Title: Existence.
Author: silawen/lalaith86
Rating: PG
Characters: Kurotsuchi Nemu, mentions of Kurotsuchi Mayuri and Ishida Uryuu.
Word Count: 648
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Besides, owning Mayuri would be very creepy.
Summary: She thinks she loves him, though she can't be sure. His company both soothes and terrifies her, like thunder and lightning crashing down on a cool winter's night.

Author's Note: I enjoy writing both of them way too much. Not sure this makes any sense, but...yeah.


Existence.

She does nothing. It's not going to stop, for she is an ant and he is a giant, but she never even tries. Her brain is like a typewriter, waiting for fingers to hit the right keys. The longer it drags on, the older she feels, and the ink splashes on pages that should have remained bare. All around her people grow, leaving her in an antiqued world of words and numbers that no one cares about. She isn't sure if she's even supposed to feel, but the whisper of gratitude, or regret – when she lies on a bed, eyes wide open, and pretends to sleep – still brings a smile to her lips. A smile she deems foreign, because she hardly ever feels the calming stroke of joy.

She thinks she loves him, though she can't be sure. His company both soothes and terrifies her, like thunder and lightning crashing down on a cool winter's night. The yellow of his eyes sparks with passion, a lust for all things new and interesting, and she envies him for it. When he sits in a barely lit room and watches numbers soar down the screen, she watches in what must be fascination, because his thirst for knowledge shines through every touch of his hand on the keys.

In the years of her existence she has learned how Soul Society works. Faster than most, she learned the intricacies of command and the nuances of rank or nobility. Her brain – fast, sharp, designed by the sharpest mind she knows – deduces things easily. Taichou, is her response to those that require it. Fukutaichou, to those by her side. And above all, higher than even the captain-commander himself, he stands. Illuminated by the purple haze of Ashisogi Jizō – screaming at her whenever she turns her head, maybe out of jealousy, she doesn't know – he gazes down at her with quiet confidence and a wicked smile. Mayuri-sama.

"Nemu," he sometimes calls, occupied with a prized specimen he's dumped on his operating table. "Nemu, hurry and fetch me a saw."

He gives her purpose.

Many have asked why she puts up with him. She's seen the angry glances, heard the warning in their voices, felt the waver of reiatsu as he strikes her. Their emotion, something she envies them, sometimes turns them against the rules Soul Society is built on. She knows they'd fight for her, against every protocol ever devised, and she'd kill them for it. Her loyalty is to him alone. She would break Seireitei down, bare hands digging against stone as nails broke and fingers snapped, if he told her to.

They never understand.

Even that Quincy, whose brain seems so like hers, could not fathom it. She still remembers the ire in his voice as he demanded her father to stop. Like he needed to. She knows the Quincy is a fool.

As she sits, green eyes watching her reflection in the mirror, she wonders why they can't see. Their logic is flawed, their words out of place. Through their haste to judge – a human error, Mayuri-sama often says, one he has perfected – they cannot see past the things they lack.

He's given her life.

With every step, every word, and every human action of her make-shift soul, she represents his greatness and love for knowledge. She inhales, a vision of calculated brilliance. His face both frightens and warms her cold, inhuman heart. Without him, the image of birds on a branch, or the vivid painting of a sunrise against the sky, would not have existed.

He spurs her every action. His words bring forth every reaction. She exists because of him. And no matter what he says – words biting at bits of her that feel human - or how his zanpakutou cuts her skin, the mere fact that she breathes for him causes that fleeting touch of gratitude.

She lives.