Chapter Warning: There are sexual acts between a human and a pokémon in this chapter. If this content grosses you out, you should skip the last scene of the chapter.


CHAPTER 12: FORGOTTEN MEMOIRS - PART 2


"When you smiled you had my undivided attention. When you laughed you had my urge to laugh with you. When you cried you had my urge to hold you. When you said you loved me, you had my heart forever."

- Unknown.


Years after the attack took place, the espeon listening to the story shivered, a great swell of compassion, tinged with pity, rolling through her. As another female who had lived with the threat of rape looming over her from a young age, she could understand the dread of Cassandra the teenager, and realized how close she'd come to sharing the girl's nightmare. Like the mist rising from the asphalt below, she remembered wisps of how the grown woman had behaved, both in sickness and in spite, and felt as if she could understand how the agent had become so anxious and bitter. To suffer through a sexual assault was one of the worst fates any person could experience, especially for those whose sexualities might forever be stunted through such violence. For Cassandra to have been dragged down and violated, just as she was entering into an era of her life that was almost overflowing with potential…well, beyond making Psyche feel ill, it demonstrated just how corrupt Team Rocket was. She wished she could yowl at Giovanni Maki for placing his goddaughter near such a monster, but even she grasped the futility of such an act. All the members of that organization were villains in one way or another - it was merely a matter of how well they hid their skeletons that determined how respectable they seemed. And Belial Biancardi, the espeon was certain, was probably someone who'd concealed his victims behind a wall of stone and mortar, never giving the leader of the crime syndicate any reason to fear for his goddaughter….

Unless he'd known and simply decided the gain was worth the risk, that making Cassandra into a weapon was more important than keeping her safe. After all, she couldn't see the girl keeping the rapist's prior, inappropriate behavior to herself. She would have told her guardian. Yet given how that same man had also sent her on potentially lethal missions, never batting an eye at the dangers…well, perhaps he'd simply not heeded her worries to the extent he should have. And for his negligence, Cassandra had paid a brutal price….

Although, as she contemplated what she'd been told, she wondered how the replica knew the details of what had happened. Some detective fieldwork, even speaking to the victim might have given him some insight, but to have learned so much about the thought processes of those involved…just what exactly had his methods been? Glancing up at her companion, she decided to wait and see if the rest of the story would unwind that little mystery. For now, she would simply listen as he continued to recount events from his youth, and hope that his heart would lighten when he reached the point where his romance with the angel had begun.

"Espeon?" she whispered, seeing that he needed to be prompted to resume speaking. "Were you the one who found her?"

His fingers flexing above her ears, he remarked in a listless, somber voice, "I was…and sometimes I wonder if that was more of a kindness or a cruelty to the both of us."


In the hours that his mistress spent in nightmares, her wounded pokémon did not remain idle. Having visited the lair of the clone briefly before being carried to his new home, Shadow spent the darkest hours of the morning returning to that place, limping down the gravel road that led to the Team Rocket laboratories. In the trees and brambles of the forest around the path, he could hear predators of the night stirring and crying out, but he paid them little heed. Although he was barely more than a kit, only just grown to a healthy size, and was now trembling from his injuries, he pressed onwards, picking himself up each time he stumbled. His breaths came in sharp pants, his limbs quivered beneath him, pain overwhelmed his tiny frame, fatigue made shadows dance at the edges of his vision, but he refused to falter or collapse. There would be time for rest later, he knew, but right now, his "parent" needed him to keep going, and he was determined not to fail her.

Over the past few months, the young woman had given him his identity, had nurtured and adored him, had welcomed him beside her, and had never asked the child for anything in return for her kindness. Even as a devil bore down on her, concern for his sake – for the sake of a runt! – had proven more important to her than her own. Like a mother - a true mother, so unlike the bitch who had birthed him - Cassandra had done what she could to protect him, and when she could no longer capable of doing so, had pleaded for him to run. This he had ultimately, reluctantly done, but he had felt no relief upon leaving the invaded apartment. Instead, he felt guilt and self-loathing gnawing at him for abandoning her, and only through struggling to reach Mewtwo, the only one he knew who would help, did those feelings ease.

Yet even as the distance closed, frustration and anger suffused him at his inadequacies: if he were stronger, then he could have protected her without the replica's help, and if he were faster, then she would have already been saved. Yet in being what he was now, his progress was sluggish at best, and hours passed since he'd fled, as evidenced by how far the new moon had fallen in the night sky. For all the eevee knew, the one he yearned to rescue might have already been victimized and killed, rendering his current desperate efforts futile. Yet whenever the child began to despair at the thought, he reminded himself than his "mother" was strong, and should be able to hold out until Mewtwo arrived to help. She might even defeat the invader or escape, and be holed up in a place the demon could not follow.

Allowing these latter thoughts to buoy him, he eventually arrived at the end of the road, at the gates to the laboratories, and squeezed his body thought the gaps between the bars. Limping onwards, he circled around the building, his frantic gaze darting over the windows, searching for the one that looked into the chambers of the clone. Once he found it, he stumbled beneath it and began to call for the partner of the fledgling agent, praying that his frail voice would reach his other guardian. As he yowled, his legs collapsed beneath him, and he sank into a furry heap against the concrete wall…but even as exhaustion and anguish threatened to make him faint, his wounds agitated through his travelling, he continued to keen for the replica. For his knew that Mewtwo, who was like a father to him in the way Cassandra was like a mother, could defend his friend in way that the kit could never hope to. And he knew, without a morsel of doubt, that the replica would fight for her sake without even a request - for like Shadow, Mewtwo was devoted to the girl, if in an entirely different way than the kit was. Imbued with the intuitiveness of youth, the little eevee understood what the clone – what both of his parental figures, actually - refused to acknowledge: that slowly but surely, and hindered every centimeter of the way by uncertainty, the bond between them had surpassed platonic friendship. They were now hesitating before the resolution, keeping their suspicions about the nature of their relationship at bay, frightened of realizing and pursing the possible outcomes.

Had they any more time to remain young, to continue brushing along the possibilities with a light touch, a lingering glance, a warm smile shared between only them, they might have come to accept and embrace what was forming between them, and known no regrets. It all might have even begun with the celebration they'd been planning for the upcoming day, as one of them surrendered to a desire flitting at the edges of their mind. Yet that was a tender tale, of friends learning the wonder of their sharing their hearts and bodies with each other at their own, leisurely pace…and while Mewtwo and Cassandra would share a version of that experience, it would not be lightly or freely savored. For them, their time of innocence was at an end, cruelly cut short by one of the monsters who'd stalked at the fringes of their world, awaiting the opportunity to plunder it. Now that he had, what might have been was almost assured to remain that way, for already one of them had been transformed for the worst.

The other would soon follow.

Mewtwo, still wearing his armor from the impromptu, time-consuming tests the humans had asked him to endure during the evening, soon heard the eevee calling for him, and soon enough had crossed to the window. Peering down though the visor, he noted the heat signature of the kit huddled against the wall, and as surprised bolted through his stomach, he reached to wretch the bay window inwards. At metal bent like straw and the glass shattered, the shards bouncing off his shields, he levitated out of the cleared opening and settled beside the child, kneeling down to pick the kit up into his arms. Shadow ceased to keen at that, and mere stirred restlessly, his aura whirling with fear, rage, pain, desperation, and weariness. Spying the kit's injured, frenzied state, the clone felt dread slide into his stomach like cubes of ice, and over the child's mewling, he asked, "Shadow, what happen-?"

Yet before he could finish the thought, the eevee rasped, "Ee…eevee! Eevee!" his small body convulsing as he spoke. "No time…she's in danger! Help her!"

And the clone moved, clutching the eevee close as he flew to the base's medical wing. Within moments he was snarling at the veterinarians to attend to the kit immediately, and after impatiently waiting to see that the child was cared for, he raced away towards the dormitories, ascending the stairwell to Cassandra's hall as swiftly as his paws could carry him. Only when he reached her apartment door, which remained ajar, did he falter as his senses, both psychical and physical alike, were assaulted. As his fingers fell against the doorframe, a miasmic, swirling cloud of scents and feelings snatched the breath from his lungs and continued to suffocate him. Residual auras mingled in one another, blending innumerable emotions and sensations, the most potent of them – at least to him – being those of terror, anguish, and shame. Throwing up his empathic shield, which scarcely numbed the atmosphere, he pushed open the door and stepped into the unlit apartment, nearly gagging from the stench that burrowed into his nose: caustic bleach fumes, the pungent reek of vomit, sweat, and blood, and another scent he could not place. The combination seared his nostrils, and gasping through his mouth, he moved forward, shudders running up and down his spine as he gazed around. His eyes immediately fell to the carpet, where the atmosphere almost seemed to coagulate: within the fibers were stains, from blood so dark it was almost black, while the edges were snowy white to contrast the carpet around it. Similar patches could be seen nearby, leading into the bathroom where the wounded had apparently been dragged. Yet his senses had already determined that the chamber was vacant, and so he didn't drift towards that side of the room. Instead, he walked over to the bed, the pads of his feet growing wet from the fluids that had soaked into the carpet. Yet he didn't care how this place sullied him - all that mattered to him was finding Cassandra.

And within a matter of seconds, he had. In one corner of the bed, she lay huddled beneath the sheets, trembling as she heard someone approaching her. Mewtwo immediately felt his strength leave him as he peered at her through the visor - she seemed so small and frightened then, so completely different than the being he'd spoken with the previous afternoon. Reaching out to her tentatively, he rested a paw on her shoulder, only to jerk it back as she flinched under his touch.

Her thin frame coiling with dread, she whimpered out a frail, soft plea, "Please…no…."

"…Cassandra," he murmured her name, conveying that he was there and lamenting her changed state all at once.

At the sound of his voice, the teenager was drawn from her muddled thoughts, and opening her grey eyes, she gazed at the wall her bed was huddled against. Despite her closest friend having arrived, however, she found no comfort in his presence…in fact, him being here only made her feel worse. As he watched, the muscles of her back tensed beneath the sheet she'd wrapped around herself, and she turned her face into the mattress, as if she were frightened of glimpsing his face, or of him glimpsing hers. His chest aching as he noted her fear, he reached forward again to grasp her shoulder. She trembled beneath his touch, like a bird poised before flight….

"Cassandra, I must see…," he whispered, even as he realized that he didn't truly want to. However, only if he knew how she'd been brutalized could he know how best to help her. He already understood that her injuries would be grave – anything less would not faze her. As such, the question became whether or not he could risk moving her to the emergency ward (since this place was far from hospitable anymore) or if he had no choice but to drag the paramedics here instead.

Yet his companion seemed entirely unconcerned about being attended to now. She only pulled the sheet, soiled with crimson wet, around herself firmer, doing what little she could to conceal what Belial Biancardi had done to her. For she couldn't bear the thought of Mewtwo seeing how she'd been broken and defiled. If it had been anyone else, excluding the young Shadow, she might have been able to endure their prying eyes, but…but this was her dearest friend. This was the creature she shared some of her happiest memories with, and the creature whose opinions she respected above all others. If she allowed him gaze down at her battered and violated flesh, if she allowed him to see her at her weakest and lowest point, then what would he come to think of her? Would he turn away from her in disgust, and perhaps even begin to shun her entirely? She heaved at the thought, and as pain swept through her stomach and ribs at the motion, and as dread drenched her being, tears ran from her eyes in thin, salty rivulets.

"No…Mewtwo, don't…don't look at me. Please don't look at me…!" Her plea, desperate and quavering, made the clone hesitate from exposing her to his eyes….

Yet in the following moment, he reminded himself of the necessity of inspecting the damage, and so, murmuring an apology, he tugged the fabric from her frail grasp. The cloth slid through her fingers, over her arms and knees, her shoulders and legs, her sides and back, until all of her was revealed to him…and almost immediately, he wished he'd heeded her request. Seconds trickled by, long and torturous to both of them as he made no movements, his paw still raised and clutching the bed sheet, the visor of his helmet reflecting the shadowy image of the adolescent curled before him. Her hair, somewhat matted and glistening with soapy residue, clung to her sweat-streaked skin, which prickled as the chilled air now molested her. Purplish splotches had spread over numerous patches of her bronze skin, her face included, with the darkest bruises being found across her hips, sides, chest, and wrists. Chaffing marks could be seen around her ankles, while across her cheeks, breasts, buttocks, and her labium were nicks and cuts, the deepest having been sliced into her shaved, pubic region.

Yet these had not been the source of most of the bleeding. The vital fluid that had soaked into the carpet, the bedcover, that coated the inside of his friend's thighs, had spilled from the most intimate part of her body, and with an understanding born from countless texts, Mewtwo grasped that she'd not merely been beaten. The young woman that meant so much to him, who had taught him so much about this world and about people, had been brutalized in one of the worst ways possible. Someone had ravished her, had forced themselves into the private nook of her, and if the amount of blood was any indication, she'd been a virgin before being so ruthlessly invaded. For the first time in his young life, sickness rolled through the clone's stomach, and it was only by some small miracle that he managed to avoid vomiting into his visor. As the nausea began to fade, however, and as he rewrapped her in the fabric, rage began to suffuse his innards, making him tremble from the overwhelming force of it. Leaning over her, he asked her quietly who'd hurt her like this, keeping his voice low and steady to avoid frightening her…and as she whispered the name, confirming the lurking suspicion within the depths of his brain, she sentenced her attacker to a gruesome and gory execution.

Gathering her carefully into his arms, and wincing inwardly at her gasps of pain, he levitated them out of the apartment and over the distance to the medical wing, not wishing to jar her by walking. Once they arrived at the ward, the clone ignored the stares of the human around him and approached the supervising medic, Ethan Yarrow, M.D. In private telepathy, Mewtwo conveyed who he was holding and what had happened to her, and although the man's eyes noticeably widened in surprise, he followed the replica's cue to be discreet, and wordlessly led them to a private room. As they stepped into the antiseptic chamber and the door was closed behind them, Yarrow gestured for the clone to lay the girl onto the paper-covered hospital bed, and reaching for the phone, called Giovanni Maki's home line to inform him about his goddaughter's condition. To his credit, the Signore immediately ordered him to cease jabbering and attend to the girl's injuries, and after declaring he'd be down there shortly, he disconnected the call.

Replacing the phone on its cradle, the medic pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and grabbed a kit from his cabinet, and glancing at the armored pokémon – who'd removed his helmet - asked the creature to help remove the fabric around the teenager. Like Mewtwo, he had to know how bad her injuries were, and when their actions roused the girl, she began to struggle against them, hissing at them to leave her alone. Warning her companion that he would give "the patient" a sedative if she didn't calm down, Mewtwo leaned over the girl and, meeting her eyes, began speaking soft and reassuring words to her. Eventually, he took her hand into his, and as she began to still, Yarrow finished stripping the sullied cloth from around her, packing it into a paper bag, and mentally noted the extensive bruising and cuts. His concern immediately flew to internal bleeding, and while he'd doubtlessly be testing for it over the duration of the morning, right now he needed to gather the biological evidence of the rape. He knew that this victim only need utter a name, and that would be all it took to convict someone of a death penalty in this organization. However, his habits from his years as a trauma surgeon still ran strong, and so he would follow standard procedure.

"Ms. Merlo, I need to administer a rape test. If your attacker wasn't wearing a condom, or if it broke under duress, this will provide us with a semen sample, and with it we can confirm his identity through DNA analysis. As you know, everyone is required to submit multiple DNA samples upon entering our organization, so a match is almost guaranteed. I'll need you to do a few simple tasks, but I'd like to get the most unpleasant one out of the way first. All I'll need you to do for this one is bend your knees, place your heels together, and allow your legs to fall apart. I realize this will make you uncomfortable, and I'll do my best to make this as quick as possible. Afterwards, we can run through the other procedures, get you cleaned up, and treat your injuries, alright?"

Intellectually, Cassandra understood why this had to be done…but she had no desire to open her lower limbs to anyone, especially not a male doctor. Her partner was the one who ultimately persuaded her to follow orders, resting a paw against her face and turning her head so her eyes saw only him. Caressing slow, soothing circles across the back of her right hand with his other paw, he murmured to her, "Look at me, Cassandra. Look only at me, and trust me when I say that no harm will come to you here. After the doctor is finished tending to you, you can rest easy, I promise…."

Her gleaming grey eyes locked onto his, and reluctantly, she did as they requested. Before administering this part of the test, the doctor handed the pokémon a steel bowl, telling the girl to vomit into it if she felt the urge, and as her legs fell apart, he used several cotton swabs to gather biological evidence from her vagina, anus, and – later – her mouth as well. As he did this, Cassandra's eyes grew moist and her stomach heaved, but she managed to keep the bile down. After the various swabs were placed on a small drying rack, he took a couple blood samples, telling her she'd have to provide a urine one at some point in the following hours. Flossing came next, then fingernail scrapings and cuttings, and now that her hair was nearly dry, combing through it for fibers or foreign hairs commenced, along with plucking samples of her own hair for comparison purposes. Photographs were also taken to document her injuries, and after she was sponged clean (since forcing her to stand and take a shower seemed cruel at this point, given how tender her body was), and her injuries were tended to as well as they could be, a short recording was made where Cassandra detailed what she remembered happening to her. For this last bit, the clone was not privy to the interview, and was made to wait outside while the doctor and his patient spoke. When he was allowed back inside, his companion was struggling to fight back tears, and he immediately went to her side and then, after a moment of awkward hesitance, drew her to him.

Embracing her was unprecedented for him, and considering he was doing so in his armor, probably wasn't comfortable…but it was also, he mused to himself, undoubtedly necessary in this case. She needed someone to hold her, and he was more than willing to be that person. Yet with each new procedure, it had been Mewtwo, rather than Cassandra, who'd grown more and more distressed, for the implications of each collection had burrowed under his skin, pestering his mind with unspeakable images. Yet now that all of the evidence was placed into envelopes and boxes, now that she'd been cleaned and bandaged, it was her who was crumbling in the aftermath, and he could not blame her for that. Instead he lingered by her side as she dressed in a patient gown, and held her hand as she fell asleep, having been given a sedative that promised her dreamless rest. He stayed to show her that she was not alone, to show that someone cared for her enough to help her endure these sometimes invasive procedures, despite the discomfort he experienced concerning them. Even as he drifted from her side, he thought only of continuing to help her, informing the doctor of the evidence that was doubtlessly still at the site of the assault. Yarrow nodded, telling the young male that he'd send the crime scene analysis unit to the apartment in the upcoming hours. Content with that, the replica left Cassandra to her empty dreams, trusting that she'd be safe under the care of this man. That Giovanni was allowed into the room at this point, and came to sit by his goddaughter's bedside to watch over her as she slept, only secured his faith. She wouldn't be harmed while he was away, and by the time she awoke, he would have returned, leaving her none the wiser to his absence.

In all honesty, he wished he could have avoided leaving her entirely…but what he was planning to do must be done. Placing his helmet back over his head, he strode forward, passing the medics and other patients alike without a spare glance. For as one of the mottos regarding the higher rungs of the organization went, "Here be dragons!"

And one of those monsters needed to be slain.


"…Espe, es?" Psyche surmised, unconsciously moving herself away from the clone as she felt malice seeping from him. "…You killed him, didn't you?"

Over his fierce eyes, his brow wrinkled, and his lips curled over his fangs in a snarl as he mused on the subject. "…Yes," he admitted, and as he swung his tail behind him, his voice gained an edge of steel as he growled, "And I have never once regretted being the one to do so."


When the armored pokémon reached Cassandra's apartment, he lowered his mental shields, his empathic senses flooding outwards to sift through the quagmire of auras for the one he knew to be Belial Biancardi's. Finding the man's aural signature, he followed the residual traces that had been left in the rapist's wake as he travelled away from the main dormitories. Eventually, the trail led him to the apartments of some of the senior agents – predominantly the battle officers – and venturing into the building, he ignored the stares of the men and woman occupying the various lounges scattered throughout each floor. Minutes later, he reached the apartment where the aural traces were most concentrated, and glancing at the door, had his estimate confirmed: beneath Unit 616 was a plague bearing the name of his companion's once teacher. Turning the locks and the doorknob with his telekinesis, he let himself in silently, and shut the door behind him as he stepped into the entrance hall. The apartment itself was furnished tastefully, with artwork from a variety of cultures and framed educational degrees hanging from the walls, and books on various martial arts filling the bookcases throughout the home. Schedules, business documents, and newspapers were in separate piles on the coffee table, situated in front of the soft leather couch, with a coaster – imprinted with the emblem for the famed Viridian City football (soccer) team – resting near the files. Beyond this, the only evidence of the man's presence was in the vaguely familiar, smoky odor of cigarettes, and in the clothes and towels tumbling in the laundry washer. Beyond the hum of the machine, he heard the sounds of voices seeping from down the hallway to the left, which held a couple bedrooms and a dining chamber on either side. Drifting down to the master bedroom, the door of which was slightly ajar, he could see lights flickering in the darkness, and sensing his quarry within, he pushed open the door, allowing the morning light to pour into the room.

And as that light exposed everything within, Mewtwo felt the rage that had been simmering within him erupt violently, eradicating all rational thoughts from his brain.

There were three aspects to the bedchamber which fractured his mind, the first being the walls, or rather, what covered a majority of the walls. Rather than choosing more cultural art for the decorations, in this most private and personal room were hundreds of photographs instead, pinned into the plaster with red thumbtacks. Yet rather than snapping moments from his social and professional lives, these snapshots were some distant pictures of young girls, not one of them appearing to be older than seventeen. All of them were slim and vibrant with youth, each having dark hair ranging from chestnut brown to ebony, and skin tones ranging from a light tan to a rich bronze. Yet for all of the pictures, some of which seemed faded with age (perhaps this was part of the reason for the thick curtains covering the windows – to keep the photographs vivid), there only appeared to be nine "inspirations" featured in the glossy images. And one of these, showing her growth over the years, was Cassandra Merlo: walking through the base, eating at the cafeteria, talking with other agents, framed in the window of her apartment, training at the gym, swimming at the pool, changing in the locker room, even some where she was spending time with Shadow and the clone. And over the passage of time, the photographer seemed to draw ever closer, until he was sometimes glanced out of the corner of her eye, making her face contort with disgust, anger, and most vividly of all, fear.

The monster had been following her for years, and had finally managed to sink his claws into her, like he had with all the others.

And this train of thought led to the other observations which shook him to his bones: the first was that at least one of these earlier victims had been abducted as well as raped. Otherwise, the clone had difficultly seeing how the man could have gotten video footage of the assault. The audio, on low, nonetheless conveyed the girl's sobs and screams for help as her body was penetrated, and as the man and the teenager writhed on a mattress, the clone found himself superimposing his friend's face onto the girl's. In flashes, he remembered finding her curled up on her own bed, remembered her eyes fixed onto his as the doctor gathered samples from her, and remembered the way she shook in his arms as she cried. He remembered her suffering and her shame, and around him, the figures in the photographs began to cry out in pain, terror, and despair, just as she must have, and their slender forms were stripped, bruised, and bleeding, just as hers had been. Now on the precipice of a mental break, only one thought managed to rise above the chaos: that the man laying on his bed before him, watching the recording with a smile, fingering a strand of dark hair – Cassandra's hair – beneath his nose, his other hand toying with his pants zipper, had been the one to victimize them all. He'd violated them, brutalized them, reduced them to being mere objects of sexual conquest that he must dominate, claim, and control. He was a being of unspeakable heinousness, his true nature concealed beneath an immaculate social standing and the countless achievements that had earned him a place among the elite.

Yet the replica knew what Belial Biancardi truly was, and wouldn't allow the man to live to see tonight's blackened moon.

As the clone mused on how best to murder the man, the older male tucked the strand of hair away, sat up, and glared at the armored pokémon with groggy eyes. Reaching towards his nightstand drawer, he growled out, "Why the fuck are you in my home?"

One of the replica's paws lashed out then, the glow of blue light accompanying the use of his psychic powers nearly indigo from the sheer wrath churning within him. Thejōjutsumaster was flung from the bed into the television panel, the screen bending inwards and cracking, the mechanical innards behind it shattering and hissing with sparks. Releasing the grip of his telekinesis, the man plummeted into the table below him, crashing his full weight into the expensive disk counsel and surround sound speakers, which made a satisfying crunch as they broke beneath him, their blunt edges digging painfully into his flesh. As the teacher groaned and began to rise, Mewtwo opened the drawer to find the handgun stashed within, and promptly crushed the squat barrel. Afterwards he began to dismantle the metal bed, removing the long strips of metal with made up the frame. By this point, Belial Biancardi had stumbled a few frantic steps towards the door…but not-so-sadly, he would never make it out of the room alive. The replica, turning his head towards the man, sent the first strip of metal at the man, who tried in vain to dodge the telekinetically propelled strike.

The bar merely dropped down half a meter and plunged forward, the strip effectively nailing the staff user to the wall by the tender flesh just below his right shoulder. The punctured plaster behind the man was soon stained with blood, and as the man howled his curses and attempted to pull the bar out, the armor pokémon merely angled another strip and sent it into his left forearm, leaving that limb pinned to the wall, while the other dangled uselessly at his side. The color of the man's face, ruddy with pain and rage, reminded the clone of the wings of a Cymothoe sangaris, a red African butterfly he remembered seeing in the local museum's collection of winged insects. Like that unlucky insect, the man was now pinned to a white backing, which proved a lovely and ugly sight to behold. Yet whether or not the body of this particular insect would remain intact, or would slowly and torturously be pulled apart, depending on how deeply Mewtwo hated this man…and to say that his hatred extended the distance to the moon and back would be a grave understatement.

Striding within a meter of the serial rapist, the armored clone, the pupils of his eyes narrowed into mere slits, responded to the question the human had asked earlier. "I am certain you can ascertain my intentions. Last night you desecrated the body of my dearest and most trusted companion,"he murmured, twitching his wrists to drive two more bars of metal forward, one sinking into each of the man's kicking legs. A sharp "crack," along with the wave of intense pain in the man's aura, indicated that the metal had broken through bone as it pierced those muscular thighs."And you will find that I do not believe in the saying, 'an eye for an eye.' First you will know her pain, and then you will know a pain so terrible that your twisted mind will fumble to comprehend it. My sole regret is that I will be unable to draw this out for days, as you rightfully deserve. However, Cassandra will wake within a matter of hours, and I must be there when she does."

And although the monster couldn't see his face, the smirk that Mewtwo donned – complete with fangs - was a truly nightmarish sight as he hissed, "Consider yourself dead as of this moment, Belial Biancardi. I am the demon who follows at an angel's heels, and I shall be the one to drag you down into the inferno!"

With a single pulse of his psychical senses, the clone shattered the human's mental barriers, tearing into the man's thoughts and memories to find each and every example of remembered pain – both physical and emotional anguish alike – and forcing the monster to relive each moment in vivid detail. Within three seconds, the sequence was looping in random patterns, and after disorientating the teacher's sense of time, the replica allowed several minutes to pass while the monster shrieked and thrashed, his mind crumbling from its own worst, waking nightmares. When psychological torment ceased to provide a cathartic sensation for the clone, Mewtwo reluctantly released the man from the sequence, having successfully flooded the man with acute despair and terror. After this, the actual bodily torture began: additional shafts of metal flew forward, ramming the monster between the legs, sinking into his guts, stabbing into his torso, and at varying intervals, the clone amused himself by twisting the bars, his ears soon growing used to the insect's screams. Over time, as he moved onto shredding non-vital body parts, the bedroom air soon grew saturated with the scent of blood, and specs of the vital fluid fell in a fine mist across the photographs around the two males. Yet while the images of Cassandra and the other victims were speckled with their attack's blood and gore, only the armored pokémon's psychical shield came in contact with the mess…and it instantly incinerated the moist particles upon striking the glowing barrier.

Eventually, the clone settled on murdering Belial Biancardi by crushing his chest and skull, extinguishing the man's life as easily as a child crushes a beetle. Only after his actions settled in did the clone's flesh begin to crawl and his stomach churn, and exiting the chamber without a backward glance, Mewtwo left the remains of the corpse to putrefy where they lay. He offered no religious words to put the man at rest, shed no tears over his demise, and felt no remorse over his heartlessness, for the monster deserved none of those gifts, especially not from him….


Removing himself from the memory of the execution, Mewtwo opened his eyes midway, staring into space as traces of that unquenchable rage seared beneath his fur. "…I will not attempt to deceive you, Psyche: I found an ungodly amount of pleasure in torturing that man. Remembering what he had done to Cassandra, I derived great satisfaction from making him feel her anguish tenfold, and in seeing his despair as his shrine was decorated with his innards. Yet after he was dead, I felt no relief. While I may have avenged her, and while he would never again be able to threaten her, I could not undo what had already been done, " he admitted, his expression turning somber. His displeasure only deepened as he went on, " I had enacted justice in its most brutal form, but I could not mend Cassandra's hurts - or the ones I had gained by extension – through such savage means. For both of us, the months ahead would prove to be our most difficult…."


A fortnight passed within the hospital, and during that time, the clone visited the healing Cassandra daily. Since visitors to the Viridian City Gym were not frequent, and the Team Rocket scientists were only allowed small portions of his time, Mewtwo had several hours per day where he could sit with his friend and give her company. Along with him, Shadow had - after being released from the pokémon medical ward - remained with his "mother," which the head doctor was more than willing to allow. After all, the fluffy kit reduced his patient's stress level, continued to linger during the hours when the ward was quiet for the night, and furthermore, couldn't return to the girl's apartment anyhow. Having already been processed for evidence, it was in the final stages of being scoured clean for the agent when she returned, and the custodians couldn't have a pokémon wandering underfoot as they worked. As such, the kit's presence here was ideal, as was the clone's…although, in this later case, sometimes the doctor wished it would act…well, less intense.

The creature never smiled or laughed from what he could observe, and while he understood that this situation scarcely merited a lighthearted approach, the way it gazed at and spoke to the agent, the manner in which it occasionally touched her, was unsettling to Ethan Yarrow. While he could understand the value of his patient having a close bond with another being, the vibe he received when they were together didn't seem particularly innocuous. He hesitated to speculate that their relationship had any element of romantic or sexual interest to it, since he scarcely knew the two and thus couldn't accurately gauge their behaviors…but he knew common body language, and while his patient seemed entirely cold and closed off, the replica was less so, and indeed, seemed to soften when around her. Yet whatever might have been occurring between them, the attack seemed to have made Cassandra Merlo fold into herself. While she opened up somewhat when the replica was visiting her, her eyes gained no warmth as she peered up at him, and only the fact that she allowed him to slip his fingers between hers told that she still considered him a friend. It was more than she allowed her guardian, at the very least, and besides the lead doctor, the man was the only human she'd spoken with over the last several days.

The medic understood what was happening to her: she was withdrawing into herself and shutting down emotionally. After the initial shock, rage, and despair had faded, she was building up walls to keep everyone out, and was simply attempting to focus on being functional. If anyone asked her, he doubted she would admit that anything was wrong, for even scathing remarks were becoming rare for her. Instead of sniping back, which might even be a more welcome response, she might just reply that her body was healed, and that, since her rapist had been punished for his crimes, they could all move on and give what had happened no further consideration. But her doctor knew better, and like her godfather, he was watching the adolescent girl with growing concern.

As the men went into his office to speak about her condition, he poured himself a mug of bitter coffee and said, "As I mentioned over the phone, she's physically healed enough that she should be released from the medical ward. While I agree that she's in a fragile state, we need the room for other emergency cases, and for high-ranking members of the organization who've made private appointments. Their needs must be met as well, at least if you want your gang to function properly. As such, we can't favor her over them…and besides, I think it's time your goddaughter's psychological needs were looked after, now that her physical ones have been taken care of. After all, as far as the damage to her body went, she was quite fortunate-."

The crime lord's onyx eyes narrowed as anger flashed through him. "Excuse me? How can her condition have possibly been 'fortunate'? She was-!"

"Let me assure you that I know better than anyone what she endured; after all, I was the one who mended her wounds and took her statements. However, as vicious as Belial Biancardi was, he ultimately only gave her a few scars and fodder for nightmares. I've had the various samples I've taken from her over the past two weeks screened thoroughly, and she hasn't contracted any sexually transmitted infections from the encounter - although I want her to finish the antibiotic regime she's on, just in case I missed something. But more importantly, while I'll still need to have her tested for H.I.V. over the duration of the next year, her attacker's final medical reports indicated he tested negative for the virus. So I'm comfortable saying that the likelihood that she has the disease is slim to none. Hence my original point: while no one deserves what she went through, she was lucky to emerge from this so clean. She doesn't even need any reconstructive surgery, which some of the other rape victims I've seen can't boast."

As what he was hearing sunk in, the Signore of Team Rocket reluctantly had to agree with the medic. Yet one worry continued to niggle at the back of his brain, thus far left unaddressed. "You said he didn't leave her with anything. Does that also mean she's not pregnant?"

Reaching into his pocket, Yarrow grabbed the pen within and signed his portion of the release forms for his patient. "We would've detected the hormonal variations by now, so no, her womb is empty, and I'd prefer if it remained that way. It isn't safe for her body to carry a child to term, at least not right now. Maybe in a few years, but…well, that's all beside the point, Signore. As I said, I'm more concerned about where her head is right now, especially if you plan on sending her on missions anytime soon. You've indicated that that's your desire, and even though I've selected a drug regime that will, in part, sooth the psychological trauma of what she's been through, as well as the chronic pains she's been developing, substances can only do so much."

"So what would you suggest?" Giovanni asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Handing the man the papers to sign, the doctor said, "I would recommend scheduling her in for weekly meetings with a counselor, but as I understand it, the last therapist who tried working with Ms. Merlo found her to be entirely uncooperative. If she refuses to talk in those sessions, there's no use in forcing her to go, which doesn't leave you with many options. Now you could leave her be, and continue sending her on missions and making her attend various galas with the same frequency you did before, but I fear she'll deteriorate rapidly if you do so. Never mind if she says she's fine; she's not, and treating her as if she is will end up getting her killed, either by her own hand or someone else's. If I may make some radical suggestions, I'd recommend spending more time with her, as a concerned parent would, and keeping her workload and social scenes to a minimal. She needs some time to recuperate mentally, and putting her in situations where she's either in mortal danger, or among many unfamiliar faces, would risk causing a breakdown."

"Furthermore, she needs to confront what happened to her somehow. Returning to her home - the scene of the rape - is a good start, but she'll need more than that to move past this. She needs someone who will support her and care for her, someone who won't take advantage of her or leave her alone for extended periods of time. As such, this person has to be reliable and devoted to her, to the point where they'll do whatever's necessary to help her heal, even if she doesn't want their help. To give this a chance at working, however, this person has to be someone she currently tolerates, preferably even likes, but even more importantly, trusts. Otherwise, you'll have another body on your hands, though whose it will be depends entirely on how she lashes out. And she will lash out, Giovanni – her temperament is conducive to it, so this person better be strong enough to subdue her too. Of course, we both know that not many people meet the requirements I just listed. You just might be able to, but I daresay you're too preoccupied with other duties than to be her caretaker, am I right?"

Giovanni Maki had to repress a wince, despite how casually the last remark was said. For the other man was right; as much as he wished he could do more to aid his goddaughter, running Team Rocket was the Signore's primary duty, and he couldn't shrug off his responsibilities to play nurse to a traumatized, sixteen-year-old girl. Or rather, he could, but he'd risk losing his own organization if he did so, which was entirely unthinkable. Yet who else could do the job? Who else would be appropriate and willing, and had enough time and patience to give the girl the amount of attention she obviously needed? After all, Giovanni knew the supervising doctor well enough to know that he rarely said anything in jest, and never joked concerning his patients. So who'd be right for the task of keeping his goddaughter sane? Who could…?

The obvious answer hit him like a geodude to the face, and he almost wished to slap himself over his momentary stupidity. Yet the thought made him wary nonetheless, and to the doctor, he posed the notion worming its way into his brain. "Do you think the clone would suffice?" He almost hoped the man would veto the idea, for the healer wasn't the only one who'd noticed the body language the clone exhibited around Cassandra.

It seemed that the medical doctor didn't wish to meet his eyes as he said, "Given how she allows it to be near her, and even takes its words into account, I think it would be a suitable choice – perhaps the only one, actually, if the lack of other visitors she's had is any indication. That eevee certainly won't be able to stop her if she does something rash, and considering the emotional bond the clone shares with her…yes, it probably would be your best candidate. However, as her godfather, it's your decision alone how to proceed. I merely advise you to consider it, for her sake."

However, for all his uncertainties about the proposal, Giovanni Maki knew that Doctor Yarrow was correct: there was no other appropriate candidate he could select. Having already failed atrociously at keeping his goddaughter safe within his organization, the crime lord resolved himself to do what he would to keep her from harming herself. If that meant assigning the clone to be her caretaker, so be it – she was too precious for him to lose, especially because of negligence on his part.

Yet even after the replica consented to the idea, and left with the eevee to insure that Agent Merlo's apartment was prepared for her return, anxiety niggled at the back of the Signore's mind. Ordering the medics out of the room so he could speak to the teenager in private, he responded to her inquisitive glance with a question of his own. "Cassandra, just how close are you to the clone?"

Her grey eyes, which had long been vacant in recent days, abruptly focused on his face. "…Are you trying to insinuate something?"

His eyes narrowed at her brazen tone. "Don't sass me, young woman. I merely wish to make something clear to you: I have no problem with you being its friend, or with it acting as your servant. From what I've seen, the relationship you share with it is beneficial, which is why it'll be staying with you until your recovery is complete. However, Mewtwo and you are of entirely different species, so I will not tolerate you two engaging in any…unseemly activities. In the past, I've been lenient towards how you chose to spend your spare time, but behaving inappropriately with it will have severe consequences. Is that understood?"

Understanding, and even a hint of reproach, was conveyed in the expression she donned. "…So you're forbidding me from being his lover, is that it?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, he nodded. "Precisely."

For several long moments, Cassandra could only stare at her godfather in confusion, before searing anger began to rise within her at his words. Although she viewed Mewtwo differently than any other male, and although he was the most important person in her life, she'd never actively considered doing what Giovanni was suggesting. Even before the attack, when the potential between them had been at its fullest, she'd never dreamed of experiencing carnal bliss with Mewtwo, and that hadn't changed over the last two weeks. She had, however, reevaluated the bond she shared with her friend in that time, and had concluded that her feelings for him were no longer platonic. Whenever she reminisced on the moments they'd shared, and whenever he'd lingered at her bedside, his hand around hers, a tenderness blossomed within her heart that she could neither prune back nor ignore. This affection, quiet yet powerful, had been nurtured into bloom by the solace his presence provided, had budded over the duration of the past several months, and now - like winding ivy - refused to release its grip over her. When she'd finally acknowledged this, she'd been assaulted by the potential consequences of that warmth, the good and bad alike, and these possibilities had, in turn, made Mewtwo's daily visits bittersweet for her.

On top of her general melancholy, her newfound worries had hindered her from speaking at length with him. Despite her silence, however, he hadn't been discouraged, and as she'd gazed up at him, seeing the concern within his amethyst eyes, she'd mused that what lay within her own soul - if allowed to germinate any further - could awaken if he merely whispered to her a few, short words. In the past, such a stirring would have proven unthinkable, since the expectations of society, and the expectations she placed upon herself, would have been affronted by the soulful yearning. Having those expectations imbedded within her mind, she'd refused to consider being attracted to him, even as the fibers of her being beseeched her to look past what he was to see, instead, what he could be if she offered him the chance. However, after she'd been assaulted, and after lying within that hospital bed for several days, those expectations – suddenly deemed irrelevant – had been uprooted. After seeing the way so many other humans looked at her, like a befouled thing, admitting to herself (and, she was willing to bet, to them) how alluring she found the clone could hardly degrade her any further. Already ruined, she would ultimately consider herself fortunate if Mewtwo, who possessed far more compassion than most of the humans she knew, would be willing to embrace her tainted form. If her attraction to such a creature meant that some part of her was twisted and vile, then she'd prefer to confront and deal with it, rather than worsen her suffering by continuing to deny it.

However, even as she accepted the truth, she'd had no intentions of plunging forth and acting upon it. Instead, she simply wanted to give the matter time, and see how it would eventually work itself out. Whether she would reject or embrace the idea of sharing herself with Mewtwo was, in the end, unknown to even her. Once upon a bright, spring day, she might have been discontent with that uncertainty…but her current condition wasn't conducive to fornicating with wild abandon, at least not anytime soon. Right now, the mere thought of sex was enough to make her stomach churn, which anyone with a functioning brain could understand! Yet here Giovanni was, insinuating that she was planning to bed Mewtwo as soon as the opportunity arose. Here he was, peering down his nose at her as if she were some cheap slut, rather than his goddaughter and, more to the point, a victim of rape. His insensitivity made rage flare within her like an oil fire, and as her thoughts whirled from indignation, those flames only burned hotter. For what gave him the right to condemn her over feeling something for Mewtwo, or over anything else, for that matter? If they were to compare their sins, his would outweigh hers by several stones! And what gave him to right to imply that the clone was a senseless beast, rather than the thoughtful, caring being he was? Her guardian had barely spent any time with her friend, and had certainly never known his smile or laugh!

Furthermore, what made him think he had the right to dictate the most intimate part of Mewtwo's and her life: the people they chose to be with? He'd already decimated her childhood – did he intend to make her adult life just as miserable? After making her train under that – that monster – probably knowing the bastard's history, probably knowing the types of girls the sicko liked to pound into, how dare he order her to maintain her distance from her dearest friend! Besides her eevee, Mewtwo was the only creature who could still make her feel a hint of warmth. While she'd admit that engaging in a romantic relationship with him was improbable, for rhetoric's sake, what if kissing the clone, caressing him, and having sex with him would make her happy? After everything she'd endured because of her godfather, how could he justify forbidding her from anything that could potentially give her joy…?

As she began to tremble with outrage at the unfairness of it, she remembered the thrill of excitement she'd felt whenever she'd thought about celebrating her gradation with the clone. Before the attack, that notion had always managed to brighten her mood…and now, with the idea understandably forgotten, it reminded her that Mewtwo had been – and still was - a source of hope for her. While she didn't believe she would pursue the clone, having none of the confidence, strength, and bravery to do so, she nonetheless loathed her godfather's audacity. After all, he was not her father, and while he'd been given the right to end her life, he didn't have the right to interfere with her personal one!

Clenching her hands into fists, she opened her mouth and hissed, with shocking venom for someone who'd been a living corpse for the past two weeks, "And what if I defy your command? What if I go right ahead and fuck my best friend until neither of us can leave my apartment without limping? What would you do about it, Giovanni? Humor your goddaughter, since that's the only thing you've been able to do for me these days."

The ire and bitterness in her voice temporarily shocked the Signore, before he regained his bearings and glared at her. Stepping around the end of the bed toward her, he grabbed her shoulder with a crushing hand and snarled, "Then I will terminate the perverse relationship immediately. I will not allow your reputation to be degraded by some sordid fetish! While I would prefer to keep that animal alive and well, if you force this matter, then I'll have no other choice but to have it put down."

Her eyes widened, and even as she yearned to ask him why such an extreme measure would be taken, she already knew the answer: there was no other way for her godfather to insure that they'd be separated. After all, Mewtwo was in the process of learning how to teleport, and once he mastered the ability, no amount of restrictions placed on them both could keep them from meeting. To his credit, Giovanni seemed reluctant to consider the idea, but both he and Cassandra knew that he'd go through with it if necessary.

Seeing that she understood this, his voice softened as he murmured, "Cassandra, understand that I sympathize with your emotions. You've been brutally used and treated as subhuman, and if it had been my choice, I would have endured the pain and humiliation in your stead. But even though you've suffered terribly, it won't excuse turning to that clone for comfort. I want you to achieve great things in your life, and for that reason, I've cared for you and trained you since you were a child. Replacing you with someone else – someone whose reputation befits the role you are to play - would be far more difficult than simply recreating that pokémon. After all, its corpse would provide more than enough genetic material to manufacture dozens more of its kind. Making another from its flesh would only require time and money, and I'd be willing to sacrifice both to ensure the end of a scandal."

Releasing her shoulder, he stepped back and handed her the clothes lying on the bedside table. After she changed out of her medical gown, she could return to her apartment. Yet before he would leave and give her some privacy, he needed to confirm that she understood the gravity of the situation. Settling his gaze upon her face, he said, in faultless and professional monotone, "Now acknowledge the fact that I've given you due warning, Agent Merlo."

He saw her bite her lower lip, and as she closed her grey eyes, turning her face away, she answered, "I…I've been warned. I'll do as you've ordered, Signore."

Sighing inwardly with relief, a small smile tugged at his mouth, and turning around, he began to walk away. Before he closed the door behind him, however, he whispered, "For both of your sakes, I hope you do, my dear girl."

And as the door snicked shut, leaving Cassandra utterly alone, she clutched her fresh clothes to herself, feeling her heart pounding within her chest. Fear and sorrow mingled into a sour broth, gathering in the back of her throat, making the slick flesh tighten and ache. Before she knew it, her eyes were stinging with tears, and when the memory of Mewtwo's smile flitted within her mind, a soft, shuddering gasp escaped her at the thought of her godfather's threat. If she ever held her dearest friend within her arms, then having him ripped from her grasp would be an almost certain eventuality. The bitter irony did not escape her as she shed her medical gown, immediately pulling her own garments over her to conceal the faint shadows of old bruises and the gleaming white of new scars. For in Mewtwo's and her case, to gain one another meant losing one another, and in losing one another they would gain nothing. For unlike Belial Biancardi, the Signore of Team Rocket did not hold to the idea of equivalency, rendering any sense of fairness – at least in his actions – utterly irrelevant. Indeed, if karma could be said to exist, then Giovanni Maki probably bribed it not to bite him in the ass. Someday, perhaps, he'd know the suffering he'd inflicted onto others, but this was not that day. So for now, his goddaughter merely swallowed the emotions rising within her and left to join the creature occupying her thoughts, and tried not to wonder about what the future would bring them….


Listening to this account, the espeon felt the fur running down her spine prickle up: having also had a domineering human attempt to restrain her from becoming "too close" to the being she loved, she could empathize with the young woman's frustration. There is little as infuriating and profane as being told who one couldn't be with, because despite what an authority figure might believe, there were parts of a person's life that should never be controlled. Even if the potential lover is supposedly a horrible individual, with no account praising their hidden goodness…even if the guardian merely wants to defend their treasured charge from potential danger…there are simply some boundaries they should respect. When they do more than criticize, when they do more check up on the young one, when they begin to rip the reins away from their proper owner, then they deprive their "precious person" of a fundamental, innate, and even primal right: the right to chose one's own partner, and to experience the positive and negative consequences of that choice. Even if the protector is correct about the suitor, and ultimately succeeds in their objective - of trampling on that passionate portion of the soul – neither wronged, almost lover will forget what was done. For the protected, their trust in the defender might never mend, and the esteem they placed in them will certainly no longer be held as high; and as for the rejected, while some plots might be foiled, the hearts of others might be crushed, to reform in any number of ways after that one special person, the only person who truly reached out to them, was forced to draw their hand back.

All in all, love was already messy enough without outside interference. To become involved in such a private situation, spurred by scarcely more than heresy and self-righteousness, was to invite more grave outcomes than good down the road. Psyche knew that better than most, and given Mewtwo's current situation, she was certain that he was also aware of how wrong such interventions could go. Drawing her from her thoughts, the clone told her, "By the time I learned of this conversation, it would be too late to salvage my relationship with her. However, even when I was losing the little faith I had in mankind, I convinced myself that Giovanni's harsh words had merely been said to deter her, to keep her from acting in a scandalous way. Despite catching glimpses of his true nature, despite finding his treatment of his goddaughter deplorable, I dismissed my suspicions and Cassandra's own warnings, certain that I was…," his muzzle wrinkled with disgust at where that thought lead, and after a moment, he spat, admitting, "…that I was different to him –special. And while I was both in his eyes, he viewed me as an expensive, all-purpose tool he had commissioned someone to forge, rather than as a fellow construction worker, if you will."

Later, the random thought of her roommate as a hammer-like - yet still angst-ridden - robot would reduce her to nearly hysterical giggles, but for now, she merely urged him to continue. His muzzle still wrinkled with aggravation, he elaborated on an earlier point. "Regardless, after the attack, Cassandra's and my arguments about him ceased, along with most of the other conversations we had once shared. We no longer talked about many aspects of our lives, rarely mentioning our perceived purposes, our pasts, or the ones who had made us. We returned to the site where many of those discussions had taken place, but that place was undeniably different from what it had been. Although it had physically been cleaned, it was tainted by the gruesome memories it now held…but even so, Cassandra refused to move elsewhere. So for over a month, I stayed with her there, persuading her to eat, to drink, to take her pills each day. Whenever need be, I helped her cleanse and clothe herself, and remained nearby to keep the frequent nightmares she suffered from at bay. Yet of all of my responsibilities, perhaps my most essential one was to encourage her to speak about what she was going through. Since she declined seeing a counselor, and refused to confide in anyone else, that left me as her sole source of guidance. Yet I was neither a wise nor experienced individual, so the clarity I could provide her was limited. As time progressed and she was sent on solo missions, it soon became apparent just how muddled her mind was, and how much she had changed…."


In the month that followed, Giovanni did precisely as Doctor Yarrow instructed: he began spending more time with Cassandra, sharing his dinners with her a few times per week, and permitted her to decline attending any and all of the social events taking place within Team Rocket. Having never particularly liked parties and business meetings anyhow, the teenager took full advantage of this new freedom, spending as much of her time outdoors with Shadow as possible. During these ventures to Viridian Forest, Mewtwo could be seen guarding over her whenever the gym did not require him, and had, on more than one occasion, needed to carry his sleeping friend back to her apartment. As it was, only recently had she begun to reside comfortably within her own home again, the anxiety that overtook her each night eased by Mewtwo's company. Rather than returning to the laboratories at night, he'd taken to sleeping on a roll-out cot against the one open wall of Unit 150, his makeshift bed padded with several blankets and pillows. From there, he was simultaneously situated in front of the entranceway, capable of preventing any potential invader from making it into the main chamber, while still being the direct line of sight from Cassandra's bed. Thus, whenever she jerked awake from a nightmare, her eyelids flashing open in the murk, she soon found her gaze falling upon his resting form, and felt her anxiety melting at the soft sound of his breathing. Over time, this routine might have helped her convalesce completely…but for all the reassurance it offered, the missions she was sent on made her backtrack several steps, until it became openly apparent that Cassandra was, despite how she acted around the males in her life, becoming increasingly unstable.

If anything demonstrated her fractured mental state, it was the death toll from her most recent assignment. Over thirty individuals had been slain, with the young assassin being the sole culprit behind the slaughter. Despite ordering homicides on an almost weekly basis, Giovanni was nonetheless disturbed as he read the news report detailing the murders. After all, only one woman had been the target of his goddaughter's assignment, and now three dozen people were resting in freshly dug graves. Had she chosen to hunt down and kill everyone she could find in the area…? When he asked for the motive behind the gory deed, his assassin had merely replied that it had made the "screaming" stop…and somehow, he was almost certain the "screaming" she was referring hadn't belonged to her victims. As she handed him her report, answering his question in a cool, emotionless monotone, he felt a shiver run down his spine. Just what kind of criminal she was turning into…?

As the rumors about the mass murder spread throughout Team Rocket, he began to hear the title his subordinates were giving her: the Archangel of Death. Given her codename, he understood where the title had originated from, but never before had it fit her so well. Not only was she ruthless during her missions, but even when she returned home, she remained frigid to those she could call her comrades…and the ones who made the mistake of slighting her were often wounded in the end. While the gangsters around her had always maintained their distance, they were now going out of their way to give her space. Yet all the same, their whispers followed her, and from what his intelligence agents could gather, most of Team Rocket considered the enigmatic Mewtwo to be her demon pet. Remembering what the creature had done to Belial Biancardi, Giovanni Maki had no doubts about the clone's devotion to the girl. His prized pokémon would probably maul anyone who even looked at Cassandra wrong, and if she were to order it to torture someone, it would probably do so within the next hour.

Considering that the teenager did nothing to unravel such suspicions, he suspected that she was intentionally trying to strike terror into their ranks. After all, even the dumbest of thugs knew not to approach a potential psychopath, and given how Cassandra seemed to want no one besides the clone near her, their fear was working to her advantage. So, as Giovanni Maki sat at his desk, his eyes resting upon the unopened report from his goddaughter's last mission, he wondered which thought unsettled him more: the one that suggested that Cassandra, who he had preened since she was six, was going out of control; the one that suspected she was premeditating extensive homicides – far beyond what he'd originally assigned - that, in effect, would be of means of isolating herself; or the one that insisted it was a mix of both, making her a ticking time bomb that could, if she were left to her own devices, detonate at any time, regardless if she was around friend or foe.

Abruptly, he was assaulted with the memory of her as a newborn infant, with her parents smiling down at her. She'd radiated peace and purity then, and now…well, now Mewtwo might be the only one who could keep her in line. For the sake of Selena's and Caleb's only child, the Signore would have to take a gamble and hope for the best. He could not intervene…and least not right now, while Cassandra was in such a fragile state, as likely to shatter completely as she was to mend….

Thus, one dreary evening, with rain splattering on the kitchen windowpanes, Mewtwo and Cassandra remained undisturbed in her bathroom. During that moment, Shadow was curled upon one of his mistress' pillows, while the clone sat on the rim of the bleached bathtub, the warm, sudsy water whirling around his feet. Before him sat Cassandra, her legs folded up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her chin resting on her kneecaps. Around her naked body, the soapy waters swirled lazily, the diminishing soap bubbles forming dreamlike images across the surface of the bathwater. With a soaked washrag, impregnated with vanilla body wash, he wiped away the grit and traces of blood from her newest wounds. While he did this, she remained still and silent, not shifting a millimeter or uttering a sound as he took the showerhead from the stand above and, turning on the lukewarm spray, rinsed the shampoo and conditioner from her hair.

As the water washed over her, banishing the suds from her hair, the strands drifting down to rest against her skin, she closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of the cascading fluid. Unclothed and exposed as she was, emptying her mind of all thoughts, allowing herself to take in only the minute details of her surroundings, was the only way to make the process of bathing bearable. After her caretaker finished rinsing away the soap, she reached out to touch his arm, which had become her way of signaling her desire to leave the tub. Replacing the showerhead and opening the drain, he stepped out of the waters and onto the tiled floor, reaching into the nearby cabinet to get her a towel. Her change of clothes, already set out on the counter, remained untouched.

When he turned back to her, he saw that she'd left the draining waters as well, and was now standing in front of the sink. Approaching her, she surprised him by looking up at him and saying, in a soft and somewhat confused voice, "…Why are you doing this, Mewtwo?"

As he wrapped the white, fluffy towel around her shoulders, he mused that there were so many reasons he could give her. He could tell her that her godfather had asked him to do so, but even if the man hadn't posed the possibility, Mewtwo would still have volunteered to attend to her. He could say that he trusted no one else to treat her kindly, which they both knew was probably the case. He could confess to her that, for all the respect he had for Shadow, he didn't believe the child would be capable of stopping her from harming herself. Yet in the end, he doubted those reasons would give her comfort, and so he settled on the truth that made up their core. Brushing the wet strands of her bangs back from her face, he murmured, "…I care for you. That is all the reason I need to be here."

"I see…."

Something in the ways she said those words made his brow furrow. When she glanced away from his eyes, he rested his paws upon her shoulders, able to feel the ridges of her clavicles through the cotton fabric. She did not, he was relieved to notice, shrug away his hands, but as the silence between them stretched on, he asked the question that had been bothering him for some time. "Cassandra…why have you been treating others so coldly? Even towards Giovanni, you have grown rather distant. Why is that…?"

Several moments passed before she answered him, and when she did, he found himself cursing the Signore for the second time. "…If you'd have asked him, you'd already know why. With the exception of trained doctors, my godfather always told me that the only person who can heal your hurts is yourself. This is just how he taught me to cope, and since I wasn't close to anyone else in Team Rocket anyway, rejecting them now isn't much of a loss."

He supposed he could understand her hesitance to turn to other criminals for solace, but there was more to the matter than that. Over the past month, he'd made another observation that concerned him just as much as her treatment of others, if not more. Tightening his grip on her shoulders, he asked,"Did he also say that a reassuring hand upon you could do nothing to help you heal? Is that why you refuse to be touched by them…?"

He felt her shiver, and surprising him, she leaned herself against him, her body warm and moist against his pelt. He felt her breath ripple over his chest, her exhalation quaking as fear crawled up her spine, creeping into her alto voice as she replied, "No…that's not why."

So what was her reasoning? As curiosity and concern saturated his mind, he prompted her to explain. There was a flicker of white as she bit her lower lip – a nervous gesture she'd recently gained – before she tentatively whispered to him, "Every time…every time just reminds me of him. I can feel him touching me again, forcing himself inside of me, and I…I just can't…I can't…!"

She trembled against him, trying to staunch the upset, disgusted tears beginning to well up in her eyes, but soon enough the salty, warm wetness of those tears began to saturate his fur. Yet even as she bowed her head, ashamed of showing weakness after a month had passed since her release from the hospital, Mewtwo didn't turn away from her as she began to break down. Instead, he wove his arms around her, drawing her naked, quaking form against him, and rested his muzzle upon her hair. As her fragrance filled his nose, as the warmth of her flesh radiated into his pelt, he vaguely realized that in any other situation, the close proximity between their unclothed bodies might have aroused him. Yet in this case, as the solemn, even mourning atmosphere settled around them, he suppressed any feelings of lust from stirring in his loins. As far as he was concerned, allowing himself to crave her at this moment - when she'd finally lowered her barriers to express how much she was hurting - would have been a betrayal of the trust she placed in him. Besides, having already witnessed what a man's unrestrained desire could do to her, he had no intention of doing anything that would remind her of the experience. He cared for her too much to allow such a thing….

And as he contemplated the depths of his affection, a simple truth unfolded within his soul like a paper snowflake, its unique beauty forged from dedication and loss alike. Later, he would muse that this was indeed a strange setting in which to make such a revelation: an unadorned apartment washroom, its only charm being the lingering aroma from the vanilla-scented bathing products. Yet nevertheless, it was there, standing upon the cool floor tiles with his dearest friend, his arms and tail protectively wrapped around her quivering frame, that he made his realization. He identified the emotion he'd been harboring within himself for months now, the emotion that had filled his soul until he was nearly brimming with it, its heavy, sticky warmth barely capable of being concealed and contained. Even now, he wondered if it weren't seeping from him, this impossible and unrelenting feeling which made him yearn for everything there was of her - her soul, her mind, her heart, her flesh, and all other traces of her that existed. In that bittersweet moment, he finally recognized that what he was feeling for her was the most precious, intimate, and sensual emotion known to humankind.

And that emotion, which transcended their physical shapes and current circumstances, was what her kind had named "love."

As he cradled her against him, her sobs catching in his ears, he mulled over the thought: that he, Mewtwo, the clone of mew, a shadow of life, a companion to a few, select outcasts, was in love with her. He needed no time to collect himself from shock - for he'd always known she was special to him - and calmly dissuaded the whispers of dissent rising from the depths of his brain. For even if he were to debate the matter with himself, his knew this conclusion would remain valid and unchanged, and instead chose to accept his feelings for Cassandra in silence. That was not to say he didn't experience some uncertainty. After all, romantic love was not a feeling he should be capable of feeling, especially for an adolescent human. However, its potent force was what made him long to comfort and protect her, and had nearly driven him mad when he'd found her bloodied and broken. It was enough to make his hands into those that healed, into those that killed, and continued to draw him to her, even as the knowledge that they could never be together sobered him. For despite the similarities between them - their social statuses, their outlooks on the world, their typically taciturn natures – they were of two different species, and as much as he might yearn to do so, this fact could not be overlooked. As his heart became leaden with sorrow, another thought drifted into his brain, reminding him that even if they both chose to ignore what they were, there was something else that would keep a union between them incomplete: and that was that Cassandra, quite simply, was no longer able to endure physical intimacy anymore.

And so he began to shut the emotion away, just as he always unconsciously had, hoping to conceal it for as long as he could. Yet as he inhaled her warm, vanilla scent, aching to express what he felt for her, he found himself incapable of closing the door on them completely. To do so would wound his already scarred heart, and besides, there was one thing he needed to know before a choice could be made. In a soft, hesitant voice, he asked, "…And when I touch you, Cassandra? Do you remember him then?"

She raised her eyes to meet his, and as she formed her answer, he saw something indecipherable flicker within her grey gaze. "…No, I don't. You don't have human hands, so no…your touch doesn't disgust me."

In his heart, he was grateful to hear her say that…but only time would tell if that would change anything between them.


Above the two psychics, the moon had begun to set, mingling its cool light with the western breeze. However, neither the replica nor the vixen felt its invisible caress anymore, instead knowing only the dull ache of remembered sorrow. Tilting his head back, Mewtwo regarded the descending lunar orb, his violet eyes gleaming from its spectral glow, and from the bitterness those days had left within him. Yet of all the creatures he'd encountered during his travels, the female sitting near him could probably comprehend how he'd felt, for in essence, her story was not so dissimilar from his. After a quiet moment passed, he addressed that truth, alluding to his reason for eventually accepting her into his home.

"I am certain you understand, Psyche – you, who yearned for someone you were not supposed to take as your one and only mate. Like me, you attempted to maintain your distance, not wishing to be the cause of your partner's pain. Like me, you learned the torment of living so close to your special someone, yet still being unable to be with them, due to circumstances that were largely beyond your control. Like me, you know how that type of longing sickens the soul and body, how it pesters your mind and heart, offering no reprieve unless you make a crucial choice." And then, with a hint of steel entering his telepathic voice, he murmured, "You can either decline taking any risks, instead doing everything you can to redirect, dismantle, or simply forget what you feel for that person…or you can chose to accept those risks, doing or saying the one thing that will, for better or for worse, transform your relationship with the one you care so dearly for. And as I am certain you can surmise, although I intended to take the first option, I ultimately decided upon the second…."


Poets have often described the relationship between lovers as akin to a flame. Bringing light, energy, and heat into the lives of the individuals involved, love - like a literal fire - is capable of burning continuously if nurtured, of slowly fading into ashes over time, or of swiftly being extinguished by a variety of means. After building up the connections between them, as one might a pyramid of timber, and adjusting their own behaviors to make a potential match, they test that match to see if it can ignite the space between them. Sometimes the kindling they use flares immediately, burning through the timber while throwing the couple into a thrilling, whirlwind romance which will, more often than not, burn out just as swiftly as it had begun. But in other instances, that kindling hesitates to catch, and when it finally does, the flame spreads slowly, steadily, until it has encompassed its makers entirely without them even realizing. For Cassandra and Mewtwo, the latter analogy would prove the better fit: after a rough and stubborn beginning, their relationship had taken its time to strengthen and warm, until it had been banked to the point where it could flare high and hot with only a bit of prodding. And perhaps it would have done so in the spring, had the attack not reduced their fire to little more than embers. By mid-June, while that undertone of glowing coals remained, signifying that the potential to reignite was still there, the only way to achieve that flare was to add a catalyst.

So when their relationship did, at that point, shift into its final, searing form, it did so with a suddenness that caught them both off guard.

On the night of that month's full moon, with the crickets chirping across the lawns, and the moths fluttering around the streetlights, Cassandra decided to visit the Team Rocket Laboratories. At that late hour, the facility was devoid of all but a skeleton staff, none of whom detected her as she made her way through the antiseptic hallways. After finding her way into the security surveillance room, whose guard had conveniently chosen that time to fetch a cup of coffee, she set the video feed to her friend's quarters into a loop, not wanting anyone – especially her godfather - to learn that she was stealing away the clone in the night. While she knew her intentions were innocent, she doubted he would believe her if she told him the truth: that she'd merely wanted to stargaze with her friend again, and maybe even play him the opus she'd composed on her viola. Having returned to orchestral music for therapeutic reasons, the newest piece she'd created was a gentle, soulful tune, and one that she dearly wanted Mewtwo to hear. Having made it specifically with him in mind, she privately hoped it would adequately express her gratitude to him. Without him, these last three months would have proven unbearable, and she was certain she wouldn't be functioning right now if not for him. While she was still far from alright, and there were days when she needed to repress the urge to scream and destroy everything within arm's reach, she had at least regained some level of self-control.

The fact that she'd become slightly more stable was why Mewtwo wasn't staying with her every night. Her godfather figured that as long as she wasn't at risk of hurting herself or her pet (as if Shadow was ever at risk. Her furniture, yes, but her beloved eevee? To quote one of the imported agents, "not a snorunt's chance in hell," whatever the fuck a snorunt was), there was no need for his prized pokémon to be "sleeping over," as he put it. Cassandra had wanted to not-so-respectfully disagree with his assessment, for while she'd readjusted to daily life as an agent for Team Rocket – her missions had given her little choice in the matter – the nights she spent alone contained a special brand of horror for her. While she wouldn't compare her friend to a reliable guard dog, she did feel…safe…when he was nearby, and in his absence, her paranoia and nightmares returned to their original potency. She was lucky to get four hours of sleep a night, and while the drugs Dr. Yarrow had given her helped to some degree, the reassuring presence of the clone proved far more effective.

That was part of the reason she was awake at this hour: she'd spent the last several tossing and turning in bed, and had finally given up on resting entirely. Instead, she hoped to make the remaining hours of the twilight into something of a respite. By sharing this time with Mewtwo, enjoying some music and the stars, surely she would gain some amount of peace…? Even if he chose to use that time to brood, which had become his habit lately (presumably because he couldn't watch over her like he used to), she nonetheless wanted him to accompany her tonight. As she snuck into the quarters where her companion was, she found him standing under the main chamber's skylight, the moon above casting a ghostly glow upon the armor encasing him. Hearing her footsteps, his helmet tilted upwards as he lifted his head to watch her approach. He said nothing, neither greeting her nor asking why she was even there, which momentarily perplexed her. In the following seconds, he confused her further by shifting back when she came within a few steps of him, as if he were uncomfortable with her proximity. However, this theory didn't compute; after all, this was the creature she'd trained in close-combat exercises, and who'd held her naked body to his on more than one occasion.

Dismissing herself as the probable cause of his discomfort, she immediately assigned blame to the metal suit he wore. While there were thin cushions on the insides of the plates, it couldn't be comfortable, and quietly chastising him for not shucking it off sooner, she closed the distance between them and began removing the armor herself. Despite how he shifted back, she nonetheless caught his arms, undoing the latches of the first forearm guard, then the next, and soon had set both on the concrete floor. When she straightened, she ran her fingertips along the line of his jaw to find the best place to grip the edges of the helmet, and after removing the headgear from him, placed it beside the forearm protectors. Glancing at his face, she noted that he had donned an almost…was it bored?...expression, which neither encouraged nor protested against her actions. If telepathy had been amongst her psychical skills, she would have realized he was actually arguing with himself. He was debating which option would have the worse consequences: fleeing and quite possibly angering or hurting her, or staying and being tempted by her as she essentially undressed him. When she undid the clasps and unhooked the wires at his sides and shoulders, he remained undecided, and tensed as her fingers brushed over his torso when she lifted away the chest plate and shoulder guards from him.

He believed the word for this experience was tantalizing. The skin beneath his light fur tingled with her feather light touches, rendering his breath shallow from both pleasure and his frantic attempts not to purr. Gritting his teeth, he reassured himself with the thought that this process would be over soon, and she wouldn't even be in front of him for the next part. She would have to circle behind him to undo the…wait, what was she doing? Why was she kneeling down before him like that? In the following seconds, he distantly felt tickling sensations as she removed the anklets – distantly because what he was mainly experiencing in that moment was the feeling of blood rushing to the opposite ends of his body. However, when she leaned forward, close enough that strands of her hair began to cling to the pelvic armor from static, her hands reaching to his waist, Mewtwo acted.

Placing his paws upon her shoulders, he shoved her away frantically, his heart almost palpitating at her nearness of her mouth to his groin, regardless of the sheet of metal between them. He was painfully aware that if he didn't end this now, while he still retained some level of self-restraint, that he would begin responding to her in ways that would - at best - only confuse and distress her. Despite how tranquil and even normal she sometimes seemed, despite that she was beginning to regain her feisty personality, despite how her smiles were slowly strengthening, he understood what everyone else preferred to ignore: that she was not the same woman she had been, and was certainly not okay. Having consoled her after countless nightmares and violent fits, the last one being as recent as three days ago, he knew that even the slightest reminder of what she'd experienced was enough to render her inane.

Ultimately, there was only one reason why she could touch him and be touched by him without quivering with revulsion – and that was the perfect trust she had in him. She trusted him to never hurt her or violate her, to never put her in a situation where she could be hurt or violated, and if she were to ever discover how desperately he yearned for her, she would be lost. She would no longer have anyone she could rely on, and would likely relapse into despair upon remembering all the times she'd been vulnerable before him. As she currently was, still healing from the result of another male's desire for her, it was wrong and immoral for him to want her as he did, the fact that she was a human aside! Yet no matter how wretched it was of him, he yearned for the feel of her hands against him, for the feel of her mouth pressed tenderly to his, for the feel of her lovely body stirring in his arms. Because unlike the monster who'd dreamed of her because she was the object of his lusts, Mewtwo lusted for her because she was the woman of his dreams. No matter how scarred her soul and her flesh now was and might yet become, no matter that she wasn't and would never again be the same, fiery female who'd taught him so many important lessons, she was Cassandra, and to him, that name had transformed into a synonym for everything that could ever matter to him. So he would do anything, say anything, give anything, if only he could keep her safe, and – someday – ensure that she could feel happiness again.

If that meant maintaining some distance between them, he would do so, no matter how he ached for her.

While he was arriving at that conclusion, Cassandra was sprawled out on the concrete floor, stunned at how the clone had pushed her away. She couldn't understand it - why he had he done that? Belatedly, she remembered that he'd been acting moody around her quite a bit lately, never seeming to want to stay around her for extended periods of time. Had she been doing something wrong? Whatever it had been, tonight had apparently been the final straw, for rather than simply avoiding her, he'd now outright repelled her, as if she weren't…wait, was that it? Did he see her differently than he used to, not as a friend, but as something else, something…much less valuable to him? Somewhere along the line, had he wearied of taking care of her, the damaged and dirty rape victim, and had simply decided that enough was enough? Had he decided that as soon as she was able to live on her own, he would calmly and quietly dismiss himself from her life? As she recalled what she'd originally travelled here for – the stars and the song – her fingernails scrapped against the cement beneath her, her innards feeling as though they'd been scooped out with a giant spoon.

Rising to her feet shakily, she gave him one momentary, lost look, and whispered, "Mewtwo, why…?"

Hearing how faint and sad her voice sounded, alarm lanced through him painfully. Did she not understand the type of response she'd been provoking with her actions…? If that were so, then perhaps it would be better if she returned to her apartment for the night; at least that way, he would have some time to regain his composure. Settling on that course, he began to turn away and said,"Leave this place and return home, Cassandra. Whatever it was you wished for us to do, we can attend to it some other time-."

"Some other time? What about now, Mewtwo? Why can't we just be together right now?" With each question, her voice became increasingly shrill and frantic. There were tears gathering in her eyes when she lifted her head, exposing her contorted expression of anger, confusion, and most of all, fear. Already speared with alarm, the clone felt as if the point were being twisted in cruelly. Yet before he could ask her why she was acting this was, she nearly yelled, "The last time we had this conversation, 'some other time' never came, remember?"

His brows knit together in bewilderment. When had they had this discussion before? Stepping towards her, he murmured, "Cassandra, what conversation are you refer-?"

Before he'd even finished his inquiry, she was shouting at him with raw and searing words – words which were as difficult for her to speak as they were for him to hear. "I wanted you to come with me to that goddamned graduation!" she began, her hands clenched into fists and shaking at her sides. "I wanted you to be there, but didn't know how to tell you that! But you said we'd celebrate some other time, just the two of us, and I looked forward to that when I went to sleep that night. I kept thinking that even though you weren't there, whatever you were planning would be so much better than if you had been. So I was happy and excited and then…."

At that point her arms flew up, wrapping themselves over her chest, her fingernails digging into her upper arms as she rambled on, "...and then he came and forced me down and shoved himself inside me, and you weren't there when I needed you to be there! I called for you, begged you to make him stop, but instead you came too late. You found me broken and filthy and you forgot all about our plans. And I know, I know why you forgot then, but I don't want this time to be forgotten too! Not when I've been trying so hard to get better, so you won't ever look at me like the rest of them do! I don't want you to think I'm garbage too, but –," she clenched her eyes shut, unable to bear seeing his face as she uttered her next thought, "but if you already do, then just lie to me about it! Lie to me and pretend I'm worth something to you and just stay with me. I can handle anything else, but please don't leave me. Please, Mewtwo, I - I don't want to be alone again!"

Her slender frame and alto voice were shaking hard by the time she finished, and as silence fell between them, the replica felt as if his heart were being crushed. Having once known the bitter ache of loneliness quite well, he comprehended the toll it could eventually have on someone afflicted with it. Yet unlike the clone, who'd only spent a matter of months "alone," his companion had experienced years of having no one to turn to, neither to confide in nor receive something as simple yet profound as an embrace. The young woman crumbling before him was the result of that isolation, and unable to tolerate it, Mewtwo stepped forward. He reached out to her, gently tilting her chin up with a paw, making her watering, grey eyes meet his amethyst one. As he contemplated what he should say to her, he decided to focus on reassuring her, rather than addressing every part of what she'd said. Although there was obviously much more that needed to be discussed, soothing her was his foremost priority. The rest would simply have to wait…for now, he would do what he could to calm her.

When he spoke, he did so in a steady, yet gentle voice. "Why do you believe that I no longer care for you? That I am planning to go where you are not? How could either be a remote possibility in your mind? Since this year began, everything I have done has been for your sake, so do not doubt my sincerity now. You are my dearest friend, and I will not abandon you."

Following his proclamation, relief and hope tinged her aura, and her trembling abated. However, after she considered his words for a moment, her overwhelming response was to become even more confused. Lifting her hands to wipe her tears away, she sniffed and said, "But – but if that's true, then why have you been acting so strangely? Tell me so I can understand what's going on with you!"

While she wasn't directly questioning his feelings for her, those feelings were ultimately the reason he'd been acting differently around her. So he was now confronted with a dilemma: unless he decided to evade answering or simply lie to her - both of which she might be able to sense and, from there, completely foil - his only response could be to confess to her. Just as before, a sizeable portion of his brain considered this an unthinkable option, given the high likelihood that their relationship would be ruined if he told her the truth. However, even as that part of his mind demanded he remain silent, another part brushed and infected his thoughts with a single image: of Cassandra breaking down before him, weakened by the suspicion that he was planning to leave her. While her dread of being alone again could explain away her pleas for him to stay, the rest of what she'd said indicated something else entirely. Yes, as her closest friend, it made sense for her to value his company above those of strangers, for her to view him differently than she did everyone else, for her to trust and care for him far more than any other. Perhaps it was even unavoidable that she had singled him out so exclusively, and implied nothing about how she felt for him. Yet he couldn't reason away the sense of longing, the sense of need he received from her words, which made him wonder to himself if she'd ever strictly branded him as only a friend.

Whenever he'd looked back on the moments they'd shared, mostly those from before she'd been broken, he'd mulled over their exchanges, discovering possible hints that she might be as attracted to him as he was to her. Perhaps she'd even had an inkling about how alluring she was to him, but after the attack, whatever confidence she'd had in his interest in her – regardless of whether it was platonic or romantic – had been undermined. She doubted everyone now, her fellow agents, her godfather, her best friend, and perhaps most of all, herself. The only one she had any margin of faith in was Shadow, but considering the kit regarded her as his mother, and would never - and could never - do anything to harm her, this came as no surprise. However, while both the eevee and the clone of mew were pokémon, Mewtwo was different in that he was a humanoid with a human-esque soul. After enough time had passed, she'd stopped seeing him as an anthropomorphic monster and more and more as just another person. Ultimately, that he looked like the beast from that old French fairy tale proved inconsequential to her heart, and only remained daunting to her mind.

However, as admirable as her transcendent view of him was, it had its own price: for like any other human, she doubted he would chose to stay beside her for very long. No matter that the thought of departing seemed ludicrous to him, and no matter how many times he might tell her that, without knowing the source of his loyalty, her dread over the possibility would endure and magnify over time. Her confidence in him would remain frail, and even when she smiled at him, she would continue to wonder when he'd leave her behind. After all, she didn't know what anchored him to her, didn't know that his fiercest wish was to remain near her – how could she when he hadn't told her? Despite his tender vows and consolations, he hadn't spoken those three precious words to her, nor dared show her the extent of his desires. He'd feared such actions would disturb her, would cause her to shun him, and yet…what if they didn't? What if she yearned for him in the same way he did for her, and would welcome his affections? Wasn't there a chance that his confession could – rather than tear them apart - make her realize that she never needed to be alone again, unless she herself craved such solitude?

As he felt himself teetering on the precipice of indecision, he asked himself a question: dare he take the risk and find out what would happen?

In that moment, she called out his name, drawing him from his escalating thoughts. Lowering his gaze to her face, he saw worry and frustration etched there, his lengthy silence having only perturbed her more. If he didn't answer her soon, she might very well curse him or flick him on the nose, either of which would startle him as much as they would a carefree, devoted puppy. Warming somewhat from amusement at the thought, he felt that warmth spread as he took her in: her dark, glossy hair, which was streaked with the moonlight from above; her light bronze skin, so smooth beneath his fingertips; her pale grey eyes, shining and soft with tenderness; her supple body and the luminous aura surrounding it, the language of both telling him that she was comfortable with – and perhaps even craved - his closeness. Within his mind's eye, he saw flickers of the memories he shared with her, the moments haphazardly arranged, with none of the following the rules of chronology or similar content. Yet all of these details combined formed a picture of them, of him fiercely loving her and her quite possibly loving him in return. And as he viewed that picture, he asked himself another question: was being with her, was doing everything he could to heal her, worth the risk of losing her?

The answer was a resounding "yes." All at once, he felt himself giving in to her and everything he felt for her, and damning the consequences, he drew her against him and committed a very human act of affection.

He pressed his mouth to hers, and murmured, "I love you, Cassandra."

And for a moment, he allowed himself to be lost in that kiss, knowing it might be the only one he would ever share with her. He savored the pleasure of the tender contact, savored the softness of her lips against his, savored the sweetness of them as the tip of his tongue darted out for a small taste. When she whimpered in surprise, tensing in his arms, he desperately flung down the shields around his aura, yearning for her to understand that his affections were sincere. As his adoration, devotion, warmth, passion, and desire all washed over her, his partner extended her empathic senses – honed from the countless lessons they had shared - and found them genuine. Discovering this, Cassandra felt herself begin to melt, even as a tight, icy knot of fear formed in her stomach. He wanted her…her treasured friend wanted her, and she didn't know if she could give him what he craved. Even as her soul reveled in the blissful, wondrous sensation of being embraced and gently kissed by the one who meant so much to her, her anxiety grew and gained a burly, familiar form, clothed in burnt orange: Giovanni. Although the idea of being intimate with anyone, even her precious Mewtwo, was terrifying, her godfather's threat frightened her far more. He'd threatened to have the clone killed if this very thing happened, and for a few seconds, she tore her mouth away, mumbling that they shouldn't be doing this - not couldn't, they both quickly noticed, but shouldn't - and soon found her lips being captured by Mewtwo again, who murmured that what others thought about them was irrelevant. He only wished to know what she thought of this, because after longing for her for months now, he wasn't certain if he could rebury his feelings. He would certainty attempt to do so, if that was what she wanted, but…damn it all, he ached to be with her. Was that so incredibly wrong of him…?

Feeling him trembling against her, Cassandra's concerns about her godfather faded from her mind, to be recalled some other time. As they parted under the skylight, the feel of one another lingering upon their mouths, it was Mewtwo alone who occupied her thoughts. He was awaiting a response from her, awaiting a sign of being accepted or rejected as her potential lover…but in the end, no matter how afraid Cassandra might be of what could happen, she also knew she couldn't stand to be without the clone - especially not after what they'd just shared. Whispering to him that it wasn't wrong at all, she inhaled a quaking breath, resolved herself to press forward with him, and moved to give him her response. She leaned upwards, curled her arms around his necks, and then drew his mouth down onto hers, savoring the sensation of kissing him hungrily….

And there was a sense of growing hunger within both of them, somewhat unfamiliar, yet recognizable nonetheless. During their first meetings together, there had been flashes of fire between them, fueled by boiling blood and dealt with through furious violence. As time had drawn on, the heat between them had cooled to a comfortable warmth, but now as they clutched at each other, drawing their mouths apart only to take in quick gasps of much-needed oxygen, that heat returned, spreading down their gullets and seeping outwards to suffuse their flesh. With a low moan, Mewtwo slipped his tongue past her lips to explore her mouth, circled one of his paws over the small of her back, the other entangling itself within her hair. He heard her fingernails scrap over the metal plate over his back, and soon after felt her toned arms drift downwards, her hands fumbling at the last clasps of his armor. Having begun the process of removing the armor from him for entirely innocuous reasons, she was now doing so because the bulky metal was uncomfortable for both of them at present. As the pelvic armor fell to the concrete noisily, the clone reluctantly drew back from her, casting an irritated glance over his shoulder and pulling the fused segments of vertebral armor away with his telekinesis, tossing the extensive backing aside as soon as his tail was free of the metal band at its base. When it crashed to the floor just as loudly as the other piece, Cassandra winced and made the universal gesture to be quiet, placing her index finger upon her lips.

Giving her an amused look, he stepped back towards her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing another hot kiss against her mouth. Largely starved of any sort of affection touch, he found the feel of her lips moving against his, of her tongue caressing his own, of her breath across his muzzle to be quite addictive, and vaguely wondered how the rest of her would feel and taste. At some point, his kisses strayed, moving over the line of her jaw, brushing across her throat, nestling in the crook of her neck. As she moaned in mingled surprise and pleasure, he clutched her tighter to him, able to feel the gentle curves of her body against his front through her thin, summer clothing. At the pleasant pressure, he felt her fingernails bite into his shoulders, and heard her mumble his name and curse.

Nipping at her left jugular vein, he murmured, "…Tell me when to stop, and I will obey you."

In the end, she never told him to.

After a minute or so more of standing in that chamber, they decided they wanted to spend the rest of the morning somewhere else – preferably, in Cassandra's far more comfortable apartment. Quickly reassuring her that he'd mastered his ability to teleport, the clone transported them back to her home, the both of them materializing at her bedside. While the unsettling feeling of vertigo and winter cold passed over them, momentarily cooling their growing lusts, after a bit of shivering in each other's arms, they began to resume their activities. Had Shadow happened to be there when they arrived, they might have ceased their amorous behavior immediately, since neither of them found the thought of having an audience – especially not one consisting of a child – particularly arousing. Fortunately for them, the kit was currently wandering the base, having predicted that his "parents" might be wanting some time alone that night, if for an entirely different reason than the current one. In any case, the little eevee was spared the sight of both of them stumbling and falling into the bed, practically drunk on their newfound intimacy. After Cassandra shucked off her shoes and socks, their legs became entangled, their fingers trailed over one another, and the clone eventually, hesitantly, slid his paws beneath her shirt, sweeping his palms over her stomach, her ribs, her sides, her spine, feeling the muscles beneath her silky skin coil and loosen. There were instances when his caresses made her squeal with laughter, his fingers unintentionally tickling her, and finding the sound delightful, he memorized those spots for future reference.

After awhile she sat up, pulling the shirt over her head and setting it aside, and shivered as she saw his eyes darken with desire. Drawing her back down to him, he kissed her down her collarbone, brushed the implant in the left side of her chest, and after receiving no determent from her, nuzzled at her breasts. He heard her whimper at that, felt her nipples hardening through her black bra, and continued to move downwards, trailing his mouth between her ribs, across her stomach, over her abdomen. When he reached her waist, her hands came to cradle his face, and when she whispered his name, he moved over her, kissing her mouth again. As her hands began to wander over him, her fingertips tracing the ridges of the boney armor over his chest, shoulders, and upper back, her palms rubbing down his ribs, stomach, and midriff, he found himself purring softly, the skin beneath his fur burning wherever she'd touched. When her hands fell away just short of his waist, he nearly groaned with disappointment, but then heard the distinct sound of a belt being undone and a zipper going down. As he felt her shifting beneath him, shoving her jeans down her legs, the denim garment soon little more than a wrinkled bundle at their feet, his eyes widened while his pupils narrowed into slits. He glanced down to find her staring up at him, nervous, anxious, but also very certain about what she'd just done. As she trailed her bare legs against his, one of her knees brushing between his legs, he felt his groin tighten, and mumbling a faint, unintelligible curse, he settled himself over her and began kissing her ravenously.

He couldn't seem to satisfy his hunger for her, and while he knew how he was supposed to be satiated, he was torn over venturing that far. On one hand, the thought of mating with her was something so sublime that he'd hesitated to even dream about it. To consider what it might be like would have only haunted him, but now that they seemed to be heading that way, he craved it dearly. He wanted to make love with her, to experience all of her and claim her as his own. He wanted to know how it felt to move inside of her, to make her keen and quiver with bliss, to find rapture with her as they brought each other to climax. And he knew they could do so if she let him in, for despite their inexperience and somewhat awkward movements against one another, they had always been good together in everything else, and were most definitely sexually compatible. Their currently aroused states - flushed and sweaty and panting – proved that they were quite capable of stimulating one another. Yet no matter how sensual and exciting their activities were, no matter how her bra was soon discarded so he could access her bare breasts, he couldn't simply take that as an invitation to pull her panties off and thrust himself inside her.

That he'd gotten this far with her was a miracle in and of itself. He'd scarcely expected her to return his first kiss, and had never dared imagine that they'd soon after find themselves intertwined in her bed. At every wandering caress and impassioned kiss, at every advance they'd made in exploring one another, he'd expected her to demand they stop for now, and simply content themselves with cuddling beneath the sheets. Yet here they were, clutching one another close as their hips ground together, their swollen genitals separated by little more than a measly scrap of cotton. Here she was, writhing in his arms and gasping with delight, seemingly unafraid of having a sexual encounter not even four months after being raped. He couldn't understand it – did her trust in him simply run that deep? While it was an appealing thought for him to consider, even he feared that he might lose control and accidentally hurt her during sex. So why was she allowing this? Wasn't she frightened…?

With a sigh, he drifted down her scarred yet lovely body, listening to the sounds she made as he stroked and suckled her as he craved. He circled his tongue around her dark nipples, needing her to enjoy this experience as much as he was - because if she didn't, then he would be no better than the man who'd violated her. His expression contorting at the thought, he buried his face against her breastbone, able to feel her quickened heartbeat against his cheek. Soon feeling her fingers traveling down the back of his skull, down his second neck, he spoke the question pestering his mind. "Do you intend to bare all of yourself to me tonight, Cassandra?"

Her caresses paused, and after a few quiet moments, in which only the sounds of their breathing carried through the apartment, she murmured into his ears, "Yeah…yeah, I do, Mewtwo."

Hearing her confirm his suspicion only made him harden further, and trailing a paw down her side, he asked, "But why…? After what you suffered through, I cannot understand why you would…."

When she didn't respond, he glanced up at her, and was surprised to find that she was blushing. Shifting to wrap his arms around her waist, to press his forehead to hers, he prompted her to explain herself, going so far as to take a nibble at her ear to provoke a reaction. As she groaned and shrugged her shoulder up to make him stop, she admitted, "I…well I actually have four reasons why, two of which I'm not telling you until later. Number one," she began, encircling one leg around his hips and making his brain short-circuit, "is that you'd probably rather castrate yourself than hurt me in any way. Knowing that, I'm not worried about you doing something I won't like. As for number two," she continued on, pausing to plant a kiss upon his shoulder, her tone getting softer as she spoke, "I…need to confront what happened to me. I need to be brave and work through it, and with you, I…I know I'll be safe. You'll help me through this, so I just…I want to get lost in this with you."

His eyes softened as she murmured that to him, and forgetting that she was holding two other reasons back, he rested a paw against her face and kissed her, slow and sweet….

In the following minutes, their explorations of one another grew even more intimate, with Cassandra's panties and her collar soon discarded, rendering her just as naked as him. As her wings materialized, Mewtwo lowered his muzzle and nipped her pinions, his fingers preening through her feathers gently, his touch sending tingles of pleasure throughout the limbs. His partner soon began to itch for more, and pulling him down so he was flush against her, she tilted her head back with a moan, astonished by how good this was making her feel. Yet should that truly have been any surprise to her…? Mewtwo knew precisely how precious the gift she was giving him was, and was determined to treat her body with the utmost care and tenderness. He slowly drifted over her, learning every nook and hollow and abrasion she possessed, sighing against her as she did the same in return. She kissed his neck, his chest, his stomach, her hands traveling over his hips, this thighs, the base of his tail, feeling as much as hearing him purr in response to her touch. She was able to make him stir with need and ardor, and this power to make him thirst for her, to make his tremble like a priest before an angel of God, exhilarated her in a way no battle with him ever had. After a few more moments of relishing one another, swaying and running their bodies together, the aches they were experiencing became nearly unbearable. No matter how anxious she was about continuing on, no matter how she flinched slightly as she felt his hard length brushed her, she gasped for him to keep going because…this was what she wanted. With anyone else, she wouldn't be able to stand it, but with him…with him she was melting, her inner thighs moist from how much she was craving him. She wanted to clutch him to her, wanted to make him yowl with pleasure, wanted to know what it would feel like to be one with him….

Peering up at him through the murk, she found his eyes smoldering like blue embers, his pupils constricted into mere slits from the sweet agony they were experiencing. Moaning at the sight and closing her eyes, she smothered his mouth with hers and wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing his unsheathed member against her nook. As a hint of pleasure washed up into her core, she dug her fingernails into the small of his back, and biting back a gasp, she whispered, "Now, Mewtwo…please…."

Instinct and desire made him grind against her, the blissful sensation making it difficult for him to form coherent thoughts. While he'd felt aroused by her before, these sensations were utterly new to him, and could quite easily muddle his brain. Yet even so, he managed to keep himself from entering her then, determined to ask her one last time, "…Are you certain?"

When her eyelids drifted open, he saw that the pale grey irises had darkened to the color of mercury. While there was some apprehension there, desire and determination overrode it, and lifting a hand to cusp his cheek, she murmured her third reason for letting him in. "Yes…I want memories of you inside me, not him anymore, so…be with me. Just be with me."

That was all he needed to hear to continue, and hushing her with a searing kiss, he wrapped his left arm beneath her back, his right paw lifted one of her knees, and he moved himself forward. Slowly, surely, he sank himself into her, groaning at the ecstasy that raced through him as she enveloped him, the flesh of her sex hot and wet and silky around him. For Cassandra, however, the feeling of him entering her didn't have the same purity to it. Although some satisfaction rushed through her at being filled by him, the itch of lust beginning to fade, discomfort and a hint of nausea swept through her, making her grimace and go limp in his arms. She flashbacked to how it felt to be violated, of anguish suffusing her sex and shrieks of protest on her lips, and felt tears pooling in her eyes. Yet as Mewtwo's worried voice carried through the memory, drawing her back to reality, she tore herself from that experience and focused herself entirely on feeling him instead. She refused to let her teacher, dead and gone, ruin this moment for her. And so, inhaling a quaking breath, she stared up at the clone, noticing that his brows were furrowed with concern and uncertainty, and gave him a weak smile of reassurance. She would be alright, so long as he kept moving and drove that demon from her being. Nuzzling her cheek, he nodded and obeyed the urges rising within him, drawing himself back and plunging forward, repeating the motion in long, unhurried thrusts, shivering at the heavenly sensation of moving himself deep within her.

As he moved in and out of her, she began to cling to him, concentrating on the primal sounds he was making and the trace of pleasure beginning to suffuse her sex. Through the echoes of remembered pain, it began to gather, intensify, and spread though her core, and soon she found herself actively seeking to strengthen it. Whimpering at the unprecedented, glorious feeling, she began to rock her hips against his, driving him further into her core, making his pelt rub against the bud of her deliciously. Kissing at her hair, her face, her neck, her chest, he panted against her skin, growing evermore confident that she was experiencing the same growing pleasure as he was, and felt the pace quicken between them. Without conscious thought on his part, he lowered his mental shields, exposing every emotion and sensation he was feeling to her empathic senses…and soon enough, she followed his lead. In the moments that followed, they trembled and gasped together, basking in the superimposed feelings of their partner's bodies, of their lover's mutual ardor, their souls mingling just as their physical beings were. Writhing against one another, they forfeited themselves over their lovemaking, allowing their union to take them wherever it willed. Their grips on each other tightened as they moved together, riding the waves of the ecstasy and need, the desperation and pressure within them mounting, their motions bringing them to the precipice of rapture. They reached their peaks soon after, and one after the other, they tumbled over the edge….

Enfolding Mewtwo in her wings, Cassandra arced her spine as her core convulsed, sending charges of pleasure racing throughout her body, making every cell of her tingle. Crying out his name, she murmured the words he'd longed to hear, giving him her fourth and final reason for agreeing to be his. Mewtwo's heart, already brimming with impassioned joy, overflowed in that moment, and clutching her firmly to him, he thrust into the one he loved one last time, and groaned at the sweetness of release. In the shock of that newfound height, he sank his teeth into the curve of her neck, breaking the outermost layer of skin, drawing a trickle of blood into his mouth. After realizing what he'd done, he lapped at the superficial mark, apologized for losing control, and replayed her confession in his mind. When her amused, breathy laughter began to resound in his ears, he found himself purring in response, for as they began to bask in the afterglow of their lovemaking, the happiness he felt was complete.

After he withdrew from her, and they sank into the bedcovers to catch their breaths, Mewtwo pressed his forehead to hers and stroked at her flushed cheek gently. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the moisture of her perspiration and her tears, and nuzzling her cheek, he whispered, "Say that again, Cassandra…?"

He so wanted to hear her murmur those words once more, to confirm that he hadn't heard her wrongly the first time. With an understanding smile, she reached upwards, stroked his muzzle, and brushing a kiss to his mouth, she breathed out, "…I love you, wildcat."

And the smile he gave her then, tender and filled with wonder, would remain one of the most beautiful sights she would ever witness.

Eventually, the couple managed to find their way to tranquil dreams, drifting off together beneath the blankets. Hours later, when the goldenrod light of the morning sun poured through the kitchen window, the unseen yet noisy birds chirping their greeting to the dawn, Cassandra awoke to the feeling of a cold, wet nose being pressed to hers, and opened her eyes to find Shadow's face a matter of centimeters from her. Seeing that she was conscious, he drew back, waved his bushy tail once, and mewled that it was time for breakfast. Blinking at him, she vaguely noted that his big, dark eyes were twinkling at her, as if he were amused by what he was seeing. Feeling the arms and tail wrapped around her, her lover having spooned up against sometime during the night, she merely snaked an arm out from underneath the covers and scratched the eevee behind the ears. As he mewled with delight, she smiled and mumbled that he'd have to go eat crickets for his meal or something, since she, quite frankly, didn't want to get out of bed. For the first time since being taken in by Giovanni, she felt utterly content and relaxed, and didn't want to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere for anything. In response to this, the kit merely licked her cheek and jumped down from the bed, determined to find something to fill his pining stomach.

That discovering her in bed with Mewtwo didn't seem to bother him…well, she felt gladdened and grateful to him for that. However, she knew his reaction – or lack thereof – was likely to be a unique case. Having seen how they interacted in private, he'd gained insight into the nature of their relationship, and had been wordlessly supporting them over the last several months. Knowing how much they cared for one another, knowing how mutually beneficial their relationship was, and having long regarded them as his parental figures, seeing them like this seemed acceptable enough to him. However, his opinion was not likely to be shared by anyone else, and especially not by the one who'd already made his thoughts on the matter clear.

Displeasingly enough, her godfather (for it could only be him, since no one else had the gall to call her at this hour) chose that point to call her on her apartment phone. As the landline began to chime, she buried her face into her mint-scented pillow with a groan, and then slipped out of Mewtwo's comfortable arms, giving his sleeping form a regretful, backward glance as she did so. Grabbing her bathrobe from the nearby chair, she threw it on and tied it, and tried – mostly unsuccessfully - to comb her hair flat with her fingers. Although she was barely presentable right now, not answering the phone would automatically make the man suspicious, and moreover, the ringing would wake Mewtwo if she didn't pick up soon. Stepping over to the machine, whose video-cam was angled to face into the kitchen, she picked the receiver off its cradle, and forced herself not to scowl back as her godfather's glowering face was transmitted over the screen.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't wish her a good morning or the like, but merely demanded to know where the clone had gone, asking if 'it' was with her.

And with an equal lack of ceremony, she lied and hung up.

When she returned to bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, she saw that Mewtwo had awoken, and was now peering up at her with contemplative eyes. Leaning forward, she trailed a hand from his collar to his abdomen, and as her touch drifted back to his chest, he took her palm and pressed a soft kiss to it. "…I understand."

If they were to remain together, then no one could learn about them. This fledgling romance of theirs would be their secret, would be nurtured within the security of Unit 150, and would be a union that might take more than lies for them to defend. Yet both of them were willing to do whatever was necessary to keep each other close, because - as the saying went - there were things in life that were worth any risk to gain and hold onto. And love, at least where they were concerned, was definitely one of those precious things.


Thank You: Shattered Silence, AnimeCrazy88, SmashSista18, Leone the Infernal, Dark Magician Girl Aeris, AnimeFreak2306, blackwaterII, Sneaky Admiral, keeper-of-the-triforce, Tomoyo Kinomoto, and sapphire espeon for reading and reviewing the previous chapter. I hope you and my other readers will do the same for this one!

Author's Note: Below is an alternative ending to this chapter, which I wrote for laughs. You don't have to read it, because it's not canon compliant to this story, but if you want something lighthearted, you might like it.

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol


Alternative Scene: Do You Think About that Often?

He believed the word for this experience was tantalizing. The skin beneath his light fur ingled with her feather light touches, rendering his breath shallow from both pleasure and his frantic attempts not to purr. Gritting his teeth, he reassured himself with the thought that this process would be over soon, and she wouldn't even be in front of him for the next part. She would have to circle behind him to undo the…wait, what was she doing? Why was she kneeling down before him like that? In the following seconds, he distantly felt tickling sensations as she removed the anklets distantly because what he was mainly experiencing in that moment was the feeling of blood rushing to the opposite ends of his body. However, when she leaned forward, close enough that strands of her hair began to cling to the pelvic armor from static, her hands reaching to his waist, Mewtwo acted.

Placing his paws upon her shoulders, he shoved her away frantically, his heart almost palpitating at her nearness of her mouth to his groin, regardless of the sheet of metal between them. In a strained voice, he growled, "Cassandra, explain to me what you think you are doing. Now, preferably."

She blinked her wide, grey eyes up at him, and gaped at his panicked outburst…and ultimately, her surprised look only further degraded his self-control. "What? After that clasp is undone, you can step out of the rest of that over-elaborate, bulky suit. Why you're wearing it at one in the morning is baffling enough, but didn't you also tell me once that you hated this thing? So why are you fussing now?"

How could she possibly not know what was alarming him? Did she honestly believe he was asexual? Depressed by the thought, he supposed that he should explain to her that he was, in fact, a sexually mature male, before the situation completely got out of hand. Gritting his teeth, he said, "While it pleases me that you are once again capable of teasing me, I would prefer it if you not tease a certain other portion of my being with the nearness of your mouth. So if you would please get off your knees, I would greatly appreciate it."

For a few lengthy seconds, Cassandra merely stared at him…before, almost comically, she flushed crimson and turned her face to the side. Unable to meet his eyes, she eventually regained her ability to speak, and when she did, only made matters worse by mumbling, "Oh…so, um…do you think about that often?" Her adorable shyness in that moment made his mind go blank, to the point where he didn't notice the corners of her lips tugging upwards into a wicked grin as she purred, "Because you know, I still owe you something for White Day, and it would only be fair if I…oh, Mewtwo, get back here! Can't you take a joke?" For the clone, feeling every muscle in his body tighten at her suggestion, had abruptly whirled away to keep her from seeing his flustered expression. Soon enough she seemed to realize how he'd interpreted her jibe, and said, "Wait…oh, god, I didn't mean it like that! I meant giving you a hentai video or comic as a gag gift, not…! I wouldn't even know how to do that right anyhow, so…um…no?"

He would later muse that she definitely hadn't been fishing for a compliment there. However, his instinctual need to comfort her compelled him to respond, and when he did, he only made their conversation even more awkward. "…I am certain any male you attempted that on would disagree. You have a nice mouth, after all."

If there was ever a time when he wanted to face-palm, that would have been it. What the hell had he just said…? Even Cassandra seemed at a loss, for how exactly was a girl supposed to respond to that? "…Er…thank you? Is there anything else I should know, Mewtwo?" she asked, her curiosity blending with her wariness. At least around her, the clone had never expressed this side of himself before, so she hadn't the faintest idea of how she should react to it. Yes, she cared for her friend dearly and even considered him attractive, but she wasn't certain what to make of this...

Yet while Cassandra was mulling over her uncertainty, Mewtwo had reached the end of his. No longer able to endure the tension between them, and no longer able to tolerate the distance they maintained, his resistance concerning her buckled and caved. All at once, he felt himself giving in to everything he felt for her, and drawing her to her feet, he committed a very human act of affection.

He pressed his mouth to hers, and murmured the answer to her question. "I love you, Cassandra."

And after that they made sweet love, although neither of them were daring enough to use their mouths on each other like that that night. As for the other nights to come...well that was their business.