Summary: Set during Déjà vu. Very loosely inspired by Shakespeare's sonnet 42...

Disclaimer: I'm just a fanfiction writer. All hail the rightful owners.

Suhara moves, slowly and deliberately.

It's graceful perfection, but predictably so.

I know I have time.

So, telling no one, I hang back and sneak closer.

You would think someone who had worked for over twenty odd intelligence agencies would know that under one's doormat is no place for one's spare key.

Then again, you would think the great Carmen Sandiego would have better things to do with her time than hunch in an old man's closet.

Seeing the pictures of me that Suhara kept produces an odd mixture of pain and pleasure. Pain because, despite my best efforts, I am not completely soulless. Pleasure because my ego is flattered.

My ego has been getting entirely out of control as of late.

I hear my teacher blame himself for my departure and feel vindicated. That is, after all, why I'm here. If he cannot befriend me and still be at peace, then, so help me, he will be happy hating me. I owe him that much.

Then Ivy's response comes from nowhere and forces the breath from my lungs.

Weakling? Foolish child, you know nothing at all. One day… one hour of my life would leave you weeping of exhaustion and agony. Weakling indeed…

Suhara agrees far too easily for my taste. Don't you remember anything about me, Sensei?

I dare not dwell on it beyond the initial hurt. If I somehow conclude that Ivy's right, I do not think I could stand it.

Anger is far easier.

Ingrates. You would not have even met, were it not for my choices. Think of that before you deride them.

For all he's trying to slow Zack and guide him, for all he seeks to placate and calm Ivy, Suhara is my teacher. My partner….

Blast… the pain becomes suddenly, inexplicably, intense. Who am I, to be so injured by words?

I moderate my breathing carefully, to keep silent despite the torturous tightness in my chest. Even that, Suhara taught me. I cannot escape his influence.

Such influence is no longer my right.

My detectives, especially Zack, will benefit wonderfully from Suhara's teaching.

It was not my intention for this heist to begin such a mentorship, but I can recognize the parental tone in Suhara's voice.

It's an affectionate inflection. He formerly used that tone with me.

Thank goodness, I hear the distraction coming. I take the opportunity to slip away, before they detect my presence.

I need a moment to myself, lest I break down completely.

This has proven more difficult than I expected.

I am glad of their new friendship. If I cannot have them, it's best they have each other. Those reckless detectives need a calming influence… and Suhara certainly needs to get out of his apartment.

But if this is such a good thing, why do I feel so awful?

Seeing them together reminds me that I'm alone.