The Fragile
Pairing: Ulquiorra and Orihime with hints of Grimmjow and Orihime
Rating: M for language, Violence,
Genre: Horror/Fantasy/Romance/Angst
Summary: What is a heart—is that which sits upon your plate, princess? –An AU Fairytale—
Disclaimer: I have disclaimed!

Note: 1/06/2013: I have removed the last two chapters to this story because I have rewrote it as an original story! There are more scenes and it will be longer! The link is my profile now!

…
Beside the Milky Way
…

Orihime Inoue didn't believe in fate—because she held her beloved brother's fate in her hands.

Her heart ached; twisting violently in her chest as another sky blue thread faded to gray. The many strands twisted into this one were far too few in her eyes. Her thin fingers reached out as she tenderly ran her fingertips over the thread. It was fading, there was nothing to be done—the time was near. Her hands fell away from the thread sliding downward until they brushed the wooden support of her loom.

How cruel…

Thunder roared ahead and she shut her eyes as she sat frozen upon her stool. Her wide grey eyes took in the thread, she reacted— swiftly, and gently she placed the thread safely into her small box. Her eyes took count of the items—two hair clips and the thread. She set the box upon the floor beside her stool and turned her eyes to the door when the thunder shook her dwelling. The door groaned and the room went silent. Deeply, she inhaled and twitched at a creak—maybe it was storm. The bamboo groaned as pressure caused a spider web of cracks. They stretched outward and she shut her eyes ; turning her head as the door exploded. Chunks of her barrier spewed onto the flow as a rush of heated air twisted in her dwelling.

Her eyes were drawn to debris and looked through her door. The heavens were beautiful—silken navy blue with silver specks. She could almost make out the Milky River; a perfect depth with a translucent bridge. The deck outside her dwelling groaned as metal scratched at the wood. The gruff sniffing and throaty snorts told her he was here. Cha-ink, Cha-ink—his metal armor whispered with his great steps until he was there—filling her doorway with his dark form.

"Princess!" His mocking tone filled her dwelling with his greeting.

He entered without invitation, his iron boots gouging her floors. The scent of heated metal choked her lungs as the air thickened; he always carried the scent of hell with him. She supposed it was his job as Hunter. The only purity of color upon his outfit that could be found was his helmet. His armor obsidian and his helmet ivory, fashioned from the bones of his prey. Angular jaws and rounded skull; only his eyes were visible.

"Must you break my door every time, Grimmjow?" Orihime softly questioned as she looked to him.

He grinned, the corners of his lips stretching past the jaws of his mask as he queried, "Must you have a door? It seems pointless when you are secluded here."

His iced eyes watched her as his pupils focused on the way she openly frowned. Instead of replying, she held out her hand with her palm upward. Grimmjow reached out and placed his hand on her palm. She ignored the abnormal warmth of his palm as she reached up and plucked six strands of hair from her head. Orihime took back her hand and held her hair above the white strands upon her loom. Her eyes intensely focused as the hair melded with the strands; three strands turned gold and three turned grey. Grimmjow's short victory bark of laughter caused her to flinch.

Orihime drew the gold threads into her hands where she cradled them for a moment. Carefully, she snipped them from the loom and calmly waited for a change—nothing. The corners of her lips lifted, it seemed Grimmjow actually found three. She slowly turned upon her stool and the tips of her toes hit his armored feet. He lifted his mask and she couldn't help but gaze at the sharp fangs displayed in his smile as he held out his hand. The metallic tips upon his fingers gleamed as she lifted her hand and deposited the golden strands.

They harmlessly floated toward his palm before they erupted into flames, smoke twisted upward and the strings curled and vanished. Her eyes widened as he snapped his hand shut.

"The more damned the faster they burn," Grimmjow muttered with a grin.

Orihime paused in the silence, it was familiar. They had only shared this routine two hundred moons. It was awkward when he was first damned and she discovered her ability. Orihime took the three grey strands and carefully began to work them into the tapestry. The beginning lay folded and gently placed upon the bench on the other side of her loom.

"You'd think that'd be longer," Grimmjow mused.

Orihime smirked as she replied, "A single thread is all I need to reject and create fate; it doesn't take much."

Grimmjow snorted and she heard his metal armor whisper as he walked away. She watched him from the corner of her eye and saw him spare her a glance, before he left.

"Sister."

She ignored her brother's weakened voice—no, just his voice.

"What are." He paused as he coughed. The racking sounds made her flinch as if she were in pain. Her hand reached up and rested against her sternum. "…you doing sister?"

How could she tell him she was damned—cursed? Her gifts that were once smiled upon because of her weaving ability were now cursed and spat upon. How could she tell him their home was destroyed and the Huntsman kept them locked away for his personal used?

"I am making your elixir," Orihime sighed.

She couldn't.

Grimmjow was not unkind—brash, temperamental, rude, obnoxious…the list continued. His slit pupils narrowed as if suspecting her thoughts. His metal tipped finger reached up and he picked at his teeth causing her to look away. It wasn't her fault—his curse. She knew the legends of The Hunt—if you were caught…well, don't get caught.

"It's not that simple," Grimmjow grumbled as he held out his hand.

She didn't gather the souls from him, but the blood upon his hand. It would stain her with a touch and she would infuse it into her hair which she then weaved. Her eyes looked on sorrowfully as she hesitated; when children were born, parents would bring them to her. A drop of blood and she could weave them a beautiful future within reason. Grimmjow shifted on the edge of her table, the breeze snuck through the door chilling her feet. Dramatically, he had broken down her door once more.

"My mother was Leanan Sidhe." She heard rumors of such creatures, but tried not to get involved. Her eyes took in his features; hauntingly beautiful. "Humans can't lead the hunt—I didn't know killing the bastard would make me Huntsman."

There were different kinds of hunts; each god would host their own. Unfortunately, Grimmjow picked a fight with a Devil's demon and won. He undid the latches on his blackened chest armor and set them on the floor; another gouge added to her wood. A rough scoff escaped his throat drawing her eyes to him again. She took in the finely burnt number six etched into his side. He smirked, the right side of his lip curling upward in more of a sneer.

"So." The word trailed off and she knew what he was trying to ask. He wasn't the best at inquiring of other people, unless it was to taunt them of their impending death. Orihime knew he wouldn't kill her. His curse could end but only once he harvested enough damned souls to replace him. The problem was the devil hadn't told him how to deliver. She wove not just to create a peaceful, prosperous life, but she wove to recycle souls—if they could be. When threads turned gold they were destined for hell, silver meant destined to soul society, and grey meant she could recycle them. "You can see Reapers?"

Orihime nodded as the blood coated her hand. She repeated her cycle and found he slaughtered only one on his hunt; it was gold. She held it out to him and watched as it erupted into flames. A muffled scream echoed in her dwelling as she watched him sacrifice the soul to his keeper.

"You brought me nightshade and the other ingredients?" Orihime softly questioned.

Grimmjow sharply whistled; she tensed as she heard the sound of grinding. The creature stalked through her door and she scooted a bit further from her stool. Its eyeless sockets burned with the flames of hell as it stared at her. The fleshless panther held her requested items in his mouth within the bag. Her eyes darted to Grimmjow who arched a sharp icy brow—he knew she feared his familiars. He was kind enough to retrieve her items and keep her and her brother safe—but he still toyed with her. Orihime bit her lip in defiance tensing into a stiff board as the creature approached her. Its low growl rumbled into its chest as it stood nose to chest with her. Orihime's hand steadily shook as she reached out and gripped the cloth handles. The familiar released her items and moved back.

"Getting brave princess," Grimmjow teased as he grinned at her.

"Anything for my brother," Orihime stated.

Grimmjow snorted, "Fucking loyalties." Her eyebrows furrowed as he continued, "…if you were smart you would've killed him and taken off." He turned to stalk out of her dwelling, his hand caught the door frame as he paused and stated, "There are worst creatures out there than me."

"Not stronger right?" Orihime innocently questioned.

Grimmjow paused as he kept his gaze outside and grumbled, "Of course not." He didn't feel the need to tell her he meant crueler beings.

Ulquiorra Cifer was a curious being. His centuries upon the throne grew dull. The mindless chatter he easily silenced—opinions and suggestions were unneeded in the throne room. He disliked the idea of waging any type of war with the humans; they weren't worth the effort and killed each other efficently. If those of the Unseelie wished to harm or waste efforts, it was fine, as long as they didn't seek support for their efforts at this Midsummer's Night Meeting. He wouldn't tolerate it.

Upon this night, he decided to leave his realm, venturing into the human's domain. The Hellequin was never successful hunting and to see his successor delivering a close to thirty souls a week was disturbing. He watched as the Huntsman left the small hut; it bordered the Heavens and the Otherworld giving it a view of the bridge to Soul Society. It was odd, such a location to travel to and from. The Milky River would soon recede and the bridge to Soul Society would be clear of the rapids for one night; it would be foolish for a being such as the Huntsman to be caught by Reapers. The Huntsman touched his familiar and Ulquiorra's ever observing emerald eyes watched as they melded together into one vicious creature. Grimmjow snorted smoke; he roared causing the Heavens to shake in fear and then took off.

Inside the hut, through the broken door he could see a light flickering. Ulquiorra approached; crossing black sands to arrive at the wooden porch. He couldn't help but think—this is too peaceful a place for such a creature as Grimmjow to reside.

"Sora." His eyes narrowed at the sound of the whispered name, "…it's time to take your medication."

His expression remained neutral as he discreetly inhaled the air. Reapers smelled of death; the scent was distinctly like sulfur and methane—pungent. The Sidhe smelt of Earth since their realms existed in places below, between, and nowhere. Humans, their scent bothered him, it was something he could identify and not quite place.

Scent of human—scent of the cursed.

A cough disturbed the silence and he stepped into the doorway. A curtain pulled back revealed a sickly figure upon a cot wrapped tightly in blankets. The other figure with orange hair sat with her back to him as slender hands brushed over the man's face. Glazed pale eyes looked to him and Ulquiorra easily recognized the man's ailment—cursed.

"Ori…"

"Ssh." She gently shushed his dry ramblings as she held a spoon to his mouth. "Time to take this."

Ulquiorra's emerald eyes focused upon the liquid in the clear cup. The iridescent colors swirled and sparkled as he sniffed the air—Fae blood. He slipped out the door with ease and turned his gaze to the bridge.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez knew he was a cursed creature. The thought didn't bother him as much as it should. The centuries passed frustratingly slow until he met—Orihime Inoue, the Princess Weaver. His ice eyes narrowed as he roared; black skies rumbled as he descended. Splitting from his familiar, metal clad feet hit the ground singeing the Earth with the heat of hell. The corners of his lips curled as he spotted the caravan in the distance. His familiar rumbled beside him and he turned his head over his shoulder as his mouth opened wide.

"Pantera! Hunters!" He shouted as he threw his head back. His ivory mask glinted in the shadowed moonlight, "…bring me the souls of every being!"

Smoke was left behind as he released laughter at his hunters' enthusiasm. They roared as they descended upon the humans. He moved forward, metal armor unhindered as his primal eyes sought out prey. The screams filled the air; a night chorus testifying to the horrors that filled the world. There was no pity in his eyes; he was once prey, but now was predator. His clawed hand shot out as he gripped the nearest human. The throat was torn out with a quick slash and he stood as blood shot across his armor. His grin turned feral—one.

Deeply, he inhaled the copper scented air as hell's smoke lingered above them all. The thrill of the hunt caused his heart to beat—hot blood pumped through his veins and coated his mask as he crushed another human's head with hand.

Orihime—what would I do without you? What would you—your brother do without me?

The thought of freedom itched at his mind like fleas upon a rabid animal. The sensation was constant and caused him indescribable pain. The longing to be his own creature again was inexpressible.

She can free me…

The thought plagued his mind; eating away his sanity as the scent of blood tainted the night. He took a step and the ground squelched with the spilt life-force. The stretched smile of his mask continued to gleam as he lunged—into insanity, the hunt, his damnation. His laughter echoed over carnage joining the screams of the humans. He snarled; his hand tore through the back, gripping spine, and ferociously ripping it with a single pull.

…and her brother will die.

His pupils widened at the thought; he wondered if she knew. If he was free of his curse then he would no longer be obligated to help her. He snorted as he passed by Pantera; jaws locked around a human neck and claws shredding muscle from bone. Grimmjow lifted his nose to the air; his eyes rolled back as the screams, scents, and death filled him.

She isn't like these humans—deceitful.

Maybe…

The thought was dangerous, like a blade against the throat drawing blood. It prodded at him—tainting his purpose. Pantera's growl filled the air and he looked down to see his familiar—the manifestation of his damned soul glaring at him. He snorted as he watched Pantera snap the neck and drop the corpse. The silence communicated where words were unneeded, they were the same and it knew the betrayal in his mind.

Grimmjow smirked underneath his helm, it matched the skeletal grim of it perfectly—maybe he was a sadistic bastard.

Grimmjow's expression remained neutral under his helm as he traversed the realms and reached Orihime's hut. His eyes took in the sight of the river and he scowled; he swore he saw a figure in the distance. Ignoring his delusions, he smirked; her door was fixed. Somehow, the woman always managed to fix that damn thing. It was false security and his metal boot against the wooden porch would alert her to the inevitable. Grimmjow raised his fist and prepared to slam it into the door when he tensed—

His head mechanically twisted to the right as his eyes took in the being casually standing in the far corner of the porch. It was ironic in his opinion; the Unseelie King…King of Midnight wore white. His outfit was far more humble than the previous Queen. The woman liked to dramatically dress in frills and other shit he didn't care to name. The King of Midnight was as plain as the expression on his face—white billowy pants tucked into plain heeled black boots and a white over coat lined with black trim; his upturned collar tightly groped his throat.

'Fashionable bastard,' Grimmjow thought in disdain.

"What the fuck do you want?" Grimmjow snapped; voice loud.

The King of Midnight blankly stared at him and Grimmjow's mouth tightened at the expression. It wasn't like the King to leave his court. He never expressed interest in his subjects—punishment applicable when needed. It was also dangerous for him to be so close to the river this time of year. There was no doubt he didn't fear the reapers—but any idiot should be cautious. Grimmjow smirked—bastards…I'll kill them all. He brought Orihime and her brother here to keep them from gaining the attentions of beings such as the Court.

"Death is the penalty for consorting with humans," Ulquiorra evenly spoke; his expression bland.

Grimmjow spat with a twisted look, "I ain't fucking her!"

Even so—I wouldn't.

He was a cursed and sadistic bastard, but he still held standards. The woman was helping him remove his curse—her payment a few more measly hours with her brother in a realm secluded from her own kind.

"You are giving her Fae blood—though tainted it is," Ulquiorra clarified. Grimmjow's eyes widened and he grinned. "Seelie—Unseelie are to leave no blood to the humans."

Grimmjow snorted, "But they can be cursed or gifted—but a little blood."

"That which defines us is not meant for defilement."

The fashionable bastard didn't look irked, but his tone held it all. Grimmjow was the hunter and he caught the pitch. He could also hear Orihime stirring inside the hut; no doubt her curiosity driving her to come toward the door.

Grimmjow shrugged, "He's cursed; destined to die. If I can block the curse a bit—why not make the girl happy?"

"What interest do you hold in lover's relationships?" Ulquiorra demanded. "What gain is great enough to risk death?"

Grimmjow's expression went flat behind his helm. The King of Midnight was an ignorant bastard. The being truly ignored human affairs. Maybe it was better to let him think them lovers—he didn't know how the male felt about family relationships. Did he dare tell the King about Orihime's abilities—Weaving Princess of Reality.

"Fuck off," Grimmjow mouthed off with a chuckle.

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed the slightest as he moved. The door groaned and for the first time in centuries—Grimmjow felt panic seize his heart. The door swung open and Orihime's innocent head stuck out Grimmjow reacted as he held out his arm and blocked the King's diverted attack. Her grey eyes went wide and she sharply inhaled as warm iridescent blood flung toward her. She looked past the blood, saw the slender sword biting into Grimmjow's arm, and saw the ebony face of the King of Midnight. Malachite eyes gazed at her as reality caught up—warm iridescent blood coated her face as Grimmjow's arm hit the porch with a thud. The King drew back and lifted his nose before he simply vanished. Her chest heaved as the blood slid down her face.

"Fuck!" Grimmjow roared.

Grimmjow glowered at the floor as Orihime's delicate fingers molded his skin. He discovered another ability that was of interest to him. She removed a thread from the loom and strung it through a needle's eye. Vexed was too light a word to use—but Grimmjow was pissed as he held his separated limb to the stump as Orihime gently sewed it together. He didn't understand how this would help since he couldn't feel. He looked to her as she bit the needle free and watched as she tied off the end. Gently she ran her thumb over the stitched area and leaned forward—his eyes widened as she kissed the thread.

"Wha—"

Warmth overcame the wound and he jerked his arm out of her grasp as he clenched his hand. His mouth opened to demand answers and he froze. Idly, he looked over to his arm and wiggled his fingers a bit before he made a fist. His ice blue eyes looked to Orihime as she calmly smiled.

"Grimmjow." He blinked as she simply asked, "…are you alright?"

Grimmjow impassively gazed at the woman as he questioned, "Do you know who that was?" He was wondering if something was missing in her head. She was targeted by the King of Midnight. Her eyebrows furrowed and he knew she was blank. "The King of Midnight."

Slowly; sheepishly she shrugged almost cautious as she meekly muttered, "Who?"

Grimmjow reached out and gripped her shoulders causing her to squeak and wince in pain. He shook her firmly as he growled, "The King of the Unseelie targeted you!" Her eyes went wide as he continued, "It's better to be dead than to draw his interest."

Orihime weakly smiled as she assured, "No one can be that bad."

Grimmjow growled and released the girl as he hissed, "We're fucked."

~TBC~

Author's Note:

Note: 1/06/2013: I have removed the last two chapters to this story because I have rewrote it as an original story! There are more scenes and it will be longer! The link is my profile now!

I hope you will check out the link in my profile and enjoy the new version as much as the fanfiction! ^^

If you fancy a story with more OCs and great concepts than please check out Black Firelight!