The first time Jūshirō Ukitake woke
up in kama with Retsu Unohana was
in his third taon at the Shinigami
Academy.
The curriculum was four years long
in those days. Despite some
pressure from other shinigami
working in the field, Yamamoto-
sensei had refused absolutely to
pass Jūshirō and Kyōraku out of
the Academy early. "Everything that
I'm teaching you is important. None
of it should be skipped recklessly."
Yamamoto-sensei scowled as he
spoke.
"I'm sure you're right, Yama-jii,"
Kyōraku said, shrugging. "More
time to chase the girls," he added
when he and Jūshirō walked away
from Yamamoto's narrowed eyes.
Jūshirō did not chase girls; he
listened intently to his lessons,
studying diligently. Kyōraku did
not study much at all, but their
grades remained similarly high—
Jūshirō's poor health and
Kyōraku's nearly preternatural
sharpness in battle exercises
evened things out.
It was one of those battle exercises
that sent Jūshirō into kama that first
time—in one moment, he was
standing on a practice field across
from a worried segundo year
student, and the susunod he was
spitting blood, black lightning
striking across his vision. He
wavered on his feet, determined
not to drop his swords.
On a lush island in his soul,
surrounded sa pamamagitan ng rollicking oceans
and buffeted sa pamamagitan ng a cheerfully fierce
storm, he'd met his zanpakutō's
spirits for the first time and
promised to use his swords
honorably. Dropping his zanpakutō
in the dirt would not violate his
promise, but it would sully his
swords, and he refused to do that.
The pull of unconsciousness was
too strong, a black riptide dragging
him under. He fell but never hit the
ground. Yamamoto-sensei had
grabbed him roughly, shouting for
a healer as Jūshirō passed out.
He woke to find a huge creature
with one eye staring him down, and
fell back into the black, certain he
was dreaming.
When he woke again his vision was
clear, the terrible tightness of his
lungs eased. There was still some
pain and discomfort but there
nearly always was that. He'd
learned to tolerate the limits of his
body, even as he tried to stretch
them.
The ceiling was unfamiliar, but the
firmness of the kama and the smell
of unscented soap mixed with
tangy blood he recognized. The
hospital. He sighed, closing his
eyes. This was the third time he'd
been here in the last two months
and everything was just as he'd
remembered, except for the heavy
dampness of his clothes and the
feeling of hands unfastening his
hakama.
He sat up abruptly, leaning on his
elbows. A young woman with dark
hair and tied-up sleeves was
straddling his knees, struggling to
unfasten the wet stays of his
Academy uniform. "Hello?" he
asked, and she looked up at him.
"You're awake. That's good. How do
you feel?" She smiled, her delicate
features lighting up. Her hands
stilled on his waist as she waited
for his response.
"I'm fine. I just had a bad moment
at the practice field, Unohana-
sempai." Retsu Unohana—she'd
become a shinigami before the
Academy was founded by
Yamamoto-sensei. She'd come to
teach the first taon students the
basics of healing kidō when
Jūshirō entered the Academy, and
she'd figured heavily into his
dreams since then. "Do you
remember me?" he asked, and
could have kicked himself for it.
"I remember you, Ukitake-kun." Her
hands resumed their work on his
uniform ties. Her face slipped back
into serenity.
Of course she remembered him—
he was in and out of the hospital
almost on a weekly basis. He'd
never been personally attended by
her before, but she must have
heard of his illness and weakness.
He repressed the urge to squirm,
miserable and wet.
"You were very good in the kidō
sessions I taught. You asked
excellent questions, Ukitake-kun."
She smiled at him, her eyes lifting
to meet his, and he smiled back,
bright and wide.
Retsu Unohana remembered him,
and not for spitting up blood. She
knew who he was, and she'd smiled
at him. Her small hands had
unfastened the ties on his hakama.
Retsu Unohana was undressing
him. Wait, what?
"Can you lift your hips for me,
Ukitake-kun?"
He obliged, lifting his hips as she
tugged his pants down his body,
shimmying back on the narrow bed
until she stepped off the kama with
his sopping pants, dropping them
on the floor. "Unohana-sempai?"
"Yes?" She removed his tabi, letting
them fall to the floor with a plop.
"Why am I wet?" He wanted to know
why she was undressing him, but
since the answer was almost
certainly related to the wetness of
his clothes and probably not
related to an overwhelming desire
on her part to ravish him in his
hospital bed, he stuck to the wet
question.
Retsu Unohana ravishing him in a
hospital bed. He closed his eyes
tightly, trying to banish the image
before he developed a humiliating
erection. The cold dampness of his
fundoshi worked in his favor, but
his mind wouldn't stop dreaming.
Retsu Unohana in a nurse's
uniform, short and tight,
straddling him in bed. No, no—
Yamamoto-sensei in a nurse's
uniform. He made an audible gulp
of horror, his brow furrowed.
"Ukitake-kun? Are you in pain?" She
climbed back onto the narrow, high
bed, balancing over him. The
position was awkward, but the bed
was too high to undress him from a
standing position without turning
him on his sides and stomach,
something that he knew from
experience was uncomfortable or
painful, depending on the severity
of his latest attack.
He could feel the warmth of her
thighs on his bare legs through the
thin layer of her hakama. "No, I'm
fine." He smiled, hoping he didn't
look bizarre.
She nodded, one eyebrow raised.
"My apologies for the wetness—it's
a side effect of being transported
in Minazuki. I have to get you out of
these clothes; it's not good for
your health."
"Minazuki?" He remembered the
monster with one eye. "Minazuki is
that creature?"
Her lips pressed together, her
hands pausing on his sash before
continuing to untie it. "Minazuki is
my zanpakutō," she sinabi stiffly.
"Her saliva has healing properties."
He wondered what kind of inner
world would produce a creature
like that, but thought it better not
to know. Once he'd confided in
Kyōraku about the lush island in
his soul, and Kyōraku had returned
his confidence, telling Jūshirō
about his own inner world. Jūshirō
had recoiled from him, disturbed
sa pamamagitan ng the demented circus inside
Kyōraku's soul. He'd tried to hide
his reaction, but it was too late;
Kyōraku had seen the horror in his
eyes.
If it bothered Kyōraku, he didn't
ipakita it beyond one flash of
resignation in his face. Instead he
turned the subject easily to the
girls in their kidō class. But
Jūshirō still regretted the incident
—it was obvious to him now that
everyone's inner world was
different and deeply personal. He'd
never asked anyone about the
inside of their soul again. Whatever
sort of place Minazuki resided in,
he wouldn't ask Unohana and risk
offending her.
"I'm sorry. I just didn't remember
what happened clearly. She's your
zanpakutō? I am feeling much
better now than I did at the practice
field, you have an impressive
zanpakutō ability."
Her head tipped up; she looked
mollified sa pamamagitan ng his apology. "I am
working on some techniques to
isingkaw the healing power without
so many side effects." She opened
his tops, working his arms out of
the sleeves. "Can you sit up a bit
more?"
He sat up, his face close to hers. Her
eyelashes were dark and thick, her
skin bright with health. Jūshirō
wondered what she saw when she
looked at him. He hoped there
wasn't dried blood on his chin.
Her arms wrapped around him as
she removed his clothes. She
smelled like soap and rosewater.
He breathed in deeply. If he closed
his eyes, he could imagine that this
intimate undressing was
happening in another place lit with
candles, that plush bedding was
beneath them instead of a plastic-
coated sheet, that she was close to
him because she wanted to be, not
because it was her job.
"Unohana-sempai," he murmured
when she dropped his soaked
clothes off the bed.
She turned back to him. "Yes?" Her
cheeks pinked faintly when she met
his gaze before her eyelids
swooped down to hide her eyes. He
felt a moment of wonderment—
Retsu Unohana felt something
when they were close, too. He was
shallow enough to hope it was
attraction and romantic enough to
hope that it was more, unlikely
though it might be.
She shifted off him, moving across
the room to bring a towel over
from a shelf. "If you wouldn't mind,
Ukitake-kun?" she asked, her voice
briskly professional.
He stared at the towel for a
moment before accepting it. She
turned her back to him as he
removed the wet fundoshi and set
it with the rest of his clothes. He
wrapped the towel around his waist
and perched on the edge of the bed,
where it was dry.
She turned around when he stilled.
"If I help you, can you stand so that
the kama can be changed?"
"Yes, I can do that."
She nodded and opened the door of
the room, calling someone in. A
nurse came in with fresh linens in
her hands. Unohana helped Jūshirō
stand, slowly and carefully, acting
as a support. "This will only take a
moment," she said. Her body was
warm and surprisingly strong; he
tried not to put much weight on
her, but she shifted until he was
leaning against her madami fully.
He let his hands rest on her back
softly. Her hair stirred slightly with
his breathing; lustrous and short,
it barely reached her ears. A
practical style for a shinigami, but
he thought she would be even
lovelier if she wore her hair long.
The kama changed quickly, the nurse
took away the pile of wet clothes.
Unohana picked up a clean robe
that the nurse had left on the bed.
She dressed him, his attempts to
help lengthening the awkward
effort. "Here, Ukitake-kun, let me—
shift your elbow—I'll tie it in
front."
She helped him back into bed,
accepting the damp towel from him
and setting it on the floor. "Thank
you," he said.
Unohana nodded. Her hands lit with
diagnostic kidō; he recognized it
from his many trips to the hospital.
"I'll bring you some medicinal tea.
You should rest."
"Unohana-sempai?" He wanted to
stop her from leaving and spoke
without thinking.
"Yes, Ukitake-kun?"
"How long are you going to be on
medical duty rotation?" All
shinigami rotated through the
various duty rosters regularly.
After she left medical duty, he'd
probably not see her for years,
perhaps. His best chance at
spending time with the woman of
his dreams was to be hospitalized.
Kyōraku would laugh at that, and
then he would try to help send
Jūshirō to the emergency room.
"I'm not going to rotate off of
medical duty. Yamamoto-dono
believes that constant rotation
reduces the effectiveness of our
troops, madami than it relieves them
from challenging duties. He wanted
a few volunteers to test his theory
that specializing is madami valuable,
and I have volunteered."
"Interesting. Do you like medical
duty? You have an obvious
aptitude."
She sat down on the edge of the
bed. "I'm good at it, and I feel that
what I'm doing here really matters.
Healing is at the puso of shinigami
success on the frontlines.
Returning people to their optimal
health as soon as possible keeps
our forces strong. madami than that
—"
"Please go on, Unohana-sempai."
She fascinated him. Her eyes were
alive with passion for her subject,
her face and voice animated.
"I want to heal people. As many
people as I can." She looked down
at her hands.
"That's admirable," he said, and
meant it.
"No, it's foolish. Triage is a critical
part of battlefield medicine.
Admitting that people can't always
be saved is important and
necessary. Wanting to heal
everyone—" She shook her head.
He covered her hands with one of
his hands. Bold, ibingiay the way she
looked up in surprise, but he
wanted her to listen to him, to feel
his sincerity. "It's not foolish to
want to do everything that you can.
Having that as your guiding light is
powerful. And if you fall short of
that ideal sometimes, that doesn't
make it worthless. Sometimes our
bodies fall us, our resources don't
stretch enough, and our abilities
can't overcome obstacles. But
doing as much as you can and
striving to do more—that's
beautiful. That's powerful."
Her eyes widened, softened. Her
hand curled around his. "I
understand why they wanted to
pull you out of the Academy early.
You're naturally inspiring, Ukitake-
kun. You'll be an excellent leader of
shinigami."
He blinked rapidly at her praise,
trying not to blush. "Oh, that's—but
I really believe what I sinabi before."
Her lips turned up. "I know. That's
why it's inspiring. Many have called
me a fool lately, although not to my
face, for staying on medical duty
and not seeking the glory of the
battlefield. I'm superior in battle,
but that's not who I want to be."
"Support is important. We can only
be as strong as our supports allow
us to be." He sat up and leaned
closer to her.
The serenity that she seemed to
strive for was not present on her
face—instead she was luminous
with warmth and intensity. She was
madami beautiful than before like
this, and Jūshirō's chest ached for
reasons that had nothing to do
with his illness.
The moment stretched, both of
them still. Her eyes were full of
mysteries and depths that he
wanted to explore. Her full lips
parted slightly. He shifted closer,
only a few breaths separating her
mouth from his. He wanted to kiss
her madami than he'd wanted
anything before.
He didn't dare.
"Thank you," she sinabi finally, in the
barest whisper, and then she pulled
away from him, floating to the
door. "I'll bring your medicinal tea."
She disappeared, the door clicking
shut behind her.
Jūshirō leaned back against the
pillows, shaky. What had
happened? There was something—
a connection—that he'd never felt
before. It was wonderful and more
than a little scary. He brushed his
hand over his face, stunned.
It was madami than an oras before
she returned. Her serene
expression was firmly in place, and
never wavered as she gave him
medicine, ran a healing kidō over
his chest, and wrote notes in his
chart. It was as if that magical
moment had never happened.
He didn't say anything about it to
her, because what could he say?
Nothing had happened. Yet he
couldn't stop thinking about it, and
about her. Retsu Unohana was
seriously distracting.
In the park after he was out of the
hospital, Jūshirō told Kyōraku
what had happened with Unohana.
Kyōraku considered the matter for
all of ten seconds. "You're attracted
to each other."
"Yes, but I don't think that's all it
was."
Kyōraku scratched his chin,
considering. "You want to sleep
with her?"
Jūshirō sighed. "Obviously, but
madami than that—I want to know
her. I want to be close to her."
"Hmm." He studied Jūshirō, his
eyes narrowed. "You're in pag-ibig with
her," he proclaimed, falling back
onto the damo for a nap.
Jūshirō sputtered. "That's
preposterous, I hardly know her."
"You're in pag-ibig with her."
"Don't just say outrageous things
like that and go to sleep."
Kyōraku opened one eye. "Ukitake,
it's obvious. You're in pag-ibig with her.
Accept it now or don't, either way is
fine. But I think you should buy me
a drink when you realize that I'm
right."
"You're not right. And weren't we
going to study now?" He tapped his
kidō book, annoyed.
"Start without me, I'll catch up
later." Kyōraku draped an arm over
his eyes. "It's so bright."
"Then get a hat, if you're going to
nap in the middle of the day. I'm
going to the library." Full of
righteous energy, he stood and
strode away.
"You're in pag-ibig with her," Kyōraku
called after him.
"I am not," he sinabi firmly to no one
in particular.
He held to that belief for several
years. He graduated from the
Academy, becoming a shinigami of
some regard. Whenever he met
Retsu Unohana, she was serene and
he was polite, and they never spoke
on anything deeper than his health
and the weather.
And then there was war. A brilliant
strategist rose in Hueco Mundo and
armies of Hollows marched against
Soul Society. Yamamoto-sensei
sinabi these events happened in
cycles, foreseeable but
unpreventable.
The battles raged for weeks and
Jūshirō fought to his limits and
beyond. He stood back to back with
Kyōraku, proud of his friend's
strength, even as strong distaste
and pale horror for Kyōraku's
methods and powers niggled at his
mind. They pushed back the enemy,
but it would only be temporary.
Jūshirō's body struggled and
finally failed as the enemy fell
away, regrouping.
The segundo time Jūshirō woke up
in kama with Retsu Unohana was
during this slight reprieve from
war.
His eyes opened to a jagged and
holey straw roof; it was a building
in the Rukongai, where the main
front of the war was staged. From
the quiet he judged it to be
removed from the front lines. He
listened to his own ragged
breathing for a moment, wincing
slightly—he sounded bad, but it
was just exhaustion exacerbating
his condition—it was painful, but
not enough to take him out of the
war.
Below his own gasping breaths he
heard even, smooth breathing. He
propped himself up on his elbows
to look around. A woman was next
to him on the floor, her head
resting against his thigh, as if she'd
been on her knees beside him and
collapsed from exhaustion. He
couldn't see her face clearly—it
was partially covered sa pamamagitan ng her hair—
but he would have recognized her
under any circumstances. Retsu
Unohana. Had she come to heal him
and fallen ill herself?
"Unohana-san?" He touched her
shoulder gently.
She shot up, coming awake
immediately. She brushed her hair
out of her face, tying it back quickly.
"Ukitake-san. How do you feel? You
collapsed on the battlefield."
"I'll be fine. I just need rest. But
how are you, Unohana-san? It looks
like you fell asleep where you were
sitting."
She shook her head, pressing him
back lightly onto the thin pallet. "I
apologize for that, Ukitake-san. I
hope I didn't make you
uncomfortable. Please, let me heal
you now."
"I wasn't uncomfortable, I was
worried about you."
Her hands lit with diagnostic kidō.
When she brought them to his
chest he could see her trembling.
"You're shaking. How long have you
been on the front? When did you
last rest?" He touched one of her
hands and the kidō extinguished
immediately.
"I'm fine. I will heal you, take
another energy pill, and return to
do triage on the front." She folded
her hands into her lap. He could see
deep, heavy shadows under her
eyes, and her face was pale and
drawn.
"Unohana-san, when did you last
rest?" The battle had begun on this
front four days ago.
"I will rest when the battle is done."
She met his eyes, holding his gaze
easily. Her steely determination
shown through the serene
expression she wore most of the
time.
"The enemy has retreated. There's
downtime now, so please take
some rest. You obviously need it."
He sat up.
She pressed his shoulder,
attempting to get him to lie down
again. "There is no downtime for
the support units. This time when
new wounded soldiers aren't being
brought in is critical. We must heal
as many of our powerful fighters
as we can, so that we can
overwhelm the enemy when they
strike again."
He resisted her push. "I understand
that. But there are many other
healers working now, aren't there?
Ones that have been brought in
because of the enemy retreat, ones
that are fresh. You can rest for a
little while and go back out when
you're revived."
"Those other healers are not me,"
she sinabi simply. There was no
arrogance in her words or manner
—it was an acknowledgement of
fact. There were no healers in Soul
Society right now as skilled and
strong as Retsu Unohana.
He nodded once. "But if you are
here, that means that there is no
one that they need able to return to
the battle madami than me." He hoped
his voice lacked arrogance the
same way hers had. It was the truth
—if Kyōraku had been injured, she
would be working on him; if
Yamamoto-sensei had been
injured, she would be working on
him. But she was here, and that
meant that Jūshirō was the highest
priority among the injured.
She nodded once. "Yamamoto-dono
instructed me to secure your
return to the field."
"So you can rest, and then heal me,
and we will return to the front
together, both in better shape than
we are now," he said, and smiled.
Her eyes flashed. "There are many
patients for me to tend, many new
healers for me to direct—"
"They will still be there in a few
hours, and you will be better able
to do those things after you've
rested." He gestured to the empty
pallet beside him. "Please,
Unohana-san."
She narrowed her eyes at him, and
when she spoke it was with a
deliberate coldness. "Do you
imagine that you know my abilities
and my job better than I do,
Ukitake-san?"
"No. I don't imagine anything like
that. I don't know you nearly as well
as I'd like. But what I do know is
what it is to be frustrated sa pamamagitan ng the
limitations of my body. You're at
your limit, Unohana-san. I know
what it looks like, because I've seen
it so many times in myself."
Her brows drew together and then
her expression cleared, her
serenity slipping over her face,
slightly ragged. "When Yamamoto-
dono completes his reorganization
of the shinigami, there will be
thirteen Captains."
"Yes, I know." He tilted his head a
little. Did she want one of the
positions? It was very likely she
would get one.