Unbelievable. I have written not only two, but THREE chapters of one fanfiction. Can you say "body snatcher"?

I'm writing this going on the assumption that the black and white face is painted on. I know we've only seen his normal face once, and didn't really see the process of it getting there, but hey, artistic license. Oh well if I'm wrong.

Thank you Redblade for the idea behind this chapter. :D Hi-ho introspection!

Also, thank you to Idea for reminding me that I was even writing this fanfiction.

WARNING: This one takes a darker turn than the others have thus far.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, or anything/one from it. Kubo Tite does.

Chapter 3: On the Topic of Sentimentality

Huff.

Shuffle.

Sigh.

Mayuri hated sleeping; always has, and always will. He liked doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted. Sleep was one of those few things that successfully eluded him when he wanted it, and captured him when he wanted to avoid it.

No matter how strong his will power, if he'd been working for hours on end, regardless of any amount of drugging, he would find himself waking up two hours later than he remembered it being, with his face plastered to the desk. In short sleep pissed him off; he very much liked having control of everything around him, and the involuntary nature of sleep interrupted that.

For the moment – really for the past few hours – Mayuri had been unable to find respite from the waking world. Nothing was physically out of the ordinary, he had removed his make-up, perfectly cleaned and groomed himself, was wearing comfortable sleeping garb, Nemu was in for the night, and all of his experiments were tucked up neatly which no chance for mishaps. So why couldn't he sleep? He didn't understand, and this failing only served to fuel his irritation.

Heaving himself out of bed, Mayuri wandered over to his washroom, and splashed his face with cold water. Looking into the mirror he found tired golden eyes, framed by dark circles and blue hair. His olive skin was its usual sickly color, and his still painted nails stood out against his normal looking face.

The scientist squinted for a moment and leaning forward, pulling slightly at the skin of his face. Without meaning to he spoke his thoughts aloud: "I look old."

Mayuri blanched at stupidity of his train of thought. He was a shinigami, aging held a whole different meaning for him.

But still… Old. Mayuri'd never really considered it before. Even all the way back when – He refused to even think that name – released him from the Maggot's Nest he wasn't exactly young. It got him thinking.

Now, even more than worthless people, being told what to do, criticism, and being one-upped, Mayuri despised sentimentalists. But hey, since it was already one of those nights the psychopath couldn't stand, adding a little insult to the injury wouldn't really make it hurt that much more.

Kurotsuchi Mayuri… That name didn't always translate to mad scientist. Mayuri could just barely remember a time when he was just a kid in the Rukon.

Unlike most, he had had a family; or at least part of one. It had been him and his mother, Kurotsuchi Nekomu her name was. Mayuri would never tell Nemu that she'd been named after his mother. It had been one of his few moments of sentimentality, fashioning his daughter after the bits and pieces he remembered of the woman who had reared him.

They had lived together in a small home in the 27th District. As far as Rukon dwellings went, the Kurotsuchi household wasn't half-bad; it had a floor without holes and a roof that didn't leak. The walls were solid, all things considered, and as Mayuri recalled, they had managed to keep up a front door for the better part of two years. So really, in Rukon terms, Mayuri had grown up a rather privileged child.

Speaking of being a child, Mayuri had always been an inquisitive and quiet one – it really is no wonder he grew up to be a scientist. During the time he had lived in the 27th; no leaf in the district went un-inspected; no rock went unturned. This trait probably came from his unsociable, secretive tendencies. There were plenty of other children in the district, but not only did they not catch his interest the same way scientific things did, but most of them didn't like him because he had such a "nice" house. Therefore, since Mayuri had no friends as a child, his hobby became an obsession became his future career.

Again, if his memory served him correctly, it had also been Mayuri's secretive nature and curiosity that one day led him to be, unbeknownst to his mother, wandering about in the nearby forest, experimenting with the reiatsu he had found within himself, and pondering the inexplicable hunger that had come with it. The day had begun to wear, and he decided to go home. When he got there, he found what was once his home to be smashed to bits, and lightly smoldering, the lifeless body of his mother perfectly place just off center of the image.

Looking back with what Mayuri couldn't deny as being sadness; he realized that his first thought at the spectacle was that it there was almost a beauty to the wreckage. It was like a flower arrangement, the ruins the vase and unimportant plants that drew the eye to the glorious rose in the center, played by the part of his mother's broken body. Even as a child, he knew he was rather twisted.

In his present state of self-reflection, Mayuri felt the same wave of nausea that flew over him when he had drawn closer to the scene so many years ago. It had been the only time in his life that he had ever been incapable of prolonged inspection of something. He didn't know why this had happened, and he didn't understand why anyone would want to do something terrible like this to his mother. She was quieter than he was, and showed less emotion than anyone he'd ever seen but still remained kind to the people around her. Yet, here she was, her clothing torn, her chest caked with her own blood, and a look of terror and pain frozen onto her face.

If Mayuri were ever to refer to this moment, he would call it the exact point in time when he lost any love he ever had for anyone. This moment that proved to him the inherent evil of the world made him the man he would become, that sent him to the Maggot's Nest; it allowed him to care only of scientific advancement and to completely disregard the feelings of others.

It was sentimental flashes like this that reminded Mayuri of why he was the way he was. And frankly, the fact that until he reached Seireitei, his life had only gone down after he left the 27th didn't bother him that much. Bad things had happened, yes, but Mayuri had long since reached the point of being so jaded that they didn't bother him much further than occasional sigh or fleeting feeling of sadness.

By the end of his long pause for introspection, Mayuri had found his way back to his bedroom. It had been late when he had gotten up, and he didn't even want to now what time it was now. Though… now that he had considered these long cast aside thoughts, Mayuri had the distinct feeling that he would be able to fall asleep with ease.

Author's Notes:

This chapter came out surprisingly long, knowing my record.

About how dark and gloomy it became about the middle, remember the setting. It's in the middle of the night; Mayuri's tired and annoyed… And he just looked in the mirror at noticed that he's getting on in years. In my opinion, dark thoughts are to be expected. And frankly, if you didn't catch it, the damage I was going for done to his mother was rape, followed by murder and arson. I didn't want to outright say it, because... I don't know why. Maybe it was something about him being a kid at that point. -shrug-

PLEASE read and review! As I've said before, I'll love you forever if you do. Also, please try to excuse grammatical errors. I tried to catch all of them, but since I wrote this in one shot (also somewhat surprising for me), I no doubt missed quite a few.