Author's Note: This chapter takes place mere hours after the end of Chapter 2 of "Frozen Sky." Also, the name "Sougou Kyuugo Tsumesho" for the 4th Division's relief center is taken from either the Lunar fansubs or one of the manga translations... I can't remember where I copied it from. But the translator's note said it means: "Station Where Running Water Joins Together to Give Aid." I love that. So here it is.
FACETS
Part Two – The Power of Water
Unohana Retsu doesn't sleep much, but this is not something she likes to admit to others.
Sleep, she often tells her patients, is crucial to healing, to a sound mind and body, and the last thing she wants is to be seen giving a bad example. But she also knows that the powers of Shinigami manifest themselves in different ways, and just as aging in Soul Society can be influenced by the strength of one's spirit power, she has resigned herself to the guess that a lack of need for sleep is a peculiar manifestation of hers.
Isane, who has been her reliable Vice Captain for many decades now, once suggested that Unohana felt less of a need for sleep because the calmness of her inner spirit never wavered, allowing her restfulness even in the midst of activity. But Isane respects her a bit too much, Unohana knows, and so, as flattering as she finds the suggestion, she does not think herself nearly so sublime.
Because she is a healer, Unohana knows when to respect the needs of her body, and so she is careful to sleep whenever she is tired, even when there might be work she could otherwise be doing. And when she is not tired, she works, or she experiments with new tea mixtures, or goes for long walks through the gardens and countryside.
But most of the time she works. She is a healer, and healing others refreshes her soul more than sleep.
Unfortunately, the long hours spent awake after others have retired also offer her ample time to think with regret on the instances when her healing has failed.
She is a Captain of the Gotei 13, a trained and experienced Shinigami. She knows what others think, and have always thought, of the 4th Division, but she does not let that affect her work, or her awareness of who she is. She can be a warrior, if the need demands. She was trained, once, to be so. Her palms bear the calluses of a sword grip and a healer's touch both, and it is through an understanding of both sides of battle that she has come to be the best healer Soul Society has known.
And because she knows the wounds of battle – how to cause them, and how to heal them – she knows that there are some things that cannot be healed. Some wounds that sword blades do not cause.
She finds herself pondering those sorts of incurable wounds on the evening that Hitsugaya Toushiro is sent to her medical center for the first time, followed later by another pale-haired visitor in the night.
In the quiet rooms of Sougou Kyuugo Tsumesho, there is often little else for patients to do but talk to one another, and so Unohana, as she walks her halls, hears much. Occasionally people are surprised by how much information she seems to accumulate, but that is only because they don't realize themselves how often they foolishly assume that simply because you don't talk to your healers, it means that your healers do not listen.
She is good with her sword, but better at healing, and at listening best of all.
Especially when it comes to listening to the words that people do not speak.
She has heard a great deal about Hitsugaya Toushiro over the last three years. When Yamamoto Genryuusai personally approved the acceptance of a student to the academy for the first time in centuries, most prominent figures in the Seireitei heard about it. When that student – no more than a boy, many said – graduated in only a year, and was accepted as a fifth seat in the Gotei 13, word spread once again. But students and teachers from the academy are usually treated at the academy itself and rarely visit her halls, so it was not until three men arrived from 7th Division to be treated for broken bones and frostbite that she got her first true report of Hitsugaya Toushiro as a Shinigami.
Unohana is very careful about remembering those things which have caused harm to her patients, and the details of the many kinds of wounds she has healed. She has heard many rumors about this young prodigy over the last two years, but she remembers most clearly the explanation those three men gave for their injuries. That, and the ice, unnaturally resistant to melting, that she had been forced to remove from their limbs.
So when her ninth seat officer calls through the screens of her office to say that Komamura-taichou has sent the fourth seat of his division for her to examine, Unohana is very curious to meet the boy behind the unusual injuries she once treated.
He is waiting for her in a small room overlooking the medical building's courtyard. Her subordinates know that she likes working in this room, because the view soothes her too often recalcitrant patients. Her current patient, though shorter than the usual variety, seems no less immune to its power.
Moonlight plays on the courtyard's large fountain and the four sculpted streams that start beneath its white basin and wind through the grass, under the walkway bridges, and through various rooms of the compound. One of the legends of the hospital's founding attribute great healing powers to the water of that fountain, and though she herself has proven this not to be the factual case, sometimes fact isn't necessary to inspire truth, and many even of her own officers sneak out to the fountain in the night for a drink after particularly weary days.
He is watching the silver motion of the fountain's spray as she enters the room, and does not look around, though she is certain that he both heard and sensed her approach. Somehow his aloofness does not surprise her.
"Good evening, Hitsugaya-san," she says, sliding the door closed behind her.
And when he does turn his head to look at her, she is not surprised to see the moonlight reflected in eyes of ocean color. It is fitting, perhaps, that he be mesmerized by a fountain's dance; water, Unohana knows, is a powerful element, and in the end all streams join together. His body slowly follows the turn of his head, and he lets his arms drop to his sides in order to execute a brief but appropriate bow.
"Unohana-taichou," he says.
His voice, on the other hand, surprises her.
She had not expected him to sound young, and he does not. But she had, even if only in the brief seconds since entering the room, expected a fluidity to his voice that would hint at water, and the often misunderstood motions of its secret currents. His voice, however, is more like ice, and she understands the wounds of those three men much better now.
"It's a bit late for an examination, isn't it?" she asks, smiling gently.
The grimace that twists his face for a moment before he manages to wipe it clean tells her a great deal.
"Imada-fukutaichou ordered me to come," he said. "We fought a Hollow today. I wasn't injured. The sooner we can get to the end of these unnecessary formalities, the sooner we can both get back to our night's business."
It is her turn to control her expression, but she has had many more lifetimes' worth of experience in the practice than he, and so her widening smile remains well hidden behind serenity. There is a certain guilelessness to his rudeness that amuses her. From another boy his age, she would have thought his obvious indignation at being sent for a checkup after a victorious battle a sign of youth. But in his case, judging by his posture, and the unusual depth of his eyes, she deems it a sign of that deepest sort of confidence that only the most powerful of people exude. Those with the most legitimate grounds on which to base arrogance are often not even aware of the way they carry themselves, unlike those who posture to cover up for their inherent lack.
"It is not unusual for seated officers to present themselves for periodic examination, especially after difficult battles," she says calmly, moving to join him at the open window. She can sense him tensing, and wonders if he will step away to put more distance between them. She is pleased when he does not, because she can guess why his superiors have ordered this late night visit - which is not nearly as common as she is making it sound - and she thinks he will need to accustom himself to standing, unflinching, in the company of many kinds of people. "It is more unusual that I have not seen you in our halls before. You've taken no injuries in the last year and a half?"
He slants her a fleeting glance out of the corner of his eye, clearly attempting to assess her motive, but looks back to the window before answering. "None worth mentioning."
"That is good to hear. And you say you took no hurt today?"
"No."
"And what of your Zanpakutou?" she asks, deliberately not looking toward the blade sheathed across his back. But when he sucks in a soft, barely audible breath and tenses his shoulders, his reaction to her question confirms another suspicion.
Many Shinigami in their first years of familiarizing themselves with their Zanpakutou do not realize that exploring deeper levels of communion and training can exhaust the spirit force of both wielder and blade, leaving them vulnerable in ways they might not fully recognize for themselves. If Komamura decided to send him here tonight, and he is reacting to matters of Zanpakutou as though she were prodding an open wound, then his battle today must have marked a new level of power shared with his sword. This, she is sure, is Komamura's true concern. He will want to know how deep the boy's reserves of strength go, and whether what happened today was enough to diminish his reiatsu.
It is not often that Captains take the time to single out subordinates for her examination in such a fashion, and this unusual circumstance tells her much.
"What do you mean?" he demands in response to her question, his words low and clipped.
"I mean, was your Zanpakutou damaged?"
"No. Of course not."
This time she lets a hint of her smile show. Some might have labeled the indignation in his reply childishness, but she has dealt with enough Shinigami in her life to realize that this sort of childishness has nothing to do with age. She sees it almost every day.
"That is also good to hear. Zanpakutou can sometimes take longer to heal than their wielders, and there is little I can do for them."
He is watching her now through slightly narrowed eyes, and she is surprised again when no further comment is forthcoming. He merely waits.
But then, she tells herself she should not be surprised. Water, after all, can afford to be patient. It will wear even rock in time.
"Please sit down. This won't take long, but it would be best if you were comfortable."
"If it won't take long, I'd prefer to stand."
"Ah, then, perhaps you will sit as an indulgence to me?" she persists, still smiling, and slides a stool into the center of the small room. "It would make my work easier."
He looks from the stool to her face and back again, his eyes slightly narrowed, then finally nods and sits down. Unohana realizes, with a flash of the insight that has always served her well, that he is not trying to be rude, but simply trying to avoid a situation in which his height would be reduced. Safely behind his line of vision she allows herself a different sort of smile. Even the powerful can have their insecurities.
The line of his shoulders is straight and stiff under black fabric, and it is not insight now but long familiarity with warriors that tells her she should do most of her work while in his view, so that the presence of a relative stranger at his back will not keep his guard high. She retrieves an object from a shelf as she moves around the stool, and holds it out to him.
"If you will please hold this, and keep your fingers closed loosely around it until I ask you to let go."
He looks skeptically at the polished silver ball resting on her palm, no larger than a ripe plum, but takes it without a word and does as bidden. He holds it in his left hand, a sign of deep swordsman's instincts. The left hand provides stability and power in a sword grip while the right hand guides, and leaving the right hand free also allows him the freedom to draw his sword if needed. He did not hesitate before reaching with the left, and that tells her much. Hakuda masters tend to choose the right hand, which offers them the most precision in their strikes. Kidou masters, accustomed to cupping fire in their palms, tend to hold the ball in both hands, cradling it like a newborn spell.
The opportunity to observe this sign, this choice of hands, is a large part of the reason that she once asked an old colleague to create this object for her. Too often she needs to quickly assess her patient's instincts, and she knows how often people lie in order to save face, even with their healers.
"Imada-fukutaichou has not been here for some time himself," she says, dipping into her arsenal of distraction tactics as she passes one hand in a slow, sweeping gesture before her patient, probing his reiatsu with her senses. "Perhaps when you return you can remind him that he is overdue for his checkup."
"He probably already knows," Hitsugaya mutters, frowning at the ball in his hand as though he expects it to bite him at any moment.
"Ah, I see," she says with quiet cheerfulness. "I imagine he had many very pressing excuses as to why he could not accompany you."
"At least three."
For all that she prides herself on reading people well, it takes her a moment to conclude that he is in fact playing along with her joke. He has not yet shifted his gaze from the silver ball, and his frown remains intact. She realizes now that as long as he is holding the device, it will provide him with an excuse of his own to not look at or speak with her directly, and that won't do.
"You may release it now, thank you."
When he hands it back, she steps nearer the window and holds it up to the moonlight for inspection - for it also serves a purpose her patients would be more likely to suspect. The light filters through a surface which a moment ago had seemed entirely opaque, and the intensity of the blue glow captured within the translucent, seemingly liquid interior of the ball confirms in precisely measured fact what her senses have already told her.
Whatever happened today in the battle with the Hollow, he has not even begun to chip away at the limits of his spirit power.
She frowns slightly, turning the ball in her fingers to view the light pattern within from another angle.
She is no longer certain about Komamura-taichou's motives in sending the boy to her for examination.
"Was Komamura-taichou present at the battle earlier today?" she asks.
"Yes."
"I see."
When she turns back to him, lowering the ball, the barely muted suspicion in his gaze betrays his desire to ask what Komamura-taichou's presence at the battle might have to do with his examination. But he does not ask it.
As a Captain, Komamura should have been able to sense that the boy had not pushed the limits of his power in the battle. Skill, perhaps, but not power. So why...
Ah.
She slips the ball into one of the small pockets she had long ago sewn on the insides of her long haori for instances such as this one, knowing that she will need to reference the sphere's readings for the report she will be compiling on this examination. It will likely be only the first report of many. Though most of them do not realize it, she has extensive files on all of the Vice Captains and Captains in the Gotei 13.
"What is it?" he asks, his eyes following her movement. "That... ball."
"It is a device that measures the current level of developed spirit power, and how much of that power a Shinigami has exhausted in his recent activities."
"Precisely?" he asks, white eyebrows shooting up.
"Yes, very precisely."
Indeed, it is a one of a kind device, developed at her request and created solely for her use, and she still marvels, even after all these years, that the mind and hand which created something so helpful to her healing also created abominations capable of destroying more than she would ever be able to heal.
"That's useful," Hitsugaya says, in the rather dry tone of voice that she is beginning to suspect makes up most of his conversational repertoire.
She smiles. "I find it so. And now... if you will allow me some questions?"
"If that's what it takes."
"When was the last time you suffered an injury that took more than one day to heal?"
"Six months ago," he answers promptly, and she is pleasantly surprised by how well he recalls the time, and how easily he admits it.
"And the injury was?"
"A sword cut to the back."
"I see. In training?"
"No. One of my subordinates was about to get his head bitten off by a Hollow, and I moved in to block the attack."
"Ah..." she says, choosing not to smile after noticing the look of remembered irritation on his face. "Even in the Gotei 13, newer members often need some time to develop the ability to... stop misdirected swings."
"Apparently."
She can't entirely resist, however, and adds brightly, "Though others are blessed with fine instincts and reflexes even early in their careers, are they not, Hitsugaya-san?"
He holds her gaze, unsmiling, and finally says, "Unohana-taichou... why am I really here?"
"For an examination of your health, of course."
"... I see."
"And how long did the sword cut to your back take to fully heal?"
"About a week."
"Was it deep?"
He shrugs slightly, and the moonlight catches for a moment on the star-like tsuba of his sword. "I suppose."
"Then a week is a good recovery time without a healer's assistance. Your body heals well. Will you permit me?" She spreads her hands before him palm up, and after a brief hesitation he nods. She places her palm lightly against his forehead. Errant strands of white hair brush against the back of her hand, and she can feel the muscles of his brow furrowed into a frown. But he does not move.
It is sometimes difficult to fully sense certain aspects of a person's reiatsu when they are not actively engaged in projecting it, as in battle. Particularly strong warriors often cannot control their projection, their mere presence enough to overwhelm weaker Shinigami, but that does not always make their power easier to read for a healer's task.
Still, Unohana finds the ones who cannot fully mask their presence simpler to diagnose as a general rule. Kuchiki-taichou comes swiftly to mind. He is almost completely inscrutable - even to her - on every personal level, but is at least very easy to diagnose. Reiatsu that strong usually has the story of its owner's health written all over it, for those who know how to read the signs.
Aizen-taichou, on the other hand, has a reiatsu in which it is almost impossible, even for her, to read any signs of injury or good health. Fortunately he is one of few patients willing to speak to her about his health issues when they arise.
And then there was someone like Isshin, of course, who had always possessed the uncanny ability not only to hide his reiatsu almost entirely, but also to project only as much as he wished, when he wished, and how he wished.
He had been unusual in many ways, and she is not surprised to find herself thinking about him now, when dealing with another unusual patient. Though of course, Isshin had rarely allowed himself to be her patient, preferring instead to rely on his body's ability to heal itself. She had called it stubbornness, but he'd called it a test. He had always liked setting tests, both for himself and for others. Even in their academy days, he had often devised elaborate exercises in which to ensnare unsuspecting classmates, and after he had achieved his Captain's rank, and she hers, a steady stream of 10th Division subordinates had come through her relief center as a result of failing his "tests." Well-meant, all of them, but the results were almost always the same.
She misses him, sometimes. Unohana enjoys her work, and the fact that it keeps her busy, and does not often let the fact that it also keeps her from spending much time with friends or comrades bother her. But Isshin, with his unusual ability to apply his spirit power to healing as well as combat, had often come by for late night tea and conversation, happy to pick her mind for the sort of healing knowledge that most Shinigami who were not members of 4th Division never bothered to learn. True, his passion had been given to battle, and healing was never more than an idle curiosity to him despite his abilities, but she had appreciated those late nights all the same.
So many familiar faces… gone.
"Unohana-taichou?"
She realizes that she is still standing with her hand on Hitsugaya's forehead, and his eyes like winter water are staring up at her in uncomfortable question.
"My apologies," she says, dropping her hand. "I confess that my mind wandered for a moment. You remind me a bit of an old friend. He, like you, had a spirit sense about him that was difficult to read when he was keeping his power tightly in check."
She wonders if he will deny it, and is pleased, once again, when he does not. He merely watches her through slightly narrowed eyes, waiting for her to reveal more of her game.
Much later, looking back on this first meeting with Hitsugaya Toushiro, she will laud her own instincts in speaking as she does. For though she knows her own abilities, and knows how perceptive she can be, she has never dreamed of thinking herself prescient. And yet she chooses that night to speak him as she only speaks to Isane. Or to other Captains.
"It is a curious fact, but I do not sleep much, Hitsugaya-san. All Shinigami, especially those with high levels of spirit power, deal with that power in different ways. It shapes them, but we also shape it. Like Zanpakutou, some would argue."
He nods immediately, and she is not surprised that he should convey so quick an understanding of this concept. Her initial guess tonight is still undoubtedly accurate, and she suspects that his relationship with his Zanpakutou is currently entering a new stage.
"Some Shinigami cannot control the way they release their spirit power. Some, like kidou masters, can artificially mask or manipulate theirs. But others do so unconsciously, by instinct and intrinsic ability alone. I think you are one of these. Your spirit power level is already at least Vice Captain class, but you hide it well. Do you know why?"
She does not mean the question as a test. She is genuinely curious, especially to know if he understands himself well enough to answer. But she realizes immediately, by the hardening look in his eyes, that he is taking it as a test, and it is too late to retract the question.
"Does it matter why?" he asks. "Will it impede my ability to train and advance?"
"No. Not unless you wish it to."
"I don't," he replies simply. "So it won't. Are we done here? I promise I'm not hiding any injuries."
She folds her hands in her sleeves and bows slightly. "Yes, we are done. Thank you for your patience."
One of his eyebrows climb slightly as he obviously tries to assess whether or not she is being sarcastic. But he does not hesitate to abandon the stool and move toward the door.
"Hitsugaya-san."
He stops with one hand on the opened screen, and barely tilts his head back toward his shoulder in acknowledgment. Unohana has learned to feel immune to rudeness, but she thinks that even had she not done so, she would still find something about this boy's behavior... likable. He is lying to himself about a great many things, but he is at least honest about being what he is.
"Please do not hesitate to see me should you suffer injury in future. It is prudent for all high ranked Shinigami to let their healer become familiar with them. And," she adds, smiling, knowing that he will hear it in her tone even if he cannot see it, "I would be glad of the opportunity to get to know you better."
A few moments pass in silence, but at last he turns around completely to face her once again, ocean eyes veiled as he looks to the floor, and gives her a deep bow. Without another glance he turns back to the doorway and steps through, and only as he is disappearing behind the screen, most of his body a silhouette through paper, does he speak again.
"Unohana-taichou, I think you have another visitor."
He has already moved on before she can reply, but she is pleased by this too, that he was able to sense another reiatsu close by even through his own frustration during their meeting.
But of course, her new guest has never been very good at hiding his distinct reiatsu.
She waits patiently, and a few moments later Ukitake Jyuushiro leans his head around the doorframe like a sheepish student intruding on his senpai's business.
"Ah, Unohana, my apologies!" He smiles, putting a hand up to his head; his long white hair trails around his arm. "I didn't mean to sneak about. I just didn't wish to intrude."
"It's quite all right, Ukitake-taichou. It is always a pleasure to see you. But I hope you're not feeling unwell?"
"Ah no, I'm fine, fine! I just..." he steps fully into the doorway now, and she can see that he is holding a small white jar. "... was wondering if I might get some more of your wonderful tea."
"Of course! Why don't we retire to a more comfortable place for tea and conversation."
"Wonderful," he says, and his smile seems to shed light in the night-shadowed room, warmer than any lamplight. She has always liked this about him.
There are few people abroad in the halls at this time of night, at least in these rooms were non-critical patients are treated, so they do not stumble across any of her subordinates as Unohana leads the 13th Division Captain through the medical rooms, the offices, across a walkway bridge, and finally into the residential wing. This is probably for the best, since such a late night visit would likely incite a great deal of gossip, even amongst her own well-meaning Division. Her people like to gossip, she knows. Healing the Gotei 13 can be bleak and thankless work, and they need diversion where they can find it. She doesn't mind, for her own sake. But Ukitake blushes so easily these days, and she suspects his subordinates give him a much harder time about these sorts of things.
Thinking it, she asks, "How is Kiyone doing? Her sister has been missing her lately, I think."
"She's doing well," Ukitake says, just a bit too quickly.
"Hm. Am I right in suspecting that you were... instructed... to come fetch more tea by your helpful third seat officers?"
He looks for a moment like he might deny it, then heaves a low sigh and shakes the white jar with a rueful expression; the sound of a few lonely tea leaves being tossed rustles in the night. "You would be partly right. Call it a good excuse to free myself. And any excuse to visit you is a good one, besides."
"You flatter me, Ukitake-san. Thank you."
"And I fortunately seem to have had excellent timing tonight. That was Komamura's fourth seat, wasn't it? Hitsugaya Toushiro."
"It was. Did you overhear enough to satisfy you?"
"Ah..." He blushes, tilting his head apologetically. "Just a little. He seems quite the somber young man, doesn't he?"
"Indeed. He reminds me of you. At your more serious moments," she adds with a smile.
Ukitake laughs softly, and she is glad to hear him do so unhindered by coughing. "Thank you. I think. Are you sure it isn't just the resemblance in hair color?"
"There's that too. Please," she adds, opening the door to her private suite of rooms, "come in. There is already a mat set out on the terrace. I will join you with some tea in just a moment."
It does not take her long to prepare a fresh batch of tea; the formalities of ceremony can wait for more official visits. For now, she doesn't want to leave Ukitake in the cool night for long without something warm to soften the impact of cold air on his weakened lungs, and so the pot she had set aside in preparation for her own late night drink will do. Setting the appropriate array on a tray, she pads out onto the terrace boards to find him kneeling beside her mat rather than on it, ever the gentleman. Unfortunately for his efforts, she is a healer, and is not about to let that pass. After setting down the tea, she goes back inside for another mat, and wordlessly lays it out beside him. And fortunately he knows her well enough to spare them both the polite argument, and simply shifts his position to use the mat. Once they are both settled comfortably, overlooking her favorite view, Unohana serves the tea.
"I should say," she begins in her most gentle tones, "that I think you did right in not heeding my advice that day, when I suggested you observe the student exercise."
"Oh?" he replies, taking the cup she offers him. His tone is light, but she can already sense the old, sad tension showing itself beneath it.
"Yes. He would have been... something of a trial. Not the help you need."
"Well... judging by what I overheard tonight, you are probably right about that. Still... I almost regret not choosing him. He sounded like someone who needs to smile more often. Kiyone and Sentaro can be relied on for that, certainly." He grimaces, and even that expression manages to look somehow elegant on his pale, refined features. "Assuming one doesn't kill them first," he adds wryly.
"In this young man's case, I think that might be assuming much," she says lightly.
"But at the very least, Kurotsuchi didn't get him," Ukitake adds, a sharpness creeping suddenly into his tone as he frowns up at the moon.
Unohana says nothing, because she does not know if she would be able to keep to her practice, where Kurotsuchi is concerned, of remaining non-judgmental in her speech about her fellow Captains' tactics and policies. Zaraki is indiscriminately violent, and she laments the fact that she spends so much time patching up his 11th Division, but at least his violence is predictable, and he seeks only to hurt those who might have a chance of hurting him in return. Kurotsuchi, on the other hand...
She tries not to think now about the sphere resting heavy inside the folds of her Captain's haori, or about the man who had made it.
Unohana Retsu does not like indulging in regret. When change comes, she moves with it. It is her way of being honest with the world, and her place in it.
But she knows that not everyone thinks this way. The young man who must now be on his way back to 7th Division's compound, walking alone in the night, is a good example of this.
"What do you know of Komamura's plans for him?" she asks, taking a sip from her tea. It is her favorite herbal mixture, but not the best for soothing the pains of Ukitake's condition. She will need to make a new mixture for him to take.
"Komamura's? Nothing. But Yamamoto-sama sent Sasakibe-fukutaichou to watch that exercise, so he clearly has an interest. If he or Komamura have specific plans for the boy, only they know about it."
"That is unusual. I don't think Yamamoto-soutaichou has taken a personal interest in a student since you and Kyouraku-taichou left the academy."
"Ah, Unohana, you're too young to be talking about such ancient history," Ukitake says with a small grin. "You're making me feel old."
"But you have aged with so much grace, Jyuushiro."
"Eh? You are much slyer than people give you credit for, Unohana," he says, laughing again.
But this time his laugh chokes off in coughing, and his fingers - steady even through this sort of spasm after so many centuries of experience - carefully set his tea on the floor before shaking might cause it to spill.
Unohana frowns, but does not watch him as the fit passes and he slowly collects himself. She believes strongly in allowing patients their dignity, but it is always hard for her to sit by and say nothing, see nothing, touch no one.
She resigned herself a long, long time ago to the fact that there is nothing she can do for Ukitake. Illness in Soul Society is rare - unlike injury - and when it strikes its causes are a mystery to even the most experienced of healers. In the beginning, she insisted on trying, numerous times, to heal the man beside her. He let her try, though his sad smiles made it clear he knew there was no real hope of success. She no longer tries. It only saddens them both to see her fail.
There is one thing she knows for certain, however.
Ukitake's illness has worsened since Shiba Kaien's death.
Whatever might be the cause of his weakened body, incurable though it is, there is no doubt that an aching heart has only weakened him further. And that, she is certain, can be cured.
But she knows she is not the one with the power to do it.
And though she does not expect her next suggestion to serve as a healing for Ukitake, she hopes it may lessen the burdens on his heart, even if only by a tiny fraction, by giving him someone else's happiness to think on. Even that would be better than nothing.
"I think that Hitsugaya-kun could use a friend," she says. "And he is not likely to find that among even other seated Shinigami. Power comes too easily to him, and that can breed jealousy or misunderstanding in others."
"And with power also comes pride, doesn't it?" Ukitake muses, carefully taking up his tea again.
"For some people, yes. I think he is... not yet sure of his own heart. His is young, and strong, and unafraid of challenge, and all those elements combined may lead him to make very... lonely choices."
"Retsu," Ukitake says, smiling faintly and glancing at her now through hair tossed by a momentary breeze, and it is the first time in a long while that he has called her by her first name. "Are you trying to convince me to go out and befriend another Captain's officers?"
"Not at all," she lies cheerfully. "I am merely suggesting that, should the occasion ever arise, Hitsugaya might benefit from the guidance of a Captain who remembers what it was like to be considered a prodigy by his peers."
"Hmm," he says, sipping at his own tea. "I was never quite that much of a prodigy, I'm afraid."
"Perhaps not. And so imagine how he must be feeling."
"Well... I wonder if he likes sweets..."
Unohana surprises herself yet again this night by laughing out loud, light and free.
"Ah, I have made you laugh!" Ukitake says, grinning broadly now. "I'm honored. I've also just won a bet with Shunsui. I don't suppose you would send him a letter verifying this moment, would you?"
"For you, Jyuushiro, anything."
"Wonderful. But at the moment I'd be happy with just another cup of tea."
"Of course," she says, and pours him another.
The breeze is cool, but she is no longer worried about its affect on his lungs. Because Unohana Retsu is a healer, a true healer, and she knows that some things - like companionship, and laugher - heal better than any medicine or spirit power.
And she hopes that someday the young man who left her treatment room so somberly this evening will understand that as well. The men she treated from 7th Division spoke of Hitsugaya Toushiro's Zanpakutou in awed, almost frightened tones. A dragon, they said. Water and ice. Movement so swift it defied sight, and a cold grip so uncompromising it could not be broken. He will make a truly great Shinigami, in a time not very far away. That much is clear. Whether or not he ever learns to speak with his own heart is another matter. There must be a key to it, for all men have one. As his healer, she hopes that she will find it one day.
But tonight, she will no longer worry. Tonight he is healthy, and the man beside her is smiling, and Unohana is glad that she does not sleep much, does not feel tired, glad that she did not miss the chance to see this night's moon shine luminous on the white hair of her visitors.
For in night, as in water, there can be many hidden beauties - like currents, all flowing inward. Water is a great healer, and even beneath the coldest of ice, it waits. Someday maybe she will tell that young man so.
Tonight, she lets time flow at its own pace.
Time, and tea.
"I have a special tea blend in mind for you, Ukitake-taichou. I can have it ready for you by tomorrow."
"You are very gracious. But I think I'll only accept it if you come yourself to deliver it. Bring Isane, too. Kiyone would be grateful."
"That sounds like a wonderful plan." She swallows the last of her tea, and sighs happily. "What a beautiful night it is."
He nods.
Far below, in the wooded lawns around Sougou Kyuugo Tsumesho, one of the streams whispers softly through the darkness, carrying its power - life, even here in Soul Society - out into the night.
The sound of it makes Unohana Retsu smile.
