Disclaimer: I do not own pokémon.

Author's Note:First off, I apologize for the long wait and to all of you whom dislike the dreary mood that has been pervading the recent chapters. Yet I'll say it again: this is a darkfic, and I can't alter that to make you all happy and comfortable. That would not be the story, and I won't lie and make things full of sunshine. I mean, would that fit Mewtwo, honestly? Besides, my job is to tell the truth – and sometimes the truth is bitterly cruel (for the record though, I'm not a sadist).

(Shakes head.) I had a bit of a rant here for awhile, where I pointed out various things to try to correct some pesky viewpoints, but I don't think it's necessary to include in this note. So I won't rant here. You guys will just need to read the story to see how it goes, and use your brains to figure things out. I know you have them: otherwise, you would have dropped this story a long time ago. Anyhow, please, do enjoy the chapter.

Previously:After Psyche's encouraging, Cassandra went into Mewtwo's room and found out his secret. Bewildered, she ends up forcing Mewtwo to return the memories he'd made her forget. Meanwhile, Giovanni continues to oversee the development of the GV serum, a weapon which renders those exposed to it rabid; and the man who visits Cassandra's home while she's away has taken her few precious belongings and Shadow with him, thinking that soon enough, Cassandra will become what she was destined to be: a betrayer to those around her.

CHAPTER 13: CROSS

Cassandra had been avoiding him for four days straight. She had also not even been trying to hide what she was doing.

Like the phantom pokémonhisbody had been derived from, the woman seemed to flit throughout the rooms in random intervals, never staying long enough to be engaged in a conversation or caught by the wrists. She silently refused to come near the clone, with the only exception to this shunning behavior being her confrontation of him the day after the exposure of her lost memories. On that note, he had spied her staring at him at times, felt her colorless eyes roam over him as if in confusion or in turmoil. A part of him could well imagine what she was going through. He had once known a similar experience to the thing she now faced: the remembrance of Amber Smith, his childhood friend…and, once, (long before her father's mad obsession with her resurrection through cloning and soul-reattachment,) the assassin's as well.

He recalled vividly how difficult that time of recollection had been for him to bear, and the emotions that had made him sick in spirit: the fury at having been forced to forget another creature; the chagrin at the callous actions the humans had taken to ensure it; the horror of the girl's second or perhaps even third death; and the sorrow and loneliness that filled the hole left when his loved one was torn away from him. Being who he was, he had not broken down…but his loathing in humanity had deepened, and his stone heart had fractured at the tragedy in his unknown youth. He had not wondered at what might have been if she had survived – he did not dare. The ideas would have only eaten away at him until he was an even more vacant shell of a being: and artificial creature without a grasp on reality.

He thought that maybe insanity would have been preferable to the memories, and knew Cassandra must now be feeling the same way. The woman had been trained for anything except love. After all, Giovanni thought love to be a needless emotion, unlike friendship (which was necessary for humans due to their being a social race). Friends, after all, offered solace, stress relief, and guidance. But love clouded the judgment: those who have it are blinded by passion and affection. They would defy their most base instinct of all to keep their loved ones from harm: they might go against their will to live…they might sacrifice themselves for those they cared for! To her godfather, love was nothing less than insanity…and he was right. Even the memory of love can make a person with a heart pause. That was why Giovanni had destroyed his heart so long ago…and why he was desperate to kill Cassandra's too, and that of anyone else who followed him. A heart, in his mind, led to death…it was a waste of life and resources.

Mewtwo wondered, as he raised his eyes from his book, whether the man had succeeded. The clone was certain his would-be killer didn't love him - how could she after what he'd done to her? And it was not as if there had been time to fall back into the embrace of such warmth…they had shared a few weeks together, and that was not enough.

In a strange way, he was grateful for that: for tonight would be Cassandra's last chance to complete her mission. If her time here exceeded its limit, her organization would come for her, and all would be lost. From across the room, her gaze met his…the silver irises reflecting the violet hue of his gaze into a lavender shade. She broke contact first, and turned away once more. Tonight he would die by her hands…he wondered why he felt so serene at the thought….

The dark angel was growing fretful as she counted down the hours until dusk. In all honesty, she hadn't the faintest idea of why she did it to herself. Perhaps she was watching the clock to sickly prolong the suffering she gained by waiting; or maybe it was to stall the decision she was faced with for as long as she could manage. It was not really a decision though, she reminded herself: there was no choice here. Her target would perish this night, she would take what she needed from him, and then she would return to Viridian City. It was a simple enough plan, and one that she had executed numerous times before…except it wasn't simple this time – not anymore.

Had sheknownsomewhere deep inside herself, she wondered, what he'd once meant to her? Was that why she had procrastinated so long? Hell, the last time she had honestly tried to kill him had been in that bar - and even then, that had seemed more a playful tussle than a serious attempt on his life. Otherwise, in these past few weeks, she hadn't even tried to catch him unaware. She had not even tried to take what little she was provided with here to use in his murder. Shemighthave broken a chair into pieces and clubbed him to death with a wooden leg…shemighthave tried to poison him by forcing him to consume a cleaning agent of sorts…shemighthave tried to smother him with a pillow in the dead of night….

Might, might, might…all she had really done was nothing but stall this entire time…and why? Was it because she had not been properly prepared? Was it because he had trapped her into a corner with this hospitable prison? Was itbecauseshe had wanted to know what made him tick before he stopped ticking? Or, as she suspected might be the truth, was it because somehow, in some unclear way, she hadknownthe horrible thing she would be doing by destroying him…?

No matter how she looked at him now, she knew that she'd been playing a stupid game these past few weeks. She's threatened him, argued with him, even harmed him on occasion…but she'd let herself grow slack, had let her purpose slip away. Ultimately, she had been caught off guard, and hadn't tried to fight in order to keep herself from slipping farther and farther away from reality.

So…now what?

She gazed at the knife in her right hand, able to imagine it plunging deep into his flesh, tearing through muscle and piercing bone and organs. She could almost see his blood trickling down its razor edge, could almost feel it stealing away life once more. Her stomach abruptly revolted at the thought, for she recalled how his unmarred fur had felt against her bare skin. She hadfelthis breath against her, hadfelthis heart beating in his chest…she knew him far more intimately than was sane. From the scans of his body, she knew the layout of his insides, knew his weak points and strong points, knew where everything lay inside of him…and from life, she knew how his form responded to emotion and sensation….

It would be like slicing open Shadow and picking through his corpse - the thought made her shudder and her skin crawl. This was sowrong…! What was she going to do?

"Complete your mission, no matter what the cost…."

She closed her eyes, and began to steel herself for the thing that was to come. Time, as always, continued to trickle by like grains of sand or drops of water down a pipe, forever unobtainable once again. Eventually, after what seemed like days of sitting in the dark, someone came to her door: the Espeon, whom Cassandra was not certain whether she should curse or thank. The human watched the now thinner creature slip into the room; watched as she sat down on her hunches before the woman; watched as her tail flicked to the side, and her eyes darken as they contemplated the weapon in her hands. Cassandra slipped the knife under her pillow silently, oddly self-conscious under that purple gaze, and asked the feline why she was here.

"…Espe, espeon. Espeon…es espe. Es, espe – espeon," the new mother answered, "…Tonight is your last night here, and from what I've gathered, Mewtwo plans to send you off with a proper meal in your stomach. Once he's done creating dinner, you're to join him…and I think it would be kind of you to look nice for him before you slit his throat. That said, you're coming with me to look for some decent clothes – you're not going to him in jeans and a sweatshirt."

"What's the point of that? It won't make any difference…."

"…Espe. Espe?" Psyche murmured somewhat sadly, "…But it will matter to him. Isn't that enough?"

The assassin considered those quiet words…and then rose stiffly with a sigh, agreeing to accompany the other female. Why not? There were enough hours in a night to care for someone, to kill them, to grieve, and then act as though nothing is wrong – right? About an hour later, they had found what they'd been searching for in the boxes contained in the floor beneath them. The clothes were wrinkled and smelled musty, but the materials were beautiful, flowing like liquid through the fingers and appealing to the eyes. The two barely spoke in that time, except for the occasional stray comment here or there. They preferred to keep to their own selves. Frankly, in nearly the month they'd shared together, neither had grown particularly fond of the other. They were only as near as they were due to one being: and if indeed that being were to cease to be sometime in the near future, their barely existent bond would be severed. Why allow a fond attachment to form when that friendship would only result in pain and resentment…?

"This will do," Cassandra said as she pulled out the dress that had previously lain unseen in the bottom of one bin. The size would fit her, and it appealed to the tone this evening was certain to bear. Psyche looked up, observed the garment, and nodded: it would do very well indeed.

The moon rose on the eastern horizon, sighing a cold and sleepy breath onto the city. Yet the home of the clone remained warm, and now bore the scent of the aromas of well-prepared food. It was somehow comforting, the promise of satiety and enjoyment of the senses of taste and smell, the herbs used tickling in one's nostrils. As Mewtwo prepared the table, his expression a vizard of emotion, he mused that perhaps this was a fine way to begin the night of his death: with good food and relatively "pleasant" company.

He heard the door to Cassandra's quarters open, and glanced up to spy his guest walking towards him. For a second he felt his eyelids widen, before he carefully controlled his surprise. Yet to himself he would admit: she looked terribly beautiful as she drifted towards him in the candlelight. She had pulled her hair up into a style reminiscent of the now nearly extinct Japanese geisha, several strands purposefully let loose and falling across her neck and face, like wisps of smoke along her tan skin. A transparent, lavender shawl rested over her collar and her upper arms. The dress she wore, simple with soft straps providing support over her shoulders, flashed in dark-violet, blue, and even green hues as the light shifted across the nearly black material. This fell into wavy, multiple layers just past her thighs, the ending hem brushing against her ankles. She was wearing black, flat sandals, not as dressy, but practical for her purposes, like her thin garment which allowed for subtle movement. As she came closer, he spied her eyelids were faintly shaded with some hue of night, and that her back was exposed for the most part. He recalled then her hidden wings, the color of the cloth evidently a purposeful hint of what she was being deprived. Indeed, he'd have to fix that collar of hers before she could go back to Giovanni. Shoving the thought of the man away swiftly, he pulled out her chair with his telekinesis, a silent reminder that while he would not harm her, he certainly wasn't powerless. He merely wanted a few final, tranquil hours. Was that so much for him to ask of her, considering how tonight would end…?

She understood, and as she sat down, thanked him softly…not meeting his gaze. With a sigh, Mewtwo stepped over to her and lifted her chin with a paw, making her look up at him. Her eyes displayed none of what she was feeling, yet still he said: (No - thank you. I appreciate this gesture you have made, even if Psyche did suggest it to you. You needn't have…'dressed up.')

The terminology was strange to him, but fitting. In that moment, he resisted the urge to stroke her face with one of his fingers, as he had once done when they'd dined together in their younger days. He found he couldn't quiet the comment that came to mind though, (You look lovely, Cassandra.)

…The corner of her mouth twitched upwards as she tried to suppress a smile at that. Hoping to hide it, she looked downwards as she stated, "Yes, well…Iamwearing something underneath this, so there won't be a repeat of the last time a girl dressed nice for you, understand?"

She remembered all too clearlysomeof the incidences from when she'd been his: sharing desert with him…having him lick at her lips and tasting the sugary treat…the way she joined him in his seat after their stomachs had settled fully…his paws pushing up the hems of thenicekimono she's worn for the night. She stopped herself from recalling the lewd activities they'd shared afterwards, and hoped her face didn't burn at the memory. Was it from shame or embarrassment that she nearly flushed, or from something else entirely? She forced herself not to dwell on the question. Yet he evidently recalled the memory too, for his eyes gleamed in an amused way as he went to his own seat. His pale face seemed slightly colored, though it could be a trick of the light, she supposed. Either way, just so they were clear that this was to be official in nature, not…well, rather personal andveryinformal.

She wasn't going to be straddling him later, covered with him in a bed, or in a shower with him -no! She was nineteen, and while thatwasyoung, she certainly wasn't the same enthusiastic child she had been when it came to matters of affection. Neither was he…so she hoped he wasn't going to get into his head that this might lead somewhere, because it would not. She vowed that to herself: she wasn't going to be seduced by him again (what else could their first time be called but that, really?).

She shook her head clear of those thoughts, instead focusing on the food he'd prepared. There was some type of sea bass, with a side of stir-fried vegetables; warm, buttered white bread, with cheese and light garlic; and a sweet dish of vanilla crème, nuts, and assorted berries. The latter surprised her slightly – she knew what the actual ingredients for the treat entailed, and vanilla was not a part of it. When she commented on that, Mewtwo, already eating, looked up from his meal, contemplating her for a moment.

(I know…but you do not enjoy chocolate.)

He said it so simply…but it made her shiver slightly. He was right, of course he was right about that, but…it was proof that he knew her. It was yet another thing that made her new memories, as dreamlike and fuzzy as some of them were, valid. He knew her likes and dislikes intimately: her aversion to chocolate, and the stereotype concerning it and her gender, was one of the few things she did not recall telling anyone.Hehad figured it out though, once upon a time. He knew that she didn't avoid it because she was allergic to it, as she commonly said she was (which was a lie – she could eat the damn sweet, but it made her want to gag). He knew she hated it; and that ever since she'd gotten sick from eating too much of it as a child, the very scent of it made her feel ill.

He knew that she liked vanilla. Actually, now that she thought about it, he had even suggested that earlier in her captivity: he'd bought her those vanilla-and-lemon droplets. Again she felt the desire to shake her head, but instead she dropped her gaze from his face. Staring for a second at her food, she began to eat – nothing was poisoned, of that she was certain. As she popped a small bite of the fish into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed, her eyes went wide. Putting her fork down, she met the clone's eyes, seeing him peering at her, evidently interested in her opinion.

"This is…quite good," she expressed, rather surprised, "I wasn't aware that you could cook."

(…I saw the value in knowing how to prepare food for one's self quite some time ago. From Psyche I learned many of the basics – she lived in a restaurant before she joined me here, and she amused herself with watching the chefs. Incidentally, this pastime led her to pick up some knowledge of cooking. If the food is any good, she is to thank, not I.)

Cassandra didn't know how to respond to that, so she merely went back to eating her food, allowing herself to savor the flavors of the sustenance. The fish was tender and a little sweet…the bread salty and soft…the desert smooth and milky. If she was thirsty, she drank the lemon-juice shot water before her. It didn't really penetrate her mind at first that Mewtwo had given her real utensils to dine with: a sharp fork and knife, and glass dishes that could be broken into cutting shards. When she did notice, she mused that it didn't matter quite yet – she'd kill him eventually. Why destroy a perfectly good dinner with violence? She had all night to complete her mission. It had waited this long…it could wait a little longer….

Mewtwo finished first, and wordlessly watched as she ate in small, dainty bites, and found himself rather amused at her polite behavior. He had seen her slurping ramen; slam down milk; chew noisily on the whole of a peanut, shell and all (just to annoy him)…so in a strange way, he found this humorous. She was acting so very prim and proper, when she was anything but a well-groomed young lady. She was falling back on her training in negotiation and dinner parties…he doubted she had ever been meant to use such skills on the inhuman creature she was supposed to murder.

As she finished, they sat and gazed at one another for awhile. Not particularly warmly, but just as something to do until their stomachs had digested a bit…and also because staring contests between them were strangely addicting. They always had been. Cassandra had been trained not to lower her eyes to other people, even if her meeting their eyes could be considered a sign of aggression – there were only a few exceptions to this type of behavior which Giovanni had encouraged. For Mewtwo, he had been born as a superior product of genetic engineering, so he had no need to lower his eyes to creatures some might consider inferior as far as animal ranking. So they stared into one another's eyes coolly, not able to tear their gazes away, capable only of blinking. It was a game of sorts, but one neither was likely to win.

Then, to his surprise, Cassandra looked away. As he rose, he tried not to dwell on why, and motioned for her to follow him. She obeyed without protest, and went onto the roof with him. There the bronze and iridescent lights of the cityscape glimmered over them, casting their warmth into the chilled glow of the moon. The sky itself was a starless fabric of dark maroon, navy, and black olive, and for a moment, Cassandra looked longingly into its shadowy depths, aching to have her wings back so she could soar away into it as fast as possible. She was so tired of being stuck in this place, trapped in a situation that had no possible happy ending. She wondered: if she finally began to run, would she ever stop? Would she leave here and go back to Giovanni…or would she fly away somewhere else entirely, done with the bloody work he put her through? She almost laughed at the idea - she knew better to believe in liberation, did she not?

By the flagpole she had once seen the clone standing upon, she spied what appeared to be a violin case. Glancing at him in surprise, she spotted the almost hopeful look on his face: he wanted her to play the opus she'd made for him. She had others ones: songs for her mother, for her Amber, for her sweet Shadow…even for a few people she liked by far less. Yet he wanted to hear his…and she admitted to herself that it was probably the most wonderful of the bunch. So, in a type of accepting forfeit, she took out the tuned violin, not hers and evidently well-used before, and slowly drew the bow along the strings, beginning to play. The soft sounds of the slow song cried out into the night air, seeming to her achingly beautiful….

She wasn't certain how long the actual playing lasted. The song wasn't supposed to take more than six minutes at most, but it seemed like far longer to her. Mewtwo's face was a blank slate as she played, but she could almost hear him purring…was he happy? It was a strange thought for her to consider, his happiness. Ever since she had come here, it had been a matter of his life and death…it had even been a matter of his misery, for that was what he had most often expressed. But…what of his joy and rapture…? What of hers…?

It didn't matter, did it? Good things don't last but a fleeting moment, and then they haunt us after they're gone. Perhaps it's better to suffer forever than know moments of light…because then you don't know of your suffering. There can be no bliss without pain, no good without evil, no light without darkness. Without contrast, everything becomes the same, and in that sameness there is nothing worthwhile in life. She wondered if, for creatures like them, if that wasn't desirable: to never know the differences in life and how sweet those differences can make being alive….

Yet, she understood mournfully, what truly made this whole thing so sick and sad was even simpler than that: they did not deserve joy. They did not deserve to be happy….

As the song died, Cassandra put the instrument away, marveling for a second at the redness of the wood of the violin and bow, at the fine horsehair that made the strap than ran along the strings. It was so simple and glorious…why couldn't life be like that?

Mewtwo sensed the shift in her mood…and when she turned back to him, she took the steps he was not certain he had been going to make. She saw the music player on the ground and knelt down, turning it on: orchestral music resounded upon the roof in arpeggios, in short symphonies, in rhapsodies. After flicking through them, she found one she thought befitting of the bittersweet moment, and came to stand before him. She offered her hands.

"You wanted to dance with me, didn't you?"

He closed his eyes and nodded once, before meeting her gaze again. (…I did.)

"Then let's see how nimble you really are on those paws of yours."

It was her saying that she accepted his desire, and was willing to go along with it. With her consent in mind, he placed a paw on her waist, feeling her fingers twine between and around those of his other paw comfortably…and they began to dance.

Cassandra had never actually done this with him before. She had danced with various trainers and fellow Team Rocket members, but all had been human and usually young men her age. Yet regardless, she moved with the bipedal cat gracefully, not thinking too hard about how the manner in which they weaved and moved was becoming more intimate as songs switched, nor how she warmed as he brushed against her. It wasn't quite what she would consider erotic…it hadn't edged into that territory. But itwasa rather private, close dance among two individuals…she would acknowledge that much. She acknowledged they way their eyes lingered as they spun, dipped, and stepped about. She acknowledged how their breath sometimes mingled when they swept into more carefully coordinated sequences. She acknowledged that he certainlywasskilled in his movements, though she had expected no less of a feline. Vaguely, she wondered how he'd learned these steps, for she was certain she hadn't taught him. Yet then she thought that perhaps he'd once watched her with others, for some mild form of enjoyment. How many times had she suddenly spotted his cloaked form in the crowd of spectators, appreciating the beauty her flowing form had gained from the years of training she'd endured?

She'd used to do the same for him…she went to the Gym when he battled, just to watch. They both recalled what she'd seen sometimes….

The fire swept over him, leaving superficial burns…he let it come, not bothering the raise his shield.

The hurt felt better than emotional suffering; he embraced the pain, indulged in it, all in an attempt to stop thinking about the girl. He tried to think of his opponents as her…he tried to think of their attacks and blows as ones she dealt: because she was the reason he must feel them. It washerfault he needed to feel the burn of the flames! He was strong now, and had full control of the situation…Cassandra knew that, and so understood that he was allowing the other fighters to harm him in battle on purpose. As she rubbed salve into his charred flesh, bandaging him and dosing him with a painkiller, her jaw was clenched as she thought about it….

She had watched him battle before, and he had always impressed her until now. She brought up this point, and proceeded to accuse him of acting childish and as stupid as an animal for desiring anguish. She knew this would make him angry…and finally, as she predicted he would, he snapped and asked her why she cared - why did she give a damn if he truly was nothing more than a beast to her, no better than Shadow or any other male? For a while, she listened to him rant…before quieting him by slapping him across the face, her hands trembling, her eyes swimming with angry tears. "Don't be an idiot...you were the one who found me…you were the one who took care of me and…and punished Sensei for what he'd done! For that…you mean more to me than you realize, Mewtwo. So don't give me this crap, not now, not ever!"

She left his side then, shouting back at him that he could lick his own wounds. It was only after he had soothed his fury that he realized she'd been crying: and humans only cry over the people they cherish….

She hoped he still didn't possess that rather masochistic tendency just to distract himself from what was truly bothering him….

Eventually they slowed to a stop…Cassandra gazed up at him….

Years shouldn't melt away in seconds…but, just this once, they seemed to. Moonlight fell across them both, freezing the fleeting moment where they fell together again. Anger faded, hatred turned on its head, sorrow lost out…negative emotions, for a transient shard of time, fled. Mewtwo mused to himself that she tasted the same…still sweet like crystallized vanilla, the sugar of it melted warm in their mouths. One of his arms wrapped about her waist, holding her to him, while the other slipped from her hand and stroked her hair, undoing the ties so that it fell back down to her shoulders. He enjoyed the feel of the strands upon his fingers, and breathed a quiet sigh at the sensations of those few seconds. She fit against him better now than she had when she'd been sixteen…her adult body pressed snug against his….

At some point Cassandra seemed to come to her senses and pulled away, slowly but certainly, "…No. Thiscan'thappen; not again. You're my target, Mewtwo…I'm here to kill you, not-."

(So you focus onthatissue instead of the far more obvious one – how intriguing of you.)

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You're missing the-."

(If you insist on debating, at least make a potent argument for your cause,) he growled slightly. He had not intended to get so close to her again, but he could still feel her mouth against his…and curse it all, heenjoyedthe damned feeling…!

Cassandra contemplated his words…and then chuckled softly, "Fine. I happen to be engaged - so my being involved with another male, not to mention one of a different species, is extremely inappropriate. You are monogamous, right Mewtwo? So you should agree with me on this."

She hadn't thought of Zachariah since that first night she'd been trapped here, and that had only been to muse on why there was no real rush to return to Viridian City – but she could use it against Mewtwo plenty fine. What she said was true, and she could see it in his face: his expression contorted with the unpleasant surprise…and then, with a bit of bemusement. He was curious, but he was also aware that, while she sounded civil enough, she could very well be trying to bait him with those facts. He would not ask, then, who she was wedding, and so take the morsel and be caught. However, he needed to respond to her statements – such was the goal of bickering, after all. (I see. Tell me, when will you become aman's wife?)

He could not say it without his tone going flat with distaste. She was right about his preferences when it came to mates – one, and only one. And as it had been her…well, the concept of her becoming the partner to a stranger did not particularly make him happy for her. Yet he no longer had any claim on her – their relationship was dust, after all, without worth and impossible to grasp now that it had been thrown away. Still, Cassandra answered him, "When I return home. For now, I'm going back inside – it's getting cold out here."

Before she could go too far, Mewtwo called after her, (…So you will not confront this – me – maturely, as you should? You are going to run away from the difficult situation once again, like a frightened child making excuses?)

She stopped…and turned back around, her temper flaring. What more was there to say? What did hewanther to say before she ended this completely? Refusing to ponder on the matter, she returned to the close proximity she had just left, coming within inches of him. "How dare you…? Mewtwo, damn it, I amNOTafraid of you!"

And she proved it by leaning upwards and kissing him again…but this time, she wasn't planning on being the one to tear away. Mewtwo felt a jolt of shock run through his chest, for if anything, he had expected her to strike him for insulting her sense of pride. Instead, she was cradling his mouth against hers. After a few moments in, he forfeited his wonderment at her choice - if she desired to justify herself through fury, so be it. She was allowing him to hold her again, and he found himself loath to disentangle himself from her arms merely for the sake of finding out her motives. He suspected that the entire incident was a ploy, but at the very least, he could enjoy the small pleasures of it while it lasted. He would be content with this, and with the gathering warmth between them. He felt her hands against his chest…her fingers gripping at his lilac fur. Wondering whether she would pull away, he trailed his mouth up her jaw, pushing her hair away to kiss her beneath her ear. She shivered, but did not make him stop.

She merely drew him tighter against her, murmuring in a mix of anxiety and coyness to take them to the only room in his home with an actual bed….

It was somewhat amusing to him how easily that only she, out of all those who had tried to control him, could bend him to her will.

In the gloom, Mewtwo rested his paws on her wrists, catching the tips on the silky shawl she wore and lifting it away. It floated down to the floor as a soft, vaporous mist. Her touches to his fur were akin to the wings of a swarm of moths, swift and velvet soft. To some extent, she recalled what incited the most pleasure in him, and could as much feel as hear him purring lowly. Looking up when they removed her dress, she saw that his pupils were wide and round – almost like a human's, but…the gaze was softer somehow. Though he was more an animal than she, his yearning did not seem as intense and hungry…not that she had much to compare him to…. Shuddering, she whimpered when he nipped her shoulder wordlessly…there was no pressure, no skin broken, but it was still hot and wet, and wretchedly arousing to her. This was what she got for being his only one: he knew her too damn well. Eventually, the human found her earlier promise to herself broken, with him in bed, his hips between her legs. She was notcompletelyundressed, but she doubted things would remain that way much longer if they continued. His paws ran between her shoulder blades in long, slow stokes…feeling the tension in her muscles and trying to ease it away. Heknew- she saw that clearly as she reached beneath his head, slipping her hand under the pillow…grasping the blade….

She took it from its hiding place and swung it forward – and paused abruptly, holding the knife in shaking hands above his chest.

Knowing that she needed reassurance, Mewtwo took her hands, guiding the tip of the knife to his throat. (Here…I will not stop you.) In order to kill him swiftly, his throat would be the best place to stab into…it would be messy, but he would bleed out in moments. She knew that.

With his consent, she lifted the blade…and swung down as hard as she could manage with eyes clenched shut. Her wrists twitched - the blade tore through….

…There was no blood.

The knife went deep into the mattress beside Mewtwo's neck…and he understood that she had not missed on accident. She trembled above him, seeming to be sobbing, but without the tears that accompanied the act. "Damn you…," she rasped, "What did you do to me?"

Mewtwo closed his eyes for a moment, (…I merely returned to you what was rightfully yours.)

That did not seem to comfort her at all. Instead, still quivering, she got up, wrapping her arms about her breasts as she stepped over to the window. Mewtwo stared after her, noticing how the light of the moon cast a faint metallic glow across her skin, and streaked silver in her dark hair. So quietly that he almost didn't hear her, she murmured faintly, "Leave…please just leave."

As he had before, he let her have her way. He rose from the sheets that sought to keep him there, still able to feel the warmth of her skin caught in his fur…still able to feel her across his fingers. They were accursed sensations, phantom delights, almost tangible yet out of reach. They lingered, like thoughts of things that were never completed by forces outside of your power. It would be so easy to cross over to her, to embrace her, to ask her to stay now that she had made the choice to let him live. However, that was the one thing he couldn't do if he wanted to keep her whole…yet before he walked out of the room, he said to her, (…This was not what I had intended for tonight. I had not planned to-.)

"-I know, Mewtwo. Just go, okay?"

He did…and after the door shut between them, Cassandra bowed her head, her shoulders shaking. She had failed. She couldn't kill him. She just…couldn't. So what…what was she going to do? Whatcouldshe do?

As night went on, her emotions began to eat away at her. As much as she tried to resist it, thoughts of the clone kept coming into her imaginings: his kindness, his words, his eyes…his touch, his acceptance, his affection. It made her feel maddened by the compulsion to go to him after she had just pushed him away. It seemed a parallel to what she'd felt when in the hospital after that sniper had shot her – she'd longed to be held by him, to know she was honestly cared for by another creature, despite the type of monster she was. Oh, she was not immune to the human craving for companionship, or the human longing for love! She was assailable to the desires of the soul, no matter how Giovanni had tried to kill her heart! So eventually she bundled her form one of the sheets that smelled of him…and darted to his room, ignoring Psyche's stares as she went. As she closed the door behind her, Mewtwo sat up in his hammock, regarding her silently. She trembled…hearing him stepping over to her….

"Help me…Mewtwo, please…."

And so he would. He drew her into his hold, pressing his muzzle to her hair, and mused on how he was supposed to save her now that she'd spared his own life….

Cassandra awoke before dawn the next morning, and found herself lying among the blankets Mewtwo had placed on the floor the previous night. Her bare body was shivering without him next to her, as he had been in the hours before. Blinking her eyes clear of grogginess, she saw her pack beside her, with a change of clothes laid out for her - she pulled them into the covers, warming them up before pulling them on. Checking her things, she found that all her possessions had been returned to her. She fiddled with her collar, and with a faint 'click' her wings reappeared after weeks of absence. She groaned quietly as she stretched them, at the pain as blood flowed into the arteries of her recently absent appendages. She was reluctant to rid herself of them again so soon, but she did so, hearing the sounds coming from outside the room. Pulling open the door a few inches, Cassandra peered out-.

And started upon seeing two Mewtwos in the main room.

One took a syringe from the table nearby, which was also supplied with an icebox used to transport organ tissue to hospitals, and what seemed to be a crystal of some sort. The one with the needle buried it into the arm of the other, who hissed quietly at the painful, pricking sensation.

(I assure you, it will be far better to take this than not…give it a few moments to effect you.)

After roughly half a minute, the other Mewtwo nodded, indicating that he (?) was prepared. The first Mewtwo charged his powers, his paws glowing and his fingertips seeming to become hooked with blackish light…the other shivered and closed his eyes, spreading his arms wide….

The first tore into him, slicing through skin and muscle, shattering bone, tearing beneath the ribcage in a horrifying mess of blood and gore. The other creature had evidently been put on an endorphin high, unable to feel pain as its body was torn apart, as organs were sliced into and pushed aside in fractions of a second as the assaulting feline searched for something…and upon finding it, tore it from the certain-to-perish body. Cassandra, appalled at the sight of the gaping red cavity of the cat's body (she could see the insides of the stomach and the intestines and…!), recognized what the attacker was swiftly stuffing into a sealable plastic bag and stashing into the icebox: it was the liver. As she watched, the creature she assumed to be dying fell to the floor into a pool of pink blood…wait…pink? It melted into a sloppy mess, and then seemed to gather itself up into a creature she recognized: a mass of gelatinous tissue with beady, black eyes and a mouth – in short, a Ditto.

Mewtwo cleaned his hands of the plasma, taking the crystal from the table and tossing it to the eager shape-shifter. (Thank you, Ditto – your contribution is greatly appreciated. Enjoy your reward.)

With that, the creature changed into a Pidgeot, took the crystal in its talons, and proceeding to fly out the open skylight above.

It took Cassandra a second to grasp what had just occurred – Mewtwo had allowed the Ditto to acquire the genetic information to change into his form after promising compensation for what he would do next. Then the psychic had drugged it and taken a vital organ that one could live without for a few minutes before perishing, so the creature could change back relatively unharmed. Sothatwas what she would be bringing back to Giovanni…!

Seeing her standing in the doorway, Mewtwo walked over to her, carrying the icebox with his powers and setting it near her feet. (…I take it you saw all of that?)

She said she had…he glanced at the box grimly. (…The crystal I gave it is similar to an Everstone – the Ditto will not have to return to its own form as swiftly as it usually does. Its kind value the gem for that reason – I am fairly certain they despise their own bodies. As for the tissue I took from it, initial testing will indicate that the fake organ belongs to me. However, if they try to use it for other matters, say, cloning, they will only end up with an unwanted Ditto. The tissue will revert back to its natural state in about 36 hours…that should be enough time to get it to a lab and see that it is…accidentally destroyed. Do you understand?)

"Yes…I'll make sure it is."

He moved past her, and glanced back to her as he went. (Come…I have a couple, far more pleasant gifts for you before you leave.)

She followed, seeing him take his book from his nightstand and pulling something from the only drawer. When he turned back to her, he handed her the book first. Seeing her shock, he explained, (I am not a human, Cassandra. Possessions aren't suitable for a pokémon, and we both know I can no longer stay in this place now that Giovanni has found my location. I believe you are a far more suitable owner of this so…keep it safe. I trust you not to burn it.)

She realized the last part was meant as a joke…yet she couldn't laugh. Instead, she pulled on her coat and stuffed the thin tome in the large, inner pocket and zipped it shut. The jacket was waterproof, so she supposed it was best placed there, near her, where she could keep it from harm. She was certain the photograph was included in the pages.

Then he opened his other paw to reveal a necklace. With his telekinesis he opened the clasp, his round-tipped fingers not nimble enough to do that delicate work, and placed the piece about her neck as she held up her hair. The thin chain, the same chain he'd once worn with some slight modifications, fell against her skin coolly, like a strand of ice. The cross, which made up the decoration hanging from it, rested on the rise beneath her collar. She held it between her fingers delicately…it was of a gothic design, the curves between the diamond-shaped shafts of a blunted spade shape, the metal upon the surface raised like puckered scars. In the center, where the bars crossed, was a perfectly round, black opal, imbedded in the dark-silver metal.

Observing how it looked upon her, Mewtwo seemed to smile slightly. (…Good…it suits you.)

Cassandra stroked her fingers along the cool metal…the back was flat despite the small pebble of a gem, save for what seemed to be systematically raised bumps…she knew them to be numbers in Brail.

"…What does 22:8:6 mean?"

(It's from the Bible…the Old Testament.)

She lifted her eyes, meeting his. She knew what the cross was made from: he'd forged it from their rings. "Thank you…it's beautiful."

(As I said…it suits you.) It was the only truly sweet thing he'd said to her since he'd first lost her…and now he would lose her again, but this time of their volition.

She hesitated to ask him the question but…now was the only time, was it not? "Mewtwo, if things were different…do you think we'd have…?"

He knew what she was asking, and turning away he said, (…It was the nature of our relationship to last. After we had defied so many other things to be close, time would not have altered what we'd shared. If things had been different…then yes, we would havebeen.)

But this was how things were - she knew that well enough. So he set aside the subject, and told her quietly, (Your flight leaves in half an hour…I will teleport you to the airport if you wish.)

She nodded. He placed his paws upon her shoulders, concentrating on moving her and her luggage to the place….

Cassandra's eyes in that moment, previously so carefully hidden, became clear, shining with what he knew to be regret. She leaned up, kissed his cheek once, and said goodbye. She doubted she would ever see him again.

In the next moment, she was gone…and Mewtwo, still alive, remained.

(…Farewell, dove.)

For quite some time, he stood there, his face remaining expressionless. Yet eventually, he crossed over to the window, gazing up into the azure sky, his eyes riveted on a plane lifting into the firmament. He knew it was unlikely that she was on it – this was a large city, and many flights left in this early hour for their destinations. But this one was heading east, back to the land of his beginning. Shestilllikely wasn't on it…yet a part of him was convinced that he was watching her soar farther and farther away within that vehicle's iron hull. It aroused a sensation in him of some piece of himself slipping back into the darkness, back to where it had laid dormant for so very long…or of a door or window that had been opening to once again close tightly shut….

It…was for the best. Yet in that moment, his expression slowly contorted, his arms wrapping around his stomach as he hunched over and emitted a low moan of pain. Psyche, watching from the door, felt her heart break for him…and shuddered at how he straightened in the next moment, gazing out the window with what appeared to be his normal face. Perhaps it had always been a mask though - she just hadn't recognized it as such until now. Like he had before, he was going to bury his anguish and loneliness…he was going to bury how much he yearned for the angel.

And in doing so, everything would return to how it had once been: devoid of hope….

Cassandra had passed security with ease as she always had, the electronic interference from her collar making her appear to hold nothing dangerous amongst her possessions. Metal appeared to be plastic, her weapons toys for the nephews she did not possess; her strange outfits nothing more than costumes for the one she had "visited illicitly." The woman, however, couldn't find the humor of fooling the guards this time. She merely passed through the detectors and searches with her supplies, with the medical package she ordered to be delivered to the Viridian City Gym in Kanto, and boarded without a word, finding her seat for her return flight. Apparently, the hotel room she'd abandoned had been cleaned and paid for in her absence – she was not surprised. Mewtwo had helped her get away from this mission without the hitches of it apparent to the ones she was returning to. She'd even formulated a cover story they could not dispute: there had been a fire recently among the vacant complexes - the news said it was the work of an arsonist. Cassandra called it Mewtwo again making sure Giovanni suspected nothing. He knew what would happen to her if she was caught letting him live – it was a treacherous act that Giovanni would not likely overlook.

It was not the first time Cassandra hadn't followed orders to a fault – but this was greater than those incidences. Here was true deception and defiance – it was a good thing that the crime lord had taught her how to lie, eh?

As she watched the city fall away, the urban forest replaced by the Routes and true wilderness, with seas and farmland, with mountains and deserts, she mused that she rather didn't want to be on the plane. Did she want to be with him still? She didn't think that was it really…but after a few weeks of freedom from her real life, she thought that maybe she just didn't want to go back to the organization that had both created and destroyed her….

"…You look sad, miss."

Cassandra looked up…and nearly laughed at the irony of it. It was that boy from the trip that had taken her to Mewtwo's city - the one that had commented on the beauty of her eyes, reminding her of a memory barely recalled in her mind. "Do I…?" she murmured, and was surprised to hear the sound of remorse in her own voice, "…I suppose I am, just a little."

"Why?"

Children, she reminded herself, had no concept of tact…they were curious little buggers. "…I suppose it's because I'm going to miss what…no,whoI'm leaving."

"Why didn't you stay?"

He wouldn't understand - he was too young. "…I couldn't. Someone would have gotten hurt."

The boy blinked, and then gave her a suspicious look. "…Are you an affair lady?"

Her head snapped up, "What…? No! That's not it!"

"Then what's the problem?" He tilted his head in question.

She looked down…spying the cross lying upon her breastbone, "We-."

"-Dear, don't bother the woman! Leave her be." And the mother of the boy, as she had done before, dragged the child back to his seat.

He pouted his blue eyes, squirming as the woman tried to tame his wild, brown hair. It amused Cassandra, but only for a moment. She felt sick and tired: she just wanted to sleep. After awhile, she got her wish, and thankfully she had only black dreams. No images of a white, demonic cat invaded her imagination, nor did his voice resound in her mind…but she felt the necklace he had given her across her skin, so chilled and heavy for something so small and seemingly insignificant….

Author's Note:…And while you all are going, "Ah, sad!", I find myself rather loving this chapter. It's romantic, but in a non-mushy, non-sleazy, (mostly) non-dramatic way – and that makes me very happy. Anyhow, no worries: we're not even close to done yet, and Psyche is going to give Mewtwo a little lecture in the next chapter to set him straight. At any rate, reviews are like sweets – you can't give or receive enough of 'em! See ya'.

- WiseAbsol

P.S. – NOTHING happened! There is lime here, but not lemon stuff! This is not the chapter for that…! Just to clarify!