Author's Note:
LISTEN to this while you read this, just remove the spaces:
www. youtube watch?v=SlCIjOBeoCQ
(also, the movie they talk about in the comments, Twelve and Holding? Excellent movie, Jeremy Renner was hot and so amazing in his role. I cried)
The instant Mewtwo felt his feet touch the ground again, he jerked away from her.
"Mewtwo, wait—"
"Stay back!" he gasped, flinching away from her. Leila stopped at his apparent fear, and he stumbled back into a pool of water. He jumped, skitterish as his alarmed eyes flicked around the small forest clearing and the small spring. His tail whipped restlessly.
When he heard Leila sigh softly, his eyes jumped back to her. He watched her press her hands to her lips, take a deep breath, and get down on her knees.
"It's all right, Mewtwo," she said softly, reaching out to him to coax him closer. "You're safe now."
Adrenaline still pumped through his system, prompting him to snarl more ferociously than necessary, "I will NEVER be safe until I end his evils!" Her flinch was miniscule, nearly nonexistent, but Mewtwo still saw it. Carangid at his actions, Mewtwo snarled to himself in agitation and turned away from her, glaring down at the surface of the still water. He froze.
His reflection . . . he felt a painful breath catch in his chest. He looked like a wraith from hell, and it was a wonder that Leila could even stand the sight of him. Blood stained his fur so much that it dyed it red all over, spattered irregularly up his arms and legs, coating his shoulders like a heathenish shroud he couldn't escape. His eyes danced with traces of the insanity that had tipped his mind, and finally, finally, he let go of his psychic powers, eyes fading from electric blue to their natural purple. Still, it wasn't enough to make himself recognizable. He . . . He . . .
He didn't know himself.
"Mewtwo?"
He jerked back to the present, staggering another step back so he was ankle deep in the water and the water sloshed over his shins. She was watching him with wary curiosity, tenderness lulled beneath concern.
His throat was too tight. Mewtwo tried to swallow, to lick his mouth and moisten dry lips cracked from the head of the fires. "L-Leila," he rasped as she slowly came closer, "p-please . . . stay back. I—I'm not fit . . . to . . . I'm dangerous."
"You keep telling me that and you've never hurt me," she said softly, taking another step closer.
Mewtwo felt himself begin to tremble, and he tried to fight it, gripping his hands into fists. He felt human skin and warm blood between his three abnormal fingers, and he shuddered on the inside. He struggled for his words, trying to say, "You haven't—I, I haven't been this close to . . . this close to—to the edge. Borderline on—coming so close to . . ." He took a tense breath, the air sucking between his gritted teeth. The words tangled in his throat in a mess of incomprehensible false starts and misleads, too strangled by emotion to make themselves clear. He fisted his hands by his sides to suppress whatever violent urges that may come from repercussions. "Leila," he hissed, "please leave before I manage to hurt you too."
She stepped into the water with him. "Shh," she crooned softly, open hand still outstretched to him. "It's all right. You won't hurt me. I promise you."
Bitter resentment flashed in his eyes. "You can't promise for me!" he snarled before holding perfectly still. Leila yet still took a step closer, ignoring his caution.
"I trust you," she said simply, reaching to him. "That's the only promise I need."
He still wavered when her hand hovered above him. "L-Leila," he hissed tightly, "p-please . . . Don't . . ."
She lifted her hand, and even though he was watching and knew when she would touch him, the contact to his cheek still made him wince back like he had been burned. Her fingers stroked his cheek tenderly.
"Shh," she soothed him. "See? It's all right. Calm down, Mewtwo. It's just us. We're okay . . ."
Mewtwo's throat worked hard when her pink eyes were steady on his, unwavering in their trust. He turned his face away in shame.
"We're okay," she whispered softly. Her touch, gentler than butterfly wings, strayed from his cheek. "Let's clean you off. I bet you'll be more comfortable."
When her hand reached up to his shoulder, Mewtwo felt his hand snap around her wrist. "Please, don't, you'll—"
Mewtwo choked off short, looking at his bloodied hand grasping her slim wrist. Slowly, horrified, Mewtwo let her go, seeing the bloody imprint of his hand left on her skin.
Sensing his revulsion, Leila bent first to clean her own wrist. Then, wordless, she began to flick the leftover chunks of flesh from his blood-stained body.
Mewtwo felt her soothing fingers trail over his arms, loosening his taunt muscles. She scooped up handfuls of water, pouring them over him as she slowly cleaned him, tender hands slowly cleansing his body. Her soft fingers worked through his fine fur, washing the gore from him. Little rivers of red ran around their legs.
Mewtwo regulated his breathing, trying to get it to match Leila's peaceful rhythm. It was difficult to slow his heart because he realized he had been so close, SO CLOSE, to ridding himself of the one man who shackled him down to his past . . . Mewtwo took another shuddering breath, struggling to still his embroiled emotions.
Leila took one of his hands and pulled them deeper into the water so that they were thigh deep. Washing the blood from his hand, she asked softly, "That man . . . he was Giovanni, wasn't he?"
His lips trembled. "Yes," he rasped just as quietly.
Her thumbs stroked across his palm, wet blood sliding easily from him. "So may I safely assume that . . . those people . . . were of Team Rocket?"
Mewtwo hissed in pain, but it had nothing to do with her selfless offer to clean him. "Yes."
She was quiet for some time, and Mewtwo watched her, eyes drinking in her beauty like an angel to save him from himself. He swallowed as she moved on to the next abnormal hand.
"Why did you come back?"
Her hands tightened on his for a moment before she poured more water over his. Leila didn't speak for several moments, as if not trusting herself to speak. Finally, she said quietly, "I . . . It was a combination of things. I still wanted to travel. I still wanted to see . . . what was out there, but . . . I felt . . . disturbed. Something was wrong, and all I could feel was that it was you that was in trouble, so I had to find you again."
As she finished his hands, Leila took another handful of water and poured it down his chest. Mewtwo saw her hands tremble before they touched him again, tenderly washing the blood from his body. She breathed in deeply before whispering, "I . . . And I-I . . ." Her fingers tightened. "I wanted to see you again."
She kept her face carefully turned down as she flushed, once again to hide it, but Mewtwo took her chin. "No," he rasped, turning her face up to him. "Let me see you when you blush."
She kept her eyes down for the most part as he took in the rosy hue of her cheeks. The color slowly deepened, and he said almost inaudibly to her, "There is no shame in this . . ."
Leila sucked in an unsteady breath, but her eyes didn't waver when they looked up at him. "Mewtwo . . ."
His hands were moving of their own accord to cup her cheeks, and he leaned down until the tantalizing temptation was just a hairs breadth away. "Please, Leila," he implored her softly. "Allow me this kiss . . ."
He heard her breath hitch and her whisper of, "You have it . . ."
Trembling with nervous anticipation, Mewtwo gently brushed his lips across hers, slowly, tenderly. Leila melted in his arms until it was only his arms holding her up. Pressing his mouth to hers, with a soft sound, Mewtwo pulled her closer, long tail wrapping around her. He was . . . kissing her. It was surreal joy, and just to make sure he still could, he breathed in.
There was movement, and he felt her hands slid up and around him. His eyes closed, heart skipping as he reveled in her familiar presence that was always so soothing to him, as if kissing the peace and hope he so desired. He tried for another breath, and instead felt a soft skim upon his lips, prompting him to a deep, quiet moan. A tingle ran down his back when he felt her fingers feather up his spine until they brushed over the tube on the back of his neck. Mewtwo stiffened and gasped from sheer shock, the gesture almost painful.
"Please, don't," he rasped, hands unconsciously tightening on her. When her pink eyes looked at him with questions, he shook his head, pressing his face into her. "It . . ." He took a shaky breath, sliding his cheek against hers. "It is still . . . very sensitive . . . after . . ."
She didn't question it, but merely trailed her fingers back down, tracing trails through the crusting blood still staining his back. Using a meager dose of psychic energy, she sent a small amount of water coursing down his back, cleansing the blood from him even as she held him close.
Mewtwo's hands dropped to her hips, and he bowed his head as he held her in his tender embrace. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to come to grips with how . . . benevolent she was. How could it be, that the most despised, most murderous pokemon could manage to pluck an angel from the sky? An angel that WANTED him, no less. She deserved so, so much better . . . and that was something he could not give her. So how could she be content with his imperfections?
He leaned against her, struggling to come to grips with himself. Love, Giovanni had said. Was it truly? Or did she just pity him? Love . . . He had to be deluding himself. If Giovanni of all people mocked him with that, it couldn't be true. Giovanni was a man made of lies. Was Mewtwo so desperate that he had tricked himself into believing in something that didn't exist? Love . . . and life. Lying to himself about love, and then relying on Giovanni to dictate his actions.
You need me to LIVE.
It was sickening mockery. All of it. Mewtwo needed no one. It had been that way from the start. He had broken out of his capsule; destroyed the scientists that had wanted to treat him as a disgusting experiment; freed himself of Giovanni's slavery; created wicked storms and made his own clones; saved his clones from Giovanni's treachery; refused to become Giovanni's puppet again even if it had meant killing himself.
All these things, he had done alone, without others. He had never needed them, and never would. He was powerful enough to stand on his own. Even on the nights where he could contemplate suicide, the lonely nights where he lost all hope and felt desolation crashing down—he could survive those on his own as well. Be it he found a secluded area and rampaged until he vented the negative emotion right out of his system or he merely laid on his back and just waited for the sorrow to pass . . . He could always bear it alone.
"Mewtwo," Leila whispered suddenly, "your hands . . ."
He loosened his grip on her immediately, and she relaxed again now that his vice-like grip was not crushing her slim hips. The stream of water had stopped now, but Leila's fingers still played over the contours of his back, burning a memory of tenderness into him.
One of her hands cupped his face, lifting his head until she could look him in the eye with worry. Her brows pinched slightly. "Mewtwo . . . ? What's wrong?"
Looking into those luminous pink eyes, Mewtwo felt his throat bob. Indeed, he stood alone . . . but . . . for some reason . . . he felt that you didn't always have to be alone. There was a difference between a need, and a want. He needed oxygen to live, food for sustenance . . . things he would take for granted every day, because he mechanically had them every day. Something he wanted . . .
He trailed his round finger up her spine, causing her to shiver delicately. Something he wanted was something he yearned over with every ounce of his soul. Something he wanted was something he would do anything for. Something he wanted was something to pine over, something he craved so much that it could keep him awake at night. Something he wanted was something to covet with jealousy and protect with fierce determination. Something he wanted was something he yearned for until it was an agonizing ache. Something he wanted . . .
Was Leila.
