MOMENTS

Snapshots into the lives of Mewtwo and Cassandra, some of which are canon compliant, some of which no longer are. Originally posted in the "Cut" collection.

Sunshine:

Mewtwo held the squirming bundle carefully, feeling the infant's hand squeeze at one of his fingers. The two older children played in the surf and sand, while his partner was curled up on a towel, soaking up the light of the sun. It was a rare day of peace for them, and if they could have more days like this, he thought, he'd never again let his expression contort into his usual scowl. For once, he didn't mind the sunshine.

Colorless:

Cassandra's irises were just another one of the mutations that made her into what she was: they were utterly without color. Perhaps worse than being a constant reminder of her differences was that - if it weren't for the careful training she'd had - her vulnerable eyes would've been her greatest weakness. As such, she'd found herself despising their pale grey color…that is, until he'd come into her life. He said they reminded him of moonlight, and suddenly, she began thinking that maybe they weren't so bad after all.

Absence:

Mewtwo was eerily quiet, almost apathetic, as he waited for news of her return. Kept contained in the Team Rocket Viridian Base, there was barely anything else for him to care about at this point, for he'd gained all the power and control he'd ever desired. Yet her absence somehow made everything colder…and despite his seemingly frigid attitude, he cared nothing for that chill. Months later, when he wandered upon New Island, spotting the red-headed nurse he'd abducted and brainwashed, he mused on this point…and then dismissed it, deciding to leave the woman be. Only Cassandra could warm him. Anyone else was as worthless as trash.

Little:

She could barely understand how such little things could matter to her so much: the soft little hands touching her face; the chubby little limbs flailing gently against the hospital dress she wore; the sweet little chirps of laughter that the little creatures made. They were so tiny, so fragile, and yet somehow they meant everything to her. They were her sun, moon, and stars amongst the darkness she'd been lost in for so long. They were her little miracles.

Float:

Before she taught him how to swim, the assassin made sure her "partner" knew how to float. It was a strange thing for him to learn, because it meant he had to relinquish control and trust her, a human, fully. He needed to have absolute faith that she wouldn't let him to drown, and as he rested the top of his head against her flat, wet stomach, he felt the waves rock him. This was not nearly as bad as he'd imagined, and with a gloating smirk, she looked down at him.

Meeting his eyes, she murmured, "Didn't I tell you it would be fun?"

Death:

She knew it was too late. No matter how fast she ran, she wouldn't reach him in time to drag him to safety. The scouting helicopter flew overhead in the azure sky, towards the cabin she'd only recently left…and then the pilots opened fire. The force of the explosion threw her back again the trunk of one of the trees. When she later regained consciousness and saw the hellfire, she felt something inside of her twist and break, and she knew, in that horrible moment, that he was gone.

Feathers:

The parents looked down on their daughter's back, spying the two unnatural limbs that were jutting out from above her shoulder blades. The tiny wings, downy and with the hints of crisp, budding feathers, flailed out like all the rest of her small limbs. The doctors had told them that it would be for the best if these anomalies were amputated, but they'd refused to sign off on that "maiming." She was their angel…and only her father knew why her body matched their sentiments.

Broken:

It didn't matter how many years passed: she always carried that sad smile on her face when gazing at them. Even as young as they were, they comprehended was it meant: her heart was broken. The pain that she'd once felt so keenly, like a gaping wound, had faded…but still, she wasn't whole, and try as they might, they couldn't change that.

Cookies:

His ward didn't know how to bake at all. But he, the cop she was staying with, now off duty, assured her that she needed to learn how for the sake of their sanity. What ensued was a flower fight which made them both, and the ones unavoidably caught in the fray, paler than ghosts by the end of the battle. Supposedly, he was supposed to be serious about his job…but really, what the hell was the use of that? If they docked points from him, so what? It was one of those moments he'd cherish until the day he died.

Drug:

Cassandra had never intended to become addicted to her medication. Yet then, whoever intends to grow dependent on any substance? However, the pills made her nightmares go away, made her pain evaporate, made her numb, and made her days pass by with ease. She supposed she preferred it that way; actually living this life would hurt too much. And this way, when she died, she'd be able to do so without a care.

Father:

He watched her suffer and finally find love, and with that love, gain a purpose beyond what had been planned for her. But when that purpose and love evaporated, and when she suffered once again, he didn't know what to do. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to say that everything would be okay – but he couldn't do any of those things. All he could do was watch her struggle with the life she'd been thrown into. As her father, he'd never wanted this for her…but fate, it seemed, had a cruel way of turning his wants to dust.

Scars:

She hadn't had this many of them the last time they'd made love. Mewtwo traced them, kissed them, felt her shiver as he licked the fine, pale lines. He was determined that she'd gain no more new ones in the future, never knowing that he'd be the one who'd give her the most painful kinds, the ones that marred the soul.

Cycle:

Upon thinking back on everything, the repetition of the story would bother Shadow: the way pain beget more pain, the way loss followed after loss, and how the stories of one pair of lovers had recycled to those of the next generation. He wondered, as he watched his "parents," if they'd be able to break the cycle and write a fresh chapter - a better one.

Red:

Cassandra hated the color. She hated how it reminded her of the blood she'd shed, both from the murders she'd committed and the pain she'd been dealt. As such, she'd never wear red clothes or ever wear jewelry embedded with rubies or garnets. She hated the color that much, which she thought was kind of ironic. After all, it was part of her "team" uniform.

Tears:

He'd been a child when he'd last shed them, and the pain he'd endured since had hardened him to weeping. Yet as the boy blinked his purple eyes up at him, cocking his head at what the clone had said - and told him that he'd already known, and was happy for it - Mewtwo couldn't hold them back any longer. On that cliff, he embraced the child close and began to cry.

Blackness:

She was prepared to die, having succeeded in the sacred act, despite hemorrhaging on the table. She felt as if she rather deserved the rest, and her soul longed to join those of the people she'd lost. But remembering what she'd be leaving behind, she refused to surrender to the blackness - and victory, in the end, was hers.

Flutter:

It came in the middle of the night, like a butterfly trapped inside her. The sensation made her smile, made her ache for her beloved, and she cursed Giovanni's name to hell right then, because Caleb's absence was his fault. Serena would never forgive the man if her husband didn't come back to her soon. And fortunately (for him), he did so two weeks later, and the grin that formed on his face - wide and beautiful - made all the waiting she'd endured worth it.

Tender:

Everything about her was tender: her skin against his fur; her cries within his ears; her love for him, which was overflowing from her guarded heart. Embracing her tighter, he buried his muzzle into her neck with a sigh, rocking himself into her and reveling in their intimacy beside the hearth-fire. She writhed in his hold, gasped out his name. She seemed happy (and certainly pleased) to be this close to him. He hoped she knew that he was happy too.

God:

Cassandra didn't pray often. She was an agnostic, and so was more inclined to believe in humanity than in something divine. Yet even if she was forsaken, she needed Him to hear her now, and for Him answer her inquiry. Would they be punished for what they were? They were being called abominations, atrocities, even before they were born…and damn it all, she was scared for them!

Lust:

Everything he'd been taught told him that craving a human like this was wrong. However, her scent in those hours was beyond his ability to resist. Before he did anything he was certain to regret, he left her home, even knowing that his sudden departure bewildered her. Yet she'd made him burn, and as he stepped into the icy waters of the shower, he yelped as the near-freezing liquid hit him. Yet thankfully, the shock of it set his mind straight and put him back into place. Cursing, he mused on how deeply he despised her confined, tiny apartment when she hit estrus…for she was a friend, and for him to try to sooth the ache would destroy them both. Wouldn't it…?

Hide-and-Seek:

"Damn it - damn it, don't you ever do that to me again! What did I-? I told you not to…!" Yet then her anger broke down and she hugged him firmly to her, and he realized that she was sobbing from fear. He knew then that he'd never play hide- and-seek again without telling her first.

Blue:

She hadn't had her period in over two months, and even though her cycle was irregular, that worried her. She didn't tell him about it, though. Instead she went alone to the local drugstore and bought the test. It was pointless, really; from an intellectual standpoint, she knew they couldn't have children together. But even so, some part of her wanted it to show her two blue lines…but as she'd known would be the case, the result was negative. And later, when she curled up to her beloved and began to cry, he asked her what was wrong. She didn't answer. She didn't have the heart to tell him that for a while…just a little while…she'd thought they might have something more: a future that was solely theirs to share.

Winter:

The clone couldn't make a snow angel like she could, or create a snowball with his awkwardly shaped hands to throw her way. After discovering this, she took him sledding, which in itself had to be the most exciting and dangerous thing he'd ever been forced to participate in. Yet what truly convinced him to like the winter wasn't that thrilling ride. Instead, it was the way she'd looked up at him after they'd tumbled off the wooden sled: for, despite being a human weapon, her eyes had been so incredibly warm and alit with joy.

Brother:

Cassandra was an only child, so she'd never really known much about the bonds between siblings. Of course, she'd learned a bit about it from observation, but with him…well, she could understand why her mate had worried. Michael and she had been closer than she would've thought possible; after all, she was something of a sexist when it came to males of her own kind. Yet their relationship had been platonic, and placing a white rose on his casket, she sighed, thanking him for being a good brother.

Moonlight:

In the times when they were alone, they gazed up at the moon for solace and understanding. As he searched for her, with Citlali at his side - who claimed his quest was futile - he looked up to the ghostly orb and knew that wasn't so. He could still feel her, as if a thread had been drawn between them, had wrapped about their cores and was binding them together. On the other side of it, she played a lullaby and spoke with her guardian, and when she looked up, she understood herself for what she really was. It was enough for both of them.