GateFic - Remember Me Here
The apartment was dusty. That was her own fault, Orihime thought, heaving a short sigh that hitched her shoulders. As the president of the Relief Society, she was never at home in a very literal sense. There were places to visit, places to help, places that needed her and the aid of the group she'd helped to form to provide aid across the zones and worlds that spanned the multiverse. There was no sense in keeping even so much as a suitcase of clothes, as she was often called upon to dress in the traditional garments of the visited world. It was only diplomatic.
Orihime had never envisioned herself as a diplomat. She was always too cheerful, too ready for a quick joke, too naive to assume she would be able to handle delicate affairs of state. But here she was just the same, garbed in an unusual sort of crimson robe that wrapped from her right shoulder to her left hip, sheathed in stiff and shimmering white fabric that hung to her exposed toes resting upon the three-inch platform sandals. Her radio was safely nestled in a belt pouch slung casually about her waist. Uryuu had called a few moments before; he and Dizzy were early, and had cautioned her to wear jade in her hair. It was a sign of respect to the Dalatians, and to appear unornamented was a sign of grave disrespect. His own dark hair bore a small pin of jade. It suited him somehow. Dizzy thought so too.
She wasn't about to dive into the society's coffers for the sake of an ornament. She would, however, return to her apartment in Karakura where she had a few Xingese gifts safely locked away, one of which included a jade comb from Ling's mother.
Thinking of her inevitably tilted her thoughts toward Ling, and the familiar bittersweetness of memory tightened in her stomach. She didn't know where he was...or Greed, rather, as he had been submerged by the homunculus the last time she'd seen his face. Begging didn't bring him back. Threats, promises, favors, those didn't work either. Greed had been civil enough, but firm: Ling was gone. She had to move on without him, the same way she had to move on when Sora died.
The first month was the hardest. She could scarcely lift her head for sheer grief. It wasn't until Rukia gave her a thorough shake...a very literal thorough shake at that...reminding Orihime that she still had a lot to do, and people who depended upon her, needed her, loved her. 'You have a heart that was meant to love, Inoue,' Rukia had smiled kindly. 'There are worlds wanting for some of that love. Give it to them. Giving up doesn't suit you at all.' They'd hugged, and Orihime cried.
So she lost herself in the duties of the Relief Society, and found herself again. Rukia was right; she loved these strange worlds without prejudice, fascinated by all the peculiarities and differences she found within each and every gate. Some of them broke her heart, too, when the wars between the IPA and the Syndicate grew perilously hostile and left deep scars behind. Perfect peace was impossible, she knew. All the Relief Society could do was work to mend what was broken, and pull people back to their feet as best they could.
'I should clean this place when I get back,' she thought to herself, casually hoisting the tight hem of the long robe to her knees so she could walk freely. 'Even if it only needs to be dusted, I want to remember this place.' She could have sold her old belongings, or at least moved them into storage, rather than spending her own money to pay the rent on a place she no longer lived. It was impossible to surrender the apartment, however. Twice she'd tried to call the landlord. Both times she'd abruptly hung up as soon as she heard the man's voice. No other place had ever felt so much like home, and the person responsible for that feeling wasn't coming back. To be rid of the apartment would be like getting rid of his memory. She wasn't strong enough to do that.
Except for the dust, the apartment was still tidy, with everything in its place. The dishes were all washed and safely stowed in the cupboards, the towels folded and stacked in the linen closet, the bed meticulously made. She unlocked the tiny chest upon the dresser and withdrew the ornately carved comb. Two koi fish swam in fluid harmony, captured by the crafter with such fine detail that she could feel the tiny scales on each fish when she brushed her thumb over the surface.
The comb fell from her hand as her fingers gave a faint twitch, thumping softly onto the carpet and flipping a few scant inches just beneath the bed. Orihime uttered a faint sound of amusement and dropped to her knees to give chase. As she reached for the comb, her fingers brushed against something else, firm and smoothly textured. Curious, she tipped her head, her long chestnut hair spilling onto the ground. It was a book. She blinked, puzzled for a moment. It was familiar to her, though she couldn't say why until she'd dragged it into her lap.
A sudden ache of nostalgia washed over her at once. It was Ling's journal. Most of the pages were blank, but the first half, she remembered...she remembered...
Falling back to sit on her hip, she leaned against the bed and turned the pages. The broad strokes of his brush painted simple and elegant pictures, of fish, of trees, of her. Her throat felt tight as she smiled, and she curled her legs closer to her body. Some of the entries were in Xingese. Some she understood, though not all. She recognized the character for 'love', always following his sketches of Orihime like so many autumn leaves beneath a tree. Her fingers brushed lightly over the ink, affection swelling warmly in her heart. He'd loved her, more than anyone else ever had.
He was gone. She had to accept that.
"...No I don't."
The words startled even Orihime as they fell from her own mouth, but she made no effort to recall them just yet. Her heart was beating a little faster, and her muscles were tense, as though she were preparing to fight. She closed the diary and hugged it to her chest, and found that she was on her feet before she'd even thought to rise.
Some small part of her warned that this was foolishness. The rest of her agreed, but foolishness wasn't argument enough to change her mind. Something inside of her said Ling was still out there. He might still be buried in Greed, he might not. She dug out her radio and called Greed's number.
There was no answer.
Orihime looked down at the videoscreen, furrowing her brow. Strange. He'd never ignored her calls before. ...Maybe he was in the bathroom.
Do homunculi even poop? she wondered, her finger tapping thoughtfully against the small device's frame. On a whim, she tried Ling's old number. There was no answer there either, but that meant little. Most likely he'd lost his device long ago. Well, she'd have to do this the old fashioned way, then. Rather than tuck the radio back into her pocket, she tossed it on the bed, and began working off the elaborate robes as swiftly as possible in favor of a snug pair of jogging pants and a comfortable t-shirt. Her feet kicked off the sandals, and her toes gave a small wiggle of satisfaction before she pulled on her socks and sneakers. She kept the belt pouch at least; she could keep her credits card and radio there as she travelled.
Thumping down the stairs, there was one last number to call. Uryuu seemed surprised to see her, particularly when he realized she was in her street clothes.
"Inoue-san--?"
"Ishida-kun!" She smiled apologetically, though it was difficult to look too sorry with her face flushed and eyes twinkling with excitement. "I have a favor to ask! Will you be the president of the Relief Society? You and Dizzy-chan?"
He blinked, sitting back and pushing up his glasses out of habit. "I don't understand. Of course if you need me to cover, but... Is something wrong?"
Orihime beamed. "I'll fix it. I have to find Ling!"
Uryuu's mouth tightened. She knew he was debating the necessity of telling her that she was on a fool's errand, and that he didn't want to be put in that position. Orihime steeled herself. Whatever he had to say, she would listen, but she was determined. But to her surprise, his expression softened, and he gave her a rare smile. "Good luck, then, Inoue-san. We'll help you look, after the meeting."
"Really?!" she cried with glee. "Thank you! Really, thank you! Good luck with the Dalatians!" Her hand found the back of her neck and rubbed sheepishly. "Sorry, I know it's impulsive."
"It's fine." Uryuu smiled at Dizzy, who grinned back at him. "It's important to be impulsive when it comes to...such matters."
Orihime bobbed her head, bid him farewell, and sprinted for the Gate. If she had to wrestle Greed out of Ling's body, so be it. If she had to scour through the Otherworld, she'd do it. If he was married...
She choked a little at the thought, but didn't slow. If he was married...then she'd just give him and his wife the best wedding present the multiverse had, maybe a...perhaps a...some sort of super toaster? Something! Either way, she owed it to the both of them to at least try. Maybe he was feeling the same fears and insecurities that she did, that it had been too long, that he might not want to see her, that he would find someone else he loved more. That he forgot her.
Furrowing her brow, Orihime ran faster. She'd been passive for too long, and let her heart stay broken for too many years. He'd loved her. There was no one else in all of the multiverse she loved more, and it was time she proved it, no matter how long it took.