Whiskey Tango
A series of Ulquiorra/Orihime drabbles and short stories

Author's note: Done to the themes on Livejournal's 30breathtakes (although I didn't actually join the comm since I've deemed it trash, hehe... er, I mean, I'm just not going to waste my time posting in a community that hasn't been updated in months). Unless noted, each chapter/drabble isn't interconnected. Anyway -- my first Ulquihime fanwork. I adore the pairing, which is really weird because I'm not really fond of Orihime herself, so to speak. But I digress. Please, enjoy. Reviews/comments are always appreciated.

"You accuse me of fancy talk
When I'm just trying to find the words
You've got a funny way of saying my name...
But you are too polite to complain
Of the art of speaking plain
I haven't gathered a thing..."

"Whiskey Tango," Tanya Donelly

At first, he thought that his eyes were being fooled by the bursts of orange morning at on the horizon just outside his bedroom window. That maybe he had fallen into another one of his dreams in which he had no control over, could not wake himself from -- his mouth, hanging open, green eyes wide, staring at the widely smiling orange-haired girl in the black kimono balanced on his window sill.

"Ulquiorra. Long time no see."

An understatement. It had been a century. A century after leaving the ruins of Las Noches, after bribing that damned shopkeeper for a gigai, after searching for the girl who had clapped her hands over his eyes only to learn that she had died shortly after starting college -- hit by a car in the rain.

Suddenly conscious of his face, Ulquiorra willed the muscles in his jaw to function properly and closed his mouth. And opened it again. Then said, "I thought I'd never see you again." Something he would never had said unless he had been living in the human world for as long as he had, shedding his reservations like a scroll.

Inoue Orihime, fifth seat of squad four, jumped gracefully onto his floor, weightless as an autumn leaf. Without her voluptious silhouette, the morning light caused his eyes to smart.

"You forget," she smiled. "You were an arrancar. Before that you were a hollow. And now, I am a shinigami... although, strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to be here..."

Realization dawned on him. The pale skin of his face suddenly seemed to glow as he, for the first time in his life, shed tears. Yet the smile on his face spoke of happiness rather than sorrow, as he stretched his arms out like wings in time with Orihime unsheathing her zanpakuto.

"Will it hurt?"

"For a moment, I suppose," she shrugged. "But think of what it will mean."

The cut was clean, shoulder junction to hip; his remaining reiatsu disappeared quickly -- along with his gigai, leaving nothing in the modest apartment room but the orange haired shinigami girl and the black butterfly hurriedly making its way to Soul Society, eager to reunite with her. Behind her, the sun burst forth, spit out by the dark horizon --

Morning.