Hiruma carefully knelt back down on her cushion, placing her hands on her lap and out of view. With a gentle roll of her shoulders, she straightened her back and set her eyes off the "God of Death" across from her. Her expression was one Ichigo recognised immediately; that of a teacher ready to judge their student.
Alright, this shouldn't be too hard. Picking up his zanpakutō from the ground, Ichigo placed him on the standard Hiruma had prepared for him. Step one: prepare what you need. Looking over the items on the table, Ichigo reached over and began to order them to his liking—or rather, he copied the line from Hiruma but in reverse.
All set, Ichigo took the choji oil and uncapped it. 'How much oil?' he asked, grabbing a sheet of washi paper.
'A handful of drops should suffice', Hiruma told. 'You can always apply more if needed'.
Giving a nod, Ichigo applied the oil. Each drop in a different place to cover more. He ended up using six to drench the desired area after which Ichigo placed it at the end of the row. He gave all the items a last one-over, placing them a little closer to the edge for easier access. Once satisfied, Ichigo picked up his zanpakutō again.
Alright, let's clean. Drawing his blade with his left hand, Ichigo upturned the scabbard with his right. He had expected some dirt to come out as he had never done this before. What he didn't expect was for a solid stream of sand to fall out-most likely a leftover from his time in Hueco Mundo. It was as if he had upturned a boot after a day at the beach, it just kept on going.
Feeling a pair of eyes drilling in his head, Ichigo snuck a glance up at Hiruma. The look of disapproval and barely suppressed ire she gave him had him swallow hard.
'If he had been a normal katana, Zangetsu would be full of scratches', she told. 'His blade would be dull and it would cost you your life when fighting against one of those Hollows'.
Ichigo nodded sheepishly, looking down at the pile on the ground. He gave the scabbard a few shakes to dislodge the last few tablespoons of sand stuck inside before placing it back down on the standard.
Twisting his wrist, Ichigo angled the blade's edge away from him. Unlike Hiruma, Ichigo didn't have to be afraid of injuring himself. Zangetsu had long since lost his ability to cut him-much to Getsu's ire during their spars. Even then, his Hierro combined with Blut made it near impossible for anything to pierce, cut or slice his skin.
Nevertheless, Ichigo wanted to do this right. Hiruma had already proven herself to be a perfectionist when it came down to weapon maintenance. Even now he could feel her judgemental glare aimed at his hands. If he were to half-ass this, she may Hollowfy on the spot in rage.
Ichigo grabbed a dry sheet of washi and placed it on the steel, pressing it down on the blade with three fingers. He put his thumb against the back as Hiruma had instructed, trapping a piece of the paper between his finger and the katana.
Just to be sure, Ichigo chanced a peek at Hiruma. She was observing him with the same intensity as before, though the fire had died down. He did notice, however, that her gaze wasn't steady. There was a minuscule twitch that shifted her eyes from his hand to his sword. Taking the lack of reaction as encouragement, Ichigo focused back on his zanpakutō. Applying gentle pressure, he pushed the washi along the steel.
Wha—?!
Getsu rushed to the front the moment the washi moved. Ichigo was shouldered out of control of his body. A yelp tore from his throat, echoing in the void that existed between the outside and his Inner World.
He was falling. His senses grew more muted by the millisecond, his grasp on what was happening outside slipping from his fingers.
'…saki-kun?'
Hiruma's voice trailed down after him, soft and confused. It was enough to shake Ichigo from his surprise induced stupor. Regaining his composure, he bounced back. Getsu automatically settled back into the passenger's seat, allowing his wielder to take the wheel.
Getsu hadn't moved an inch in his brief moment of full control-not that he had much time to do so, his mask hadn't even started to form. Ichigo found himself still seated on his knees, zanpakutō in his left hand. His right hand, however, had pulled back with the washi. The piece of paper crumbled up tight in his now fist.
Hey, what was that all about? There was no accusation in his tone, only genuine curiosity.
There wasn't an immediate reply. Getsu shifted, wavering between staying in shared control and retreating. I felt something, Getsu murmured. Wanted to know what the fuck you were doing to me.
Uhm…I'm cleaning?
Shit, had he done something wrong? Sure, everyone had told him maintenance wasn't necessary but… could it be zanpakutō weren't meant to be cleaned? Did it hurt the spirit somehow? Would the oils and powder have a corrosive effect on the blade? Was it overly sensitive to touch? Or was it a consent issue—
Cleaning?
The confusion in Getsu's voice pulled Ichigo from his rapidly spiralling thoughts. Confused, not angry, that meant Getsu wasn't upset. Good. Their relationship was still in its mending stage, any slip up-no matter how small-could jeopardise their progress and set them back.
What for? Zanpakutō don't need that, remember?
'Kurosaki-san?'
Ichigo looked up, finding dark grey eyes regarding him with cautious curiosity.
'Huh? Oh, uhm…yes, Sensei?'
Hiruma raised her left hand, tapping lightly beneath her eyes. 'Your eyes…'
Angling his wrist to catch his own reflection, Ichigo saw the black draining from his sclera. His pupils remained a vibrant gold, betraying Getsu's closeness to the front.
Ah, shit. I forgot that happens.
'Don't mind it', Ichigo waved off, sliding the washi along the steel. He felt Getsu shift under the touch. Shift but not draw back. 'That happens sometimes'.
His words did not reassure the Jibakurai across him. Her eyes narrowed, head angling as if she could see the truth that way. 'You have a terrible poker-face, Kurosaki-san'.
'I am telling the truth', Ichigo insisted, keeping his head down. 'It's nothing to worry about'.
'I didn't say you were lying', Hiruma said with a shake of her head. 'But I recognise deflection when I see it'.
'I don't know what you're talking about'.
Hiruma didn't respond immediately. Ichigo could hear her fist the fabric of her skirt, her nails scratching the threads.
'I…I know what it is like to keep a part of yourself a secret', she said softly. 'Of needing to hide it because others won't react to that part of you favourably. Fearing long-time friends and even family will abandon you when they find out'.
'I know we just met and I probably shouldn't pry as much as I do but…I know from personal experience how freeing it is to speak openly about yourself without needing to worry about being rejected'. Hiruma shifted, looking back up again. 'You don't have to tell me. I understand if opening up to a stranger might be a bit too much but, please know that, whatever it is, I won't judge you'.
That's what you say now. Ichigo scowled, putting a bit more force behind his wipes.
Getsu shifted with a growl, giving a firm nudge against Ichigo's mental shoulder. Stop brooding, it's loud, he complained.
Then don't hover so close! Ichigo hissed back.
's got nothing to do with that! Getsu pushed him again. Even so, I ain't in the mood for bad weather just 'cuz yer thinking about stupid things!
The push was harsh, more so than Ichigo had expected. He physically flinched, fingers slipping from the washi.
'Ah, Kurosaki-san!'
Hiruma was by his side in an instant, pulling his right hand away. Ichigo blinked, watching her fret over his palm. Her thumbs smoothed over the calloused skin of his unharmed hand.
'Wha—?' Hiruma pressed her finger more firm into his palm, searching for the wound that should be there but wasn't. 'How are you not hurt?'
'Because Zangetsu can't cut me', Ichigo told. When Hiruma only responded with confusion, he added, 'I told you before, right? He is a special kind of katana'.
Hiruma looked from the hand in her hands to the blade he still held. 'Could you explain?'
Ichigo let the question roam around in his head for a moment. Zanpakutō weren't the hardest to explain but it did require one to abandon the rules of which the living were bound. In all honesty, Ichigo had found the whole idea ridiculous until he actually met Zangetsu.
Eh, she won't remember it after the konso, anyway. He had nothing to lose.
'Sure. Though I'll warn you, it might be hard to believe'.
Hiruma waved her hand, 'I have a chain hanging from my chest and I saw you cleave a monster in two. If you were to tell me the sky is red I- well, I wouldn't believe you—I know the sky is blue, I've seen it—but I would doubt reality for a good minute, for certain'.
Ichigo smiled at that, amused by her view. 'Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you'.
The woman gave him an equally amused look as she moved to sit on the cushion to his right. Ichigo shook his head, focusing back on Zangetsu as he began to clean the other side of the blade.
'Powerful Souls are given special swords—named asauchi—upon entering the academy for aspiring Soul Reapers', Ichigo began. 'Over time, the asauchi will attune to their wielder's power and become a literal extension of their soul. At that point, we call it a zanpakutō'.
Ichigo spared a glance at Hiruma, 'Can you follow it so far?'
Hiruma nodded, 'Yes, you've explained it well'. She then pointed at Zangetsu, 'You are done'.
Angling his wrist, Ichigo checked the side he had been wiping clean. As Hiruma had said, there were no traces of dirt, sand or dust left on the blade. Ichigo put the washi down and picked up the uchiko. He held it steady above his zanpakutō and gently tapped the blade against it.
Getsu jerked at the hit, pressing more firmly against his wielder's conscious. The image of a child shying away from a stranger and hiding behind their parent came to mind.
You alright? Ichigo asked, halting his hand from tapping. Do you want me to stop?
I'm fine, Getsu huffed, settling back. Just feels…odd, is all. It's fine.
Taking the permission as is, Ichigo continued. Small puffs of powder burst from the uchiko at every tap, leaving a thin layer on the steel. As he worked, he mulled over his next words aloud. While explaining a zanpakutō—the sword—wasn't that hard, explaining a Zanpakutō—the spirit—was a bit tricky.
'When an asauchi turns into a zanpakutō, it becomes a physical representation of the...' Ichigo pursed his lips into a thin line, trying to figure out where to go from here. '... the personification of a Soul Reaper's strength'. Pausing the powdering of his katana, Ichigo looked at Hiruma to see if his words had made any sense. Judging from her pensive expression, probably not much.
'Did I lose you?'
Hiruma shook her head, eyes on Zangetsu as she quietly repeated Ichigo's words to herself. '...physical representation of a personification...' She scowled, angling her head. '... the personification of a—' Grey eyes widened and shot up to meet Ichigo's chocolate brown. 'You can speak with your katana?!'
Ichigo blinked, not having expected her to successfully decode his botched explanation. Hiruma was looking at him with the awe of a child. Clearly, she wanted her conclusion to be confirmed.
The corners of his lips twitched upward, 'Yes'.
'Ah! So that's why—' she pointed to her own eyes.
'Uhm... yes and no', Ichigo answered, resuming to coat his zanpakutō in powder. 'A Soul Reaper has to perform a technique to speak with their Zanpakutō spirit. Zangetsu is a bit different'.
There was a flare of displeasure in the back of his mind, reminding Ichigo the spirit was still hovering close to the front.
I didn't mean it in a bad way, Ichigo said.
I know that, dipshit. It's the weather I'm concerned about.
Sure you are.
'Is he talking to you now?' Hiruma asked, pulling Ichigo's attention back outside.
'Yeah... sorry if—'
Hiruma didn't let him finish, 'No, I don't mind at all' she assured. 'What did he say before?'
'Before?'
'When your eyes were black', Hiruma reminded.
'Oh, that'. Ichigo shrugged, 'He asked why I'm cleaning. Said it isn't necessary'.
Hiruma scowled, raising a finger to wag in Ichigo's face as she looked him in the eye. 'You only say that because you've never been cleaned before', she argued. 'Let your wielder take care of you as he should. I'll hear your opinion later'.
Both wielder and weapon looked at Hiruma with surprise. Never before had anyone taken Getsu's presence in stride, nor had they spoken to him like this. Ichigo moved slightly, making space in case Getsu wanted to speak to her. The spirit didn't. Instead, Getsu retreated back to the Inner World, keeping an eye and ear out from there.
Hiruma sat back, 'Did he leave?'
'Don't take it personally', Ichigo said. 'He isn't one for small talk'. Deeming the top half to be fully coated in powder, Ichigo moved his left under the steel and let the blade bounce off against it.
'Would it be too bold of me to ask what he is like?' Hiruma asked.
Ichigo opened his mouth to answer but stopped before a word could leave his lips. He paused his cleaning, angling his head while his eyes turned unfocused. Do you have any objections?
Getsu didn't respond to him vocally, merely showing Ichigo a mental image of a shoulder shrug.
'No, it's fine', Ichigo replied, checking his process. Pursing his lips to one side, he decided a few more taps were needed for an even coat. 'We don't mind'. Satisfied with the layer, Ichigo put the uchiko down and took another clean washi to clean the powder. Upon contact with the steel, Ichigo felt Getsu shift. But the Hollow Zanpakutō didn't speak up, so Ichigo deemed it safe to continue.
'Zangetsu has two sides, depending on the situation, they switch who has control of their body', Ichigo told. 'I met Zan first. He's an older-looking man who's somehow always standing in some sort of breeze that makes his coat and hair look dramatic'.
'He's patient, calm and quite aloof, never giving a straight answer if he can help it'. A smile formed on his face as he spoke. 'He helps me keep my head clear and focused'.
'A mentor of sorts', Hiruma concluded. 'Is he the one you spoke with?'
Ichigo shook his head, 'No, that was Getsu. I met him later under... less than ideal circumstances'.
To his surprise and relief, Hiruma didn't ask what those circumstances were.
'Getsu looks exactly like me, he could pass as my long-lost, albino twin', Ichigo told. 'He's violent. A learn-or-die kind of person'. His smile faded. 'I didn't know who he was at the time. I thought he was some conjuration made by Zan to help me learn a lesson. Afterwards, Getsu made a lapse in judgement and pretended to be a Hollow so he could push me to become stronger by using fear'. Ichigo sighed, 'Needless to say, we didn't get along very well'.
'I can imagine', Hiruma said. And she meant it. While she may not have a vast knowledge of the Afterlife, she knew enough to understand that pretending to be the being your wielder hunts isn't a good way to establish a positive report.
'It was only when I was about to lose them both that I realised the truth'. Ichigo gave the blade one last swipe, finishing the removal of the powder. 'He was torn away before I could apologise'.
Ya didn't have anything to apologise for, Getsu murmured. We've been over this.
Ichigo hummed, not agreeing with his Zanpakutō but not willing to instigate an argument, either.
'You care for them'.
'I do', Ichigo admitted, tossing the washi on the table. 'If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be here'.
Light caught his eye and Ichigo looked down at his zanpakutō. The blade glowed in the low light, almost as if it were shining itself. He had never seen his katana so pure before.
'What you're feeling now is what you need to put into your cleaning', Hiruma told with a soft smile. 'Pour your respect, pride, love and care you feel towards them in your work'.
Ichigo nodded and reached for the final cloth. He could understand the reasoning. It was clear Zangetsu could feel-or was at least aware of-everything that happened to their physical form. Heck, Ichigo himself could sense the intentions of others through the clashing of their swords. So it stood to reason that, if Ichigo were to put genuine care into his cleaning, Zangetsu would pick up on it.
He placed the oiled washi on the steel, applying a loving but firm pressure with three of his fingers and thumb. Gathering all the positive feelings he had towards his sword spirits, he slowly moved the paper along the steel.
The reaction it triggered was the most violent Ichigo had ever experienced.
It hit him like a tidal wave. Warmth washed over him, the pleasant buzz of spring's sunlight contained under his skin. All worries and concerns he had faded away, the scowl that he never could quite get rid of smoothing out into a gentle smile.
'Kurosaki-san?'
Ichigo looked up, his voice more relaxed than the time he had gotten his wisdom teeth removed. 'Yeah?'
'Is everything alright? Did he talk to you again?'
'Yes and no', Ichigo replied, looking down. 'It just surprised us a bit'.
'Good surprise?'
As if to answer her, Ichigo felt Getsu's impatience and displeasure. The spirit even went as far as exerting control of his wielder's arm, trying to make him continue with force.
Ichigo smiled at that, 'He's not happy I stopped'.
Resuming, Ichigo was hit with the wave of contentment again. He had been expecting it this time, though and didn't falter. His face was brightening into a soft expression.
Did you like that? he asked.
A loud rumble was his answer. Whatever words the spirit tried to speak was drowned out, rendering Getsu fully incoherent.
Want to try that again? I didn't quite catch that.
Less talkin' 'n moar cleanin'! It was shouted with annoyance, barely rising above the constant vibration in Getsu's chest. The next wipe eradicated the ire and the spirit melted. Fuck... s' good.
Ichigo decided then and there he would clean his zanpakutō after every fight.
'You were right, Sensei', Ichigo said, continuing to coat the steel in a shimmering layer of oil. 'This may not be needed but it is very much appreciated'.
Hiruma smiled- no, beamed at his words. 'I'm happy to hear that. I must admit, I was a little worried when you explained what zanpakutō are. I'm relieved the cleaning is well received by them'.
Ichigo made sure every spot on the katana was shining before putting the washi down. He held his zanpakutō up, pride welling up inside him at the sight Zangetsu made. Could you fall in love with a weapon? Because Ichigo was pretty sure what he felt right now was a form of love. He could admire the reflective surface for hours.
A soft light from his right tore his eyes away, his arm lowering at the sight he found. Hiruma was glowing. Her Chain of Fate snapped at her middle, the glowing end of the chainlink was like a flame racing down a line of gasoline, consuming the length that bound her to the building.
Hiruma looked at the Chain of Fate, giving it a flick. The end was slowly turning to particles. 'I think…this means my time is almost up, huh?'
Ichigo didn't confirm her assessment, staring at the chain while he blindly sheathed his zanpakutō. A small part of him was freaking out. He had seen a Chain of Fate corrode before, knew what it meant to have your chain get shorter. But the other side knew this was nothing like Encroachment. Hiruma didn't seem to be in pain, she looked content. Even the way the chain was turning to dust didn't even resemble how his own chain had eaten itself up.
Hiruma looked up at him, a fond smile on her face. 'You have my deepest gratitude, Kurosaki-san. Not only for saving me but for listening'.
'You don't need to thank me for doing my job', Ichigo said. 'If anything, I should be thanking you, Sensei'.
'I do not expect you to teach others. I am just happy to have taught someone who had a practical use for it', she said. 'My…my wife would have been so happy'.
"I know from personal experience how freeing it is to speak openly about yourself without needing to worry about being rejected".
A tear shimmered in the corner of her eye, 'Thank you'.
Ichigo watched how the chain reached her chest and ignited her in blue light. Beneath her, the ground lit up and drew her in. The last he saw was her tearful smile before the floor sealed up, leaving him alone in the store.
Releasing a deep breath, Ichigo ran a shaking hand through his hair. He had never seen a Soul konso itself, didn't even know that could happen. He had only known her for an hour, hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to her before she was just…gone.
Ruffling his hair, Ichigo let out a frustrated grunt. He had heard people say that you should keep work separate from your private life. That you shouldn't take your work home, that you had to protect yourself and keep an emotional distance. And he knew they were right. He had already made the mistake once before when he had just started out; with AcidWire, or rather, Orihime's brother, Sora.
But, no. He didn't think she would be able to cross-over on her own. That he would have the time to wrap up before performing the konso. It was stupid of him. Of course, a lingering Soul could cross-over on their own. How else did the other non-lingering Souls pass on, if not on their own?
Fuck.
There is nothing we can do without raising questions, Zan told, grounding his wielder. Wait until tomorrow and walk by, you can call the ambulance then.
She deserves better, Ichigo countered out of necessity.
Go home.
Ichigo sighed deeply. With a heavy heart, he stood up and walked out. He made a point to not look in the direction of where the woman's mortal vessel lay.
He would make sure she got a proper funeral. Make sure she would be laid to rest with respect—next to her wife if he could manage it.
But that had to wait until tomorrow.
#
END
BLEACH - Tite Kubo
