Kenpachi awoke to the familiar throbbing of a fresh wound. His mind quickly went through the familiar checklist. Where are the wounds? How deep are they? How much blood will I lose? How long until I can fight again? None of the answers were very reassuring.

He sat up, suppressing the twinge, okay, throb, okay, avalanche of pain that accompanied the movement. His sword was lying next to him on the tatami. Otherwise, the room was empty.

Fucker.

His eyes roamed the room until they came to rest on his sword. He grunted.

"Okay, I deserve that, but at least say it to my face, sword," he said, determining to call it that until it told him its name.

He blinked, and the woman who had stabbed him, then nearly cut him in half was sitting in the corner, knees pulled up to her chest and her chin resting on them. The position, combined with the torn outfit, was more than a little revealing.

"Cover up or something," he muttered, doing what he guessed was the polite thing and looking away.

I'm just a sword. You don't even keep me in a sheath.

"Tch. Have it your way," he grumbled. One hand reached up to finger the fresh stitches. They were essentially tiny bandaids, with each side anchored into his skin instead of being sewn all the way through. At least Urahara had done a decent job patching him up.

As he thought that, the geta-wearing shopkeeper peered in, having heard Zaraki speaking to himself for a while now.

"Oh? Have you manifested your zanpakuto again?" Urahara asked curiously.

"It's right there," Kenpachi said, pointing to the corner. Urahara stared blankly at the empty space.

"You don't see it?" asked the black haired captain.

"No, you see, it was done without the aid of the Tenshintai, so your zanpakuto's spirit has no physical manifestation for other people. Technically, it's not even spiritual, it's purely a link created in your brain as a way to explain the information it's recieving through your connection to the sword," Urahara explained quickly.

Kenpachi's eyes had glazed over during the beginning of the explanation. He came back to reality after Urahara shut up.

"So basically only I can see it, right?" Kenpachi summarized.

I belong to an idiot.

"She seems pissed," Kenpachi stated.

Urahara looked thoughtful for a minute. "Well, she's a girl right? Why don't you do something nice for her?"

Kenpachi stared at him blankly. Something nice and girl percolated in his brain for a while, then it offered an explanation. "You mean buy her candy?"

"Err, not exactly...Swords don't eat candy. Try to think about what a sword would like," Urahara advised.

Kenpachi's eyebrows knitted in a blatant 'thinking' pose. Several painful minutes passed as Urahara and the nameless woman looked on in disbelief.

Sharpening.

"Err...sharpening?" Kenpachi offered hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure if he had thought it or heard it.

"Ohhh, good idea!" cheered Urahara enthusiastically. His gaze traveled to the jagged edge of the zanpakuto. "I don't think you can restore the edge, though. There's not really enough sword left to work with, and judging by your zanpakuto's manifestation the change has been there long enough for it to be permanent."

Kenpachi shrugged. Smooth fancy edges pissed him off anyway. "I guess I can sharpen the edge and oil it," he compromised.

"Right! And just for my favorite customer, I'll give you a discount on the oil and free use of a sharpening stone!" he offered cheerfully.

Kenpachi sighed. "Just get me the cheapest stuff."

Hmph.

"I mean, do you have anything special?"

-

Urahara returned with a bottle of sword oil in fancy packaging, and the basic stones for sharpening.

Kenpachi picked up the bottle and read aloud. "Urahara Custom Sword Oil, leaves your sword shiny and radiant in just one use or your money back. Our patented formula exfoliates dead spirit particles, revealing a smooth glossy shine," he read skeptically.

Ah!

He glanced at his zanpakuto, staring skeptically at the source of the excited exclamation. She was staring ahead morosely, trying to act like she hadn't made any noise.

Urahara was staring in surprise, figuring Kenpachi couldn't read at all, much less big words like exfoliate. When he had entered the Gotei 13, he quickly found out as a Captain he would need to know how to read to do his duties. He struggled at first, finding it impossible to motivate himself despite the constant nagging he recieved from Yamamoto. When Yachiru started learning faster than him and trying to help him with words, he got pissed off, and learned kanji within a month.

Kenpachi was staring at the stones in front of him, his gaze occasionally shifting to the sword lying near him and the bottle of oil. Eventually he glanced up hopefully at Urahara.

"What do I do now?"

Urahara stared dumbstruck. "You mean...you've never sharpened your sword, ever?"

"Not exactly sharpened," Kenpachi said. "I mean, sliding along another sword is kind of like what chefs do, right? I always figured that was good enough."

Urahara covered his face with his palm. No wonder his sword didn't want to materialize.

"Actually, you should sharpen it regularly."

Kenpachi stared at the stone for a while again. "We'll I've seen Ikkaku do this, but I don't remember. He mostly just sat looking bald and serious."

"You put the oil on the stone and then rub your sword on it," said Urahara, pantomiming the motion with his hands.

The first attempt didn't go very well. The room was filled with a terrifying metallic screeching, like the grown up version of nails on a chalkboard.

Owww.

"Whoa whoa whoa, do it gently!" Urahara exclaimed quickly.

"...Gently," said Kenpachi cluelessly. His brain went way, way to the back of the library, on the dustiest old shelf, dug through several books about chopping, and finally found one that contained the word gently.

"You mean like washing Yachiru's hair?" Kenpachi offered hopefully.

"Uhh, yeah, sure. Just do it gently."

Gently was difficult for Kenpachi, but you can't say he didn't try. About halfway through he started to feel like he was getting it right. She made disapproving noises when he did something wrong, and tiny quiet noises that he thought meant he was doing it right. Through process of elimination he had her emitting only the approving noises, and blushing when his hand brushed the bronze guard. It was all kind of confusing, but he started to get into it, since it was the first positive reinforcement he had ever gotten from his zanpakuto.

Then he decided he would unwrap the dirty white cloth on the hilt, just to go the extra mile. She screamed, yanked her shirt closed, and aimed a swift kick at his fresh wound all at the same time.

Not in front of him, idiot! was all he heard before the pain of his stitches breaking open again made a roaring in his ears, like rushing water. When his brain was processing external stimuli again, he was flat on his back, his view of the ceiling blocked by a scarred face, staring down at him with badly-concealed concern.

Sorry.