Ngoc Chau does not own Bleach

So this fanfic is coming to a close. This is the last part and after this, I'm probably going to be posting up a few prompts before I post more multific fanfics. Hm, do you think that I've made enough of a name for myself on ? Like if anyone mentions MayurixNemu, not only will Mimi's name come up for dA fanart, but mine will come up for fanfics?

Anyway, back to writing. So... this chapter ended up longer than I had planned and I guess there was so much about mayuri that I wanted to say that I have to divide this chapter into two parts. And because of that I'm putting in both endings where there's citrus and where there's fluff. What comes first, you guys have to help me. Do you want fluff at the last chapter or at the next chapter? Do you want citrus at the next chapter or last chapter? Get back to me on that please!

So I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It took a while to write actually and if you're confused about anything, please leave the question in a review and I'll answer it for sure.

The quote below is said by James Earl Jones.

PART FOUR - ONE OF THE HARDEST THINGS IN LIFE IS HAVING WORDS IN YOUR HEART THAT YOU CANNOT UTTER.

Mayuri rubbed his eyes tiredly, he was getting so tired of looking at the seemingly endless characters at the page. He lamented that the Ninth division was still old-fashioned in the sense that they still used paper instead of computers. Work could be done so much faster with the held of computers. Besides, he was a captain and had better things to do than paperwork, if anything he should be in his labs conducting new experiments. Then he recalled his reason for cooping himself up in his office.

He simply wanted to eviscerate himself; remove the stomach where the pit of guilt lay, the intestines that were twisted steel…Most of all, he wanted to cut away his heart. The damned heart that made him feel and that made him weak. What sort of man was he now? What sort of scientist feared his own creation? If anything, he should've destroyed her when she confessed these feelings of desires. With her destruction, it would've offered a chance for improvement. He had added many improvements to her design over the years, what was to stop him a ninth time?

It was in poor judgement that he thought nothing could ever come to fruition from it. He had done the one thing he should not have, he had let himself become involved with her when it was better that he had kept all emotions out of the way and felt only her presence. Yet the task in itself was easier said than done. How could he not feel anything for his daughter when they shared such an empathetic link, that he was influenced by every nuance of hers? Her feelings fed his to the point that he had begun conjuring up emotions of his own. Such feelings were fodder to him and yet he had accepted them, hid them well from everyone around him. But he was a man after all. A cruel man, he knew, that strived only for the science in everything; but he was a man nonetheless.
Very well, he would allow himself the small luxury of emotion. Was emotion not a science as well? A qualitative thing that was different, a thing that was constantly changing. Could it not be considered a phenomena why someone cried when in sadness or distress? Why yawn when exhausted? When did yawning do for a body to relieve any stress of exhaustion? Why feel arousal? Feelings were a nuisance, he concluded. He had done himself a folly by allowing himself to feel what he had denied himself for so long. It was refreshing in the beginning and he had found small joy with his creation. But never once had he ever imagined that it would come to this.

She was not perfect, that he could understand and he did not mind the fact that she was lacking in so much, his standards only grew by the day. Yet it did not leave any excuse for him. He had lived and he had had his time to live and know living. If anything, he was basking into his golden years now by fully devoting himself to his work. What better fate for an afterlife was that? He should've known better, had better control of himself. He had ingested countless drugs, kept himself addicted to them like opium and mutilated and rebuilt his body to the point that there was nothing about him anymore that was natural, that had been with him at birth. All was in some sense artificial and phoney and he had found refuge as something akin to that. He had been borne and he had lived and he had died to live again. A completely natural beginning into an artificial existence.

His head was aching while looking at the characters, the eyes feeling fatigued. He placed the brush down and leaned back into his chair. It had been so long since he had done paperwork by himself. He had not even done paperwork since he was probably the lieutenant under Urahara. He rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips, careful not to wipe away any of the paint upon his face.

The idea was that he should've had control, with his years he should've had control. But he had lost it to her. His control always dwindled in her company. Before, the idea of her being infatuated with him was accepted. He was her maker, no different from God who fashioned Eve from Adam's rib. Another level of worship to him was just fine. But never had he ever imagined that he would capitulate to her. Decades, it had been since he had felt sexual desire and his time in the Maggots Nest had cured him of his libido. Then to re-emerge back outside had hardly changed a thing. The women were beautiful and he ever had to admit that he had thought it understandable when he had heard that Unohana was described as the most beautiful and desirable woman in all of the Soul Society. Yet none of them nor Unohana had caught his attention, he was content to be back in labs and playing with chemicals. The reactions were by far the most interesting: unexpected yet controlled under his will.
The comparison conjured up a memory that he did not want to recall. She was unexpected in her actions, surprising him a little every day in every thought and gesture. Her design had bee ingenious, a creature that was capable of changing and feeling on her own. His only interference was her body and the program of her soul that enabled personal self-growth. Her ambitions, based upon blood and genetics, grew to be more of her own - he only the influence. Yet he was not so foolish as to give her free reign like that; no, it was him that pulled and tugged at her strings. She was his doll, his daughter to care for and raise.

He had not even expected her in the bath, so tired and preoccupied with sleep that he had not allowed himself to think. If only he had been more alert and aware then, the whole mess could've been avoided and he would have Nemu in his office now helping with his paperwork while he could relieve himself of this hassle and go to his labs.
They had not even bathed together since he had begun the habit of servicing her nightly. There was an unexpectedness of him to go night-crawling to her rooms. That occasion had been a surprise and he would not allow himself to back out like that to her, he had already subjected himself to her too many times already. He was still master of the division and of her. So he had went in ahead. She played the good daughter for him and for a second, he longed nostalgically for old days before she had grown and before he had resorted to being another source of care for her. And he enjoyed the silence for a bit, just being in her company like before. He would never admit this out loud to anyone or even confide in her and he would rather go to hell first than ever admit it, but… his side felt lonely without her there when she had always been with him for years.

The presence had been overwhelming, he had been drunk in her and his senses. He had made her to fashion his ideals, for what was the point of creating something to be at his side at all time if he only wanted to kill them all the time. Probably only for her, he felt an iota of fondness. Her hair hung before her bountiful breasts and milky skin. His fingers had reached for the dark raven locks and he twirled them around his fingers. He had denied himself the treat of her hair since that fateful night when his will broke towards her. He felt her desire, saw her want and smelt her arousal. Such physical baits and the feed of her emotion had made his palate water for her. He lost himself and so had revealed his intentions, the tell-tale limb. It had caught him by surprise, to have the mutual want exposed so brazenly like so. And he had felt the greatest shame when she looked at it, when she touched it.

He had hissed in a violent pleasure, enjoying the contact and knowing that it would lead to his undoing. He had not intended to lose himself in a frenzy. A quick kiss, a little reward for being so good so far. But after he had wanted more, the first taste of sweet and he could not stop. His mind could not have stopped his body, it knew what it wanted and how to get it. The clumsy fornication was not like anything he had ever done before nor was it anything that he would've ever done period. The memory produced a bitterness in his mouth. It was quit amazing that he held his daughter's rape to be so sickening to himself.
He had done worse, much worse, to her. He had once cut her open and let her regard her own systems inside and even cut her apart as a punishment. It was illogical that this rape should affect him so much, disturb him so much. Because she did not deserve such a treatment from him. All other times had had their reasons and because he had felt it a service to her, to teach her to develop her tolerance for pain and to improve the workings of her body. What did the deflowering of her prove? What use did it have? Useless like art and beauty.

He recalled that she had tried to push him away because she had said that it hurt her and he had ordered her to not resist. He did not regret the words, but he had regretted that he had been so hungry for sexual congress, he had to coerce her for his satisfaction. That was weakness, a weakness he had always thought he had been above of. All the while he hated himself for it, how abominable he was for doing it. Banging away at her when it was obvious that she felt no pleasure from it. He knew it better to stop, but could not and would not. He knew that she was powerless against him and he took advantage of that.
Worse was that he had enjoyed it. That he had revelled in the warmth of her inside and delighted in the way that he body caressed and hugged his penis. Her body that warmed up his skin and had him tremble all over. And he had come inside her, numerously that he recalled the sight of the white oozing out of the opening of her. That hot white, still bubbling and leaking out of her scared him. The sight of it upon her thighs and the dark hairs below was too different from his memory of it washing down the drain, the white of his paint looking exactly like the white of his member that it could very well have been him simply washing away another coat of paint.

And looking at her like that: ravished, tired, spent, red all over and her hips with flowering bruises from his hands and nails… It only excited him more and he wished again to take her, to really show her what a man was like. Nothing like fingers, but what a body could do for another. And all those thoughts had come crashing with the heavy thought of disgust and guilt and self-hate. Before he could risk it again(fucked he already was), he had left. This was an insult to him in almost every way imaginable. The list of how was endless. He felt that her fear of him had intensified since the congress.

He wanted to know how she was faring, he knew he had been too rough with her that first time when he should've eased the two of them into it. But as he had approached her door the next morning, he had heard her crying in her room, a very small sound of sniffling and gasping. He had felt the hate, so strong that it seemed almost everywhere as he touched the door. Too much in shock from his own actions last night, he had withdrawn and had not dared any point of contact with her. He was simply at a loss to what to do.

He supposed that he could've resumed duties with her as usual, forget that the whole thing had happened. But to just see her… something in him could not bear to see her and he only damned himself further for being so much of a fucking weakling that he could not face her. He wondered if something was wrong with him that he could not face her, that he did not want to face her. What could he really do? In her presence, he felt the horrible nagging feeling of remorse and regret. In her presence, he wanted her. To recall that face: flushed, eyes moist, and hair spread everywhere. He wanted to see it again, he wanted to break her and see that face again. He was torn between what he knew that he could rightfully do and what he knew that he should not lower himself to. And so he needed time to plan and think.

This was a subject and occurrence that he had no experience about. He was not sure what to do and so alienated himself away from her until he came to a decision what he could do. It was not just him, it was her effect on him. A musing was that he should kill her. Another was that he should lobotomize her. Most of his thoughts had involved getting rid of her. But he had grown attached to her, the creation and daughter he had strived to have. Plus, her disappearance would raise questions. He was quite at a loss and so abided his time, thinking and planning about what he could do.

The worry was accompanied by a caution. He had thought that he had become more adept at hiding his emotions, at not lashing out so much, but after the last casualty in his division, the questions had come up. Was everything okay? Had something happened with him? He seemed stress, had something occurred?
There was a cloud over him that perhaps Nemu had somehow revealed to another what he had done to her. That sooner or later there might be evidence of his abhorrent act surfacing. Would someone discover their terrible secret? He had heard the rumours when he had first created Nemu, when he kept her by his side and called her his daughter. He had hated and he had known what talk sometimes floated around the Seireitei about him. His experiments received less attention than the possibility of a licentious personal life. Now they would think of him having a weakness and they would go straight for it to get to him.

He saw the chance that he may have fucked up his relationship with his daughter. He had dragged her over a line and tore her asunder there and left her. All their years now meaningless because he had ruined it for a good time for himself. His blood boiled when he recalled seeing her with Akon. She had already found herself another pair of arms to run to. Too cowardly to say or do anything but run. The aversion had its limits. He sorely wished that he could've gone back and put some sense into the two of them. He -

There was an interruption as someone knocked on the door of his office. He had only turned around when said person let themselves in.

"Sir." began the timid shinigami, "we've found ourselves short of chemical x and the hollow in sector 5 is bleeding through his skin."

He scowled.
For one thing, they had a whole storage of chemical x and he wasn't the only person that had access to it. Any science department head had access to the storage of chemical x, Akon and Megane being some examples that came to mind. Secondly, there was a documented alternative in the specimen's folder for what to do should any bleeding occurred. All this Mayuri calmly and instantly thought in his mind. There was a crash of a paperweight flying at the shinigami.
"Are you an idiot?" He verbally repeated his thoughts out loud regarding the chemical x and the file of the Hollow. "I'm busy! I have all this paperwork to catch up on and you thought yourself so important that you could just barge in here without my permission!" He stood up, his limbs already taking control of him before he could've registered. "I have half a mind to feed you to my hollows!"

At this the shinigami took off running.

Mayuri panted heavily, a little shocked at his own outburst. Everything irritated him lately. Everything just bothered him that he wished he could've set the whole world on fire. He was tired most of all. He returned to his seat and proceeded with the rest of the paperwork. He had left it aside for long enough. The thought of Nemu and Akon returned to his mind. What was it about them that so bothered him? That they looked almost to be suitable for each other. Really, there was better reason for Nemu to be with Akon than she to be with him instead. They were both young in appearance and they were not related…

Could he go on with the rest of his existence not seeing Nemu? Would just knowing that she was there would be enough for him? But then what was the point? He had created her for specific purposes, then to have her not at his side ruined the idea. She was there for reasons: to be the proof of his genius in gigai modification, to be an ideal lab assistant, his lieutenant, his companion in audacity… She was the child that he had spent years waiting for, working for, striving for…

He put down the brush, rubbing at his sore wrists. He should make a complaint or possibly a program that could scan reports and convert them to texts upon his computer. There was the tightening in his chest. He supposed that his heart was overworking again, he should probably take a relaxant.

He got up from his seat and went to the cabinets in the back of his office. The office was well stocked with necessities, clothing and even a cot where he had been spending his evenings. His back longed for the comfort of his bed but after the last incident when he and Nemu had almost seen each other reminded him that it was probably better for the two of them and his work if he just stayed over at the office. The excuse was feeble and a voice in the back of his mind mocked him for his stupidity and his ability to make up reasons for simply being cowardly. He downed a few of his peels, feeling a calming effect on himself and thanking God that he was a genius to think up such concoctions.

His ears caught the sound of someone entering his office. Had these shinigami no idea that he was not in a good mood? He had already made an example of few shinigami who had been unlucky to feel the brunt of his anger after a bad day and he was in no mood to be the generous tolerant captain. It had been a long time since he had used kido on anyone, opting to use his poisons instead. The energy about his hands burned, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who had come into his office.
The sight of her had him feel a strange mix of feelings; some that had him feel relieved and compelled to have her back at his side, and some that made him want to strike her - this ghost of his crime of passion. Mayuri felt an acute discomfort in his gut at seeing her.

He spoke for the first time in a while to her. "What do you want?" His voice echoed in the office.

The space around them seemed even more fathomless. The heel of her shoe clacked as she took a step closer to him, her head held low. He sensed an uneasiness and fear about her. He sensed also a determination and a feeling that he had not felt from her in a long time.
He was in the dark to what she might do. There was a reason to believe that perhaps she had come to confront him for what he had done to her, possibly request leave from him.
No, even if he would not see her, he would not relinquish the hold he had on her. She was his, forevermore.

"Forgive me." Nemu began, "If this may seem impertinent of me. But I must speak to you."

What will she say to him?

Anyway, review please because it makes me happy and just because.

What did you think of the chapter?