CHAPTER 10: VERITY

"Never be surprised at the crumbling of an idol or the disclosure of a skeleton."

- John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton.

"Do you have any taste in tea? This is all the cheap crap," Cassandra yelled, her shouts muffled from being half-engulfed in the cabinet she was rummaging through. From her fingers slid thin packets of tea, each pouch stained with the logo of a corporate company she knew to value the quantity rather the quality of their product. She gazed at them with annoyance, inwardly certain that the clone would never drink anything made from them, and after a moment, the clone confirmed her suspicion.

"Those were left behind by the previous tenants. Since you have gone through what Abigail supplied to us, the only remaining quality tea leaves are those stored on the top shelf," Mewtwo said from over the pages of the book he was reading, which provided specifics on mammalian gestation and childbirth.

He was reading such a tome out of concern for his roommate, who was currently a day overdue in her pregnancy. He knew well that she could begin having contractions at any time in the upcoming hours, and even now, she showed the signs of discomfort that signaled the nearness of childbirth. As such, he was attempting to prepare for the event in what ways he could, as he would be directly involved in the process. Unlike clone rhyhorn and clone nidoqueen, Psyche wished for him to be by her side, forgoing the intimacy of the event in preference for ensuring her safety and, more importantly, the safety of her kits. She placed her full faith in Mewtwo's ability to heal, and reasoned that if anything went wrong when she gave birth, that power would be enough to preserve their lives. Hence, after getting some clean towels out and keeping a pot of water simmering on the stove, he brushing up on how precisely the process would go, while listening to the weakened woman with an ear as she searched through his cupboards.

As matters stood presently, Cassandra was still weary from enduring opium withdrawal, but had blatantly refused this morning to accept any more care from the clone. With all the stubbornness she could muster, she had dragged herself from the covers of her bed, had showered, dressed, and had attempted to eat a nectarine. Unfortunately, her stomach had rebelled against the fruit, and it had taken all of the woman's self-control to keep the sweet flesh down. Yet in the aftermath, she had determined that she could simply nibble on some substances and, more importantly, find a drink that would sooth her senses and warm her. Naturally, she had chosen tea for this task, and had lamented the discovery that they no longer possessed any of the leaves freshly picked and dried in Abigail's garden. Afterwards, she had begun the arduous process of scouring the replica's kitchen for an alternative, and now, finally, found some of a brand she could appreciate.

"Ah-ha! Roselia's Green Tea – very nice. I have a box of this at home…now where's the mint…?"

He glanced up to find her fingering through the packets, ignoring the peach and berry flavors in favor of the spearmint. As she found a pouch to make her favorite brew with, she grinned and plucked it out, putting a kettle of water to boil on the stove. After placing the leaves into the soon bubbling water, she leaned over the kettle, breathing in the faintly fragrant steam, and as she did so, strands of her ebony hair, yet saturated from her earlier shower, hung out before her. As she brushed them back over her ears, he noted how they clung to her skin with their wetness, how the rest of her dark mane lay cool against the back of her neck. Her sweater and jeans hugged her flesh even more closely, attempting to defend her against the chill of the studio, despite that the kitchen was warming from the use of the stove. Her feet, he noted, were bare, which conveyed that she was not worried about spilling scalding water onto her toes. Her hands, as it were, hung far nearer to those scorching waters, for she placed them near the kettle, intent on absorbing some of the heat radiating from it. Yet her expression, in that moment, conveyed to him the greatest shift in her demeanor: her eyes were warm and unguarded, and her lips tucked up on the sides in a hint of a smile.

As far as coping with the cravings for her medication, she was handling the yearnings quite well; in fact, rather than being irritable as one would expect, she seemed to have uncoiled instead. Much of her ire had seemingly melted away, only to be roused if the clone provoked her, and, wishing to maintain the new, pleasant calm in his household, Mewtwo did all he could to avoid angering her. This included not asking her about the kiss on the cheek she had given him, for he knew she would not respond well to any perceived insinuations that it had meant anything. It had been her way of expressing her gratitude for the care he had provided to her during the withdrawal. He knew that, but nonetheless, it haunted him and aroused his confusion.

Yet regardless of that curiosity, he had discerned one truth from it: like him, she was not the type of person who often uttered words of thanks. In his case, he avoided saying such sentiments to keep them potent when they were murmured. Repetition, as he had learned, had a way of rendering such meaningful phrases void. Such meaninglessness was most shameful when it concerned expressions of love, apology, and forgiveness – for these declarations were meant to be the most cherished ones to be exchanged between people, but due to overuse, they often lost their special power. However, he also suspected that the woman, even as she sought to avoid this sorrow, was simply unwilling to speak those words to him. As far as she was concerned - and as far as he was concerned, for that matter - there was no need for her to voice her thanks to him. Her actions had done so well enough, and he would not ask for more than she was willing to give freely.

As she stirred the brew, ensuring that the essence of mint diffused throughout the waters properly, he felt a quiet peace spread through his chest as he watched her. Long minutes passed in this way, until finally the beverage was deemed ready, and she flipped the dial from that section of the stove off. Picking up the kettle by its black, plastic handle, she surprised him by taking out not one, but two mugs from the cupboard. Placing them on the table, she poured the freshly made tea into the cups and moved one in front of him. Setting the kettle back on the stove and taking her own mug, she sat down in a chair near him and warmed her hands on the pale ceramic. After blowing cooling breaths onto the hot surface of the tea, she brought the drink to her mouth and took a sip, closing her eyes in enjoyment. After a time, he drank as well, trusting that like the kiss, this too was a show of goodwill…that, and he doubted she could have poisoned the tea, given that she was drinking from the same source, and there had been no residue at the bottom of his mug. Unless she had immunity to whatever drug she might have slipped into the hot beverage (and immunity which he doubted she would attempt to exploit, given her frail condition), the tea must be safe. Indeed, as the minutes passed, no adverse effects overwhelmed him, confirming that she had meant him no harm by the gesture.

After a time, she spoke, "You have good taste."

…In what? He glanced at her, curious and somewhat amused. "What do you mean?"

Taking another sip of the revitalizing drink, Cassandra replied, "The specific strain of tea plants used to make this brew is only cultivated in one small region of the continent. Due to its scarcity and its pleasant flavor, the demand and the price for the leaves remains high, but in the end, it's always worth the price. To be quite honest, though my experience with different types of teas is limited, after drinking this, I'm always hard pressed to revert to cheaper brands. This has been, and likely will always be, my favorite…though I'll admit, the leaves Abigail provided nearly rival it."

He contemplated her explanation, and then said, "So because I agree with your viewpoint here, you conclude that I have good taste? That infers that you, even in your inexperience, are skilled in divining which tealeaves are of the best quality. That seems arrogant of you, Cassandra."

She shrugged. "You might be right, but even so, this is a rather pleasant coincidence. Maybe I'll gain one good thing from this mission: I'll be able to take the tea after you're dead!"

He nearly snorted into his drink. "How charming…although, with your occupation, you must be paid well to compensate the psychological maiming, at least well enough to pay for the purchase of expensive tea."

Her mood mellowed as she answered, "That's true…I could have anything I want. My funds are virtually unlimited, but I prefer not to use them."

Mewtwo raised an eyebrow at that. "And why is that?"

…Why? Because it was blood money, that was why. Her funds were the profit earned from taking the lives of other beings, lives that apparently were not priceless, but had a predetermined worth in cash. With that understanding weighing on her, she found that she could not spend those earnings lightly. Yet she did not explain this to the replica, instead choosing to dismiss the question. "Why I don't should be obvious to someone at intelligent as you're reputed to be. Besides, if it interests you so much, can't you just read my mind?"

"I prefer to avoid such invasions, since I can never predict what I might find in another's mind. If I'm not careful, I might glimpse something which could scar me in the process, and I would prefer to avoid that if at all possible. Besides, you know as well as I that your mental barriers are nearly indestructible. While it is within my abilities to shatter them, doing so would likely render you insane, and if your thoughts are an incoherent whirl, than destroying the barrier in the first place would then prove counterproductive. It is easier, by far, to simply maneuver you into revealing bits of information about yourself. Most of the time you do not even notice that."

For a moment, she simply stared at him in response, before her mouth curled into a sneer and she snarled, "I've never told you anything I didn't wish for you to know."

"Of course not...but the fact remains that you have revealed personal facts about yourself to me. That you are partial to mint tea is one of them," Mewtwo said, and watched with some hidden amusement as her eyes narrowed.

Yet after few moments, Cassandra leaned back into her chair with a sigh, and pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. "…Well isn't this fucked up? You're an assassin's worst nightmare: you defy all logic. Here I'm supposed to be an excellent profiler, but you're the one who is doing the profiling. Well,damn you, Mewtwo."

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "…I am long since damned, for more reasons than you know. Yet regardless, tell me, what more do you intend to take from me when you leave this place?"

Had he said 'when,' not 'if'…? Within the waters of her tea, her cautious, reproachful eyes absorbed the color of the grayish-green beverage, capturing the hue of the stem of a dying, night-blooming flower. Setting the mug down, she said, "I was joking, Mewtwo – I am not the kind of killer who takes trophies from my victims. As far as I'm concerned, that practice is extremely perverse, and is also unnecessarily risky. Stolen items can link me to a crime, and I find that just as undesirable as my superiors do. However, in this case, I won't lie to you: your implications are correct. I can't return to my group empty-handed this time." And sweeping her eyes over his person slowly, she admitted, "My boss wants physical confirmation of your death – more specifically, he wants me to harvest one of your vital organs. It's a gory detail that rather disgusts me, but his concern is understandable: photographs can be faked, after all, and so can fatal wounds. By bringing him your lungs, or perhaps even your heart, he will have the evidence he needs of your demise. What exactly I will take is still something I am deciding, but the point is that your body will not be left whole after your execution. Your corpse will be dismembered, and afterwards, what remains of you will be disposed of in some other way."

She appeared sickened at the prospect of becoming such a butcher, and keeping her gaze downcast, she said, "Yet if I don't do this, I won't be able to return within the deadline…and if that happens, reinforcements will arrive to fulfill my work, which I am sure you realize is a far less desirable prospect than simply dealing with me."

Perhaps this way her way of indirectly telling him there would be no escape for him unless he acted now. If he murdered her and fled from this city, perhaps he had a chance to be free…but that freedom would likely be marred with other hunters, humans and pokémon alike, who sought to obey the will of their dark idol. Only if that entity was destroyed might he shake his pursuers entirely, for they would balk at the notion of confronting the monster who had murdered their leader – the head of the viper would be destroyed, and so the rest of the serpent would simply rot and unravel. By taking Giovanni Maki's life, the clone would at last and truly be liberated from the grasping hands of the organization.

However, Cassandra did not voice such a treacherous notion, but left him to infer it…and, fortunately for him, he had some idea of just how terrible a situation was facing him. He probably knew it better than even she did….

"Without the body which harbors it, I am certain my consciousness will no longer exist to protest against you gutting and picking through my corpse. While I do find the notion rather unappealing, if I am no longer alive, then I cannot stop you, no would there be any reason to: I would no longer need my organs, after all. However, I do have one request."

She blinked at him, curious. "And that would be…?"

His eyes hardened as he met her gaze and told her his final desire. "In the event that you take my life, along with some integral piece of my insides, then burn the rest. I do not want my corpse to bake in the sun and be feasted upon by insects and scavengers. If I am doomed to leave this earth, this life I was brought into without nature's consent, then let my remains at least be eradicated in the way I wish. Cremate me, and scatter my ashes to the winds and the sea, where they will remain unbridled and unable to be repossessed."

"…Do you understand what I am asking, Cassandra?"

Holding his gaze and hearing those words, the assassin suddenly felt as if she at last could understand where the clone was coming from. He was a creature who could not endure being contained in any way - not even in death – for he had long ago obtained the freedom that she herself had given up the hope of gaining. Unlike Cassandra, he was no longer bound by sentiments such as duty and honor and lawful contracts; he had forsaken his loyalty to the man who had placed him in both visible and invisible shackles, and in doing so, in casting aside the roles of servant and weapon, he had become an noble and wise creature, having risen with grace from the depths of the hellish organization. To rebel in such a way, for her, was something she could barely conceive of doing, for where and to whom would she go after liberating herself from Team Rocket? As always, no answers supplied themselves to her thoughts, and so she continued upon the course of inaction, avoiding persecution from both sides of the law for her extensive sins.

Yet even so, she understood the appeal of freedom, and why he did not wish to lose it simply because his life was at its end. Thus, when she answered him, she answered him quietly, musing on what it must be like to have that same, defiant resolve that he did, given how difficult it had been for him to gain. "Yes…I understand." More than he could ever know, she understood…and so as her gaze fell away from him, she vowed to herself that she would grant his final wish: she would set him aflame, and enable him to continue to defy the enslavement he so abhorred.

Afterwards, they spoke no further, instead simply savoring the mild and bitter flavor of the tea, its faint wisps of aroma, and its liquid warmth, which graced their cold insides and reminded them both of times during which they had known true warmth, half-forgotten experiences that were largely unknown to the world….

Eventually and without much warning, the tranquility of the sanctuary was disrupted as a cry arose from the living room, and as waves of sheer agony flowed from Psyche's aura to wash over the empaths at the dining table. Giving their actions little thought, they rose together from the table and strode over to the vixen, where she lay sprawled on her side in her makeshift nest of towels, her lavender body shuddering with contractions. As she noted their hazy forms above her, she hissed and lashed out at them with a claw, until she seemed to recognize them through the fog of pain. Settling back down, snarled at them that they had best call a truce between themselves while they assisted her in this task – otherwise, it they dared even bicker with each other, she would scratch their eyes out in their sleep as soon as she recovered from the impending childbirth.

Setting a soothing paw lightly upon her side, Mewtwo replied, "You needn't worry, Psyche. Nothing of the sort will happen, will it, woman?"

Cassandra nodded in response, and then rose to fetch the hot water and some fresh towels. When she returned, she checked the espeon over, feeling gently for each kit and parting the mother-to-be's hind legs to see the aqueous bubble representing the first child in its amnion being pushed from the vixen's womb. Mewtwo, meanwhile, noted with some satisfaction that his roommate's breathing was steady, and despite the pain of the contraction, was showing no hint of panic or distress. At most she was simply nervous beneath the layers of instinct that were assisting her in bringing her children into the world. After a couple more pushes, the first, slimy bundle slid out of its mother: a tiny and fragile skitty stirred beneath the transparent skin of the amnion, eager to be liberated from its hold. Using her slender, delicate fingers, Cassandra tore the sac open and pulled the kit from it, and then cleared out its mouth. Patting its saturated body to make sure it began to breathe and move about, and smiled with some satisfaction as it began to mewl noisily, which revealed that its lungs were fully functional. She then handed Mewtwo the little one, who set it against Psyche's undulating belly for further warmth. Although its eyes were not open, and so could not see its parent, it nonetheless curled closer to her soft, cozy fur…and with that, the entire process began all over again.

The three adults worked in silent tandem, save for a handful of sniping comments the enemies directed towards each other on occasion, which mostly concerned Cassandra being the one to attend to the lavender vixen, which she believed to be more appropriate given her gender, regardless of Mewtwo's closer relationship to the espeon. Yet these arguments were barely half-hearted, voiced more to cover the raspy breaths of the laboring pokémon then to dig under each other's skin. In all truth, the two midwifes were focusing far more of their energies on assisting Psyche than on snarling at one another, far they were far more anxious about the espeon than they espeon herself was. However, they kept their concerns well concealed, not wishing to expose the fact that they had honestly come to care for the small female. Cassandra especially did not wish to reveal the fact that she now felt sympathy towards the laboring feline, for she could not explain the feeling to herself, let alone another. Perhaps she was eager to assist the espeon because the mother-to-be was the clone's friend, and given that she was planning to murder Mewtwo, then perhaps the least she could do was insure that his companion and her kits would survive. Despite the threats she had made against the vixen, she did not want more innocent blood on her hands. As for Mewtwo's own feelings toward this event, he had long since associated Psyche as something of a replacement for his seconds-in-command, Meowthtwo and Pikatwo. Like they had, Psyche often debated with him and had set herself apart from others with her streak of rebelliousness against him. An otherwise fiercely independent soul, Psyche's willingness to stay beside him, despite his cold exterior, had made her endearing to him. Even her abrasive attitude at times had proven comforting, for even when it served to irritate him, it proved that someone cared for him as a person…it proved that he was not alone.

Perhaps he even had other reasons why he cared so for her, but he certainly could not distract himself by musing on them now, could he?

After another hour, the ordeal was over. Of the four kits that had been born, three of them were female skitty, having taken on the baby form of their father, a delcatty. Their skulls, backs, and flanks were powder pink in hue, while their faces, round bellies, and tiny paws were creamy tan in color. All of the tips of their ears bore tuffs of fur, while their tails ended in heavy, ovular weights with gold orbs hanging from them. The final infant, in contrast, was a small, male eevee with bushy brown and crème fur, large ears, and a white-tipped tail. Fortunately for this last kit, he would not have to fight with his sisters for a teat, for the number of available glands was greater than the size of the litter. No one would be deprived of the nutritious milk their mother produced, and so after Psyche had licked their moist, shivering forms clean of amniotic fluid, they each cuddled up next to her and latched on to teat to suckle their first meal. As they did so, the vixen chewed on their amnions, which would ultimately provide her with some of the nutrients necessary to restore their strength. Meanwhile, Mewtwo and Cassandra, having already looked over the kits and their mother to find all of them healthy, if exhausted, sat back, content with their work. They had already learned that each of the placentas had come out whole and intact, so the risk of them putrefying within the mother's womb and poisoning her was no longer probable. Furthermore, none of the umbilical cords had coiled around any of the kits on their way out, but had instead been chewed off by Psyche. In all, the birth had gone quite well, so the three counted their blessings, and found four of them now sleepily nuzzling up against their single parent.

In these moments, nothing was said, yet the quiet was far from awkward; instead, as the enemies watched the tiny family curl up in their nest of towels, the hush felt warm. Over the next few hours, the clone and the woman would remain where they were, leaning against the couch next to one another with their hands sticky with birthing fluids. If anyone had asked, they would simply say that they were lingering near the group to make sure everything was truly well, watching for any hidden, negative conditions to emerge from the young one and their mother given more time. Yet while a logical reason, to be certain, it would have been a lie…for in reality, over the years of their lives, so rife with death and darkness, new life proved astonishing to them, and was even something to gaze upon almost wistfully. The replica and the assassin knew well that they would never experience the wonder of parenthood, of raising children who bore their own flesh and blood. Admittedly, neither longed for the responsibility, and it was a subject they rarely allowed themselves to consider - and in the few instances when they did, it was to simply acknowledge that such an experience was not for them to know. This world was far too hostile towards them for them to dare entertain the dream of bringing their own offspring into the fray, and so they rejected the notion, wishing to be fair and merciful to the unborn children they might have conceived with another. For them, there could be no new life for innumerable reasons, perhaps the greatest reason of which was that creating new life required a partner. They were outcasts in society, however, and sullied by their very natures…so perhaps nurturing loneliness was a better alternative than involving someone else in their dirty lives, in conceiving more souls through undoubtedly misguided bonds. This was the horrible truth entangled with their existence, a crime which could seemingly not be altered – it merely was, and so they looked upon the new family with forced detachment, repressing their mutual longings for the sense of belonging integral to such a group.

Yet if they someday realized where to look, and if they then dared take a step along that more uncertain path, they could access a loophole in their seemingly unyielding fates…but it would take some more time before either saw and were prepared to take that opportunity, and afterwards embrace the consequences of their choice.

For now, however, they merely watched the kits flail about, testing the strength of their tiny limbs. Blind and particularly energetic, the antics of the eevee caused him to tumble from the nest towards where the human sat. Cassandra, understanding that touching a baby animal, regardless of whether it is wild or tame, will not make its parents abandon it, took the kit in her hands. As she placed a hand beneath its bushy tail and around its chubby belly, it squeaked out a small, pitiful cry of confusion. In response, Cassandra gave the infant something incredibly rare and indescribably beautiful: she blessed him with a true and genuinely happy smile.

Chuckling as she gazed at him, she told him, "You remind me of my Shadow before he evolved into an umbreon. He was a bit on the small side too, you know," and as if insulted that she had implied he was a runt, the fuzzy newborn began to squirm and whimper in her grasp. Her smile widened, and she said, "Now don't fuss, little guy. I'll place you next to your mother, alright?"

And in the following moments, she did precisely that, setting the young male back in the nest. Her smile thenceforth faded, yet warmth remained within her eyes, striking and undeniable…and seeing it, Mewtwo could not help but gaze after her as she stood and announced she was retiring to her room. As she crossed over to the guest room and shut herself in, his expression appeared largely blank…yet even so, something leaked through his usual impassive mask. An emotion, vague and perhaps unidentifiable, softened his eyes, hinting at deeper feelings which Psyche had suspected some time before that he harbored. Yet what was the nature of those feelings he attempted to conceal? For weeks since the assassin's arrival, the espeon had debated with herself over the subject, applying and discarding various names she thought might describe what she believed she witnessed. Did the clone feel the stirrings of lust for the woman, or was it fondness? Did he long for the woman's flesh, or for something far more intimate and intangible? Whatever it might be, the human seemed too weary as of late to catch the looks he sent her way, especially tonight, when rest was all that the agent truly yearned for.

Yet Psyche, remaining wary and watchful, saw what the woman had missed. As her newborn children began to fall asleep against her flatter abdomen, her eyes narrowed, and she murmured, "…Espeon. Es," and her forked tail flicked behind her, revealing her agitation. "…I've had enough of this. Spill it, Mewtwo."

His eye focused and hardened as they turned towards her. "'Spill' what?"

"Espeon, espe." Nuzzling each of her kits further into sleep, the espeon peered up at him and said, "You've been acting strangely ever since that woman arrived, and I'd like to know why that is."

In response, he rose to his feet and glanced away from her. "I fear you mistake my anxiety for a human being here – and one who intends to murder me, no less - for something else."

Psyche did not have to use her empathic abilities to sense his evasion, and frankly, exhausted and still aching from the ordeal her body had only too recently endured, her response to his casual dismissal was to become rather pissed off. What the hell was his deal, anyway? Why wouldn't he simply explain the situation to her so she could understand what was actually wrong? "Espeon! Es, espe-," she snarled, trembling and she rose to her own paws and jumped out of her nest. "Spare me the psychological bullshit, Mewtwo! Personally, I don't like being lied to by a friend-."

The clone, irked at her presumptiveness, was torn between aggravation and the urge to scoff and laugh wryly. He chose aggravation and growled, "I am not lying, and even if I was, you are certainly not powerful enough to derive that information from me."

"Es, espeon!" she snapped. "Perhaps not, but there are a hundred little things you have done recently that validate my beliefs!"

Refusing to rise to her bait as she desired, he did not respond. Seeing that he would not budge easily, she pressed on. "Espe, es espe…," she murmured, her forked tail lashing. "This human is differentfrom the others to you somehow…."

That captured his attention, and he cast a fierce glare towards her out of the corner of his eye, as if daring her to elaborate. She did so: "Espeon, espeon. Espe, espeon es…," she ranted, describing the incongruities to his behavior that had arisen since the woman had appeared. "You refuse to injure or kill her, despite the danger she poses to you. Excluding the first day of her captivity, you've made no further attempt to interrogate her to discover who sent her and to what end. You're willing to touch her and chase after her in ways which completely baffle me. You ask for her help, you heal her, you discuss matters with her that aren't any of her concern. You bicker with her in an almost playful manner, and allow her to do as she pleases in your own house. Yet most striking of all, you comfort her - you hold her and feel fear when she's distressed. You, the great and mighty Mewtwo, are concerned about a member of the race he supposedly hates!"

At this last comment, she chuckled wryly, exposing her feelings for the matter openly, while Mewtwo stared, incapable of defending himself against her accusations. Yet Psyche was not finished. "Espe…es espeon! Espeon es," she hissed, her eyes glinting with zeal. She knew she was right about this subject! "And if all of that were not enough, there is the way you looked at her just now, as though you were aching from some sort of yearning I can't decipher. Even if everything else could be considered a mere act, that look was undoubtedly sincere…and this is not the first time I have seen you gaze at her like that either. Those looks alone expose the fact that she is not as despicable to you as you want everyone else to believe."

"Es, es espe. Espe espeon," she continued, her eyes gleaming with wry humor. "No, if anything, she seems desirable to you. Yet I can't see you falling in love with or craving someone, especially not her, so I am obviously missing something here."

Mewtwo could stay silent no longer. "It is not your concern, Psyche!"

"Espe. Espeon," she retorted with a snort. "Somehow I knew you'd say that. I suppose I'll just have to bring the matter up to her then, since it concerns her well-being-."

"NO." As his roar filled her mind, his tail lashed out to strike her in the side, with enough force to knock her breath from her and send her tumbling. When she ceased rolling and opened her eyes, she discovered that the replica had teleported them to the roof, and now stood towering above her, his eyes glowing with fury and malice. Before she could ask him why the hell he'd struck her, he seethed his frustration, his voice was low and frigid as he said, "You will tell her nothing! That woman is already suspicious of my actions as it is, and the situation will only worsen if you dare provoke it." And turning away from her with a frustrated, guttural growl, he cursed, "Damn you, Psyche, leave it be…!"

However, that was something the espeon knew she couldn't do. If his unexpected, nearly uncontrolled rage was any indication, then what he was concealing from her now was something of great importance, something he was struggling to stash away where no one else would ever uncover it. Clearly, his roommate was drawing too near to the truth for his comfort, and that his only logical response to her inquiries was to lash out suggested that whatever it was, it had sliced deep into him, and was now festering bitterly. "Espeon," she almost pleaded with him then. "Mewtwo, please, just tell me what's going on. I'm your friend, and I can tell that whatever it is you're hiding is doing you nothing but harm. That you're trying so hard to deny it merely proves I'm right."

During the weeks when the clone had tended to her injuries and had, if reluctantly, opened his home to her, she had come to care for him dearly. Now he in turn was the one who was lost and hurting, and in what way she could, she wanted to repay him by prying the metaphorical thorn from his paw. She wanted him to disclose the secrets that so pained and sickened him, and when he did not respond in the following minute, she worried the thorn once more. "Es…espe es," she murmured, "Please…confide in me, just this once."

In a manifestation of his emotional distress, Mewtwo's eyes no longer saw her or the world around him, and he shuddered under the chilled breeze of the night, which smelled of the saline-saturated, murky sea, the depths of which harbored a mysterious and largely unknowable darkness, whose secrets few could unveil. After several more moments had passed, he returned to reality and bowed his head with a sigh, placing a paw to his brow. "…You will not stop asking me, will you?"

"Es, espe, espeon," she responded seriously, inwardly relieved that his stubbornness seemed to fading. "No, I won't, and I am willing to start asking questions in front of the woman, if that's what it takes."

At her words, his entire frame stiffened. She had maneuvered him into a corner, leaving him only two avenues of escape: he could either potentially risk maiming her mind in a search-and-suppress procedure, which would ideally bury her memories of the instances when he had evidently incriminated himself…or he could simply tell his companion the truth. Given that she was one of the few beings on this planet he considered a friend, he knew that the first option was not truly an option at all….

While he summoned up the willpower to commit to the latter path, Psyche derived a truth from his reaction which she had only previously entertained as an absurdity. "Es es espe?" she asked, the notion shedding the first few rays of light over what was occurring. "Wait…you know her, don't you?"

That he had teleported them onto the roof to avoid the woman overhearing them was clear to her, though why this was necessary she still could not guess. Yet this idea - that he might have know the assassin from a time before she had arrived seeking his blood - had the potential to explain all of the unprecedented quirks in his behavior since she had entered into his home. He was not reacting to the woman as he would a murderous stranger, like he had with the trainer who had sought revenge against him. No, he was reacting to the huntress as someone might with an old and senile companion who could no longer recognize him. He was reacting to the memories attached to a familiar form, and as the clone's eyes turned downcast and his paws clenched, they exposed his lie as he spat, "Do not be absurd."

Yet even as he spoke the untruth, he seemed to know that further denials were futile. Psyche was too close to defeating him, and when she regarded him in that moment, she noted that he seemed frailer somehow, and more than anything else, utterly wearied. "Espe. Espeon, espe?" she whispered, her eyes softening. "No, I'm right this time. You really do know her, don't you, Mewtwo?"

His reply was delivered with utmost reluctance, as if it were a shard of shrapnel he had to tear from bone. "…Of course I do…and I know her quite intimately at that."

While Psyche did not grasp the full implications of that statement, she now understood why the telepath had refused to interrogate the woman himself: he had already known the answers to all of the questions. Now, as his willpower decayed after voicing the first confession, she too would come to know the answers, for the clone's defenses had been breached, and the protective walls surrounding his secrets would soon collapse in upon themselves. Yet in a last ditch attempt to preserve himself, he asked her if she was certain about what she intended to do, for there would be consequences in gaining this knowledge, in dragging his shame into the open as she wanted to. He gave her one last chance to abandon the subject, which he prayed she would take: "Do you truly wish to know, Psyche? Truly…?"

As close to the truth as she was now, she refused to walk away. "Es," she replied with a nod, thankful that he was going to disclose to her what was hurting him at last. "Of course."

Yet for one final, precious moment, Mewtwo held onto the key to the truth. He gazed up at the nearly full moon above, whose ghostly light seemed to age his body until it matched the maturity of his soul. Finally, as his tail swept soundlessly through the air, he allowed himself to embrace the memory of what haunted him so…:

He sat amongst the lush, charcoal-colored blankets of the bed, his fingertips sweeping over the soft cotton which smelled strongly of vanilla and mint. Around him, dust particles were glowed silver from the moonlight filtering in through the only window of the room, and the atmosphere swelled with the final notes of a song played upon the viola. After the music faded, the young woman standing before him opened her beautiful eyes, and lifted her ivory bow from the taunt strings. "…Did you like it?" she asked softly, her lips curled in a self-conscious, yet hopeful smile.

In response, he rose to his feet and closed the short distance between them, and wrapped his arms around her, savoring the warmth of her body against his. With his telekinesis, he gently pulled the instrument and the bow from her grasp and set them within their case, and then he lifted a paw to her face to stroke her hair back from her eyes tenderly. Afterwards, running a thumb over her lip, he murmured to her, "It was a beautiful piece, so yes, I enjoyed it very much. Tell me, what inspired it, dove?"

Beneath his thumb, he felt her lips curl into a wider smile, and she lifted her arms to curl them around his necks. Something soft and warm wrapped around them both, its edges tickling across his back, and as Mewtwo found his own scent within her hair and across her skin, a pleasant thrill rushed through him at finding such evidence of their closeness…and in the following moments, that feeling only strengthened as she leaned upwards and murmured her answer against his mouth: "You."

And as she kissed him tenderly, lovingly, yearning, and he clutched her even closer, he felt an emotion that he wondered if, even then, they deserved to share:

Happiness….

Beyond the memory, Mewtwo stared up at the stars with tired, saddened eyes as he confessed, "Once, Psyche…I had a mate."

"Espeon. Espe? Espe es…?" The vixen blinked, not quite grasping why he was telling her this now. From him, the declaration that he had once had a lover was shocking, and would in almost any other situation stun her to silence. Yet given the topic of their conversation thus far, this revelation seemed to lack any true relevance. "I'm not certain I understand, Mewtwo. What exactly are you trying to say? What does that have to do with Cass…?"

And that was when she made the connection. As horror seeped into to her core, her eyes widened and she took a step back from him, her thoughts awhirl. No…dear legendaries, he can't mean…!

Mewtwo, seeing that she had stumbled upon the truth, smiled a weak and bitter grin. "You understand now, don't you, Psyche? You understand what I've been trying so desperately to conceal from you, and more importantly, from her. Yet I will say it aloud, if only to confirm your suspicions," and staring up at the pale and frozen moon, who had witnessed his every sin and, like himself, had not yet forgiven him for what he had done, he said, "Once, I had a mate of my own, a woman who I treasured and who treasured me in return…and the name of that woman was, and remains, Cassandra."

"She was the very same Cassandra who now sleeps below us…and the same woman Giovanni has sent here to end my life."

Thank You: Dark Magician Girl Aeris, AnimeCrazy88, Leone the Infernal, and Tomoyo Kinomoto for reading and reviewing the previous chapter. I hope you and my other readers will do the same for this one!

Author's Note: I know some of you guessed this, but for those of you who didn't, surprise! With this reveal, we are now leaving arc one of the story behind and entering arc two. The next three chapters will expand on Mewtwo's history with Team Rocket and then we'll be returning to the present.

My goal in writing this story - besides exploring Team Rocket and the Fuji family more than I had in other fics - was to explore how Mewtwo would realistically be involved in a romantic relationship. How and when would that happen? By the time his second feature film ends, he doesn't seem open to connecting with someone that way, preferring to maintain a solitary lifestyle instead. As such, to make a believable romance for him, I needed to look back instead of forward: I needed to go back to the year he spent with Team Rocket. During that period of his life, he was young, naive, and lost as to his place and purpose in the world - but even more importantly, he was still open to trusting and caring for humans (I had already written a few "Mewthree" fics before this, so continuing in that vein didn't interest me. Him being with a human also just rings truer to his character - despite him professing to dislike humans - than him being with a pokémon does). While we glimpsed what happened to him during this time, much of it was glossed over and unclear. The only other shadowy area in his life was what happened to him between his first and second movies, but by that point, he'd not only closed himself off, but also had the other pokemon clones to protect. He wouldn't have allowed himself any distractions from that goal - and falling in love would probably qualify as one. Since he was willing to give his life for them, I don't think it's a stretch to say that he'd be willing to give up his happiness for them, too. While he was with Team Rocket, though, he would have no such reservations.

As always, thank you for reading!

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol