Not even Death may doth us Part

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach nor any of its characters. If I did, this wouldn't have happened. Read at your own risk, please.

Flashbacks in italics

------------------------------

.

.

.

Upon her death, a Shinigami was personally sent for her.

But he protected her – she was not to be found.

Now, two years later, they realized their mistake. They should not have trusted that young, pale man with green eyes and coal hair. That man who was her roommate, and who was not actually a man at all. Because he was none other than the Arrancar, Ulquiorra Schiffer. And he was to be approached will all due care.

Now, they sent two lieutenants. All for her.

Indeed, all to protect her.

"Where is Orihime Inoue's soul, Cuatro Espada Ulquiorra Schiffer?" demanded the one who called himself Renji.

"Ex, actually." The half-hollow replied, casually tilting his cramping neck.

"Pardon?"

Ulquiorra sighed in annoyance, wonder how much longer were they gonna sit within his domain and pester him? His eyes flicked to the clock on the far wall. 3pm, it read. They've been here for two hours, at least. He supposed he could allow them to stall for another 4 hours at most, before they absolutely have to go.

The female Shinigami, with her dark flaxen hair almost reminiscent of hers, had been staring at him fixatedly the entire time. She hadn't introduced herself, but Ulquiorra knows of her identity like he knew which of Orihime's smiles were fake and which were real: Rangiku Matsumoto. He supposed that it was because his woman had been best friends with her that she felt personally responsible for that previously failed deliverance.

Rangiku stared and stared, large, pleading eyes going ignored. Ulquiorra's mind had drifted to the day that they were first introduced to each other. His woman had been particularly ecstatic, he recalled. It was a day recently snowed, and with the arrival of many friends, they were going to have a cosy Christmas inside

-------------

"Rangiku, Ulquiorra. Ulquiorra, meet Rangiku," Orihime introduced in her lovey, lively voice. She let the guests in before heading back to the kitchen.

"Oh my gosh!" The busty Shinigami immediately gasped. Brushing aside his frosty glare, she proceeded to lean her nose into his personal space. "He's so mysterious and hot! Sorta like my Gin!"

"Gin?" He had questioned, and to his satisfaction she drew back.

A nostalgic look overtook her face. "Yes, Gin Ichimaru. Do you know him? You must have seen him."

"Ah, Gin. No and yes to your questions." Even though Ulquiorra had been Aizen's most trusted of all the Espada, about Gin, he knows as much as all the others. Till the end, he wonders if anyone knew him at all since his true intention had never been to aid Aizen in his conquest. "He was unapproachable, untrustworthy and I suppose, a lonely man."

Instead of feeling appeased by his answer, she looked even more regretful. "That's my Gin," she sighed at last.

Ulquiorra watched as she slowly collected herself. In the same way that Orihime sometimes masks her true feelings, the Shinigami gave out an exaggerated whoop of joy before merging straight into the traffic that was for the drinks. He might still be new to the understanding of feelings and the heart, but he had a hunch that there wasn't going to be any alcohol left by the end of the night. He was disgusted that people could ever resort to 'dumbing' themselves.