SEVERANCE

The world has long since faded into a bluish-grey, mirroring the dreary colours of the impenetrable fortress that surrounds her. She shudders from her place on the floor, curling deeper into a fetal position as the memories rise to the surface of her mind. A life beyond the four walls of her cell, a life with colour not simply limited to blue and grey and that odd mixture in between. There are reds, yellows, greens, purples—colours both pronounced and translucent, different hues and saturations, heat and cold and light and dark in one large nebula of life. It isn't perfect, that world, but it is happy, an emotion lost to her so long ago that she can barely remember what it feels like to smile. To walk along grassy pastures, hand-in-hand with a dark-haired boy that makes her heart shine and her face burn deliciously. It is nothing but a faded memory, now, as was life outside. For all she knew, it had been destroyed, and she was the only one left—protected by thick, concrete walls that keep her in, and keep everyone else out.

Except for him.

After all, nothing had succeeded in keeping him out before. Why should now be any different?

He cradles her head in his lap, pressing kisses to her forehead as she burrows into the warmth he provides. His body is flushed, as always, and the change in temperature brings sweet relief from the cold, concrete floor below as he holds her. He whispers into her ear, reassuring words, phrases that have no meaning to anybody but her. "They're safe," he confides in her. "They're waiting for you to come home." She doesn't reply, but releases a sigh of relief at the alien's presence, and her friends' safety.

He stands to go, shifting her head back gently to the floor. She reaches out to him, trying to get a hold of his shirt, but it slips out from beneath her fingertips. Both know that the time has come for him to go, but neither of them wish to say it. He never stays long, at the risk of being discovered, at the risk of being captured himself.

He steps back, and she cries out.

"Stay."

Her voice is barely a whisper, hoarse from disuse. He looks down at her, eyes sad—they're always sad, she thinks, but doesn't say—before shaking his head. Dark hair flickers around him, brushing against the side of his pale face. Standing above her, he looks like an avenging angel, a warrior so much stronger than she, but she has beaten him many times before. So why can't she move, shift, take a stand and make him stay?

Why can't she make him stay?

"Always have hope, Ichigo."

Why can't she let him save her?

Because he isn't real, a small voice speaks. He never was.

And as his thin frame disappears from view, she swallows down the terrifying realization that she's been alone all along.

Hope, gone.

And it never occurs to her to wonder when her worst enemy had become her strongest hope, when everything she hated about him had become her lifeline. It never occurs to her, because he is not the enemy anymore.

He hasn't been for a long time.

She curls into herself, an action reminiscent of her other half—the Iriomote who separated from her so long ago, unable to bear the captivity, the silence and the dark—and smiles. It is a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless.

I'll see you again tomorrow, Kisshu.

For even if he is not real, she knows he'll be back.


AUTHORS NOTE: I had hoped to make this a longer story, but I honestly couldn't think of anything besides this scene. It's a little pointless, really, and I don't think the end was written that well, but I still enjoyed writing it. Favorites are loved, but reviews are loved more. Oh, and I don't own Tokyo Mew Mew. In fact, I'm pretty positive I own nothing but an overactive imagination and a fondness for slash, cat-girls and green-haired aliens. Yup. That sounds just about right.

-- Exangeline.