Mask


The Mask of Unohana Retsu


Disclaimer: If I owned Bleach, terrible things would be happening.

A/N: I won't be doing every single character in the entire Bleach series—that might cost me my social life—but most popular characters and several obscure characters will be brought in. I need suggestions though! Of whose mask will be analyzed next! Ichigo will purposely be last. I will be doing... I would say around twenty or thirty chapters, because I love character analysis.


The Captain of the Fourth Division, Unohana Retsu, had a mask.

It wasn't material, of course. She had a mask that she slid on everywhere she went. Second instinct.

When she was healing someone, she secured it. She couldn't afford to panic, to show any hint of fear or uncertainty. Healing meant undoing what was done. Nothing more. If she fell apart, so would the others.

When she was following into war, she tugged it further over her face, over her emotions, over her heart. Even a second of hesitation meant lives lost. Stepping back from this moment, turning her back on the battle, was suicide. She would destroy herself if she did that. She could never turn away from the agonized screams of those she cared for.

When she was alone, alive, she dropped it. Let it slip from her numb fingers like she didn't care.

Which she did, of course. She cared so much that if she let go of her mask for a single moment, she would never rein herself again. And even if she did, she would be mended crookedly, improperly. She was in danger of lashing out more than she had been before she'd dropped the walls and embraced the storm.

Unohana Retsu was a character, certainly. Lovely and genteel [1], but harmless, because everything in the world that she loved were so horribly defenseless. Every one thing that was threatened was another jab at her mask.

Isane was the only person who really knew. How to remove the mask without hurting her Captain.

She knew because she'd seen Unohana falling apart at the seams, and before she knew it her hands were cupping Unohana's face, and then she had her arms around the older woman, wrapped around each other, on the darkened room floor, [2] crying their hearts out, Isane not knowing what for but crying to share her superior's pain, Unohana to rid herself of the heartache that she felt every moment.

Later that day, Unohana allowed a whole group of the Eleventh Division members to go back to their quarters, much to the incredulity of other members of her own division.

Only Isane caught the slight twitch that promised pain.

Then the Winter War blew in. Aizen, the traitor, ruined their worlds and mangled everyone who dared to oppose him.

Her hands shook and her voice became bitter, but she held on, keeping her mask firmly in place with both hands as she stitched profusely bleeding wounds, pressed herbs upon panicking fellows, tossed her hair back without bothering to tie it and defying the world in that she could heal even the most life-threatening injuries.

Isane kept her together, handing over the needle with the pressure of respect and friendship, passing the herbs without Unohana ever opening her mouth to call for them, braided back her hair patiently as the other worked feverishly. It was the ultimate form of loyalty, what Isane was showing, her eyes gentle and caring.

When the war was won, Unohana dropped the bundle of bandages she was carrying in her arms and threw them around Isane with vigor. Isane, startled into stillness, stood completely frozen for a few moments before she realized that her Captain was trembling, and Isane couldn't help but smile as she responded.

Unohana's mask had dropped for the last time.

[...]

"Isane, could you please get the tea?"

"With the—ahemherbahem—Of course, Captain Unohana."

"Alright, thank you."

"Hey, Captain Unohana, I was wondering what's going on between you and... Vice-Captain Isane?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, I can practically hear the sexual tension, Captain Unohana..."

"Would you care to repeat that, Vice Captain Rangiku?"

"Gulp—No ma'am..."


[1] Yes, it's actually a word, not a typo. Means: Polite, refined, or respectable, often in an affected or ostentatious way.

[2] I heard that. Pervert.