Disclaimer: I don't own Megami Kouhosei, nor do I make any money off of it.

Author's Note: All the names I didn't know came from http://www.satinflame.net/resuko/megami/main.html, a great Megami Kouhosei fanpage.

Warning: This fic contains mentions of rape, and contains slash and curse words. If any of this offends you or makes you uncomfortable, please hit the back button now.

It's not his fault…really…it's not.

He's used to getting what he wants--he can't accept anything otherwise.

I knew from the moment I saw him that he was dangerous, and he is…he is…but he'd never made me feel threatened or fearful, and so I…I never realized just how ruthless he can be.

He…likes beautiful things--he's always had an appreciation for the exquisite, but these things are worthless to him unless he must put some effort forth to attain them…so that he may break them.

He always does get what he wants…by whatever means necessary…even by force.

You were…too much for him to resist; you were his greatest challenge.

You had the potential to be his most magnificent conquest, and…eventual downfall.

It turns out that you were both.

I should have seen it coming; I should have noticed the way his glare would linger on you a little too long, a little too often, and always…oh, God…always turn speculative.

Why didn't I see it?

I could have--could have--have…

…done nothing.

I admit it, I wouldn't have dared to do a thing…I--I don't think I would have done a Goddamn thing, because I never have before.

I'm a coward…I chose not to see what I didn't want to see.

I pretended not to notice his infatuation, his growing desire to possess, thinking his obsession for you would just--just go away, but it didn't, and now look what's happened!

I'm getting hysterical--breathe, breathe, breathe…

I think I might cry.

Or puke.

Whichever comes first.

I feel so disgusted--with myself, with him.

How could this have happened?

Wasn't I just trying to justify…what he did…a few moments ago?

I…can't do that, I just can't do that anymore!

I look at you bleeding and pale and battered before me, and I know that what he did just isn't right…I've tried to defend his actions to myself and others for years, but I…I can't do that anymore, because this time he's crossed the line; I saw what he did to you, I saw his fingers dig into your skin, and the way you cut your lower lip where you bit down in agony, trying not to scream, trying to keep your dignity--an impossible thing to do in your situation.

I saw the tears leak from behind your long eyelashes and fall to the floor to make it shimmer.

Your eyes were closed tightly, as if to wish it all away.

I look down at you where you rest in your hospital bed, defeated and defenseless as you crumple and bend into the scared boy you did away with long ago, and I feel…so many things…so many terrible things.

I feel remorse at your predicament and revulsion at the thing that's made you like this--so weak…

I feel ashamed to have ever had him as my partner.

I can still feel the terror tight and painful in my chest as I remember running down the hall and ducking out of sight as he withdrew from you and the room, satisfied to have finally had revenge and sated his lust.

I remember my horror and disbelief as I ran to you while you sobbed openly on the cold metal floor--raggedly whispering "It hurts…it hurts…I feel so dirty…need to take a shower…it hurts…wash it all away…"

My throat is still raw from frantically screaming "Medic, medic!" as I pounded on the intercom.

You were unconscious when they came for you…when they asked me, I said I didn't know who'd done it.

I thought that I could spare myself that hardship, at least, but I was wrong.

Dr. Croford examined you a little while ago, and I overheard her saying that there'd been some trauma to your head, causing a concussion.

She said you were probably going to have short-term memory loss.

Which means that no one will ever know who did this to you, unless I tell them.

I want--wanted--to believe that I wasn't obligated to come forth. I wanted to continue on as usual, and push morality aside, like I've always done, but I just--I can't do that; I couldn't forgive myself if I did.

I know what I have to do.

I remember what our trainers always tell us about our battles: no regrets.

I walk away from you and find the person that I'm looking for, tapping him politely on the shoulder to gain his attention.

He turns.

"Yes, Repairer Gouthena?" he asks.

"Mr. Hijitaka…I need to tell you something," I begin.

Azuma raises his eyebrow expectantly.

"Yes?" he asks.

"I know who did that to Hiead," I say.

"Who? Who was it?!" he demands.

"It was my partner, sir. Force Wartlliam."

I know my words could cause Force to be sent away from G.O.A--disqualify him as a pilot candidate--and I know that that could mean my own undoing (as an unpartnered repairer is not likely to be kept around), but I also know that I've got to do this, for my sake as well as yours.

No regrets.

Another Author's Note: Yes, I know this would never really happen. =o) I'm sorry if I've depressed you; my muse wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, so blame her #points accusingly at muse, who's currently whistling nervously and acting innocent, before dashing away with an angry mob hot on her heels# =o) Bye for now! =o)