I'm not entirely sure if Isshin Kurosaki is alive, or dead, or a zombie, or reincarnated, or what. I've struggled to work out how the afterlife in Bleach works for a long time, honestly. I don't think I have any more answers now than I did when I first watched the anime.

But then, maybe that's part of the intrigue.

It's no fun if all the mystery gets thrown out, after all.

.

While Matsumoto liked to join the younger humans in Karakura Town—mostly Orihime Inoue, but sometimes Uryu Ishida would come along if he happened to need sewing supplies—at the shopping district whenever she visited, Hitsugaya was partial to thrift shops. He liked seeing things that had been used before, things with history; the shine and glamor of new merchandise held little interest for him.

When Isshin Kurosaki learned about this, he exhibited a level of excitement and exuberance that, while familiar to his children to the point of being boring, sent Hitsugaya right back to his days as the Tenth Division's third seat officer.

It was during this impromptu, and not un-stressful, tour of Karakura's best vintage shops, that Toshiro Hitsugaya spoke honestly to his predecessor for the first time in the living world. He finally had a moment to himself, having spent the past three hours listening to Isshin wax poetic to the great finds to be found in Karakura, like he was a tour guide and Hitsugaya was a travel journalist penning a new article.

"A doctor?"

Isshin looked over from where he'd been studying desk lamps. "Hm?" he asked.

"Forgive me, sir." Hitsugaya cleared his throat. "I just wouldn't have figured you would take on such a . . . high-stress career. Considering, you know, everything."

"Considering I used to pawn off all my work on you?" Isshin asked pointedly.

Hitsugaya was quiet for a moment. Then he shrugged. "I mean . . . yes. Precisely."

Isshin laughed. "It was hard not to want to be my best self when Masaki was watching."

". . . Your wife." Isshin nodded. "She's why you left." Another nod. "Well, I'm sure the people here are grateful for your best self, sir."

Speaking of things that were hard not to do; it was difficult for Hitsugaya to not show deference to this man, despite the fact that—since Isshin Kurosaki was long-retired and, for all intents and purposes, a civilian now, entirely divorced from Soul Society—he certainly didn't outrank Hitsugaya anymore.

Old habits were hard to break.

Isshin's attention was caught by a vacuum cleaner. He laughed to himself as he strode across the shop floor. "You know, the thing about that is . . . I often see people at their lowest, when they barely have the energy to keep their bodies going, much less show decorum. We aren't an establishment from on high, you know. Ours is a little family clinic. I get cursed at, more often than I'm thanked. Especially when time comes for the bill."

"Still." Hitsugaya eyed some little statues meant for home shrines. "Medicine is a much more noble, and direct, way to protect people than anything I've ever done with a sword." He looked over at Isshin, who'd straightened to his full height and turned around to look at him with his full attention. "Take pride in your work, sir. I do. I'm sure Rangiku does, too."

Isshin stood there, silent, for a moment.

Then he beamed.

"Thank you, Toshiro," he said.