Disclaimer: All characters belong the SEGA

Chapter 1

Amy's P.O.V.

Peanut butter cookies need a cup of sugar and a cup of natural peanut butter.

I quiver in my shoes and my mouth is parched, nervous beyond comprehension. Short, panting breathes are coming out of my mouth making me feel light-headed and woozy. I can't mess this up, it's my only chance.

I finally let go of the steering wheel; my hands raw from clenching its leather bars, and I and turn off the ignition. My hand touches the door handle, but I bring my arms back to the steering wheel, fold and criss-cross, and bury my face in them. I stay in the car a few minutes more, debating if I should stay or go. I chew on my lips till they bleed and angrily mumble to myself:

"Just go, you can do this."

I try again and grasp the handle of the car door. My legs are wobbly when I step out, my stomach clenched in a hard knot. I slip on my bag containing my office supplies and hold my manilla folders tight to my chest and give myself a moment to breathe, to calm my nerves.

Just break it down, one at a time, and reassess the situation. I recite the ingredients to peanut butter cookies in my head again.

Coarse sea salt, one teaspoon of vanilla extract, and an egg.

Remember the egg has to be lightly beaten.

I'm unaware of the environment around me and I snap out of my trance when I hear incessant, blaring noise coming from behind me. I turn to the commotion with a scowl plastered on my face.

It's a car horn.

I blink my eyes to a scene where I'm standing in the middle of the parking lot, clutching my applications for dear life.

How long have I been standing here?

Moving out of his way, I shoot the driver an apologetic look and he flicks me off before driving away. I try to reset my brain and hurry over to the sidewalk. The air is cooling over my skin like a shadow and I stretch my neck up high to see the building looming over me.

G.U.N. Headquarters.

I take a step back—feeling the bile and panic rising up my throat, and when I try to swallow it down I hear footsteps coming from behind me.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Am I alright?

I turn to see a gorgeous woman—short-cropped hair, fair complexion, bewitching eyes, and maybe around her late twenties or early thirties, inspecting me up and down with concern. Her marine eyes are hesitant while I gawk and stammer. Her appearance distracted me for a bit so I was able to think again.

"U-u-um yes, I-I'm okay," My tongue seizes.

"You look like you're spooked; you're white as a ghost." Her voice is sensual and alluring, but toned with sensitivity. I all but lose my focus, re-thinking and re-comprehending.

"I'll b-be okay—" I start, but she interrupts me.

"Would you like me to walk you inside?" Unexpectedly, she touches my arm and I start to scream hysterics in my mind. I swallow hard and cringe away from her unwanted touch.

"That isn't necessary," I mumble as nicely as I can. She nods like she understands but opens the front doors for me anyway.

Nothing is too glamorous about the entrance office. It has a woody smell and a professional, working aura that I could easily get accustomed to.

Everywhere I look I see neutral colors. Mostly grey.

Grey.

Grey.

Grey.

And more grey.

This is just what I need. A mundane, methodical job, everything is in order and everything is in place. I sigh reassuringly. Maybe this will work after all.

As I walk to the receptionist desk, I'm startled when the pretty-lady-who-open-doors hover over my head, literally hovering and flapping, and the membranes of her wings are sleek and toned.

"I'm Rouge by the way, Rouge the Bat."

I smile; lips chapped and cracked so they sting in the process. But it's a good kind of sting, comforting even. It reminds me that I'm actually here in reality, not in a diluted-induced dream.

She stares at me expectantly and slowly raises her eyebrows in confusion—like she's waiting for me to answer to something.

"Rouge? That's a strange name. I never actually heard a name like that before," I hear myself mumble in response. "Well it's not your fault; your mother gave you that name. Maybe it's an old-fashioned name, could've been used more frequently back in older years," I muse.

Shock paints her face and her eyes are blank; my response was obviously not what she was expecting. I remember what Vanilla told me in therapy.

"Wait before answering. Focus and concentrate. What was the question? Does your response fit into the theme of the discussion?"

But that's the problem, a question wasn't asked. So now what am I supposed to do?

Crap, crap, abort, abort.

The silent, awkward air hangs heavy over us. What the hell am I supposed to say back to her? I chew on my lips some more, then I shuffle the folders in my arms and look down at my feet, my ears are ringing and I'm trying to hold back the tears of frustration from leaking out.

"You could tell me what your name is?" She says. I jerk my head back up and she looks apologetic.

"My name is Amy Rose."

"Ok then Amy, is this your first day on the job?"

I quickly nod, I don't want to mess anything up anymore.

"Ah well, if you're working for a secretary-like position you'll just be sitting in your cubicle every day. I've been there and let me tell you Sweetie, it's a boring job."

"I like boring."

She hums. "So what floor are you working on? Can I see your designation document? I can show you the way."

"Um, sure, okay," I stammer. I check the order of my documents a few times before I hand her the one she asked for.

She scans over it and then, out of the blue, begins to chuckle.

"Ouch, looks like you're stuck with Shadow," She has an amused look on her face. "I'll pray for you, Sweetie."

Pray for me? Why would she do that? We barely know each other. She doesn't look much of a religious type. And why does she keep calling me "Sweetie"?

"Shadow is one of my teammates in my field work. He's a hard ass and you're working on his management floor. So basically, he's your boss. I honestly don't think he'll take kindly to someone like you."

Someone like me.

I shudder and resist the urge to cry. I want to throw my things down and go rock in the corner I've been eyeing. It's plausible. I might end up doing that in the long run anyway. The corner is the only safe, welcoming spot I can think of.

I'm afraid. And it says on my designation document that I have to check in with my boss before I start working.

That means I'll have to talk to him. There's no other choice.

My entire body is tense and I begin to bite my lips again.

"Hey, but look, it's not that bad," She says reassuringly. "I'll help you out, okay?"

I close my eyes for a moment and tried to comprehend the perspective and find the outcomes. I could quit the job, but then how would I make the money to pay rent, or gas for my car, or supply myself with food to eat?

But if I stay, I'll get a decent amount of money, but what if I breakdown at this new job too? I'll have to go back living with Vanilla and Cream; I most certainly don't want that.

Should I risk everything?

Crap, crap, abort, abort.

"C'mon Amy, don't stress about it. He'll get used to you."

...Does Rouge have some type of psychic mind-reading abilities? Or am I just so damn readable that's its written all over my face?

I glance back at her. "Are you ready?" She gestures to the elevator and her feet falls to the floor when she finally stops flapping.

I quickly shake my head yes, but my mind says no— if put in a situation like this, when I was younger, I would be throwing a tantrum and screaming in a mania at the top of my lungs. In all honesty, it doesn't feel that long ago.

Gnawing on my lip in the elevator with Rouge, I feel my stomach bubbling, my brain is fuzzy, and my vision is going white.

I can't lose it.

Not here.

Not now.

A/N: I'm really excited about this one. It's a quick-fic; short chapters. There is a chance for future limes/lemons but I'm not sure as of now.