Ngoc Chau does not own Bleach

Okay, I wrote this fanfic to sort of get out of the way. I've always mentionned how Mayuri took Nemu apart or cut her open because it was for her own good. I never really delved into why or its significance though it has been mentionned in at least two of my fics. So, the reason he does all the surgeries on her, I believe, is because he wanted to make her hate him in some way because he couldn't understand why she should love him when he treats her like crap. Eventually, the power of love wins and all the surgeries he does on her becomes not only a way to modify her but a way to protect her.

So... please read, enjoy, and review.

Prompt: Déchiré

The first time had been painful - for her, that is.

He had had no qualms about it before, during, and after. She was, after all, his doll: his plaything to do whatever the hell he wished to and with her. It didn't matter that she was a part of him, had grown from his flesh and blood, or that he frequently called her daughter. At the end of the day, she was only a mere product of successful experimentations that he had been generous enough to give a name to and to keep by his side instead of freezing her away to lock and label in storage.

She had certainly screamed then, strapped to the long length of the cold metal table. And he had made her go through it without any anaesthetic or paralyzing potions, he wanted to see just what was the extent of her threshold for pain. He remembered distinctly her eyes, suddenly wild and alive, at the sight of the knife in his hands. How they darted from her bare chest to his hand. He had smiled, assured her that it would go smoothly as long as she would not move so much. She had nodded her head to show him that she understood, but he could sense the fear rolling off her. Fear did a miraculous thing to silence the tongue. He had strapped her down not taking the risk that she should fight back against him. And the first cut had her blood blossom beautifully like red roses on snow.

She had done her best to suppress her screams, and the result of that was she resembled and sounded like one possessed. He had told her to go ahead and scream. Scream. When it was only the two of them, he would allow her to scream: a little gift of kindness from him to her. The cuts swept over her, the blade digging into her flesh and revealing a cabinet of pulsating organs. His hands were not so gentle in handling her heart, her lungs, the liver… All the while, she screamed and his smile grew wider and wider. He had to commend more himself than her for the act of creating a body that could withstand such trauma and still survive; though she did deserve some credit for enduring the shock of it awake. Every so often he would brush the back of his hand on her cheek, the mouth agape as she breathed heavily, eyes rolling everywhere but the open cavity of her chest.

And afterwards when he had sewed her back up, thick crude scars criss-crossing only because he knew that he would have to take out the stitches later, he dragged her bloody twitching body to her usual healing tank. The healing tank did what often times the body could not do; it had a marvellous ability to regenerate body cells on a quicker scale and even prevent scarring from wounds.

He was a father and what father would not want his daughter to look her best. Plus, there would be questions to why Nemu would have scars running over her body.

The tank filled with rushing water, her body being elevated and supported by the life-generous liquid of his own concoction. Her eyes were dazed and half-closed, nonetheless they focused on him. He felt her fear for him, the awe and the knowledge that he could very well kill her anytime he so wished. He relished in those feelings, knew it to be correct and did whatever he could to uphold them in her.

When she was ready to leave the tank, the seams of her cut flesh having healed together and hardly a line remained or evidence of what had just taken place, he was actually gentle in snipping at the coarse thread that had held the skin together. The scissors made tiny little snipp snipp, careful not to cut the skin and waste more time in putting her inside. His fingers were nimble in pulling out the portions of black threads from her body as though they were little hairs to be plucked, slipping out with greater ease than hair itself.
When he was done and she was without the thread or scarring(the small holes left by the thread could easily heal by themselves), she turned her head to him.

She thanked him and he saw weariness in her green eyes, though she didn't specify what for.

He told her to get dressed and get out, this would not authorize her to lollygag about.

She nodded and swiftly walked to the joining room where she had been brutally used earlier and retrieved her clothes. She dressed quickly and sloppily in front of him, enough that it should just cover the essentials, and then she left him with a humbled bow.

He looked at his hands, clean and white, but the short blue nails retained traces of her red blood. He gave a lick to wipe it away.

A few days later in their work before the second repetition of this certain experiment had occurred, his hand had touched her shoulder. She did not flinch away, but she did give it more attention than how she had did previously.

She addressed him, asked him what was the matter.

He gave no answer to the question, but a reply that he would perform another operation on her the next month.

Though she did not act upon it, he felt the familiar fear arise in her.

The second time, he had thought of taking her to pieces instead of simply cutting her open to have a look at her internal system. And he had her strapped naked to the metal table, the poison of his zanpakuto already running through her veins that she would not move but feel every single incision and cut he would make to her and be capable of voicing her pain. A saw was called for this situation, better to cut through bone. Though that idea proved fault for though the saw was capable of cutting through bone, it was quite an ordeal and very long; so that often he would simply snap the limb off with his own hands.

There were more whimpering and choked breaths than screaming. He had to admire her endurance and trial to stay as silent as possible. Again, being kind and thinking about her; he told her that she was free to scream. This she complied with and it was music to his ears though occasionally a certain octave would give his chest a little pang.

The heart kept on beating, though she was violently twitching and had already gone so far to bite off a portion of her own tongue, the limbs hanging dead and useless on the table. Her chest rose up and down as though in a hurry. He regarded his work before taking the time to sew her back together. Blood puddles and pools on the table surface and on the floors… The flesh torn here and there and the sheen of her black hair contrasting with the red and white of her body.

He worked first on her tongue, repairing it Not wanting to have to sew it back in the same surgery, he pulled out a small block of wood and ordered her to bite down on it while he put her back together. It was not so easy as the first surgery which only called for the rejoining of flesh, but this would only call for the re-binding of bones and nerves and veins. The repairs were longer and more arduous than the play had been but he declared it as worthwhile.
Again, her body was covered in the crude scars to an extent that it appeared worse than his own scarred and injured body, he put her in the healing tank and would check back on her again.

The third time was more practical than the previous two attempts.

He would be stocking up her body with poisons. A shinigami had gotten himself eaten and the hollow had absorbed his spirit energy to become stronger and succeeded in eating another shinigami before one of the higher seated officers had to intervene to slay the hollow. Such an occurrence had given him an idea, another precaution to prepare for. Let any being that dared to invade the body of or devour his daughter drop dead!

Amazingly, she had bored the surgery well as she was conscious, uttering a scream or two but certainly she had ameliorated in her body's durability and tolerance. Endearing that it was, he knew he would have to make the surgeries more 'fun' and sough to line the edges of his scalpels with just a bit of acid for her. The surgeries continued, then used to make her stronger and faster; to help her develop a tolerance to pain and wounds… Occasionally, there was the surgeries that he would perform himself to check up on her body's inventory or to punish her: just leaving her exposed inside and out for a day before closing her up.

And now, Reader, what would be Kurtosuchi Mayuri's motivations for such abuse and torture to his lieutenant, to his daughter?

It was because she was proving to be an interesting subject. From her, he had always felt such strange reactions, something that surpassed fear, obedience, and worship. And he was curious to know how much of it he could exploit before he broke her. He was all at once intrigued and angered to think of what she should be feeling, of possessing for him. And for that, he had tried to harden the both of them to each other, make them as indifferent as they were before.
Change was good and all, but for her he would've rather they stayed the same. The relationship between them was functional as is.

But it was the way that she would look at him sometimes. That he could still feel the reminiscent fear of him in her, but a strangeness that consisted of eagerness, awe, and admiration. Yet it was not so similar to feel all that as they were, but a certain element in what she felt for him made it distinct. She would not make him soft, he would never allow that. Never.

One morning, a fight had broken out. It is a long story that is not worth writing about or talking about and it is best to only mention the outcome of the fight. An impudent lowly-ranked shinigami had dared to raise his sword against a captain, Kurotsuchi Mayuri at that. As the psychopathic captain was ready to draw his zanpakuto to at least defend himself before killing the boy, someone had already intervened between the two of them.
Nemu had stepped in between them in a flash, her hands gripping the blade of the shinigami's zanpakuto, blood dripped to the ground and trailed the length of metal downwards. Kurotsuchi could easily see how the shinigami was applying his force to cut through the lieutenant to get to the captain but it was proving useless, Nemu's hands wrapped around the blade tighter. She raised a leg and swung it hard, sending the shinigami flying through walls. He had lost the grip of his zanpakuto which Nemu still had in her fists. She brought the sword over her knee and broke it in two pieces.

She turned around to face him and asked if he would like her to tend to the shinigami or 'take care' of him. He faltered, a little surprised at what had just happened for no shinigami(save Kenpachi) had ever dared to raise a sword to him. Mayuri told her no, that they should get back to their division to work, this was just a waste of time.

But on the way back to their division, he could hear her thoughts, feel what she felt. And he hated it. He had given her no orders before, had not even prepared her for what should she do should anyone bare their teeth at him. If anything, she was taught to never interfere with what was his business unless he had told her. And yet, she had willingly thrown herself between him and an attacker, unarmed. And she had felt relief that she had come just in time, had felt worried, had felt outrage that someone had tried to attack him.
And there was such an odd feeling that was emitted from her he would not have believed it if he was not sharing in it as well. He felt his anger flare at thinking what she should be feeling for him, especially at how he usually treated her and how he reacted to her presence. It was not that the feeling itself made him angry, he was flattered by it in some small extent. But it was the incomprehension that she should be feeling this way by how he treated her. It was not possible and he was pretty sure that she was no masochist. She should not be feeling this way and, more importantly, he certainly should not be dwelling too much upon it.

He inquired her about her hands. She replied that they were cut and would have to be sewn and closed up. He stopped and grabbed her hands, examining the large wide slit that had blood pouring from it by the second. He hmph'ed, "Nemu. Next month I want to start a new experiment on you, cell therapy that should make your hands as tough as steel."

She nodded her head, allowing him to grip and prod the open wound, "Yes, Mayuri-sama."

"And I want… I want…" he listed a great many things that he would like to do to her body, to modify it so that she could take more damage without having blood spill all the time. Cleaning up was getting bothersome. And he spoke more and more of what she should do: to not be such a liability in battle or else he would just get rid of her entirely. Once every month should be a scheduled surgery to add to her repertoire of deadliness and during then she would learn how to put up with every single ache and discomfort, mild or extreme.

And as he spoke, after he spoke, he told her, "Be thankful, you stupid girl. I'm doing this in your best interests, it's for your own good."

She nodded her head, "Yes, Mayuri-sama. Thank you, Mayuri-sama."

The two of them could feel it from each other; that he did mean what he said.

And Mayuri cursed himself for being so weak, wanting to protect her when he should not care.

I think once I've written my 50th Bleach fic, I'm going to go on a slight hiatus to work on my manuscript. I'm pretty sure that Reader will be too busy having fun during the summer to read my fics. So I want to say thanks right now.

Thanks!

Ah, but what did you think?