Characters: Kurotsuchi Nemu, Kurotsuchi Mayuri
Warnings: Dark, semi-graphic surgery, strange parent/child relations. Un-betaed.
Summary: Nemu is his guinea pig, and he has something new to try on her. She trusts her father completely, only because that's the way things have always been. Though I sympathize with Nemu, this is not really a Nemu-sympathetic story.
Disclaimer: The characters found here do not belong to me. The story itself does belong to me. I am making no profit from this endeavour.
Notes: I'm not sure where this came from. I've had a terrible day full of feelings of overwhelming anxiety and fuzzy-head, and for any fellow anxiety-sufferer, you know that things can get dark, and this is me expunging those awful, awful, awful feelings. I wanted to write something with Mayuri, since he's my favourite character. This originally was meant to be a little thing between Mayuri and Unohana, with them working on a patient together (I somehow think they'd be nice together, although I know my muse really doesn't have the heart to tackle something like that.) After the first sentence of Unohana's part, I realized that it wasn't working and somehow Nemu snuck in there, probably because she's so operate-able. I figure that since Mayuri seems so prideful, that he would be careful to sew Nemu up in such a way that the scars are small. Appearance seems to be a thing for him. If it wasn't, then why would he wear his elaborate getup? Large scars are a sign of sloppy work, and he's one of those people who take pride in what they do and want to show it off. Erm, I'm going to stop speculating before this notes section becomes a bit thing.
Internal Scars
He wielded the scalpel between agile fingers, pulling off with ease what it would take others years of experience to master. With a casual glance he picked the appropriate spot along her torso before setting the blade gently against the exposed skin. The tip slid into the first layers of epidermis before he began to quickly pull it through the flesh, leaving a long, red line behind it where the skin had parted.
She lied on the table, head tilted up to watch with passive interest, the pain only registering in her brain, but years of experience had taught her to repress that feeling until it was a speck of nothing tugging along her nervous system. She knew that the operation was only the start, and that pain would increase tenfold during her recovery, but it was nothing like the pain she'd experience if she refused his order to be still.
He continued slicing, letting the glimmer of excitement shine through his eyes as the cut was finished and he withdrew his blade. The blood trickled out the edges of the incision, but that was to be expected. He set the metal scalpel on the surgical table, his hand gracefully gliding across the instruments until it touched along the cool surface of his next tool. She dropped her head to the table and turned away, understanding that seeing would only fuel the anxiety, which would increase the pain. There was a pause as the metal prongs were slipped into the incision and then a sickening noise as the skin was wrenched apart and she bit her lip to keep the gasp trapped in her throat. She was gripped with a sudden, exquisite agony, but she quelled it down into the pit of her stomach - below where he'd opened her chest cavity - and even lower until the emotion was so far removed from her conscious that she could breathe without whimpering. She focused on keeping it there, her eyes lightly shut so that she didn't see what new device her father had seen fit to equip her with.
There was an electronic beep, and a pinching sensation against the inside of her ribs, and then the satisfied hum of approval that signaled he was finished. She turned her head back to look back at him. He was peering intently at his handiwork, oblivious to her gaze, and her eyes followed the movement of his hand as it returned a small screwdriver to the surgical table. His pale, white hand withdrew from the tool, but her eyes remained focused on the table, observing all the blades and clamps and other devilish devices that she herself had wielded when she'd been the one hovering above the surgical table. A moment later his hand returned to pick up a needle and thread, signaling that she would be sewn up and expected back on duty shortly after. Her stomach churned, relieved this time hadn't been as painful as his usual experiments were, although there as an underlying feeling she didn't recognize. He hadn't told her what this new addition was, only that she would be his guinea pig since he couldn't afford to spare any from their ranks... and that bodies from other divisions would be missed if something went wrong. 'I created you, and I can un-create you if I please,' he'd told her, as if to comfort, although it was just another display of his power over her. His eyes had been cruel then; cold and malicious. Now, they were cold and clinical, focusing on the task at hand and barely aware that she was there at all. She looked away from him, back to the table. The screwdriver gleamed under the bright light, red blood dripping off its yellow handle. She could feel his fingers as they danced along her skin, making the stitches perfect and tiny, leaving very little scar tissue behind. Her external scars were always faint, and non-existent in appearance. The extent of her internal scarring was unmeasured, as it did not show and therefore didn't diminish her beauty.
She lied perfectly still as he finished. He was gentle in the afterglow of his accomplishment, and it was a rare moment where she could pretend that things really were normal between them. She was more than a guinea pig, or human-shield. She was his daughter, and he would hesitate before activating whatever device he'd installed inside her, if only to preserve his greatest creation to-date.