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A Whole New Life	By : GrimmUlquigrrrl Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male > Grimmjow/Ulquiorra Views: 1080 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Ulquiorra paced his floor. What had he been thinking? If anyone figured out that he'd thrown out his pills, he would be strapped to his bed and forced to take them intravenously. Oh, he didn't want that. The life he'd been living was fine, just fine; he could have been perfectly okay living life like he had. It wasn't that bad- he couldn't even really remember life outside- but he was bout to have it pulled out from under him, and it was all his own fault.

Oh, why had he ever told Bob about his dreams? He was sure that Bob was behind all of if. Of course he was. Bob was Aizen, and Aizen was always behind everything. Ulquiorra shook his head vigorously, his hair flying around and hitting his cheeks. How stupid was he? Aizen wasn't real- but Bob was, and Ulquiorra couldn't do anything about it. He wanted to toss something, turn something over, but he couldn't. Everything was bolted down.

Why had he had such a crazy reaction to Aizen-Bob anyway? He'd completely distrusted the man the instant he'd walked in- not that it wasn't good that he had, but why all of a sudden? Hadn't he been just a few days ago trusting him with the secrets of his dreams? Did it have anything to do with the doubt in his dream beforehand, or was he really secretly crazy? He dismissed that thought vehemently. He couldn't starting thinking like that, or he really would go insane. He knew he wasn't out of his mind. He wasn't like the man who believed that the government monitored his movements because he was a ginger, or like the girl who had shoved her doll down her infant brother's throat for taking a puzzle of hers out of the drawer, or like the guy who always sat on the couch in the common room as still as a statue and never blinking or moving or talking until yo got too close and he leapt up and started hitting you.

No, he just saw things that weren't there.

He pursed his lips together, his hands tightening where he held his own arms. This was why he'd stopped trying to think about things; all it ever did was agitate him, and there wasn't anything he could do to alleviate his frustration. He needed something todo, something to take out his anger on. He needed Grimmjow.

In absence of that, the only thing he could do was keep pacing. He'd checked a few minutes ago and the pills had dissolved in the commode, so there wasn't any evidence, but Ulquiorra realized that he shouldn't have thrown all the pills away. He was more anxious than he had been since he came here. He couldn't sit down, he couldn't stop worrying, he couldn't relax. He had always had trouble with anxiety, seeing as how he was constantly dodging attacks from inhuman things that no one else could see. But he knew they were real, because of the bruises and cuts and welts that other people admitted were very there. He needed to find out which pill the anxiety was helped by, so he could take it. But he refused to take the pill that would take his dreams away from him.

He knew he was taking an insane risk by doing what he was doing. If he was found out, the rest of his life would be hell- he wasn't stupid enough to think that he would ever get out of here. He knew that this was where he was going to live and die, without ever touching the outside world again. Bob said that they wanted to reintegrate him into society, but he knew that wasn't a fact. Grimmjow was all he had, and all he would ever have. Even his family didn't come to see him anymore. If he lost his dreams, he will have lost it all.

Even if he was too young to fully understand living the rest of his life here, he knew that his existence will have meant nothing even to himself if he lost Grimmjow. That vivid man was his only important achievement- to him, knowing that he could create such an incredible person, even if only in his subconscious, was a thing to be proud of. And what if he did take the medicine, what then? He was certain that the dreams existed to supply what he needed: affection, touch, activity, and he felt that if he could no longer supply those things to himself then he would stop caring whether or not he lived or died. And when that happened, his heart would just stop beating.

Hadn't it been proven that affection was essential to life? Ulquiorra could have sworn that he'd heard of some scientific study where they supplied some infants with food, drink, clothes, shelter and everything else they needed but never touched them, and some infants with barely enough to live healthily but held and loved them often, and the babies who weren't shown love had died. Ulquiorra felt like he was one of those babies. He would expire if he didn't have the care that his dreams provided him, no matter how well the needs of his body were met.

He thought about a bird in a cage. The bird had brilliantly blue feathers and a yellow head, and the tips of its wings were a fiery red. It was a beautiful bird, and it sung with incredible vocation. But the cage in which it sat was no real cage- the bird stood upon a heart, clutching it hard, surrounded by lungs and ribcage and collarbone. Ulquiorra knew, somehow, that the heart was his ow. Hope is the thing with feathers...

He stopped his frantic pacing. He had forgotten what it was like to think like that. His head hadn't felt this clear in a long time, even behind the smoke of anxiety as it was. It was a jolt to realize that they had been keeping him from retaliating by drugging him into a stupor.

"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul," he recited aloud, surprised by how strong his voice suddenly sounded as it bounced around the room and at the fact that he still remembered this poem, "and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all. And sweetest in the gale is heard and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land, and on the strangest seas, yet never in extremity it asked a crumb of me." He paused at the end of it, then something swelled in him and he burst into another.

"We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams," eh said, "wandering by lone sea-breakers and sitting by desolate streams; world losers and world forsakers, on whom the pale moon gleams: yet we are the movers and shakers of the world forever, it seems. With wonderful deathless ditties we build up the world's great cities. And out of a fabulous story, we fashion an empire's glory: one man with a dream, at pleasure, shall go forth and conquer a crown; and three with a new song's measure can trample an empire down." He knew there was another verse but had forgotten it, and wouldn't waste any time in moving to another poem.

"A little lack thing among the snow, crying "weep! Weep!" in notes of woe! "Where are thy father and mother, say?" "They are both gone up to the church to pray. Because I was happy upon the heath, and smiled among the winter's snow, they clothed me in the clothes of death, and taught me to sing the notes of woe. And because I am happy ad dance and sing, they think they have done me no injury, and are gone to praise God and his Priest and King, who make up a heaven of our misery.

"O my luve is like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in June; O my luve is like the melody that's sweetly played in tune. So fair art thou, by bonnie lass, so deep in luve am I; and I will luve thee still, my dear, till 'a the seas gang dry. Till 'a the seas gang dry, my dear, and the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve the still, my dear, while the sands of life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my luve, though it were a thousand mile.

"A wind sways the pines, and below not a breath of wild air; still as the mosses that glow on the flooring and over the lines of the roots here and there. The pine-tree drops its dead; they are quiet, as under the sea. Overhead, overhead rushes life in a race, as the clouds the clouds chase; and we go, and we drop like the fruits of the tree, even we, even so.

"The fountains mingle with the river and the rivers with the ocean, the winds of heaven mix forever with a sweet emotion; nothing in the world is single; all things by the law divine in one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine? See the mountains kiss high heaven and the waves clasp one another; no sister-flower would be forgiven if it disdained its brother; and the sunlight clasps the earth and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what is all this sweet work worth, if thou kiss not me?"

He stopped short, feeling an indescribable need flowering in him. He had to have other poems in there somewhere, he knew he did.

"Before you, I was living on an island and all around the seas of that lonely coast cast up their imitation jewels, cast their fables and enigmasy, questioning, sly..."

Ulquiorra sat, waiting and ready on his bed, when Bob brought his food the next day. With his head recently cleared, he had formed a plan. It wasn't foolproof, but it would work more likely than not. "Hi," he said, kicking his legs over the edge of the bed as Bob closed the door behind him with one hand.

"Hello," Bob replied, giving the Aizen-smile, and Ulquiorra repressed his desire to shiver in disgust. "Did you dream last night?"

"I don't remember," Ulquiorra lied, taking the tray that was handed to him and putting it on his lap. "I don't think so."

"That's good news," Bob said. "It means the medicine worked."

"It must have," Ulquiorra said. "I feel more clearheaded."

"That's excellent," Bob said. "We'll tamper around with the dosage until we figure out what's best for you, but it's good to know it works." Ulquiorra nodded, taking the dixie cup.

"That's...this pill, isn't it?" he asked, purposefully pointing to one of the pills that he knew was something else.

"No, that's to help with your hallucinations," Bob said. "This one is to keep you clearheaded here." He was pointing down to an elongated, slightly purple pill.

"What's this one?" Ulquiorra asked, pointing to the larger of the white ones.

"That helps combat the side effects of this one," Bob said, pointing to the yellow one for hallucinations. Ulquiorra was pleased that Bob was so forthcoming without any more work- it would look strange if he wanted to know too bad- knowing that Bob underestimated his intelligence and had been lured into false security by Ulquiorra's apparent compliance. This was going perfectly.

"What about this one?" Ulquiorra pointed to the pink-ish pill.

"That's for your anxiety," Bob said, and Ulquiorra carefully hid his excitement.

"And this one?" he asked, pointing to the last pill in the cup. He had to appear for all the world like a simply curious little boy.

"For your paranoia," Bob said. Ulquiorra hid his reaction to this as well; paranoia? He'd been diagnosed with paranoia? "Now, slug them down," Ulquiorra poured them into his mouth, quickly pressing them into his cheek before downing the water. "Good boy. Now, do you have any more questions?"

"Yeah," Ulquiorra said, "just one. Do we have any books or anything to keep occupied with?"

"Yes, we do," Bob replied. "I can go get you one, but I have to come get it when it's lights-out."

"That's okay," Ulquiorra said. "Could you bring it back tomorrow?" He trie dot ignore the tiny clicking noise the pills made against his teeth as he spoke. Bob couldn't hear them, could he?

"Sure thing," Bob smiled sickly, once again patting Ulquiorra's knee a little too affectionately. "Any particular genre?"

"Anything's fine," Ulquiorra said, shaking his head. Bob stood.

"Alright, then, I'll be right back," he said. "Good to hear you're feeling more with us."

The instant the door was closed Ulquiorra got up and went over to the commode, fishing the pills out of his mouth. They had dissolved a little, and the taste was rancid. He picked out the pink one and threw the rest into the commode, then swiftly relieved himself so they would dissolve faster and so he had an excuse to close the lid. Bob couldn't see the pills in there. He popped the pink pill in his mouth and went back to his bed, sitting down again.

He started to eat his mashed potatoes, waiting for Bob to come back with something to read.
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A Whole New Life