She is the Sun

A/N: Hinted AU-ness in the sense that Ulquiorra has been revived since his "death" in the series. Still waiting for that to happen Kubo. -hint hint-

"Onna" means "woman" in Japanese. I'm using it here because it just sounds more like a term of endearment and less harsh when Ulquiorra uses it towards Orihime.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Darkness.

He didn't remember much from the time he spent wandering Hueco Mundo at the start of his existence, but he did remember the darkness. The inky black of the sky and the starkness of the white desert under the pale moonlight. The land and sky, contrasting in sharp dissonance. Dark and consuming, much like the void deep where his heart once was.

His heart.

How many times had he questioned its existence? Its purpose?

These were thoughts he did not wish to entertain. He spent many eons in silence, never questioning the existence he was given. He never considered the reason. He had no need. A being born of darkness, fated to live an existence of little consequence; what was there to consider?

He merely was.

And yet, the question remained.

What is a heart?

He sat with his back straight, his hands placed carefully upon his knees, as he stared sightlessly at the ground before him. The pliability of the cushion he sat upon gave him discomfort and the foreignness of the clothing he wore irritated his skin, yet his mind did not focus on the inconveniences plaguing him. His mind swam with memories of a time he remembered all too well. Of darkness, violence and suffering. A time where there were only two colors and an overwhelming feeling of emptiness. The place where his hollow hole once existed ached at the memories. His brow pulled together and his hands tightened to fists upon his knees.

Somewhere beside him, the woman sighed. It was a gentle, relaxed sigh that parted her lips as she dozed, her head slumped uncomfortably against her shoulder where she had fallen asleep watching whatever black and white film was left playing on the TV flickering softly across the room.

His turbulent mind calmed to a slow at the soft unbidden sound, his eyes shifting to look at her.

He recalled that when she had requested for them to watch this particular film together earlier that night that she had been adamantly excited to see it, despite the exhaustion he could already see pulling at her eyes. He said nothing, but willingly sat beside her upon her overly soft sofa, as she called it, and proceeded to watch a film of only two colors and no sound. He was less than interested in the plot or the characters from the very beginning, and quickly found himself enveloped by thoughts he had not entertained since being in Hueco Mundo. The woman, he noticed now that he looked at her, did not even see more than ten minutes of the film before falling asleep.

She slept soundly, the result of a long and tiresome day. Her lips were parted slightly as she breathed deep breaths, her chest rising and falling lightly. Her dark lashes were thick against her cheeks, which were pink with the warmth of the summer night. She slept at an awkward angle, like the exhaustion took her over before she could make herself comfortable. She looked so… vulnerable.

So weak.

So fragile.

But she wasn't.

She never was.

The first day he saw her, he saw the blaze of determination burning in her eyes. But he cared not at the time. There was no reason to see it for what it really was. He thought her to be weak when she caved so easily to his threat to kill her friends. She didn't even fight him.

It wasn't until she was held captive by him that he realized her true nature. Her will was infuriatingly defiant and her insistent arguments against his statements nearly tested his patience, but it was the undying spark of hope in her eyes that never seemed to die that caught his interest. He wanted her to break. He wanted that hope to die away like he had seen happen to all those weaklings he had seen in his existence.

But it never did.

No matter how he prodded her, provoked her, broke her, she did not falter. Her faith in her friends remained unshaken, her willpower unbendable.

It irritated him.

He couldn't understand why someone who seemed so weak and fragile could stand so firmly against him for so long. He couldn't understand where her strength came from. Those unanswered questions bothered him for longer than he felt comfortable with, and soon he found himself often entering her chambers to seek those answers. Her responses made no sense to him, and it only proved to irritate him more. He continued to interrogate her for the answers he desired until he had pushed her too far. But instead of giving into her fear, or breaking under his oppressive questionings, she struck him.

The slap held no pain for him, and her attack moved so slow that he could have easily avoided her clumsy attempt to harm him. But he didn't. He let her strike him in her flurry of anger, her eyes wild and her cheeks flushed with indignation. Her fingers shook with the sting of her slap, and despite the hint of regret he saw in her eyes, her shoulders did not slump in fear. It was in that moment that he realized where her true power lie.

Orihime was not weak. Not while she had something-or someone- to protect.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, her shoulder slipping against the back of the sofa as she leaned too far over. She jolted awake, blinking bleary brown eyes as she righted herself. Choking back a deep yawn, she squinted her eyes at the still flickering TV before looking over at Ulquiorra.

"Ulquiorra…?" she mumbled sleepily. "Wha's wrong…?"

He slowly unfisted his hands. "Go to sleep, onna."

"Mmm…" Her eyelids lowered dramatically as she leaned heavily on the back of the couch again. "G'tta make sure y're okay…" she mumbled.

"I am adequately content," he responded.

"Mmmkay," she murmured. "Jus' makin' sure…"

He considered her words. There was a time when he would have questioned them as well. Why did she want to know? Why did she care?

Her breathing slowed again as sleep once again took her, her head lolling to the side until it slipped against Ulquiorra's shoulder. He didn't move to remove her, nor did he make an attempt to move away. She gave a soft, content sigh and slumbered on.

There was a time when he would question her motives, but that was no longer. Her true strength was in her heart. Her compassion and bonds of friendship were what made her strong. Her trust, her worry, her love. He did not understand what that meant when she had explained the heart to him the first time, but over time he began to figure it out.

After she had struck him, he pondered a number of nights about what he saw. Her emotional response struck a chord in him, like a puzzle piece falling into place on a puzzle he did not realize he had started, and soon he found himself engrossed by a single idea.

What is a heart?

Perhaps he had realized it too late, but his questions led him to his answer before he even recognized it. He saw it in the way her expression did not immediately fade to a frown when he entered; he saw it on the day he finally noticed that her hair shone with the color of sunlight. He saw it when her eyes softened and her lips lifted into a smile he had yet to see her make. He saw it when she talked so adamantly about the importance of the heart.

The heart was strength, and strength was found by those willing to extend their hand and have one extended in return.

That strength was what pulled him from the depths of his darkness, the void deep in him that nearly ended his existence. She had grasped what little of his heart still remained in the void and fed it strength until he was once again whole. Her eyes were wet with tears, but her smile was like the sun, bright and warm and so unlike anything he had come to know in his existence.

She was the sun.

And for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Ulquiorra felt an emotion other than endless emptiness. He felt joy. And it was because of her.