him reminded him of wrapping himself in the golden light of her memory while in the void.
“It is acceptable,” he told her.
It was a lie.
It was more than acceptable.
*************
The longer the battle carried on, the more brutal it became. Despite his massive reservoir of reiatsu, Ulquiorra knew Kurosaki must be wearing down. The thing that was Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was vicious, spinning and twisting between kicks and slashes, claws extended with reiatsu to rend flesh at a distance. His attacks came from all sides, one morphing right into another, in such a way that it was impossible for the Shinigami to block all of them.
Kurosaki was still regenerating, but so was Ulquiorra up until he couldn’t any longer. Kurosaki’s healing seemed to be slowing down slightly, the Hollow part of him not as quick to heal minor wounds. Conserving reiatsu in case it was needed.
Grimmjow’s attacks, at first glance, were just as fast, just as frenzied, as before. Except… It appeared to Ulquiorra they were coming a mere fraction of a second later than they had been. He was still trying to figure out why when Grimmjow’s hand smoothly pierced Kurosaki’s stomach.
The woman gasped as soon as they saw the Arrancar’s claws shoot out Kurosaki’s back, and she was calling out for her Shun Shun Rikka before the cero had a chance to even manifest in his other hand. “Bakudo #61! Rikujokoro!”
All six of her fairies went flying, piercing Grimmjow around the waist and immobilizing him. Ulquiorra had seen the attack before. Rukia Kuchiki had used it during her battle with Aaroniero Arruruerie, and the Novena Espada had transmitted the memory of the battle to the others in his last moments. Ulquiorra had not expected such a move from Orihime. The woman continued to impress him.
“I have to check on Ichigo!” she told him, her tone desperate and eyes pleading. Her concern for the Shinigami irritated him, but it wasn’t the first time. Ulquiorra was aware of the jealousy that had tainted his fight with Ichigo Kurosaki. For one moment, he wanted to deny her, to keep her away from the other man. Then she whispered, “Please, Ulquiorra?”
Ulquiorra surged forward, wrapping his arms around her as he carried them both into a burst of sonido. He stepped out of it just in time to see Kurosaki cut off the arm Grimmjow had impaled him with and leap backward, landing beside them. The arm that was still through his torso dissolved into glittering particles of reishi. Ulquiorra watched, eyes widening, as Kurosaki absorbed it, the hole through his abdomen glowing a cold blue before vanishing completely.
“It’s a Quincy technique,” Kurosaki said, unfortunately catching Ulquiorra’s curious glance. “If the fucker asks, you can tell him I absolutely cut it off on purpose this time,” he added in a huff.
“Are you all right, Ichigo?” Orihime asked, barely glancing toward the Shinigami. She was instead watching Grimmjow, who was trying to break free of the shield she held him in.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Inoue,” Kurosaki told her gruffly. “I let down my guard for a moment. I thought Grimmjow might be back with us for a second, ya know?” His brows were turned down, lips pressed together in a frown. “Guess I was wrong.”
“You are a fool, Ichigo Kurosaki,” Ulquiorra told him blandly, making the other man scowl at him. Ulquiorra knew he sounded a bit smug as he added, “What makes you think Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez would stop attacking because he regained his reasoning?”
A fraction of a second hesitation in his movements. Just long enough for conscious thought to be dictating what he was doing instead of being guided by pure instinct. The Arrancar was in control of his actions. He had been for a while.
The shock of realization settling over Kurosaki’s face was somewhat amusing. His jaw fell slack, mouth gaping open, as his eyes went wide. It lasted only a moment — long enough for the woman to giggle, turning her face to bury the sound against Ulquiorra’s shoulder — before his scowl returned, even fiercer than before.
“Hey, asshole!” he yelled toward the blue-haired Hollow. “How long have you been back, you dick!?” For some reason, he yelled it in… German? It took Ulquiorra a moment to register what language he was hearing.
Grimmjow’s response was a loud cackle of laughter. It was a sound filled with madness and blood lust. A sound meant to incite fear and terror. Ichigo Kurosaki lowered his zanpakuto completely in response to it, a wide smile splitting his face. The woman released the Bakudo she’d been holding Grimmjow with.
It was not the first time Ulquiorra had questioned the two humans’ sanity.
“Damnit, Ulquiorra!” Grimmjow yelled once he’d stopped cackling. “You haven’t even said two fucking words to me yet and you’re already ruining all my goddamn fun!” There was a surprising lack of anger to the words. Irritation, yes, but it thinly veiled amusement , of all things.
Ulquiorra closed his eyes and shook his head in what once would have been disgust. He was not entirely certain it was anymore. The Sexta wasn’t the only one who had changed.
Kurosaki was at Grimmjow’s side with a step of shunpo. They were talking inaudibly, even to Ulquiorra’s sensitive ears, as Kurosaki poked and prodded and pet Grimmjow’s new release form. The Arrancar finally snapped when Kurosaki tried to play with his furred ears and shoved the orange-haired man away with his remaining arm. He grabbed him again, though, by wrapping his claws around the back of Kurosaki’s neck and dragging him forward to smash their foreheads together. It was a brutal show of affection — especially considering Kurosaki’s horn slid right by Grimmjow’s temple, shearing a couple of long strands of blue hair — but Ulquiorra recognized that’s what he was witnessing. Affection, even violent affection, was not something he’d ever expect to see between Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez and Ichigo Kurosaki.
“Oi, wifey!” Grimmjow called out. “Why don’t you head back to camp and get some rest? You can heal us in a bit.”
“All right,” Orihime agreed, adding, “Try not to damage each other too much more!”
“We aren’t going to be fighting again, Inoue,” Kurosaki assured her.
“I didn’t think you were,” the woman yelled back, tone laced with amusement. Grimmjow let out a loud bark of laughter while Kurosaki’s skin turned an interesting shade of red.
Unbidden a flash of overheard conversation entered Ulquiorra’s thoughts. ‘ You want me to fuck you before or after I make you bleed?”
Ulquiorra shook his head again silently. This time it was definitely in disgust, because that was not something he wanted to think about.
*************
“You’ve been mighty handsy with the woman since you woke up, Cuatro,” Grimmjow said once the two men returned to the makeshift camp. The way he emphasized Ulquiorra’s rank, mouth twisting into a smirk and tone mocking, let Ulquiorra know Grimmjow recognized how little it meant. Grimmjow had spent eight years getting stronger while Ulquiorra had spent them dead. He had no doubt after watching the blue-haired Arrancar fight Kurosaki that those numbers were now meaningless. “That shit start while she was still your prisoner?”
Ulquiorra was already bristling because Kurosaki had woken the woman up and convinced her to sleep in the tent for awhile, giving the three of them a chance to talk . “Do not mistake me for trash like Nnoitra,” Ulquiorra told the other Arrancar coldly. “Prior to my death, the only physical contact between us was the one time she slapped me.”
The flash of shock that momentarily blanked Grimmjow’s expression was rather gratifying. The grin that formed a minute later spread slowly across his face. “The Princess really fucking slapped ya?” he asked with undisguised amusement. “I thought she only grew that backbone recently.”
“Orihime Inoue has always been remarkably strong,” Ulquiorra said without hesitation. “It seems the years since have only made her more so.”
“It’s Orihime Kurosaki now,” Grimmjow told him. The smirk the other Hollow wore said that he was trying to piss Ulquiorra off with that comment. It worked, too, until a gruff voice said, “I still think that sounds weird,” as the woman’s husband joined them, having seen her off to bed.
“Probably because you still call her Inoue,” Grimmjow pointed out.
Kurosaki shrugged, uncaring. “I called her that for so long it seemed strange to call her anything else.” He gave a small, rueful laugh. “I’m pretty certain we’d been dating a year before she could call me Ichigo without stuttering.”
The glance he gave Ulquiorra looked almost guilty before he quickly turned his face away. He scrubbed a hand irritably through his orange locks before turning back toward Ulquiorra. “Look, I don’t know what to say to you. I killed you. There really is no way to say sorry about that.”
“My death has very little to do with my current animosity towards you, Ichigo Kurosaki,” Ulquiorra told him blandly.
Grimmjow gave a small huff of laughter at the drab comment; Kurosaki’s expression, on the other hand, was rather sour. “I imagine not,” he said. “Must suck to come back and find out the guy who killed you married your woman.”
The amusement slid off Grimmjow’s face as he silently repeated the words to himself before exclaiming, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?! That’s why we don’t call her that?!”
Kurosaki shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah. It reminded her of him. Wasn’t really an issue to until you came into the picture and couldn’t get it through your thick head not to.”
“Because it’s fun to piss her off!” Grimmjow exclaimed. “Fuck! You even named the damn rule after him! Rule fucking four! Did you do that shit on purpose?!”
Kurosaki snickered. “No, that was just an amusing coincidence.”
“So, what?! She’s your wife, but his fucking woman!? That shit didn’t bother you?!”
“I’ve known she mourned him the entire time we’ve been together,” Kurosaki admitted, voice low and pained. “I’ve known that Inoue would never get over his death. That he is the only other person she’s loved like that, and he died by my hand. So, yeah, I accepted that a long time before you came into our lives, Grimmjow.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that, Kurosaki?”
“Because he was dead! I didn’t think it mattered!”
“Well, he ain’t dead anymore so it fucking matters!”
“Fine, then. Now you know. Rule number four is because of Ulquiorra. Nobody but him can call Orihime ‘ woman.’ You happy now that I’ve told you?”
Their argument had faded into the background. Ulquiorra was still trying to fully comprehend that the woman had mourned him for years. He had known, in his last moments, that Orihime Inoue had finally proven to him the heart existed. That he had found his, in her. As he faded into nothingness he finally knew what it felt like to love, to want, and to regret. He hadn’t known the feelings were mutual. The woman had looked stricken at his death but she did not wish to see even her enemies suffer. He had not fully accepted that he was any different.
“It’s fucking overwhelming, ain’t it?” Grimmjow asked gruffly. Ulquiorra was appalled to notice that they had stopped arguing and were watching him. There was something relaxed in Kurosaki’s expression, as if some of the guilt he’d carried on his shoulders had finally been removed. Grimmjow, on the other hand, was looking at him without his trademark smirk, expression determined but too understanding to be hard. “We’re Hollows. We aren’t suppose to love. We sure as hell aren’t supposed to be loved. Then the two of them come along, and neither one of them has ever given a damn about the natural order of things, so we end up having to deal with shit no self-respecting Hollow’s ever had to fucking deal with.”
“You say that like its a bad thing,” Kurosaki commented.
“Not bad, no. Just… overwhelming.” Grimmjow hesitated for a moment before pulling his hands from his pockets and crouching down by Ulquiorra, resting on his heels with his elbows on his knees, wrists draped loosely between them. Ulquiorra was a bit startled to realize his hands were the black claws of Pantera. It was a balm to his ego that Grimmjow would want to be armed while so close to him, especially when in a position where he couldn’t easily draw his sword.
“I’ve got a story I wanna tell you,” he said, tone gruff and serious. “One the woman told me. About one of the first Hollows Kurosaki faced.”
“Grimm—”
“Stay out of this, Shinigami. He needs to hear it.”
“I was just going to ask if you wanted a beer.”
“Fuck yeah,” Grimmjow said, grin momentarily back.
“Ulquiorra? Need anything?” Kurosaki offered, and Ulquiorra couldn’t understand why the Shinigami would concern himself with his comfort.
“I’m fine,” he said simply.
“So this Hollow Kurosaki was going after,” Grimmjow continued once the other man walked away, “it was a baby Hollow. Just turned. Single soul sentient. So new it still remembered what it was like to be Whole. Still remembered his heart. No fucking power, which was a good thing since Kurosaki had his Shinigami powers for like a week at that point and sucked at this shit.”
“Two days, asshole, and they weren’t even my powers. I was still using Rukia’s,” Kurosaki said as he returned. He handed Grimmjow a bottle, cold enough to have condensation coating the glass.
“Tch. Whatever,” Grimmjow scoffed dismissively. “Point is, he can’t even kill this baby Hollow in a single fucking hit. Instead, he breaks its mask just enough to see the face of the soul underneath. Kurosaki recognizes the poor bastard.”
“My dad runs a clinic,” the Shinigami added, looking at Grimmjow. Some invisible communication seemed to pass between the two of them. “He’d been brought in after an accident a couple of years before. He didn’t make it.”
“Guy had a kid sister Kurosaki’s age,” Grimmjow continued, picking the story back up. “Their parents were trash, so he’d taken her, raised her on his own. While he’s busy dying, the girl is begging her brother not to leave her alone. So he doesn’t. Sticks around as a Plus instead of heading off to Soul Society.”
“He lasted a couple of years that way,” Kurosaki added.
“During which time he watched over his kid sister. Watched her grow up. Watched her move on. He starts to feel a bit lonely. Feel like he’s been forgotten.”
“He turned Hollow,” Ulquiorra concluded.
“Yeah, but like I said, he’s just a baby Hollow. No power but still got his memories. So he goes back to see his kid sister after. Finds her with one of her friends. One of the friends that she started hanging out with when she forgot him, and it pisses him off. He might still remember what its like to be Whole, but he’s Hollow now, and he can’t control those instincts when they kick in. So he fucking attacks.”
“Neither of them were spiritually aware,” Kurosaki interjects. “So they had no idea what was attacking them.”
“Until the girl, the sister, she gets knocked out cold. Knocked out dead. Until she’s only hanging on to her life by a chain. Suddenly she can see this thing attacking her. Ugly fucker, from what Kurosaki said.”
“Big, purple snake thing,” Kurosaki expounded with a frown.
“The girl sees this snake thing, looks past his broken mask, and recognizes her brother. She’s crying, trying to figure out what happened to him, why’d he attack her. He’s telling her that its all her fault that he became this monstrous thing because she forgot about him and he got lonely. Meanwhile, his baby Hollow instincts are telling him that if just kills her, eats her, then they will be together.”
“Which is when I showed up,” the Shinigami said gruffly, “and I wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“Two of them start going at it. Self-righteous bastard that he is, Kurosaki is lecturing the Hollow the entire time on how the hell can he attack the one person he promised to always protect. Of course, its just pissing this fucker off even more. And because he was absolute shit at being a Shinigami back then, Kurosaki lost his damn sword.”
“Fuck off,” the man grumbled, glaring at Grimmjow. He got a flash of teeth in response, but they vanished as soon as Grimmjow started talking again.
“The Hollow goes to take a bite outta Kurosaki, and probably would’ve too, except the girl jumps in and takes the hit instead.”
There’s guilt and old pain on Ichigo Kurosaki’s face now. That he wasn’t strong enough back then to protect this girl. Grimmjow ignores it as he continues. “This Hollow, this thing that used to be her brother, latches on to her good, sinking his teeth in. This girl — this bleeding fucking heart of a human — responds by hugging it. Still bleeding and trapped in its damn maw, she fucking hugs it and tells her brother that she never forgot him, only wanted to show him that she’d gotten strong enough to take care of herself so he could move on, and that she will always fucking love him. So there’s this Hollow, still new enough to remember being Whole, and he’s faced with the one person he cared about more than fucking anything, and he’s got the taste of her blood in his mouth. He fucking freaks, and his mask shatters.”
Ulquiorra felt his eyes widen even before Grimmjow leaned in closer and said, “You wanna know what that snowflake of a Shinigami told Kurosaki about why that happened, Cuatro?” There was something in Grimmjow’s grin that Ulquiorra couldn’t quite read. “According to Shinigami lore, if a Hollow ever regains its heart, its mask will break.” He paused — letting those words sink in deep — before adding, “Kinda makes you wonder what that means for us Arrancar, don’t it?”
“Aren’t you going to tell him the rest of it?” Kurosaki asked after the silence stretched on for a moment. “How that Hollow, convinced he wouldn’t be able to control his instincts, picked up my zanpakuto and performed konso on himself so that he wouldn’t hurt her again.” The Shinigami paused, taking a drink of his beer, before adding, “Or the most important part of the story… that the girl’s name was Orihime Inoue.”
When Kurosaki looked at him, he wore a strange half-grimace, half-smile. “So if you ever thought you could convince her that the heart doesn’t exist, or that Hollows can’t love… well, that was an argument you were never going to win with her.”
“You need to forget all that bullshit we used to believe about what Hollows can and can’t feel,” Grimmjow told him gruffly. “We’re Arrancar. We can do whatever the fuck we want. Besides, both the Kurosakis here make a habit of doing impossible shit all the time, so if they want to prove Hollows can fucking love … well, shit, I’m not in any position to stop them. I don’t think you are either, Ulquiorra.”
“Why is this any of your concern, Jaegerjaquez?” Ulquiorra asked coldly.
“Because the three of us are a pack,” Kurosaki told him.
“We’re a family,” Grimmjow corrected, and the irony of which said which was not lost on Ulquiorra.
“We want Inoue to be happy,” Kurosaki explained further. “And if that means having you in our lives, we’ve decided we can deal with that. Can you?”
There was a challenge in the brown eyes that met his. The same challenge was staring at him through a blue-eyed glare as well.
“That is acceptable,” Ulquiorra said after a moment.
“Good. Though make no mistake about it, Ulquiorra. If you hurt her, I won’t regret the next time I kill you.”
That, too, Ulquiorra decided, was acceptable.
*************