Indiana take 2

Ulquiorra read the story of Hades and Persephone in a book once. Las Noches had a library and when he regained consciousness, when he became an Arrancar he spent weeks locked in the moonlit room reading legends and stories and tales of far off places. Greek were his favorite, tragedies and tales where good did not always win seemed to call to him. He knew he was no hero, that he would never actually be a hero, stories that did not involve heroic triumphs were his favorite.

When he first saw Orihime he thought she was like Persephone. Delicate, fragile, like a new blossom that was crushed under Yammy's undeserving fist. When he saw her the second time that feeling was only reinforced. With her sunset colored hair and bright grey eyes she was nothing short of heart stopping. She fought for her friends, she tried to heal them, she tried to save them, she agreed to go with him to save them all.

She was Persephone.

He was Hades.

Aizen may have considered himself the God but Ulquiorra knew he was Hades.

He was fated to see light and love and a hundred other good things, to be taunted by them, but never to possess them. Except for this, except for her. Even if it was only for a breath of time, even if it cost him the wrath of the Gods themselves, it didn't matter. She fights back but not as hard as she can, not as hard as she could have. She hates him, he can tell, and he's not exactly sure why she stays. Well he knows it has to do with her childish desire to protect her friends, to prove her usefulness to them. To show that she can protect them as well as they can protect her.

He calls her trash and a thousand other horrible things. He treats her like she's warmth and he's ice and if he gets to close he'll melt away. He may not be happy with his existence but its an existence and its not something he would willingly give up. All the while he inwardly is desperately struggling. He knows he should not want her, he knows its not his place to want her. He kidnapped her and she, she hates him for that. If she stays its out of duty and guilt and some foolish rules known only to herself. Like Persephone she is the Spring, she is the sunshine and the brightness in the lives of those she touches. She does not realize that just by being herself she is useful to them, no, she is more than that. She is integral to them. For in her they see themselves, they see something precious that they lost a long time ago, something that needs to be protected.

He knows he's taking it away from her. He can see the innocence slipping away bit by bit, like a leak that cannot be fixed. Every tear that slips down her cheek, every small act of defiance she performs, it all costs something. He knows in the end he will have won some small part of her but it is like Winter trying to keep Spring. He can treasure all he wants but Winter is ice and cold and dead, Spring is bright and happy and the beginning of life. He can get close but he can never truly be by her side.

He doesn't even think he want's to be, sometimes, he thinks that. Other times he thinks it would be nice if the Spring would melt away the Winter. If Persephone would save Hades, even if both know it was impossible. It was a bittersweet, useless dream. Like the few others he remembered, he stuffed them down in a dark corner of his heart where they would be out of the way, even if he couldn't truly forget them.

The Gods come for her.

Its time for the seasons to change once more and, of course, Spring must rise once more. He fights Ichigo, of course, but even he knows its pointless. Ulquiorra had long ago come to terms with the fact that he would never be a hero.

That he would never have the Spring.

That he would never truly understand what a heart was.

There was no time for any of that. He chastised himself for getting too close as the pain from blood that Ichigo spills from his skin pales in comparison to the pain that seems to have taken over his heart. He felt his erratic Spiritual Pressure soar and knew what was coming. There wasn't even time to brace himself as the world around him turned black and red and then when blissfully dark.

The Legend was over.

Persephone would return--

"He protected me!" the sob choked voice cried, "I'll leave with you but please, you can't kill him. He's dying anyway, please, just don't kill him."

He frowned. He wasn't dying. He was injured, of course, but it would take a lot more to kill him and they both knew it. What was she doing? Why was she doing it?

"Woman," he barely recognized the thready voice that came from his lips but the world at least was in focus, if not a little lopsided.

He reached out for a rock to push himself up on but she struck his hand away. Well she had slapped him before so it didn't really matter. He couldn't make out what they were saying, Persephone and the God but he saw her standing between them, her arms spread wide. The others came to retake her, to bring back the Spring, but all he could see was the sunset color of her hair as she defended him.

Just for a moment, for the barest of caress, he felt the ice melt. Even when he was encased in it, even when she ran over to her friends, he felt warm for the first time in memory. She paused for a moment, their eyes locking for once not in hatred or anger or sorrow.

She looked at him.

My eye sees everything, what it doesn't see doesn't exist. That's how I've always fought

He returned her gaze.

Even when Orihime ran with her friends.

Even when Persephone left the Underworld of Hades.

What do you see when you look at me?

He saw hope, he saw innocence, he saw a thousand things he would always want, things that he had for a brief moment. Things that were worth that barest caress, even if it had cost him everything.

Ulquiorra watched Orihime.

He saw the Spring.