Title: For Mayuri
Author: Celeste
Universe: Bleach
Theme/Topic: Parallel piece to "Meet the Captain" and "Meet Kenpachi" and in a way "Captain's Meeting"
Rating: PG
Character/Pairing/s: Mayuri, Kenpachi, Nemu, Yachiru in spirit.
Spoilers: Whole Soul Society Arc
Word Count: 3,151
Time: about 2.5 hours in a mad writing frenzy. I did this even before I washed my FACE this morning. Inspiration is weird like that, I guess.
Summary: Sequel to "How in the Hell Did I Get in This Mess?"-- Mayuri hypothesizes. Kenpachi inspires.
Dedication: uuuhm. This one is kind of difficult, 'cuz I don't think anyone will like it! But, I'll just say my brother, since it's his birthday, and I'm a cheap bastard to use that out. XD
A/N: LOL Finally got off my ass to write this after some inspiration hit the other night. I'd known what I wanted to do for a while now, just not HOW, so I kind of let this story sit. Sorry for the wait! But you knew I just couldn't leave it there. You don't honestly think I think Mayuri's that easy, do you? XD;;
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish constantly.
Distribution: Just lemme know.

---

She slipped back into the twelfth division headquarters silently, prize clutched in hand and knowing he'd be there already, that he'd already know he'd been right all along and would say so before getting right to work without giving the matter a second thought. Something uncertain nagged at her about the whole thing however, some odd feeling of betrayal but not quite. Then again, her feelings had never factored.

She found him in his lab just as she'd predicted, and he didn't turn around or pause in his work as she came in.

"Did you get them?"

"Yes."

He scoffed to himself then, turned to acknowledge her in the way that larger creatures acknowledge the nuisances so minute they didn't even warrant killing. "Put them over there," he instructed, and motioned to a glass slide already prepared for her.

"Only Zaraki would be so idiotic," he shuddered, as if the eleventh division captain's ignorance were a physical draft shooting through his person. "Ignorant," he spat, and rubbed at the bruise—angry and swollen-- on his face. "To think it would be so easy." Simple plans to trap simpletons, he supposed.

Nemu bowed. "I was only able to procure Kusajishi-fukutaichou's sample, Mayuri-sama," she said, and sounded repentant enough when she did that he didn't take exception at her failure.

That said, she went and sliced the two pink hairs she'd managed to get before setting them carefully onto the meticulously prepared slides.

Mayuri, long-suffering, simply nodded. "Zaraki's will be harder, for all his painful stupidity," the twelfth division captain acknowledged. "Trying to pull hair from a monster like him will most likely get your arm ripped off in the attempt. And I don't quite feel like growing you another arm simply because you're too weak to stand on your own." He sniffed. "Zaraki will take more time."

Nemu's voice only wavered a little bit. "I'm to meet them again tomorrow. A… play date." She held back the small smile the foreign words unexpectedly elicited from her.

Mayuri didn't notice either way. "Very well." He held up the slide then, with Yachiru's hair on it, and allowed himself a brief moment of smug triumph. Unohana wouldn't release any of the other shinigami blood samples or medical records to him without express permission from the patients themselves or an overrule from Yamamoto-soutaichou (that appeal was rejected as well), all of which Mayuri considered sentimental and ultimately pointless gestures towards patient-doctor confidentiality considering the day and age they lived in now. But that was inconsequential now, and he'd never let Unohana's stiff refusals to cooperate with his department faze him very much in the past anyway.

This time especially, considering that his current interests lay in the eleventh division captain and vice-captain pair and they certainly weren't monoliths of cognitive ability he had to carefully go about duping, as far as he was concerned. He had presumed they would be easy enough to trick into giving him their DNA samples if he executed his plans with his usual precision and Nemu didn't—as per usual—fail in some stupendous show of deficient-child ignorance. While it would have been easier simply to bypass any contact with that brute pair at all and simply get the samples straight from the medical department, he consoled himself with the knowledge that it was something he could do on his own relatively easily. This afternoon for example. It was well worth allowing Zaraki to bruise his face in the end—the information held in their genetic makeup meriting the physical humiliation he'd had to endure. He considered it an investment towards greater mental gains over the Neanderthal in the future.

As for Nemu, it seemed as though she'd done her job acceptably for the day despite his misgivings regarding her abilities, and he dismissed her further. "Prepare for tomorrow," he said. "Your…" he paused, sneered, "…play date."

She bowed and exited the room.

He moved to his work then—the samples they'd gained today that would undoubtedly prove his observational hypothesis regarding the nature of uncontrolled, emanated reiatsu.

Just by looking, anyone with half a brain in seireitei knew that the development of Kusajishi Yachiru was unnatural, advanced beyond measure for someone of her body size and few years' experience.

From like observations in Karakura regarding Kurosaki Ichigo, Mayuri had seen a pattern of sorts—those around the obnoxious orange-headed teen tended to have powers that defied the normal evolutionary path of common human beings, kick-starting them so to speak, so that they, like shinigami, were able to manipulate spiritual energy physically while still in such an evolutionarily inferior form.

Not unlike Kusajishi-fukutaichou.

And the things these pseudo-advanced humans and little Yachiru had in common?

Kurosaki and Zaraki.

Or, to be precise, Kurosaki Ichigo and Zaraki Kenpachi had one very obvious thing in common.

Their inability to precisely control the rate of their reiatsu emanation—its direction and concentration.

His hypothesis was that prolonged exposure to this type of wild reiatsu—especially in the early years of physical and cognitive development—caused for the absorption of that uncontrolled reiatsu from the source into the (for lack of better term) partially empty vessel, allowing one to thus incorporate and adapt that excess reiatsu, turning it into one's own spiritual energy. The result, as clearly visible, was an increase in the rate and intensity of that person (child's) spiritual development.

Thus the purpose of gaining DNA samples from Zaraki and his little vice-captain were to see if there was any sort of match in the emanation patterns or layering of their reiatsu—if prolonged exposure to Zaraki's wildly out of control reiatsu had somehow caused for a quicker growth in Yachiru's abilities. From preliminary studies of different clans of Quincy, Mayuri had been able to garner that while all the emanation patterns for a Quincy—any Quincy—invariably held similarities to those of the Quincy's brethren, only in Quincy families did the patterns show their own sort of deviant patterns, perhaps signatures that identified different regional Quincy from one another. He'd found that even those who were Quincy by nature but not blood related—if taken in and raised from an early age by a foster Quincy family—later showed preference towards the adoptive family's pattern emissions rather than those of the original blood relatives.

A nurture-over-nature sort of development, to put it in simplest terms.

It was a very exciting possibility, if only for the ramifications of what it could mean for the training and development of the next generation of shinigami. Especially since he was also on the verge of synthetically reproducing the Quincy ability to draw in and focus loose reiatsu in the environment around them. If he could simply write an algorithm emulating the patterns of emission from wild sources (which he would theoretically be able to discern from the fading reiatsu signatures on samples of Kenpachi and Yachiru's DNA), then he could viably have a way to recreate the vice-captain's growth via machine (rather than via living sources) in future shinigami trainees.

This theory had the potential to change—to revolutionize—the world, the way in which wars were fought and won in Soul Society.

He sighed and rubbed at the angry purple bruise on his face, reminding himself to be patient then, that all of this toil would be worth it in the end when his gains in the field proved to traditionalists like Unohana and Yamamoto that their old-world views only very temporarily hindered the inevitable forward movements of progress.

Meanwhile, Nemu packed sweet snacks and ribbons in a gift basket for tomorrow, and despite herself, looked forward to seeing both Kenpachi and Yachiru very much.

---

The next day she arrived fifteen minutes early because she didn't want to keep anyone waiting, stole through the front gates and was met by eleventh division members expecting her. They guided her towards Zaraki's office.

"You're early. That's nice," Zaraki said by way of greeting, lounging in his chair and smoking his pipe as she stepped into his office. Yachiru was nowhere to be found.

Nemu bowed. "I hope that hasn't inconvenienced you any, Zaraki-sama."

He grinned. "Just right actually. Yachiru's in her room. She even broke out her good crayons for ya. The ones that haven't gotten all blunt yet."

Nemu almost smiled, but couldn't quite. "That's very kind of her," she said, that strange feeling of discontent—betrayal-- welling up in her stomach again. She quelled it. "I…"

"See, you bein' early means I get a chance to ask some questions," Zaraki said, ignoring her attempts to speak for the time being. "'Cuz I've been thinkin' about it for a good damn while now, but I just don't think I can figure out what the hell it is you really want from us."

She stared, felt a chill go through her when she looked into his one eye and felt that he knew everything somehow—inconceivably.

"I don't know what you mean, Zaraki-sama."

"Woman, I gotta live and work with Yumichika pretty much 24-7. So my bullshit meter is pretty goddamned high considerin'." He held his hand up at about eye level. "But I gotta tell you, you're fuckin' tryin' my patience here, standin' there thinkin' I ain't smart enough to see you pocket a coupla hairs in the middle of the day." He snorted. "Sides, if I really thought Kuro-kooky'd go down with just one goddamned hit I'da sent Yachiru over to kill him years ago. She's always tryin' to play dress up in my fuckin' captain's coat—absolutely ridiculous either way, but least if she did that she'd have one of her own to muck around with."

Nemu wasn't sure how to respond to that. "What do you want me to say, Zaraki-sama?" she asked, and that uneasy feeling in her stomach was beginning to grow as he spoke of the little vice-captain, she wasn't sure why.

"Look, I don't really care what goes on in your crazy dad's brains most of the—well, any of the time. All I'm sayin' is, I wanna know the fuck is goin' on. 'Cuz if you two sneaky bastards are tryin' to fuck with Yachiru, swear to god I'll kill you where you stand. And I know clown-face can probably grow ya back or whatever the fuck it is he does, but I guarantee I'll just keep on killin' you until even he don't think it's worth it to make ya again, got me?"

His one eye glittered.

Nemu nodded. "I see."

Silence.

And then, Zaraki sighed. "But fuck it all, Yachiru likes you. So I'm givin' you one chance to come clean. Then you can go on in and play with the nice crayons. She's really fuckin' excited, you know."

She hadn't expected that.

"Mayuri-sama wants to see if your reiatsu has somehow affected Yachiru-san's spiritual development," she told him, almost automatically.

She hadn't quite expected that either.

Kenpachi blinked. "Well…I would have to say a big old "fuck yes I affected it," on that one. The hell does he gotta take her hair'n stuff for?"

Nemu looked down at the ground. "Yours as well. I'm to get yours as well."

He snorted. "That's creepy."

On his genuinely perplexed look, she almost smiled again, despite the gravity of what was happening here, the possible betrayal of her father's plans as well as the betrayal of the little girl in the next room setting up her nice crayons. But a small part of Nemu couldn't help but hope that (unlikely as it was) Zaraki would understand somehow. Either that, or Mayuri-sama would.

And something in her couldn't help but want to be honest with this man, if only for the sake of his daughter.

"Because you can't control the way your body emits your excess reiatsu, Mayuri-sama has hypothesized that Yachiru-san, in having been in close proximity to you from a very young age, somehow learned to absorb your wild reiatsu, change it, and use it to enhance her own. He theorizes that the reason why she's so strong despite her youth and relative inexperience is due to your presence. Much like the developments of the humans on earth who live in close proximity to Kurosaki Ichigo."

Kenpachi stared.

She moved to make a more simplistic explanation.

But then he burst out laughing. "Ahahahahaha Kuro-kooky thinks Yachiru ain't got experience? Fuck!" he chortled, and slapped his leg. "For a guy who thinks he's so fuckin' smart he can be pretty goddamned dumb sometimes, can't he?"

Nemu didn't answer that—it seemed rhetorical and she was fairly certain Zaraki wasn't in the mood to hear her defend her father.

He grinned after he finished laughing properly, shark like and right at her. "And what, he wants to grow an army of you and make 'em super soldiers that way or something?"

Nemu thought that perhaps her father had underestimated the eleventh division captain's perspicacity. "Yes."

Zaraki whistled. "Yama-jii ain't gonna like that. Maybe."

"It's a very important potential development," she said, and her hand unconsciously tightened on the handle of the little gift basket she'd prepared. She managed to school the rest of her body to remain impassive, even as she thought of what those potential developments meant for her.

He must have noticed anyway though, and leaned forward. "Say…what's a bunch of super-yous mean for just regular-you?" he asked, and by the way he looked, he might have already known.

She focused her gaze on the ground, away from that knowing eye. "I will no longer be necessary. Mayuri-sama will have more competent aides."

He sighed. "Figures. What I don't get though, is why the fuck you're goin' along with this little plan of his if it could mean you get canned at the end."

"Sacrifices must be made in the name of scientific advancement."

He snorted. "I mean it. Your bullshit meter?" he lifted his hand way above his head. "Fuckin' puts Yumichika's to goddamned shame."

Her grip tightened on the basket. "My purpose is to serve the will of Mayuri-sama alone. If he wishes for my death than so be it," she said, and she'd said it so many times before her voice didn't tremble at all.

"So you'd die for him, huh?"

"Yes."

"I see." Kenpachi stood then, clearly skeptical of her resolve. "You need my hair next, dontcha? My blood, my bones… fuck, my whole goddamned dead body."

She nodded.

His smile broadened, but the dangerous edge to it was somehow only multiplied by the movement. "Well come'n get it then, pretty. If you're so willin' to die."

She looked at him for a moment, before taking a quiet, calming breath, even as her heart was beating like a frightened rabbit's—a million miles per minute in her narrow chest. "Then I will."

She stepped forward, quickly, lightly, with all the skill of a trained vice-captain. Ready to die if need be.

He removed his eye patch.

And in flash faster than her movements, she felt the blood in her veins suddenly run cold, her muscles freeze and refuse to move. She was blown backwards by the sheer killing intent unleashed upon her, feeling as though she could hardly breathe.

She choked for air, sent staggering, and her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears she was quite certain it would explode, that Mayuri had not accounted for this type of physical duress when he had designed her.

She fell to the ground, helpless. Shaking.

Kenpachi—unmoved—watched her critically. After a moment, he replaced the monster to his face, stepped around his desk to look down at her.

And even though the majority of the energy was gone, Nemu—for a very long moment after that-- felt as though she couldn't move at all.

"You're shaking," he said.

She was.

"You scared?"

She nodded.

He smiled. "Good." And then casual, he perched himself at the edge of his desk and peered right down at her, perhaps into her. "Fear's good, little girl. You know why?"

Arms braced tightly against her heaving chest, and all she could do was shake her head.

"Fear means you don't wanna die. People who do wanna die ain't afraid of anything."

He studied her. "And you're too fuckin' afraid right now, for me to really believe you wanna die that easy."

She hugged herself, on her knees in the middle of the floor, shivering. Silent.

"It's not my place to decide whether I live or die," she said when she could manage, lip trembling.

He snorted. "Bullshit. It's always your place to decide."

The way he said it, she almost believed him.

He grabbed her by the back collar of her uniform then, hauled her back to her feet. "Nobody but you can say whether you're gonna live or die, pretty," he told her, and the scars on his face and arms told her he believed his own words with every breath. "Very first damned thing I ever taught Yachiru." He paused then, looked at her critically. She was still trembling, just a tiny bit. He sighed. "Though I guess that's the difference between him'n me."

She didn't have anything to say about that.

Looking like he had a headache, Zaraki waved her off. "Yachiru's waitin'," he reminded her, and nodded towards a side door in his office. He glanced down at the basket on the ground now, nice ribbons and little snack boxes strewn on the floor. She quickly bent to pick them up.

"My apologies," she said, and began scooping them up.

"She ain't allowed cookies before dinner," he told her, and bent to pick up that package before she could, stuck it in his pocket. He smirked. "But I am."

She blinked. "I…see."

He snorted. "You're kinda fuckin' bizarre, aren't ya?"

Silence.

He sighed again. Resigned, he reached up and plucked out some of his own hair. "Here," he said, offering it to her even though it was the weirdest damned exchange he'd ever taken place in. "But I don't think you're gonna find anythin' 'bout who we are'n why in that."

She accepted the offering. "Thank you."

He gestured to the cookies peeking out from the inside of his coat. "I don't like owin' anyone anythin'."

A moment.

"I should go," she told him, bowing. "Yachiru-san is waiting."

"Yeah," he agreed. Pause. "You ain't weak," he said then, as she was turning to leave. "You ain't weak because your little heart didn't explode back there when you thought you were gonna die." He wasn't really sure why he was saying such stupid things, but then again, she looked like she needed something said to her.

She paused in the doorway, turned and regarded him over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, and then slipped out, quiet as a shadow.

He stared after her, and thought he might have seen a smile.

END