Days pass, then weeks and months. Our missions are always successful, my nights are always sleepless, and we never speak about what happened that day when the building collapsed. Our talks, when we do speak to each other, are shallow and meaningless, but at least she isn't ignoring me; for the first few days after it happened, she refused to even look at me. I think I died, and I also think she picked up on that.

Lately, guilt has been flashing from her whenever our eyes meet. It worries me, because I can't figure out why—whenever I try to find out what she's thinking, I find a jumbled mess, and I know any attempt to sort it would just distress her. I tiptoe about, careful not to hurt her further, careful not to misstep, and if she notices, she doesn't care to say anything on it. Something's broken between us, something changed, but I don't know what. Whenever I'm kind to her, it pains her; when I'm rude, she's relieved. I don't understand.

I don't understand at all...

---------------
-Rouge's POV-

I take a shuddering breath, standing outside the door to the office of my boss, my captor, who waits ever-so-patiently each evening for my arrival. We've done this dance for almost half a year now, but this time it's different. This time, I feel, something is going to change. Can I really do this? I've been going behind my best friend—no, my only friend's back since we met, and it hurts, God it hurts, especially now, especially after what I've seen of him, but I don't have a choice. I never did. My twitching hand clasps the doorknob as I steel myself, fur on end, trying to keep from trembling as I open the door. "Hello, sir," I say in a voice I pray is more whole than my nerves.

"Rouge," he answers with that eternal, chilling happiness he holds. "Come in, come in. Do shut the door behind you, dear." Swallowing roughly, I do as he says, the door gliding into place silently. My footsteps sound loud as an elephant's in my ears as the President of G.U.N. slowly turns in his chair, now facing me, elbows resting on its arms, hands clasped in a Sherlock-esque steeple-style pose, brushing his lips which are twisted in a smirk. "You seem tense, darling." His honey-toned voice purrs. I don't answer, just keeping my terrified eyes locked to his cold, vacant ones. After a moment of silence, he sighs, dropping his hands onto the desk. "So, no small talk today." His normally amicable 'customer service' voice is now the cold, detached businessman's drawl I've always heard from him. "That's fine." He points to the chair, and I sit like a dog commanded by its threatening owner. "Give me your report, then get out."

I wring my hands together in my lap, heart thundering out of my chest. "So far," I reply softly, "he's still the same."

"Nothing new?" Acid creeps into his voice, and I shiver. He's been growing more impatient day by day—before, he never asked any questions after my progress report, but lately it feels like I'm being interrogated by a shrewd investigator, rather than just giving a speech to a bored old man.

"Nothing," I answer, "but since you haven't told me what I'm supposed to be looking for—"

"I've told you enough." He cuts in, slicing through my complaints with a verbal knife. "Know your place, bat," he hisses, and my heart stops as he pointedly locks eyes with me, a cold sneer twisting his face, "and keep your mouth shut."

"R-Right," I choke. Mouth shut, head down, do as you're told, I remark cynically to myself, all phrases I've heard far too often over the years.

"Now, what you're telling me is," he leans forward, rubbing his forehead with one hand, eyes squeezed shut, "other than his developing the 'Chaos Blast' technique, nothing else has come of having him here? Have we wasted our time with a pointless endeavor?" His words sicken me, the way he speaks about Shadow like an object makes my stomach churn, but I keep my mouth shut and nod ever-so-slightly. It pains me to agree with him, pains me to help him tack these labels onto Shadow, dehumanizing him—but I. Have. No. Choice. It's hopeless. He growls, taking my silence as assent, then sits up, leaning back and crossing his arms as he settles into his chair. "It's settled, then," his voice is flat and emotionless. "Robotnik failed. Shadow's useless to us." I flinch at the word useless, feeling it like a slap to the face. "Terminate your friendship with him. It's over."

I choke on my own saliva, stunned, the living equivalent of a computer suddenly bluescreening. "Wh-Wh-Whaaat?!" I screech, astonished, and he raises an eyebrow dangerously. I snap my mouth shut, quickly scuffling backwards in my seat. How can he say something so heartless in such a vapid, shallow tone?!

"You heard me," he slowly hisses, and I feel ice run through my blood. "Come now, Rouge, you can't have possibly thought this could continue—did you?" A sadistic smile dances across his lips. "I told you when we first obtained him, your little 'friendship,' if you can even call it that, would be temporary if he proved a failure."

"B-But we're doing good work," I protest, grasping desperately for something, anything, I could use to save Shadow from this hell. I don't want him to walk the same path I've been forced to take... but what can I do? What can I do?!

"Please, Rouge," he sneers dismissively, and I feel like any thread of hope I had is being burnt away right before my very eyes. "Without what Robotnik promised us, Shadow is just an ordinary hedgehog with boosted Chaos Powers, and if Sonic sets any sort of standard for that," menace creeps into his voice, "Chaos-boosted hedgehogs don't play well with others."

"We're the most effective team in this whole branch!" I argue, "Without him, Omega and I couldn't possibly do as much work."

The President narrows his eyes, thinking deeply; I lock my eyes on his, trying to silently plead with him. A long, tense minute passes before he groans irritably and snaps, "Fine, fine. But be advised..." He slowly lifts his hand to his own neck, "If he causes any more trouble like the building incident," a single, lithe pointer finger drags its way across wrinkled skin, and I swallow, mouth feeling like it's filled with cotton.

"Understood," I whisper, trembling. The President pushes his chair back, gesturing towards the door, and I shakily get to my feet. My steps are unsteady, but I keep my posture stiff and straight, perfect as it always is, even after the door shuts behind me. I make it all the way to the empty elevator (with only a few stray tears leaking down my cheeks) before I break down, ugly-crying with makeup and tears streaking my face as I slam my fists against the wall. This isn't fair! I scream silently, this isn't fair, this isn't fair, this isn't fucking fair! He hasn't done anything! The image of the black-and-red hedgehog, sobbing, sitting on the concrete with his head in his hands, full of loneliness, self-hate, calling himself a monster, asking me why, why he's here, why he even exists... What is it about him that leads to everyone in his life hurting him? Why does everyone hate him?

"Do you have nightmares often?" She'd asked, ears perked, looking across from her at the bundle of sleep-deprived hedgehog on the bed, and a pause eons long followed until he finally closed his eyes.

"Every time I sleep," came the pained murmur, his deep voice shaking ever so slightly with leftover adrenaline.

Another sob, this time muffled by my gloves, as I shake my head violently. No, I can't do this, I can't be just another one of his tormentors. My fist connects with the wall of the elevator, denting it; pain lances through my arm, but I ignore it. If I were to go through with this... Straightening up, I suck in a breath, trying to force my tears back before someone calls for the elevator. The foreign heaviness of one ankle is acutely felt as I stomp once, barely holding back a full-blown tantrum with very little clue as to what I'm doing. My heart aches, and I sniff harshly as the crying threatens to overwhelm me again; my lovely little anklet reminds me yet again how trapped I am. I have no choice, I tell myself again, staring dully at the wall, face wet with tears and streaked makeup. "I'll never be able to choose again," I murmur aloud, and a new wave of sadness overpowers me as I slam my forehead into the cool shiny metal, weeping once more.

I wonder, will I someday be just another nightmare to him?

--------------
-Shadow's POV-

I was right. Things are changing. They were, they still are, and I don't know how long we can keep this up. It's starting to take a toll on me, too. Lately I've been waking up, choking back a scream and drenched in a cold sweat—the usual—but you know what's odd about it?

I can't remember a thing.

Rouge never comes in to help anymore. I'm left by myself, struggling even to breathe, but I hear no sound from her room. I know I wake her, I can sense her conscious presence, but she doesn't move. Part of me is glad she's not losing sleep worrying about me, and the other part feels like dying. She doesn't care anymore, I tell myself each time, and tears fill my eyes at the thought. I've never been so alone.

Yet I don't at all hold her apathy against her. I know if I had to deal with someone like me all the time, I'd get tired of being sympathetic too. She still feels guilty over every little thing, so I've tried to stop talking to her altogether (other than when necessary of course) to keep her from feeling so poorly. I don't understand what's going on with her, but some dire need to keep her from her remorse fuels my actions; as the days go by, I take to staying at G.U.N.'s offices for longer and longer stretches of time—they've given me my own little cubicle to sort out my paperwork in—purely because I dread the tense aura of our home. Her home. I feel like a stranger even in my own skin nowadays, so I can't really call her apartment home anymore.

Maybe I'll just find somewhere else to go, I muse silently, holding a paperclip between my teeth as I carefully pick up a stack of papers, thumping them on my desk a couple times. I doubt she'd care anymore. The more space we have, the better, I guess. My heart sinks, but I keep mechanically tapping the paper to line it up. Now that I've stopped talking, it seems like even my existence makes her uncomfortable. I stop, set the papers down, and stare long and hard at the desk, letting the paperclip fall out of my mouth limply as I feel a terrible thought begin to brew in the back of my mind. Why am I even still here? Scourge is gone, Rouge clearly hates me, and Omega could probably fare well enough without me... I slowly let my head drop closer to the desk, a giggle tickling the back of my throat as the tears already scratching at my eyes finally leave, hitting its cheap wood-patterned plastic with the tiniest of splashes. The only issue is that I'd be breaking my promise to the President by leaving, though I doubt it'd hurt my reputation. My forehead hits the desktop and I tremble with silent, cynical laughter. I was so, so stupid to ever think things would be fine for me, that people would like me... I'm just a criminal to them, a villain.

The more time I've spent here, the more I've become aware of how these people really see me. To them, I am an enemy, clearly planting myself in their system, waiting for the right moment to shoot up the place and declare it officially Eggman Territory or something. No one trusts me. The media paints our team as "shady," something Rouge has expressed concern over because they apparently didn't do that when I wasn't here. It's pretty clear to me how I'm seen in this world, and I'm starting to think I myself would rather not see any more of the world—after all, it doesn't want to see me, either. Maybe I was wrong to leave Robotnik so long ago, I find myself thinking, brows furrowed in worry. After all, it's growing clear that after every horrible thing he did, he removed my memories from me—he could take all this pain away... Nostalgia overwhelms me, thoughts of my old team—Heather, Omega, and I—and all the fun we had together. Even though what we were doing was wrong, we didn't know at the time... How long could I have lived in such blissful ignorance? Haunting images of a 'happy' future I could have had, my sister growing up at my side instead of dying all alone, Robotnik never learning to hate me, the only unpleasantness in my life the vague, quickly-forgotten nightmares I had... Jolting upright again, I shake my head rapidly, trying to clear it; a snort escapes me. What am I thinking? Staying with that abusive asshole? Pushing the paperwork to the side, I stand up, shoving my chair in. That's it. I need some sleep—I've been avoiding it for too long, clearly, if I'm having these sorts of crazy thoughts. My feet drag across the floor as I rub my bloodshot eyes, growling softly. I'll just stay later tomorrow to make up for what I didn't do today... Or yesterday... Or the day before...

Truth be told, I'm weeks behind on my paperwork. I haven't had the mental capacity to even think about doing it, not when things are so tense all the time. Our teamwork has been suffering lately, and I find myself thinking again about the fact that my previous team, under Robotnik, fell apart too... Am I locked in some sick cycle? A shudder runs through me. Will I end up alone again?

Something catches my attention, and I freeze, realizing exactly where I am: a yard or so away from the President of G.U.N.'s door. This... This is not the elevators, I say to myself slowly, baffled. Why am I here? Before I can answer my own question, the doorknob rattles, sending a flurry of panic through me. "Oh, shit, " I hiss, stepping backward and immediately ducking behind a (full, thank God) water cooler. I plan to stay here until whoever it is leaves, hoping against hope that they're not headed this way; of course, my curiosity gets the better of me and I peek around its edge, half-crouched with my eyes narrowed as I try to see who's leaving the President's room this late in the evening. With a creak, the door opens, revealing a very shaken, very familiar figure.

Rouge.

My jaw drops, amazed at her rather haggard appearance; her legs shake as she quickly makes her way down the hall, coming this way. Yet again I freak out, throwing myself backwards and flattening to the wall in terror. Please don't notice me, please don't notice me! I silently plead; closing my eyes, I rely on my perception to tell me where she is, sensing a tumultuous bundle of emotions speeding through the corridor. I suck in a quick breath and hold it as she passes by, mere feet away; at any moment, I could hear her scream "What the hell are you doing here?!" My heart races, adrenaline kicks into overdrive, to the point where I feel my hands begin to shake, fur on end as I wait for my inevitable capture...

To my shock, however, nothing happens, and I hear her footsteps rapidly recede; my eyes fly open and I turn, watching her go. She didn't see me? Instead of relief, I feel worry. Something serious must be distracting her... My focus drifts back to the President's door. Perhaps something to do with him. Gritting my teeth, I slowly get to my feet, eyes locked on his door. I have a bad feeling about this. Carefully lifting each foot, I creep forwards, slithering across the wall like the shadow I am, but my confidence wavers with each pace; a rock seems to have settled in my stomach, slowing me down until eventually I stop a mere foot or so from the door. All is silent, and I chew on my bottom lip as I try to figure out what to do next. Do I go any further? Maybe Rouge wasn't upset at the President... After all, she's been a ball of absolute chaos for the past few weeks anyways. Worry flickers in my heart, and I turn away from the door, walking with determination in the same direction Rouge just did. No, I don't want to know if he's involved in her upset, at least not right now. I just want to make sure she's alright.

That's all that matters.

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

The door swings open easily, and shuts just as smoothly; silence greets me as I slip daintily out of my shoes, carefully tiptoeing forward. It's possible that she's already in bed, and I wouldn't want to wake her, so I quietly make my way to the living room. To my surprise (and mild chagrin, given that I just snuck in), however, she's sitting on the couch in her pajamas, reading a book. I open my mouth to greet her, then shut it awkwardly, hesitating for a moment before gingerly sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. She glances up, eyes filled with indifference, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from giving her a hopeful smile. It never works. She's always cold these days, but still, for some reason I just can't give up...

"How was work today?" I inquire pleasantly, wringing my hands in my lap.

"Fine," she replies dully, turning the page without so much as a single blink.

I swallow, mouth dryer than this conversation, and try to start again. "That's good... Um, what are you reading?" She holds up the cover, and I wilt, giving up. It's pointless... Heat stings the edges of my eyes as I blink away even more tears. Quit being such a fucking crybaby, Shadow—it's clear she doesn't care. "Ah, interesting," I lie, standing up. "Well, hm, anyways, I don't want to disturb you." Letting a passive-aggressive tone enter my voice, I walk away, expecting her to snap at me for being rude.

Nothing.

I hesitate at the doorway to the hall, looking back. She seems so picturesquely calm, but I can still sense that inner turmoil of hers. "Well, um, good night, I guess..." I mumble hollowly, turning away. Guilt flashes through her but she still doesn't say anything, just turns the page of her book again. That's it, then. I walk to my room, not bothering with a pit-stop to the bathroom, pushing the door open lazily. Everything's gone to shit. I don't even get a "goodnight" anymore. Faceplanting on the bed, I lie there, with the door wide open—it's not like she's going to come and check on me, so who cares? For a while, I just breathe, smelling the detergent used to wash my sheets. Faint traffic sounds of the city bleed in through the cracked window, and I close my eyes, imagining that I'm lying in a back alley instead, hanging out with Scourge again; his warmth huddled against mine in the winter chill, and all the crazy fun we had, running from the authorities, trying to go back to wherever it is I came from... I miss him, I think mournfully. I hope he's doing okay. Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling, brows furrowed in confusion; my mind wanders back to the bat in the living room, thoughts fraught with worry for her. She was really upset earlier today, and even now I can tell something's bothering her... The question is, what?

Then it hit me. Dumbass! That's the one question you haven't asked! Springing from my bed, I launch myself forward, sock-covered feet thumping against the floor as I clumsily do my best to stand; after a millisecond, I'm stable, and lurch forward towards the door blindly, not even thinking about what I'm doing. Down the hall, through the doorway and now I'm standing in the same room as the ever-unaffected Rouge, whose only acknowledgement of my presence is a twitch of her thin ivory ear. "Rouge," I growl, striding forward; she doesn't look up, but I've come too far to stop now. If she's going to feign obliviousness, then I just have to make it so she can't ignore me! Stepping forth confidently, I stop by the front of the couch, to her right with nothing between us. "Rouge," I repeat, insistently, and she sighs, irritated, but at least she turns to look at me, one ear twitching.

Of course, it's right about then that I realize I've no clue what I'm going to say.

Shit, I think frantically. What do I tell her? Her bored azure gaze burns into my eyes, and I decide maybe acting would be better than speaking; abruptly, I kneel so that our eyes are level, then wrap my arms around her and tug her close to me. She yelps, startled, trying to wiggle away as I bury my face in her arm, but I don't give in, not even when she elbows me right in the sternum, not even when she bashes into my collarbones and my nose. If I don't say this now, I never will. "Listen," I blurt, and she freezes. "I know something's wrong and I know you're probably still mad at me, and, um," my train of thought starts to derail—maybe I should have slept last night—but I power through, lifting my head to look at her rather shocked face, hoping what comes out of me isn't complete gibberish, "y-you have every right to be mad, but I don't care what's got you so worked up!" A second, as I process what I've said, and embarrassment floods me; I quickly glance down, heat flashing in my face. "Ah, I mean—I-I didn't mean it like that, I just—You don't have to tell me what's wrong, is wh-what I mean." Tilting my head back up, I look at her pleadingly. "Just, please, tell me if there's anything I can do to help!" A long, long silence follows; her mouth is open ever so slightly yet no sound escapes, but one thought rings clearly from her mind.

'If you could just leave, that would make everything much easier.'

Our eyes are locked, mine desperately searching hers for some sort of sign that she still cares, that her thoughts are lying, but I find none; her azure irises hold blank confusion, but I can tell at this distance that it's just a curtain for the peculiar hurt and contrastingly sensible embarrassment lying behind them. My heart shatters as she remains mute, gaping at me, her mind once more a jumbled mess that I can't decipher. It's about now that I realize I still have my arms around her, she's still on the couch and hasn't even let go of her book; discomfort radiates from her, and immediately I panic, withdrawing my arms, closing my mind off, cutting off all perception of her head as I stagger to my feet for the second time tonight, holding back tears. Well, I got my answer, I think hollowly. "I-I'm so sorry," I choke out, and she finally finds her voice.

"Shadow," she gasps, but I shake my head violently, heading back to my room, repeatedly clenching and unclenching my hands to try and keep them from shaking.

"For—Forget it," I gulp, "I'm sorry." The waterworks spring to life before I can make it to the hall, but to my complete and utter surprise something grabs me harshly by the wrist, yanking me back and into a very unexpected hug.

"No, no, no," Rouge whispers, dragging her fingers through my quills, and I can't hold back my tears, letting a sob escape me. "Please, please don't apologize, Shadow," she breathes, choking on tears of her own. "It's my fault, it's all my fault, but I can't tell you—" she starts weeping too, and a guilty relief floods me. Thank God, I think, oh, thank God, she's not angry at me. It's not my fault after all. What feels like centuries' worth of worry vanishes, taken off my shoulders so abruptly I almost gasp aloud. I lift my own arms slowly to wrap around her, hands between her wings, stretching up to my tiptoes to comfortably rest my chin on her shoulder rather than burying it in her collarbones. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it," she whispers ever so softly, and I wonder why she's speaking so quietly when only the two of us are here; I get my answer very shortly when she whispers, "Don't take any of it seriously, please, please, you have to understand..."

Something clicks, and my breath catches in the back of my throat, eyes widening. Oh God. "I understand," I murmur back, and she relaxes, sobbing softly. "I–I'm sorry I blamed you," I choke quietly, ashamed, but she shushes me, carefully stroking my spines.

"It's okay," she answers, slowly beginning to let go; I follow her lead even though I truly didn't ever want to stop hugging her, backing up and wiping my eyes. "Just... Go to bed," awkwardly, she glances away, and I step even further back, nodding, trying to keep a grin off my face. Don't ruin the moment, I admonish myself, sniffling.

"O-Okay," I reply, "goodnight."

"Good night, Shadow," she smiles softly, and I turn to go back to my room, feeling a bit less miserable.