Thudding footsteps wake me from my dozing, my eyes quickly fluttering open in mild panic. Something's draped around me, and I myself am draped about something absolutely frigid. My fuzzy vision slowly focuses, sharpening with each heartbeat, and I realize to my relief I'm on Omega's back, held up by his cold metal hands; Rouge still has her arms around me, snoring peacefully into my ear. I glance about, puzzled, and stifle a yawn as I straighten up to peer over Omega's shoulder. He walks along a dark street, the street-lamps our only light; the sky twinkles with a few stars, but the city's clouds obscure a majority from our view. The moon is a tiny arched sliver, shedding little brightness, and my gaze drifts over to the wall next to us. We pass closed-up shops, windows dark, our reflections shimmering across the tinted windowpanes. We're too far away for me to make out any details, so I lazily give up, instead deciding to address Omega, reaching up to lightly tap the side of his head. My muscles are sore, my head aches, and my back screams in stiff pain. "Hnn, Omega?" My voice is rough and cracks, and I swallow a bit heavily, throat dry as sandpaper. "Where...?"

"We are almost at G.U.N.'s Headquarters," he answers as my hand drops back down to my side. My mind is foggy, still sleep-addled, and I gently lean my head down onto his back, turning it to one side to press my cheek against his bright red metal hull. "Calculating. . ." a hum emits from his speakers, rattling the steel. "We are ten minutes away if we continue at this pace."

"Hmmh," I yawn, no longer able to hold it in. "Got it." Glancing up, I gaze at the sky. Ugh, man, everything hurts. And to think, this morning I thought it would be a good day. "Omega?" I begin, and his head swivels to one side, letting me know he's paying attention. "How have you been?" I heft myself up a bit, dragging Rouge on my back with me, and he boosts me up onto his shoulders; I twist and disentangle my batty friend from me, holding her in my arms instead. In this position, Omega doesn't have to hold us uncomfortably, and as I cross my legs, letting them dangle off the box that is his shoulder, he starts to speak.

"I have been faring quite well as of late," he replies, looking up at me. "For a time after you left, Rouge and I were alone. She very much did not appreciate you abandoning us, though she understood your reason." He informs me, a question in his eyes, and I bite my lip, feeling guilty all over again.

"I screwed up," I answer, sighing. "I really, really screwed up, Omega, and I'm sorry." My brows wrinkle sadly as I glance down at Rouge, dozing peacefully in my arms. Her face is dirty, eyeliner smeared down her cheeks, and one set of false lashes is hanging on by—I can't even tell. A prayer?—but she's still beautiful, in her own way. "I shouldn't have left."

"I disagree." He answers, and my eyes widen in shock, head whipping around to look at him. What? My heart skips a beat. Is he angry with me?! "You should not have returned," he continues, and I'm pretty sure I just heard my heart snap in half, but what he says next pulls it back together. "You still need to accomplish what you set out to do, Shadow." Suddenly his arms reach out to me, plucking me off his shoulder. I set Rouge down in my place, and he pulls me in front of him. My legs dangle in his grip, and I'm still not sure what he's doing, but I trust him. "They are still waiting for you, you know," he rumbles, and I stare in confusion at him, "but they may not wait forever." Somehow, his voice seems to soften. "I know you struggle with something," he murmurs, "though I do not prompt you to tell me of it. I know not the root of your problem, nor do I need to,  but I know you have held this battle for a long time." Pulling me close to him, he barrels on before I can interject; knowing him, I'll just have to wait until it's my turn to speak. "For quite a while I have kept silent and told myself you must do this on your own, but it has been too long, and I cannot sit back and watch you hurt." My eyes widen again. I think this is the most emotion he's ever shown... I didn't know he even had emotions, since he never shows any, but I guess people could say the same for me too. His long steel fingers brush through my spines effortlessly, soothingly, as I rest my forehead against his chest, feeling the vibrations of his voice. "You mustn't be afraid. You have to do this, sooner or later, but I will not pressure you. Go at your own time; later, I will speak of this to Rouge, and when it is time for you to go, I will ensure she understands." Sudden tears brew in my eyes; it feels like we're saying goodbye already, and I don't ever want to. Biting my lip roughly, I try to choke back a sob.

"Thank you," I breathe quietly.

"I do this not only for you, but for Rouge," he answers, pulling me back, and I glance up, praying my eyes are dry. "When you were gone, both she and I..." Trailing off as gears whirr, he hums, then continues, "We did not always get along, Shadow. I am not very 'personable,' I'm told, and she was still wounded. I, too, felt your absence, the same as I had all those years ago. Do you remember when Robotnik sent me away?" Shifting position to support my legs a bit more, he swivels his head from side to side for a moment. "It was lonely without you around. I believe that was the first time I recognized processes in my mind that went outside the realm of my programming. I had to force myself to vanish, not even faking my own demise." My eyes widen. No wonder I never knew what happened to him.

"Wait—what? How did you...?" I tilt my head to one side, baffled. "His systems are impossible to get into, aren't they?"

"Shadow," his voice takes on a mildly chastising tone, and my eyebrows raise. He really has changed. Normally his voice is so completely flat, but now it seems so dynamic. "You should know by now that all of Robotnik's creations are linked through his network. All it took was for me to push some files onto my personal hard-drive, then destroy any copies I discovered. After that, I deleted the coding that allows me to connect to that network, and it was done." He shrugs with the shoulder Rouge isn't sleeping on.

I stare with openmouthed awe. "Wow, that's pretty impressive." I never even thought to do that... Blanching inwardly, I shake my head, closing my mouth and bringing one hand up to rub my chin meditatively. Then again, that's why he was part of the original Team Dark—not only is he tough as hell, he's clever too. "But..." I furrow my brows, biting one finger with my fangs. "Doesn't that mean you won't get any software updates anymore?" Concerned, I lean forward a bit and brace myself on his palm, waggling one finger in his face as I continue, "Because that'd be hazardous to your health, you know."

A metallic chuckle rumbles out of him, and I refrain from laughing too; while it's a rather fake-sounding and artificial noise, it's still clearly a laugh, and an infectious one at that. "I already accounted for that," he replies evenly, "and the G.U.N. agents are using me as a bit of a guinea pig; they test out coding on my software in order to figure out how Robotnik creates limited artificial intelligence." Alarm flashes through me when he says 'guinea pig,' and he takes note of it, reassuring me quickly. "Worry not, dear Shadow—they are very careful not to break anything." He glances away from me suddenly, and interrupts himself by saying, "We are here."

I turn, looking behind me to see the government's headquarters standing tall and proud, brightly lit against the dark night sky. "So we are." A yawn seizes me, splitting my face, and I stretch as he puts me on his other shoulder, lifting me effortlessly. "Man," I sigh, leaning back and looking up at the sky, "what a day..." I smile tiredly; though my body aches and my vertebrae in particular are screaming agony at me, I feel so...happy. Everything is okay, we made it home safely... Turning my head to one side, I glance over at Rouge, who still snores peacefully.

"What a day indeed," Omega answers, rotating the lower half of his arms. "Perhaps you ought wake Rouge—after all, we still have to file our reports for the day..."

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

My eyes snap open in a rush, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, breath strangled in the back of my throat. My stomach clenches, threatening to heave, and I sit up rapidly, clapping one hand over my mouth and breathing deeply. My arms and legs tremble, my sheets are sticky with sweat, and my mind is still clouded, visions of blood-soaked tools and horrific battlefields. Lowering my head in a jerking, stiff movement, I slowly and woodenly curl into a ball, resting my forehead on my knees. Where am I? What's going on? Who am I? Nothing around me feels real, a disturbing floating sensation pervading my perception, and I can't seem to remember what I was doing before I fell asleep.

After some time, my stomach settles down, my ears stop ringing, and I can think again. Sucking in deep breaths, I clutch my knees close to my chest. "I can't," I whisper aloud, voice tremulous and weak. Sudden tears stream down my face, and I choke, slipping one hand to my mouth to muffle my sobbing. "I can't do this," I hiss, feeling hot tears splash onto my pristine white chest fluff, "I can't do this anymore, I just can't." My voice cracks, and I bite my lip, hard, tasting coppery blood in my mouth, and I want to throw up all over again. That taste, oh God, and that smell—so much carnage... I—Clenching my hand over my muzzle, I dig my claws into my cheeks, not caring if I bleed; pain lances through every cell my needle-sharp claws massacre. The sensation spears through me, clearing my head, and I force myself to calm down; after quite a long pause, I finally uncurl, relaxing, but my fur is still on end. My heart has slowed a little bit, but it's still irregularly rapid. Shivering, I stare out the window, watching snow drift down lazily outside as the scratches on my face mend themselves effortlessly. "These nightmares have to stop..." I murmur, slowly coming back to reality.

Sighing, I shake my head vigorously as if I can just throw the horrible visions out of my mind. "But they never will, will they," I answer myself in a flat tone, leaning back and stretching my left leg out, keeping the right one bent; my arms support me, locked straight upright, shoulders level with my chin. Tilting my head back, I look up at the ceiling blankly. I'm so tired... Every bone in my body aches, every muscle battered and bruised. I can't even think over the intense pain coursing through my nerves. My head hurts, my throat and eyes are dry, and the most intense pressure blossoms from the wound I sustained; swinging my legs stiffly over the edge of the bed, I push myself onto my feet. I wonder if some tea would make me feel a bit better. Cautiously, I pad forward, bare feet softly thumping against the floor. Rocking to the pads of my toes, trying to minimize contact with the floor to keep from making noise. I carefully ease open my door, peeking around the edge of the frame; seeing an empty and unlit hallway, I creep forward, taking the minimum amount of steps required to get from here to the kitchen. Lingering outside Rouge's door, I press my ear to the wall, listening carefully. I can hear her snoring, fortunately, and a small smile of relief slides across my face. At least she's having an easier time getting rest than I am. Continuing, I slither into the kitchen, not bothering to turn a light on—what if its glow leaks beneath her door and wakes her?—and carefully open a few cabinets, looking for the teabags. I keep my ears trained, listening for a disruption in her sleeping as I pull out the box of Chai. Picking up the teakettle sitting by the side of the stove, I set the box down while I fill it up with tap water, praying the pipes don't run by her room. I do my best not to overfill it, then turn the stove on, placing the kettle on the burner. Pulling a mug from another cabinet, I set it down, pulling out a bag from the box; the mug I chose happens to be a rather interesting one. It bears the design of two people, but they don't really look much like people—for one, both are unnaturally thin, and seem quite tall. One is shorter than the other, with wide eyes and long orange hair. Her body and dress are laced with stitches, and her skin is a greenish grey, contrasting well with her hair, but not as strikingly as a blue pallor would; the dress is made of patches varying quite widely in color and pattern, tacked together with more stitches, and her mouth seems to extend in a smile all the way to her ears, though her ruby-red lips stop at the right place. In fact, what I first mistook as a massive mouth seems truly to be a seam that may even stretch around her head. She looks up at the figure next to her, smiling sweetly, as they look down at her with the same sort of adoring glance. They seem to be some sort of skeleton in a suit, a tuxedo, complete with a bat bow-tie. The head is much larger than the neck, with a smile stretching up far higher than it really should, but the art style is so cartoonish and adorable that it's less disturbing than if the duo were drawn more realistically. Behind them lies what seems to be a cemetery, with quirky gravestones jutting out at odd angles over rolling hills. In the background, a full moon hangs, glowing light yellow. A small smirk tugs at my lips; somehow, the two remind me of Rouge and I. She seems like the skeleton-man: taller than me, grinning cheerfully—since he's a skeleton, he's got that eternal-grin, like her natural ebullience—and the stitched-up girl reminds me of myself: broken, but still whole, patched together and a little fragile, but maybe, just maybe, still capable of happiness. I stifle a laugh at myself. I really must be exhausted if I'm finding symbolism in a coffee cup...

My ears flick as the kettle begins to hiss softly, about to make that horrific whistling noise, and I rapidly yank it off the burner, setting the mug down in its place. The kettle's hiss dies down a bit as I pad over to the fridge, tugging the door open gently; reaching inside, I fumble around, trying to find the carton of half-and-half. Pulling it off its shelf, I step back, closing it gingerly with my foot, half-and-half clutched in my hands for fear of dropping it. Shuffling back over to the mug, which is now slowly heating up on the burner, I carefully pour in a little bit, trying not to put too much in the cup. Pulling back after a moment, I re-cap it, leaving the mug to warm up a little bit as I put the carton back. Upon closing the fridge door cautiously again, I scuttle over to the edge of the kitchen and pause, carefully listening to make sure Rouge is still asleep; her breathing patterns remain slow and relaxed, so I draw back, tiptoeing to the teakettle again. Picking up the Chai tea bag, I place it in the mug, then pour the still-steaming water into it; fortunately, it's only about 6/7th of a glass, meaning I can easily carry it back to my room without worrying about spills. Carefully putting back all the various things I used, I pick up my mug and tread carefully along, back to my room, moving especially slowly right outside her door. Thankfully, she doesn't stir at all, and I make it back to my bed with no incident.

Sitting down heavily, I sigh, still exhausted; lifting the mug to my lips, I take a careful sip, trying (unsuccessfully) to not burn my tongue. Grimacing, I scrunch my nose up, sticking my tongue out of my mouth to cool it. Tea's delicious, but it's really far too hot. Pulling my legs up onto the bed, I sit with my legs in the Lotus position as I cradle the tea mug in one hand, the other having laced its fingers around it; glancing over to the lamp, I contemplate turning it on, then shake my head with a frown. Nope. The light could bleed under the crack of the door and light up her room. I don't know how light a sleeper she is, so I don't want to do anything that might wake her. Shuffling a bit, I turn away from the nightstand to watch the snow drift down, trying to take my mind off my bad dreams. Seems like it snows every night down here. My vision blurs as I let my eyes defocus, and I stare dazedly at the glowing white window, sipping my tea. The terror of my dreams is gone, replaced by a serene calm; as the steam drifts up into my eyes, forcing me to blink every now and then. As the amount of tea in my cup dwindles, drowsiness slowly creeps up my spine and I bite back a yawn, twisting to set the mug down behind me on the nightstand carefully. Stretching, I lat back down, wrapping the blankets around me and curling into a tight ball, my head on the pillow, still facing the window. I really should get some more sleep, I tell myself as my lids drift further and further down my eyes. We've probably got another big day tomorrow, so no matter how broken my sleep is, I need all the rest I can get.

----------

The crimson-streaked hedgehog groans as his equally cerulean partner wraps his arm in bandages, blood soaking into them the moment they hit his flesh; she pauses to spread some ointment onto the cloth, and both wrinkle their noses at the scent. The two are crouched side-by-side in a deserted alleyway, fur splattered with oil, skin marred by bruises and scrapes. Their fur is tousled, jackets torn, and somewhere along the way, Heart lost his hat. He snarls when the antiseptic paste hits his wound, and she lets out a sympathetic purr. "You should have been more careful," Soul murmurs to her husband, who flushes in embarrassment, looking away.

"I know, I know." Heart sighs, ears flattened to his head. "Pretty embarrassing that I'm the one who got hit, considering I have the shield." She giggles, tying off the ends of his bandage.

"Guess we're lucky it was only one bullet," Soul replies, standing up and tugging him along with her by the other arm. He smirks, turning to face her again as he scoops his tattered black trench coat back up with his injured arm, trying not to move it too terribly much. Heart'Gold starts to shrug it on, grimacing a bit, and Soul'Silver steps behind him, lifting the coat a bit to help him put it on. He nods graciously, rolling his shoulders as she fits his spines through the slots in the back of the jacket. Both hedgehogs' clothes are rather scuffed-up, but his jacket truly looks the worst. A frown slides across her face as he grits his teeth together, carefully holding his arm so that the fabric doesn't scrape his wound. "I should've been able to protect you," she murmurs, looking upset.

To her surprise, he chuckles in response, turning to face her with a bit of a cheeky grin. "Come on, Soul, how are you gonna protect a shield?" He gently punches her shoulder, and the somber expression slowly fades from her face as he continues, "You're the sword, I'm the shield." His smile widens when he lifts his good arm up, bent across his chest; a flash of flame licks over his jacket from his wrist down to his elbow, flaring into a large round shield of blazing fire. "We work together, two people as one, and sometimes that means one or both of us gets hurt, but that's okay." Lowering his arm as the shield vanishes in a puff of smoke, he ends with, "Besides, we're both an awful lot stronger than either gives the other credit for."

She scowls at him, pursing her lips. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm a lot stronger than you are." Tipping her nose up, she crosses her arms, looking indignant.

He snickers, sneering at her; she's only a few inches shorter than him, so it is a little difficult for him to act too imposing, but he gives it a good effort. "Yes, dear," he answers in a mildly sarcastic tone, and she growls in irritation.

"Hmph," she snorts, whirling around to walk off, down the alley, jamming her hands in her pockets. "And after I patched you up and everything!" He laughs quietly, following her as she stomps off. Though both their tones hold anger, neither is taking this seriously at all; Heart catches up with Soul quickly, lifting his uninjured arm to ruffle her hair. She punches him lightly, then snuggles close to him as he moves his arm from her head down to her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Well, now that we've dealt with Robotnik's lackeys, shall we resume our mission?" Soul'Silver prompts her partner, who nods confidently.

"Yes, let's."

----------

Bright light bleeds in through my shut eyelids, and I squeeze my eyebrows together, tugging the blanket up over my face. Ugh, what...? Who's shining a light in my face? Groaning, I slowly let my eyes flutter open, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what's going on. To my surprise, it's broad daylight out, and my eyes fly open as I roll over, checking the clock beside my bed.

"9:30," it tells me, and my eyes widen. I have no idea when we usually get up and go, but I know it's much earlier than this—it's usually still pretty dark out when she wakes me up, so I know something is up. Scrambling out of bed, I fling the sheets behind me rather recklessly, stumbling to the door and quickly opening it. Rouge's door is open, and I hear the microwave go off; confused, I trot to the kitchen at a rather fast clip. My batty partner stands in a pair of loose-fitting yet trendy pajamas, messing with the stove, a carton of eggs next to her. I pause for a moment, baffled; her ears flick and she glances at me over her shoulder. As I open my mouth to ask what the hell is going on, she turns, spatula in hand and a smile on her face.

"Oh, hey, Shadow!" She chirps, "G.U.N.'s given us a day off to recover from our last mission, so if you're feeling up to it, I figured we'd go have some fun today!"

Blinking, I stare for a minute, shocked. "A...A day...off?" I echo haltingly. What does she mean?

A small laugh bubbles out of her as she turns back to the stove. "You know, a day off. A day where you don't have to go to work?" Plucking an egg from the carton, she delicately presses it to the edge of the pan, then smacks the egg against the pan's edge a couple times until it completely cracks. "We worked so hard yesterday that the President felt we needed some time off to recuperate. So today we can do whatever we want!" Letting the egg-guts plop into the pan, she turns and smiles at me over her shoulder. I still don't understand, though, and I know she can tell just by looking at me that I'm wondering why the hell the President wouldn't be expecting us to work today. "Listen, handsome," she continues in an erudite tone as the egg hisses and snarls in the pan beneath her; poking it with her spatula, she picks out another egg and treats it the same as she did the first. I step up beside her, leaning on the counter as she begins to explain a bit more in-detail for me. "I doubt Robotnik ever gave you days off, but they're actually pretty common. People usually take two days per week away from their jobs; most places in this country, it's Saturday and Sunday, the weekend days." Shaking the pan a bit, she scoots the quickly-solidifying eggs around a little bit. "In some lines of work, people are allowed to call in sick for a day or so, however long it takes them to recover, but most don't do that until they're quite ill. In our line of work, specifically, we often have days off purely for lack of things to do. So, you'll have to get used to days off, because in all honesty, we just don't have enough things to do. Robotnik only has so many bases, you know." She pulls the pan off the burner, prodding the eggs a slight bit.

"I see," I reply slowly, processing. It makes sense, I suppose... After all, living creatures are more delicate than robots, so taking time off to recuperate is wise. "So, today we don't have anything to do? Anything at all?"

"Nothing scheduled from G.U.N.~!" She chirps, dumping the eggs in even portions across two plates. "Today I thought I'd show you around town," Rouge continues, glancing over at me, and my ears perk curiously. "Maybe see if we could get that jacket repaired, hmm?"

My eyes light up. "Really? You mean it can be repaired?" Excited, I bite back a grin as she chuckles, turning to fully face me.

"Of course, silly. I know a gal who's real good at patching things up and, in extreme cases, replacing them. Since it's just the back that's messed up, I'm sure she can repair it with no trouble." A grin dances across her muzzle at my look of obvious surprise. "What, did you think I bought a new outfit every time mine got messed up?"

Scratching my chin, I pause to think for a moment as she walks over to the fridge, cracking open the door to the freezer and reaching inside. "Huh," I finally mutter, "guess I never thought about that."

She laughs, pulling a yellow box out of the fridge and placing it next to the toaster and opening it up. "Well, I don't, because that would be," hesitating as she struggles to open the plastic bag inside the box, "pretty stupid."

I peer over her shoulder, intrigued by the box; it's yellow-and-orange, with white letters spelling out something that can't possibly be a word—"E-G-G-O"—and the image of an odd circular wafer covered in something brown. She's fumbling with a rather stiff plastic bag, one of the types that seems to require something with the cutting power of a chainsaw. "Hang on," I say, reaching around her to grip the bag, "lemme try this—" unsheathing my claws, I scrape the plastic as she ducks a bit out of my way, looking mildly peeved. After a few seconds, I manage to tear it open with a little growl; pulling back again, I shake my hand a couple times irritably. "Damn, that was tough."

"Thanks, Shadow," she answers, pulling two wafers out and putting them into the toaster. "So, anyways, continuing on what I said earlier, since today we have the day off, I figured we could go and do some fun stuff." Pressing the toaster's slider down, she steps back, whirling around to face me, leaning on the counter behind her. "Considering you don't have any clothes other than that jacket, I thought we could go clothes-shopping!" Excitement glitters in her eyes and she leans forward a slight bit in anticipation.

"Clothes-shopping?" I inquire, confused, tipping my head to one side. "Why would I need clothes? My fur is thick enough that—"

She interrupts me, "Not during winter, it isn't. You were shivering an awful lot yesterday, even with that jacket. So we need to at least go pick up a coat for you, and considering the mess your hoodie ended up as..." She trails off, raising her eyebrows at me. "We're gonna have to get you something a bit hardier, clearly. A lot of the clothes-shops around here cater to G.U.N. agents, so they make really durable stuff." I hum softly, thinking; behind Rouge, the toaster dings, and she whips back around, plucking the now-baked pastries from it. Turning back, she plops them down on the plates—one per plate of course—and opens another cabinet, pulling out a bottle of brown liquid, setting it between the plates. "Would you be a dear and grab the plate closest to you? It's yours." She says, plucking the plate on her left off the counter and hefting the bottle too; I do as she asks, and we both turn and pace over to the dining-table. "Anyhow, I also thought it'd be nice to introduce you to the nuances of fashion and such, you know?" Sitting down, she opens the bottle and pours a bit of the brown stuff onto her wafer; I can now see it's a thing called "Maple Syrup." My white-furred companion passes it to me, and I carefully grip it, finding out (to my distaste) that it's actually kinda gross and sticky. Turning it over the wafer, I flip open the cap, and the syrup oozes out.

"'Fashion'?" I ask, mildly amused. "How would fashion possibly serve as any use to us?"

She picks up a fork sitting by her plate, using it to cut the pastry as she lets out a small scoff. "Oh, please, Shadow," my batty partner places a bite in her mouth as I follow her example, twisting my fork to cut the wafer on my plate. "I know you well enough by now to know you care a decent bit about your appearance, and if we're gonna grab you some winter clothes, well—" she pauses to shovel a forkful of eggs into her mouth, and I wait patiently as I keep eating too; "—you might as well look nice, right?"

Hesitating to answer, I mull over her words, chewing carefully as I do. She has a point, I suppose. Not even my dense fur coat is capable of withstanding freezing temperatures, so it would make sense to grab a coat, I guess. And truthfully, I would prefer to not look awful, so I guess this is an alright idea. "I suppose so," I finally reply, glancing up at her. Her eyes shoot to me.

"So, you'll do it?" Rouge leans forward a little bit, eyes meeting mine straight-on. For a moment, I forget how to speak; it seems almost like I'm drowning in those glittering little oceans, but thankfully before too much time passes I find my voice to answer.

"Sure." I say, glancing away for a moment just to break eye contact. She beams widely at me, and I have a sudden sinking feeling, like I've just signed a deal with the devil.