Sorry about the wait, everyone! I have more free time now, and so I'll be updating more frequently. I'm also working on editing my novel at the moment, too. You can see my progress (and other fics) at my LiveJournal, which goes under the name "beda_chan" (without the quotes).

Disclaimer: I don't own Black Cat, only this plot.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Peccatum tacituritatis Part II

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks passed, then months, and finally a year.

Train and Creed continued their Missions. Train, much to his surprise and pleasure, grew more renowned as the Missions grew steadily more difficult. The names "Black Cat" and "Creed Diskenth" began to turn heads, create a few wild rumors, and in general give Train an ego boost.

Everything would have been perfect save for one thing:

Creed still wasn't acting like himself.

The long, pleasant hours they had once spent together were now spent in solitude—Creed relentlessly honed his skills in the training room, while Train sat on the rooftop and fed Grey Cat fresh milk. Their meals were short and silent. Their Missions were routine and always successful. But the confident gleam that had once been in Creed's eyes was now gone. Even his sensuality was almost non-existent.

Train was beginning to get irritated.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The conversations during the first few months of the new year went like this:

"We have a Mission."

"Mm."

"It's a big one. Think you can handle it?"

"Yes."

"Good."

And that was that. Or:

"Want to order out tonight?"

"Certainly."

"Fast food or Zipang?"

"Zipang."

"Cool."

"Mm."

And off they would go, in their separate bubbles of existence.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some things you simply don't treasure until they're gone.

Train often awoke at night cold and needy, hands grasping the small of a non-existent back. One would think that he would be happy that Creed wasn't bothering him anymore, not making him feel strange things, but the truth of the matter was the seduction had been a part of their partnership in the initial stages, how they grew and learned to understand each other. It seemed purely for gratification—Creed's gratification—but in the end Train missed that too.

It took him until November to properly address the situation…in a roundabout way.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What is it, Train?" Creed asked as Train walked into the small training room.

"Nothing. I just wanted to watch you practice," Train replied as he leaned against the wall, idly taking in the room.

It was surprisingly bare, save for one or two stuffed practice dummies (which had several stitches covering them). The floor was a sleek, polished cherry wood, with a few marks where Creed's Kotetsu had scraped across the surface. Creed's bare, pale feet merely brushed over it as he moved, swinging Kotetsu in a graceful arc.

The walls were white-washed and unadorned, and Train had a feeling that Creed had repainted them once or twice—only he would be so obsessive-compulsive as to not leave a single speck of the original color on the walls.

Creed was dressed in his usual leopard print shirt and black pants. The legs of his pants were rolled up to his knees, and Train viewed his slender legs, as pale as his feet. They were both growing out of their adolescent bodies. Train supposed it made moving a little easier, they were stronger after all, and as graceful as always. It was a deadly efficiency of movement.

Creed continued to whirl and parry imaginary blades, cut down imaginary foes, his expression so intense that Train had to repress a shiver. It had been awhile since Train had seen Creed's eyes that cold.

"When did you start practicing?" Train asked, for want of anything else to say.

"After lunch." Creed dove down on one knee and parried another onslaught.

Train watched as he apparently defeated the enemy with his usual ease. "That was four hours ago. Have you taken a break?"

"No rest for the beautiful, Train." Creed grunted as he twisted out of an invisible enemy's grip.

"At least you have your humor back." Train chuckled wryly in approval.

"Hm." Creed continued his imaginary battle.

Train silently watched as Creed stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat away from his eyes. Creed rubbed his shoulder absently, his expression solemn.

"How's the shoulder doing?"

Creed shrugged. "Better, I suppose. But it's not enough."

That's interesting, Train thought. It had been quite a while, and he thought the shoulder had healed…

Creed resumed his practice, and Train watched the way Creed carried himself—almost recklessly, like a man who doesn't quite know his own limits. He moved his shoulder with just a hint of trepidation.

Train raised an eyebrow. "Then what is enough?"

Creed's hackles abruptly rose, and Train could feel the air suddenly grow colder.

"I don't know!"

Creed dropped Kotetsu with a sharp clang that was jarring to the ears.

"Damn it!" Creed whirled and kicked the nearest dummy, sending it toppling over. "Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why can't I be your equal, Train? What the hell am I doing wrong?"

Train stared at Creed in silence as he continued to rage and brutally kick the dummy, grinding his foot into what would have been its neck. He didn't know what to say—what he could say to bring Creed to his senses.

"Creed—"

"And don't try to play the fool, Train!" Creed seemed to visibly relax upon saying Train's name. "You know that I haven't been up to par. You knew that the moment we went home. I've been trying to get back to normal, but it just doesn't seem…the way things should be."

Train caught Creed's frustrated gaze and clenched his fists reflexively. "What's your idea of 'how things should be', then?" he asked quietly.

"It should be…just us. You and I as equals. No one above or below—just us on the same ground. That's all."

Creed's reply was surprisingly simple, but then Creed had been very surprising lately.

"And working yourself to the bone is going to help you how?"

Creed drew himself up, his expression determined. "I'm going to be the best partner you could possibly have. I can't have anyone stand in my way."

Train shrugged. "Good answer, but you don't need to work that hard. From what I've seen, you're doing fine."

Creed blinked. "There's…nothing to improve?"

He's relentless!

Train let out a surprised laugh. "Creed, you've been practically avoiding me for a year, just honing your skills. I think you've done enough."

"But—"

"Oh, for God's sake," Train growled, marching up to Creed and clamping his hands down on Creed's shoulders—he was almost as tall as Creed. "I can't believe you. You're supposed to be a confident, manipulative romantic, not the poster boy for OCD!"

Creed let out a hoarse, bitter laugh. "Is that what you want, then?"

Train froze.

Creed laughed again. "You just came here for sex, didn't you." His tone was knowingly mocking. "After all this time, when you said you 'wouldn't play my games', you now decide to make one of your own. Well, then, tell me the rules."

Train swallowed. "This isn't a game." He paused, focusing his gaze on Kotetsu, still lying on the floor by Creed's feet. "I'm worriedabout you."

Creed shook his head, smiling cruelly. "You've had all the time in the world to worry about me, to ask if I was all right. But lo and behold, you choose now to care. An entire year. I do believe you've broken the record."

"It may have taken me this long to ask, but I've been worried about you ever since you didn't answer my question two summers ago!"

Creed smirked. "You know, if you just want sex, then this…what did you call me once? This hooker is ready to give you the pleasure of his company." He held his arms out in a welcoming gesture. "Well, Black Cat? What are you waiting for? Pounce."

Train froze. His mind slowly went through the process of anger, brief lust and sadness before he simply replied "No" and walked away.

As soon as he reached the top floor, Train ran toward the bathroom and retched into the toilet, his throat burning.

Another week went by in silence.