Sorry about the wait, everyone. This chapter was the equivalent of giving birth to a iguana.

Disclaimer: I don't own Black Cat.

Chapter Thirty-Six: Peccatum tacituritatis

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Creed awoke to a feeling of numbness in his shoulder, then the chill of ice.

All around him was darkness, save for a single flashlight off in the distance. The light came closer, along with the clack, clack, clack of sandals against concrete.

"Don't move, Mr. D, or the pack will come off. We don't want that, do we?"

Creed fought the impulse to crane his neck to see the light better, and the familiar figure holding it.

It can't be…I'm 'hopeless' to her! But maybe it is…!

"Saya?"

Saya's giggle permeated the silence. "Yep! It's a good thing I found you, isn't it? Your friend was in even worse shape than you!"

"…How long have we been unconscious?" Creed winced as Saya's face became clear in the glow of the flashlight.

"About a week or so. The pharmacist nearby really helped. You're almost healed already—though your friend might need a bit more time."

Creed suddenly felt the inexplicable twinge of jealousy. "Did you care for…his wounds?"

"Of course! Don't worry, Mr. D, I haven't stolen your true love away!" Saya's laughter began to grow fainter as she clacked away from him. "It'll be morning soon."

The room was suddenly illuminated by an electric light above him, and Creed could see that he was in a basement…a surprisingly clean one. He could see no cobwebs above him, and no dust was visible. It seemed that Saya took great care to keep it that way.

Saya soon returned, and Creed found himself smiling. "You haven't changed at all," he commented, chuckling as her face turned an innocent pink.

"I have too!" she said, pouting. "Look—I've got curves!" She twirled around, her plain white and pink yukata floating around her, more beautiful than any ball gown.

"I certainly don't see any."

Saya made a face at Creed. "You're still as rude as ever! I hope you aren't like that to your friend here, too!"

Creed blinked. "Train's here? Where?"

Saya laughed. "Right next to you! Look!"

Creed turned his head in the direction Saya pointed, and saw that Train lay on a cot nearby, but in shadow. He seemed to be sleeping.

Creed smiled. "I would neverhurt him intentionally." His insides clenched as he remembered the "house-training" from only a short while ago.

Saya smiled back. "Good! At least you aren't hopeless in that department!"

Creed made a small "Hmm" of agreement. "Why are you helping me? I hurt you."

Saya closed her eyes for a moment, as though trying to find the words. "I couldn't let you be hurt, Mr. D. I'm not shallow like that. But…" She opened her eyes and smiled a soft, sad smile. "You have to do one thing in return."

"And what is that?"

Saya leaned over him.

"Forget about me. I'm going to forget about you. See, we both made a mistake. We both got mad, and hurt each other. We can't be friends that way."

Creed felt something wet—a tear?—fall onto his cheek. "Saya?"

"—So I want you to forget me. That way, when we meet again…we can start over."

Creed was about to reply, but felt his vision blurring. He tried to focus on Saya's face, her expression, but felt it slipping away as though through a thickening fog.

That's not a happy ending…

His eyes fell closed.

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Creed awoke to the sound of Train groaning.

"Train?" he asked, gingerly sitting up. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Train said, grinning as he sat up. "Whomever took care of us did a pretty good job, huh? You look good as new!"

Creed looked over his body and found that, just as Train said, the wound was fully healed. "Did you see who did this?" he asked, hoping that Train hadn't seen Saya.

In a way, he wanted Saya to be his secret—someone he wouldn't share with Train. Just like Train was someone he wouldn't ever share with Saya. Ever. They were both important to Creed on various levels—Saya was Creed's moment of remembering the past, while Train symbolized Creed's future—but they were best kept separate.

But then, who was Saya?

Train shook his head. "No, I didn't see anyone. I just woke up. How long have we been here?"

"I'm assuming it's been a week or more." Creed shakily got to his feet, testing out his shoulder. "Whomever did this did a really good job."

He cocked his head to one side, then the other to check for cricks. Creed noted that he was shirtless and found his leopard-print shirt on the floor beside his cot. He slid the shirt on, pleased at how clean it was, and watched as Train took in their surroundings. He was staring at the shadows as though daring for something to crawl out of them.

Train grabbed his black-collared shirt and tugged it on, hiding the few remaining bruises from view. Creed was pleased to see that Hades was still in its holster, strapped to his left thigh.

"Be careful, Train," Creed admonished, as Train tested his muscles. "You haven't been on your feet in awhile."

"Neither have you." Train smirked. "You seem fine, why can't I be?"

"You were hurt more than I was."

Train paused, then nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

There was an uncomfortable silence as they both remembered why Train got hurt. Creed hadn't been a good partner that night, and they had both paid the price.

Creed assessed the room quickly once again—bare walls, rustic wooden stairs, and no sign of Saya—and no other apparent exit. "Grey Cat's waiting. Although I suspect the dessert isn't."

"Yeah." Train sighed and scratched his head. "Maybe I should've—"

"—You had no way of knowing we would have a Mission, Train," Creed said simply, letting a warm tone soften his words.

Train stared at him silently for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess so."

"…Were you able to handle the Target and his guards?"

Train shrugged again. "They went down fast."

"Good."

As they walked up the stairs—Creed leading, Train following—Creed felt a sort of unease.

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Admittedly, Creed wasn't all that surprised to find that Grey Cat had been fed very well in their absence—a bowl of milk and a simple note of "He's a good kitty" showed that Saya didn't go back on her word.

"Forget about me…"

Creed shivered.

"Saya", who? Creed thought with fake innocence as he scratched behind Grey Cat's ears, taking the note and tearing it into shreds before grinding it underfoot.

The house, on the other hand, was not quite as clean as Saya's "infirmary". The furniture was covered by a thin layer of dust, which caused both Train and Creed to sneeze uncontrollably until they began to air out the house and clean things.

But first, Creed called Sepheria and told her that they were all right—they had been "postponed" from returning to Chronos by a few wounds, but a doctor had healed them. They would need a few more days off.

Sepheria, disgruntled, granted Creed's request.

And so, cleaning continued as they settled back in.

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Grey Cat helped hunt the few mice that had dared to scurry around the house in their absence.

Train brushed off the furniture, creating a fine dust cloud. He swept the dirt and dust outside onto the porch. The hot, muggy afternoon made his movements languid.

Creed reluctantly donned a white apron (not the frilly kind), and began a ferocious war with the cobwebs on the ceiling, grinning triumphantly as Grey Cat finished the eight-legged architects off.

Even though the cleaning was keeping them busy, Creed still felt a strange feeling of gloom permeating the house.

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It took another week before they began Missions again. The week was spent in quiet talks over meals and a few nights of stargazing. And then the nights of gunfire and screams resumed. Things were beginning to have some semblance of "normality".

It was a long time before Creed finally found the courage to ask Train his brooding question.

It was becoming obvious to Creed that Train no longer needed him by his side constantly. Train was growing stronger and more deadly than Creed had ever thought possible.

It wasn't that Creed was weak. On the contrary, he was as strong as ever, but his shoulder still wasn't quite functioning properly—there was a chance it would heal given more time. But there was no way he could be certain he could watch Train's back like a true partner until the shoulder was completely healed.

There's only one thing to do.

"Creed."

Creed looked up from his solemn position at the balcony, leaning on the rail and gazing out over the city, taking in the soft, glowing lights.

Train was standing there, clad in a simple black t-shirt and jeans, hair tousled from sleep. He had taken an aptly named "cat nap" after dinner, and a half-hour later he was up and about. His gold eyes were still half-gummed with sleep, and he rubbed them with a frown that was almost childlike.

"Yes, Train?"

"You okay? You haven't been yourself lately." Train walked over to him and leaned on the balcony, his lips curled softly upwards. "Is it because it's been…what, three weeks or so since we touched?"

Creed chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "No, not really. It's that…"

Creed paused and searched for the words, uncertain. Is this the time? Has Train guessed already? Should I wait?

"Yeah?"

Creed sighed and shook his head. "No, no, it's nothing."

Train gave him a look.

Creed suddenly wondered if Saya would have a similar expression on her face. He pushed the idea away, knowing that chances were that she had indeed forgotten him.

Saya was no longer another thread in his web of relationships. Her thread had snapped off completely, pruned like one of his roses. Train's thread was beginning to fray, and Creed almost thought about giving the thread a swift, clean break.

But he wanted it to be Train's choice. He owed him that much, and he wasn't quitting yet.

"…I'm going to go practice." Creed turned and walked back into the house, leaving Train behind him.