Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Metamorphosis

The strawberries glistened like rubies in the sunlight. Each bulb nestled snugly in a medley of berries, freshly picked and washed. The wicker basket emitted a sweet aroma. 

Before the stone steps of the altar, a picnic blanket had been spread with its corners pinned down by small rocks.

A red echidna circled the setup.

He squatted and fixed a creased edge of the blanket.

He circled again.

He knelt down and twisted the basket a piddly ten degrees.

He stood and pondered.

Then, he shook his head and reverted the basket back to its original place.

He tore away from the scene. The sight of the Master Emerald assuaged him with the warmth of a parent’s touch. The way it shimmered against the cloudless sky was sure to please her.

Knuckles moved closer to the Emerald and placed a hand on its surface. Chaos energy purred. He closed his eyes to savour it. 

For so long, the gemstone had been the only other warm body on Angel Island capable of communication. The powerful jewel carved its destiny for the sole Guardian, perched on its throne and immoveable. Its verdant peak was visible from all corners of the island, from the sullen banks to the dense forest trails, the Master Emerald watched over its Guardian in a symbiotic existence that as of late, had begun to tip. Instead of divining his destiny, the Emerald diverted the serendipities of life away and instead dumped an existence of burden and isolation onto the echidna. In the winter, the Master Emerald lost its lustre and took the form of a boulder instead. Then, after the Guardian’s birthday, it flung his and Rouge’s spirits into a whirlwind for a reason only it truly knows.

Today, the Emerald would be there to watch over his first meeting with her, and with hope, keep him from acting foolish.

The echidna opened his eyes, finding a tepid reflection nicked by fine, hairline fractures staring back at him. The warmth of Chaos embraced him. 

The Master Emerald willed this into reality. It drew Rouge and I together. This is the path it wants me to take.

The Guardian’s wisdom fractured at the thought of the bat.

But to connect me with a jewel thief? Even I can’t understand that motivation.

He squinted at the basket of strawberries he spent the morning plucking from their vines. Their shimmering surface called her lips to mind; Knuckles hoped they’d be stretched into a smile once she saw the effort he put into their first meeting as a couple. 

An item. A pair. Partners. The titles cascaded down an unending scroll. Knuckles fumbled after the imagined scroll and slammed it shut. His overactive imagination slipped out, calling to mind the memories he had been revisiting every night since it occurred.

She said I was her type. The first kiss we shared…

Knuckles squatted and covered his head. Hot steam escaped through the crevices of his mitts. 

“Master Emerald, please watch over me—and don’t let me blow it!”

“Blow what?”

Knuckles sprung to his feet, shocked that the Master Emerald had developed a voice. His dreadlocks twisted like tassels as he scanned the perimeter.

A leathery flap cut through the air. Heels touched the ground behind him. 

Knuckles creaked his neck around, his body following.

Having spent a couple of days apart to readjust to routine after their soul swapping fiasco, he struggled to believe the bat in front of him was the same bat from his memories. He lacked the ability to capture what he was feeling but when he remembered that Rouge was nocturnal, something like gratitude washed over him. In the sunlight, her white fur glowed angelic.

Comforting, teal-lidded eyes received him in full. In reaction to his undivided attention, they twinkled and relaxed. As she folded her wings away, she crossed one arm over her waist to support the other, resting a slender hand to her cheek.

Knuckles looked to his own dumbstruck legs, rigid as matchsticks.

Rouge glanced down at the picnic setup and hid a smile.

“My, my, you went to some trouble for me, didn’t you?”

Knuckles tasted her voice like it was caramel. He secured his posture and pulled his chest back out.

“No trouble,” he turned his proud snout, rubbing away the leftover dirt on his mitts behind his back.

Rouge linked her arms and approached the blanket.

“Strawberries? Where’d you get them from?”

“I grow them here.”

“Really?”

The fissions running over his skin jolted him into action. He pinched two strawberries from the basket, placed one in Rouge’s hand and bit into the other.

“They’re really ripe. I only planted them last year.”

Knuckles watched, waiting for Rouge to experience the explosion of sweetness for herself. 

She continued to stare down the sole berry. Her mouth pursed.

“I didn’t know the Guardian moonlighted as a farmer,” her fangs glimmered in a grin. She turned the strawberry point-up, smoothing it against her bottom lip. Her upper teeth grazed the tip in another quick smile.

Knuckles blinked.

Such a perfect strawberry resting beneath her nose and she still hasn’t tried it?

“I did wash them. I checked all of them for bugs. I only picked the best ones,” Knuckles cleared a space for her to sit down and join him.

Rouge folded her legs and shifted her weight on her arm. She twirled the strawberry against her lip.

“Ew. It’s better if you don’t bring bugs up, Red,” her tone was peppered with enough good humour to not hurt his feelings. Despite this, his expectant gaze hadn’t subsided.

Rouge sighed and drew the strawberry away. She put on a brave face to break the news.

“To tell the truth, I already ate before. I didn’t think you’d prepare anything like this.”

Knuckles looked away.

“Oh.”

He searched for more words, but they had all ran out on him.

Rouge cocked her head. She moved in closer and brought his brooding face up.

“Hey, I’ll take some home if you don’t mind,” she injected extra caramel into her tone, enough to carry Knuckles out of his brief stupor.

His muzzle regained a healthy colour, complimenting his cherry fur and needles. Every corner of his figure looked so toasty. The curve of his thickened arms beckoned for nuzzling. His veins burst with natural exuberance, alive with the vigour gained through industrious training.

Blush entered Rouge’s cheeks. She glanced elsewhere, hugging her knees. 

Knuckles, meanwhile, sought to have his share of the berries. Unlike Rouge, he couldn’t pass up a fresh batch, no matter how full he was. Rouge was content with watching. She asked about his farm, given how excited he seemed about it.

“I was thinking of growing mangoes in the summer. I heard they’re pretty durable.”

Rouge rested her head on her fists, batting her lashes.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you eat anything other than grapes.”

“Har-har.” Knuckles snorted. His lips closed around a plump berry, “You can’t survive on one type of food.”

Ruby juice trailed from the corner of his mouth. He turned, licking it away before his mouth stretched into a smirk.

“Or do you think so? Miss Chai Latte.”

Rouge dragged her gaze back up to his eyes. In a delayed reaction, she scoffed and turned her nose up.

“You said you like them too!”

“I never said anything against them!” Knuckles laughed in tow.

Both frequencies of laughter sounded, not quite in synchronicity but it was a melody the Master Emerald quietly welcomed to the island nonetheless.

Chapter Text

Rouge soared dutifully against the overcast sky. After her departure from Angel Island, the clouds had arrived to soak up all the sunshine. Her black wings made a striking contrast against the grey light, sometimes catching the eyes of bystanders below milling about Station Square.

Rouge glanced down at the woven basket in her grip. She was bashful about its presence like a silver earring spotted amongst gold jewellery. Already, the echidna had surprised her with his thoughtfulness.

The bat arrived at her apartment complex. She passed the security cameras, rode the elevator up and unlocked her door. Once inside she set the basket on the kitchen counter, blocking her view of the landline phone blinking red from a missed call.

She recalled the clichéd visual of the gingham blanket. Where did he even get that from?

The vibrant redness of the whole affair called the pink hedgehog to mind, with her red dress and boots and propensity for girlish outings. Did Knuckles seek out her advice for the date? Rouge shook her head.

No, there’s no way he’s told anyone else about “us” yet.

Despite setting the quandary to rest, Rouge continued to picture the little hedgehog. The epitome of naïve cuteness. Ice cream sundaes, milkshakes, baking and amusement park excursions. Rouge’s forehead creased at the picnic basket.

Does he think I’m like her?

Sensitivity pricked at her. She didn’t want to acknowledge that the considerate date had unravelled something. Their inoffensive conversation about farming and fruits did little to damper the storm that was screaming inside of her.

He knows, it repeated over and over.

The impurities left behind by the events that scarred her youth; the grooves and gashes that resisted any amount of buffing. He knew she had been sullied. There was no getting around it. Somehow—probably to cope—he convinced himself that beauty came from imperfection.

Rouge continuously revisited his assertions from that night, each time picking a new hole in his argument; that a jewel could be beautiful because of its wear and tear, not in spite of. From her standpoint, it was obvious: once you knew a jewel had cracks, it was no longer valuable. The best thing to do was to hide those cracks with careful arrangement and pray that the other party wouldn’t notice.

But he had noticed and now she didn't know what to do.

As if it were an offering, Rouge picked up a single strawberry and brought it beneath her nose. Her lips parted, teeth hitched. The candied perfume waited in the air. The smell brought her back to moments prior, sitting across from a smiling Knuckles. Lingering, a different male overtook his place from a memory locked away.

A grey bat with thick circle lenses, tenderly slicing a strawberry into thin slices with a butter knife. Red drops fell onto the gingham stripes. Even under the shade of the willow tree, the stains were bright red. The pointed teeth in his smile matched those she would inherit in her adolescence, when he would no longer be around.

Rouge drew a finger to them and traced their razor sharp point. The smell of the strawberries began to make her stomach turn.

With shame, she carried the basket outside to her balcony and threw the contents over, feeding the flickies in the garden below. The birds frenzied into action, tearing the evidence asunder. Her mouth dried.

After stashing the basket in a cupboard, Rouge used her wings to flee to the busy streets of the city and melt into the crowd, hoping no one would discover her crime.

She shed her skin, returning to the bewitching bat she was known to be. Cursory glances at her figure returned her efforts. Rouge welcomed a satisfied smile, viewing the streets through half open eyes.

Having this identity didn’t always dig at her. On days like today, it was fun to disappear into the skin of another. And after the whole debacle with Knuckles, she had to admit, she was thankful to be wearing her own skin again. A skin that she could whip into rigorous shape when needed.

The best way to get rid of discomfort was to suffocate it with shopping bags. There’s time to kill before the next assignment, she reasoned while ogling boutique displays. It wasn’t long before she came upon her favourite haunt.

How invigorating it was to burst through the two tall glass doors to be blasted by perfume and air-conditioning. Rouge imagined it was the same sensation churchgoers got when entering a grand cathedral. Her eyes shone at the exquisite dresses and accessories furnishing the interior.

Now this is my place of worship!

She stifled the excitement scuttling through her.

A transformation was sure to drive out the evil spirits. She would make sure he would forget those cracks in her facade as if they had never existed. To do so, she would reinvent herself as Knuckles’ girlfriend.

Warm bloomed in the tips of her ears.

It all happened so quickly. She felt dizzy recounting the series of events that led her to admit her attraction to him. With shoulders slacked, she thanked herself for being weak in that moment. Weakness could sometimes lead to incredible happiness, she noted. A terrible case of love settled over her like a good buzz on a Friday night.

She sorted through hangers. Even her favourite hobby, besides dolling up her stash of jewels, felt novel. Each item she evaluated, she now did so with that echidna in mind.

What would he think of this? she held a stylish singlet with a web of straps over the chest.

Or would this get him all hot and bothered? she contrasted it with a body-contoured cocktail dress that sparkled like mermaid scales.

Thrill fluttered her wings rapidly. What joy it was to be in love! So much so, Rouge rebuffed her inner critic that attempted to chide her for acting like a little girl. She rolled her eyes and headed to the next aisle.

That meathead’s got me acting like—

Speak of the devil, her little pink bob was visible behind a neighbouring rack of clothes.

Rouge blinked. She tossed up whether she should say something to her. Her stare drifted over the clothes pinky was combing through. Rouge crossed a brow.

A little on the mature side?

The mismatch compelled Rouge to walk over.

Amy glanced up, expecting to turn away an attendant. Her stare grew wide when she realised the clacks of heels belonged to Rouge. She called the bat’s name, as if for confirmation it wasn’t her identical twin sister.

Rouge permitted a cordial smile to appear. Though the store belonged to neither of them, Rouge felt the hedgehog was in her territory. As such, she decided to reduce the gap in hierarchy via a friendly face. But not too friendly. She didn’t want the pink one to think they were BFFs.

“What’s this? Special occasion tonight?” Rouge cut to the chase, pinching a form-fitting dress from Amy’s rack. She found amusement in the way Amy squirmed.

“W-well, not exactly!” she fidgeted with her quills, “Nothing special at all.”

Rouge pulled out an asymmetrical red dress, designed for a curvy figure.

“After a change, sweetheart?”

Amy stammered. Her muzzle mimicked the colour of the dress.

“I-I know you said I shouldn’t dress for others, only myself. I still appreciate it, honest.”

Rouge questioned her spell of amnesia.

That knucklehead said something, didn’t he? she pieced together as Amy ummed her explanation out. Rouge waited to gather more intel.

“But, if I’m also honest…” Amy bit her lip, “I want to dress differently! At least, it couldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Amy trailed over the metal curves of the hangers. Her gold bangles refracted the fluorescent lights.

“I’m not just doing it for others, I promise. I want to see how I feel too.”

Rouge looked over Amy, finishing at the spark given away by a movement in her wrist.

Rouge hooked the dress back.

“You know, I know this place like the back of my hand.”

Amy reacted with a titter.

“Really? I admit, I thought of you when I entered,” her face turned taut. “You really would help me?”

Rouge winked and drew closer.

“How about we both feel pretty today?”

Amy laughed again, louder.

“Easy for you to say! You’re already pretty,” she laughed some more.

Rouge encircled the rack dividing them. She grabbed Amy by the hand.

“As are you."

Her grip petrified around the hedgehog’s delicate fingers, her eyes intent on painlessly transfusing the immature girl with self-confidence. Where exactly that transfusion came from, Rouge had her doubts. She simply pulled from the nebulous well that all girls pulled from in times of crisis. On a good day, it would be full enough, like today.

Amy’s throat itched. Her bob cascaded over her cheek as she glanced down and nodded. She followed her mentor into the heart of the boutique.

Chapter Text

“What’s your limit?”

“Huh?”

Amy felt embarrassed after her casual utterance. In the presence of Rouge she should strive to be more with it but her attention kept getting yanked around by the garlands of ritzy fabric reminding her that she didn’t belong here.

A mannequin towered over her, wearing a getup that could be snipped clean with a pair of scissors. Without taking her eyes off the figure’s curves, Amy replied.

“Well, something I could still wear in battle,” she squinted at the bust, “something that covers everything.”

A snicker captured her attention. Rouge peered in, one leg arched over the other.

“I was referring to the price range."

She stole a glimpse of the mannequin.

“Trust me, those cuts barely cover you when you’re not moving; let alone in battle.”

The two shared a little giggle.

“Come. I’ll take you to my favourite section. Sometimes you can find something cute for a steal,” she pointed. Amy stuck behind her and fitted each of Rouge’s footsteps with her own.

The bat stopped and turned. With an expression that beamed mi casa es su casa, she welcomed her guest in.

Amy marvelled at the variety. The tingling sensation flattened when she noted this section was more modest than the previous, though some items still had a dash of spice.

She blew air through her nose. It’s Rouge’s domain, after all.

Amy locked her eyes on the bat, who was scanning through the racks.

“You must really know a lot about fashion.”

Rouge spoke between sliding hangers.

“Only a smidgen.”

Amy found a space to copy the bat’s mannerisms.

“Do you know what you’re looking for?”

“I’ll know when I see it.”

Rouge shot a look that travelled over Amy’s body. The hedgehog quickly drew her hands over her stomach.

“For you, an A-line fit would be cute; though it would need to cinch at the waist. Some florals or pleats could work, but not too much.”

Amy fidgeted. The only word she caught was florals.

She felt infantile in her plain red dress. She had already gone to great lengths to change up her style to catch those green eyes, but it hadn’t seemed to have worked; at least not with the expediency she had hoped for. Perhaps it was time to enact phase two—to borrow terminology from her work in the resistance. The goal to win love could be mapped out like a movement strategy. Hit the right notes and surely that blue hedgehog would be swooning. Unable to take his eyes off her. Thinking about her first thing in the morning. A style reinvigoration would only fire the bullet, but already she could visualise the finish line.

Amy slipped from her reverie when Rouge pressed a weight against her. She glanced down and stammered.

“Rouge! I don’t think—”

“Hey, you said you wanted to take a risk, didn’t you?”

“But this? You really think I could wear something like this?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Amy didn’t respond, besmirched by the silly blush covering her muzzle. Rouge dropped the dress in her arms. The hedgehog stacked it in a hasty fold.

“Yes, but I mean—Sonic! He’ll be totally shocked to see me in this,” she retreated into her shoulders, “and not in a good way.”

Rouge banked her weight on her hip.

“I thought you said you weren’t dressing for others.”

Gotcha, Rouge thought. Squirming little pinky isn’t the great liar she thinks she is.

Amy conceded. She shuffled to the change rooms, promiscuous dress bundled up in a wad. Rouge watched the curtain slice shut.

She imagined having X-ray vision, picturing the insecure girl surprising herself by liking what the mirror showed her. Rouge hoped it would be enough to deter her from shopping for that dense hedgehog and instead start shopping for herself. Chasing after a boy’s vision only ended in heartache, Rouge knew well. To think that Amy thought the highly attuned agent wouldn’t figure out her true intentions—hah! That girl had boy-crazy written all over her.

Rouge’s eyes drifted to the clothes again. A splash of red called her attention.

You can’t con a con artist.

She wandered off back to her own reinvention project, aware to not stray far from the fitting rooms.

No matter how many hangers she sorted through, nothing special jumped out at her. Some items looked enticing, but each time she unhooked a piece, she could overlay it with a tired old version she already had in her wardrobe.

With a sigh, she looked over to the change rooms. Her gaze then drifted to the boutique adjacent.

Le Petit. The font was near illegible with its curls and coils, like the ringlets of a young maiden. For years, Rouge had ignored that side of the department store. Too girly, too frilly. Just look at that prissy little white dress.

Like I could wear something like that. I’d look like a ham hock bursting out of its net, or an out of season sexed up Halloween costume.

Her stare rebounded to her own curves, dismissively measuring them. Another sigh.

Rouge couldn’t even call it a long standing rivalry. It was simply a place not welcome to her. The garments didn’t mock her, rather, politely bowed to her and said: Don’t bother with us. Please move along.

As she eyed a gingham print dress, rejection etched across her body.

“Oh, wanna have a look over there?”

Rouge started. She whipped around to see the pink one standing right beside her, basket in hand.

Rouge broke out of her daze with a stammer.

“What? Oh no, you must be kidding.”

“Why?” Amy cocked her head, “You waited for me, after all.”

Perceiving the antsy hair-tucking of the bat, the hedgehog gained a leg up. She smirked and placed her hands behind her backside.

“I’ll only wear this dress if you try something new too,” her lips were coy and baby pink.

Rouge scoffed.

“Honey, your decision has nothing to do with me. I can only show you the ropes and hope you make a choice for yourself.”

“Yeah, but—” Amy grabbed Rouge’s wrist, sidestepping playfully to the forbidden land, “—isn’t it more fun to do things in pairs?”

Rouge pulled back. Insecurity assumed a sickle, as Rouge carefully angled it at the young girl.

“You’re not that scared of showing a bit of skin, are you, Pinky?” she tugged, hoping her innocent tone might accidentally snick the hedgehog into giving up.

Amy stood pigeon-toed.

“You’re not that scared of lace and ruffles, are you, Fangs?”

Rouge blinked into a frown. She hadn’t heard that nickname for a long time.

Around their first interactions, when the hedgehog was a great deal more possessive of her blue hero, she devised a snide nickname to designate her as a love rival. It was only some time ago, after some soul searching it seemed, that Amy offered an apology to Rouge for her past behaviour, with an embarrassed admittance that the bat never meant her any trouble; at least not when it came to Sonic. Rouge snickered at the mere suggestion. Though Rouge let the nickname roll off her back, she reconsidered her assessment of the hedgehog after that apology. Maybe pinky had a deeper mind than she let on.

Here, it emerged again however, with a pointed, knowing smile on Amy’s face. That humility was still present. Her eyes danced, under their sweetness they invited Rogue into a challenge. Your style for mine, whaddaya’ say?

Rouge evaluated her choices. A glance at the Le Petit sign. Then to the pink bob.

“Go on, then,” Rouge raised an uneven smirk, committing to the nickname. When Amy beamed and turned, she hid the crescent tooth behind lips pressed into a frown.

She crossed her heart heels onto the tangerine tiles behind Amy’s boots.

Two youthful looking mobian attendants—a poodle and a lamb—studied her for a moment before averting their eyes, a shared brow raised. Rouge wished for an invisible cloak. The pair soon shuffled away to another corner with the assumption that the tourists would look around for a minute and leave.

Amy was keen to the unspoken judgement wafting in the perfumed air. She linked Rouge’s arm with hers and whispered, “I just know we’ll find something that suits you.”

Rouge hummed, dejected but appreciative. She understood Amy was now making her own visit to the nebulous well of self confidence, labouring to get even a drop into her bucket. Rouge felt guilty that the well was always empty when she was most parched.

While Amy combed through curtains of delicate dresses and petticoats, Rouge found herself floating away like a dandelion in the wind. Once Amy realised she was alone, she turned and with gentle steps, approached the bat who lingered by a hanging garment.

It was the gingham print dress that initially called out to her. Up close, the intricacies of its design emerged. The pattern mixed a cherry red motif with parchment white compliments. The gingham print hugged around a sweetheart bodice, tapered with lightweight, off the shoulder puffs. A liquorice red ribbon finished the chest. The length of the dress was snug between modest and playful, a flounce trimmed the hem all around.

The fabric seemed to emit the scent of strawberry jam.

Amy stood on her tip-toes to unhook the garment. Her eyelids drew close in delight.

“Wow, even I want this one! What a cute dress,” she shimmied the hanger.

Rouge angled her warming face to the tiles and clutched at her arm.

“You think it would…” it was too late to take back the admission of self-consciousness. Rouge unwittingly gave Amy full control of the sickle, pressed flush against the width of her neck. But Amy shook her head, tossing it away.

“Of course it will,” Amy assuaged. She handed the hanger to Rouge and pointed her to the change rooms.

Rouge teetered in, cautious as if she were on an undercover mission. She tucked her wings away and folded the drape close. At least there were no surveillance cameras here.

Despite the picture perfect prettiness of the boutique, the change stalls looked like a bomb shelter in comparison. Unexplainable dents marked the plaster and the hooks hung crooked. Rouge found it familiar, though she had never used this side of the change rooms before.

Ugly, jaundiced lamps sprayed over her reflection. The shadows drawn under her eyes made her look scarier than she actually was.

She glimpsed at her inky batwings. Maybe she always looked scary. That would explain the reactions of the attendants.

Rouge wrestled out of her suit and caught another shadow in the mirror that upset her.

A dark crescent under her paunch. Even when she sucked in, it clung to her like moss. The mirror ate away the minutes spent twisting, tucking, tightening, all to end up at the same realisation: I need to lose weight.

I could kill him for eating while he was stuck in my body, nevermind everything else!

That had to be the reason. Or had she forgotten the shape of her own body? Rouge avoided that thought.

No, just need to cut down a few days and all will be back to normal.

The dress hung on the wall. Rouge imagined it nodded with her.

Chapter Text

Butterflies frolicked around the red figure, squatted amongst leaves and vines. Between his thumb and mitt, he examined a bunch of seedless grapes.

Perhaps she’s not a fan of strawberries.

He wrenched the bunch off the vine. Polishing a grape clean, he bit into it for a taste test as he moved to his orchard of apple trees.

Knuckles recollected. She did keep a basket of peaches in her apartment. He’d never heard of a fruit bat having a penchant for only one type of fruit.

Maybe I should plant a peach tree.

He paced around a patch of earth. The soil would need to be enriched, but there was enough room for a full sized tree. Compared to the apple orchard, a mature peach tree shouldn’t surpass them.

He stared down the orchard. He would need to do a lot of pruning and harvesting for the summer, especially if he was planning on nurturing mangoes simultaneously. To add a peach tree to the farm…

He glanced again at the patch of dirt.

He drew a circle in the soil with his shoe and nodded to himself.

Peach tree.

The Guardian ambled along the sun speckled path and contemplated where to acquire a juvenile peach tree. It would need to be planted soon, as there would only be a few more months until the season approached; the mangoes too. Through a crack in the leaves, the Master Emerald’s faceted silhouette glinted in the afternoon sun.

It would depend on the type of peach too, that might affect the ripening season.

He crossed the ancient steps, the Master Emerald growing bigger in size.

The ones in her apartment were fairly large, but I have no idea what type they were.

“Yo, Knux!”

The echidna staggered.

Sonic and Tails were loitering by the Master Emerald’s podium.

Tails waved. Sonic rubbed the underside of his nose and sauntered over in wide strides.

Tense, Knuckles perceived a spark in the hedgehog’s eye; the same spark a troublemaker gets when they find a spare cherry bomb in their pocket.

“What’s the picnic blanket for? Enjoying a bit of alone time with the Emerald?” he rocked on his heels, simpering behind his finger.

Knuckles ripped the blanket away in a single swipe.

“None of your business,” he muttered, hastily folding the blanket in squares.

Sonic hummed forcefully, his tone like a waterslide.

“A visitor, perchance?” Sonic cocked a brow. Tails whipped over to join the conversation.

“And we weren’t invited?” his youthful voice cracked, unable to match Sonic’s sonorous teasing, though they both sported the same grin. They cornered the echidna.

With the blanket bundled over his shoulder, Knuckles rolled his eyes, finally reciprocating.

“I’ll send out letters next time.”

Sonic snickered. Both he and Tails dropped their mischief. Knuckles relaxed onto the stone perch cross-legged. He closed his eyes and leant against the warming gemstone.

“Either way, you both show up uninvited. So what’s the deal this time?”

“We’re here on business.” Sonic rejoined.

“Uh-huh?”

The enduring hush forced Knuckles' eyes open. Sonic appeared sheepish—looking off to the side, Tails standing small behind him. Knuckles raised a brow.

“But you’re not gonna tell me?”

Sonic rubbed his nose again.

“I already know the answer, bud.”

Knuckles looked at the fox, using a glare to push the cub to spit it out.

Tails stepped in, scratching the white fur on his cheek.

“Well, you see, uh, Sonic’s been having premonitions lately.”

Sonic looked to brace himself, tendons tightening in his neck.

“So sneezing?”

The echidna’s mouth outlined the exact response Sonic was anticipating. He exasperated, hands on hips.

“I knew you wouldn’t buy it,” the hedgehog’s stance wilted.

“If you ask me, it’s hay fever.”

“Knuckles, just hold on a sec—”

Knuckles shot forward, mitts planted on parted knees.

“Last time this guy had a sneezing fit in the Botanical Kingdom we patrolled the perimeter for three hours—all for nothing! It’s pollen, Sonic. Just a bit of dander.”

When Knuckles reclined against the jewel, Sonic chuckled. He strolled closer to the seated echidna, submerged in the Emerald’s refractive shadow.

“Look, I’m willing to concede that one time—” Sonic pointed an index finger.

“And! don’t forget about—”

“—But! There’s somethin’ else that’s been eating at me,” he squatted and jabbed Knuckles’ chest.

“Upset stomach?”

Sonic glared. His eyes asked: You done?

Knuckles smirked. I’m done.

Sonic sighed, wishing for a hammer and chisel to pound his point directly into the Guardian’s dense head. He paced, sending the annoyance out of him in a jiffy.

“It’d be one thing if it was just the sneezing, but I haven’t forgotten about what happened with the Emerald,” he paused and pointed. “You didn’t see it since you were collecting the shards with Rouge, but Eggman fought tooth and nail for that shard he stole. We only managed to get it back by the skin of our teeth.”

Sonic rose to his feet again and scuffed the ground with his shoe, tracing the lines between hexagonal tiles.

“If it weren’t for Shadow being there, I’m not sure me and Tails could’ve caught him in the moment,” Sonic spoke under his breath. Meekly meeting his gaze, Tails nodded.

“It’s true. And you know, we still haven’t heard any reports of a Chaos Emerald popping up,” the fox added.

Knuckles glanced up, “Still?”

Sonic nodded and knelt down to stretch.

“Which makes me think,” he switched to the other leg, “Egghead got greedy, cuz’ he’s planning something big.”

The primary coloured trio exchanged serious stares. For confirmation, Knuckles looked to the smarter one. Tails parted his mouth into a modest smile.

“We said it was only a premonition. It’s not like we have evidence that isn’t circumstantial,” he twiddled his small thumbs, “But, you know…”

“A hunch is a hunch,” Sonic winked and patted Tails’ back.

Knuckles permitted a moment of meditation. The two were still standing in the same spot when he opened his eyes. He exhaled in a long flatline.

“So what do you need me for?”

“I’m aware you’re going through a hermit period right now,” Sonic raised his hands, “now that you got the Emerald back. But if we get even a whiff of trouble stirring, you’ll be ready, right?”

Knuckles chortled.

“Your sneezing tells us we’ll need the whole team?”

Sonic snickered, shrugging with exaggerated motions, “Better safe than sorry!”

This guy’s got a platitude for every situation, Knuckles mused.

He propped his chin on his fist.

“Why not ask Shadow for a hand?”

The twinge in Sonic’s brow caught Knuckles’ eye. He was gripped by a compunction he said something he shouldn’t have.

“Oh,” a quiet thought flickered across the hedgehog’s mind. He chose to leave it unvoiced and shook himself afresh. “I dunno’ what that guy’s deal is lately.”

Sonic reflected on that quiet thought and considered putting words to it.

Absentminded, he lifted his head and crossed paths with Knuckles’ gaze.

The echidna glanced away.

Sonic mistook the discomfort in Knuckles’ brow for an appeal to stop the conversation there.

The hedgehog promptly bulldozed the awkward tension with a forced grin. He overcompensated with sweeping gestures; the same manner in which a stage performer sends their motions to reach the very recesses of the audience. He pulled Tails, none the wiser, into a bear hug and saluted the Guardian farewell. The two made their way down the staircase, completely disappearing after five steps—though Sonic’s loud chattering left behind an echo.

Once out of risk of being seen, Knuckles cupped his mitts around his face.

Idiot! Why are you bringing up Shadow?!

He had been so absorbed in his confession to Rouge that he completely neglected the other confession he received that night. The realisation (and subsequent relief) that his jealousy over Rouge and Shadow’s close relationship was all for naught, because Shadow’s inclinations saw him incapable of returning affection to her. Confirmed by Rouge in confidence that Knuckles wouldn’t tell a soul, especially about the preference she let slip.

“So, you don’t like him?”

“Honey, I think I’m too slow to be his type.”

Shadow didn’t even know he knew, maintaining that Rouge never told him.

She wouldn’t, would she? No, that would land her in trouble with him.

Given that Rouge begged him not to say a word, Shadow must be extraordinarily touchy about this subject.

Knuckles pointed his eyes at the ground, tense.

I would be too if I had a crush on Sonic.

Knuckles blinked. He dug his palms into his head, ruffling his dreadlocks. A vortex of what’s, why’s and how’s billowed round and round. They veered towards the manner in which Sonic had been acting just before.

Begrudgingly, Knuckles was plucking off flower petals for the two of them: Does he like him? Does he like him not? The battle to insist he couldn’t care less was losing fervour. He groaned, knowing he couldn’t let this storm reach land. One leakage and poor Amy would be wrapped up in this love triangle too.

He sunk further into his shoulders.

“Hedgehogs,” he sighed.

Chapter Text

Rouge scrunched her nose.

Her pigeonhole was swollen with flyers and notices. Infrastructure maintenance alerts, GUN potluck that was well past its date, weekly charity initiatives. If she didn't know better, she would have deduced her mailbox had been fashioned into the office's garbage can during her absence. She heaped the papers into the real garbage can a few steps away.

The familiar, chemical laden scent of the corridor clung to her nostrils. To the passing faces she recognised, she exchanged nods and filled her head with expressions of sympathy where none were offered. Rouge wondered if they had even noticed her absence—on second thought, she preferred that they didn't ask her annoying questions about where she had been. Thinking up an excuse for the body-swapping event was already tiresome.

"Ah-hah! Agent Rouge!"

A suited man rushed in. He unloaded before Rouge had a chance to acquaint herself with him.

"Have you seen Agent Shadow lately?"

Rouge folded her arms, "No, why?"

"We’re missing a report from him and the debriefing is scheduled to take place in less than thirty. I’m on orders to chase him up regarding…"

Rouge tuned out. For someone in such a rush, he sure let his mouth run uninhibited. She eyed his stack of documents. Some edges were bent. Tabs askew.

"Told ya, honey. Can't help you," she cut in where he had paused for a breath.

The pause continued until the man bowed his head. He thanked her and briskly walked down the hall in the direction of the elevator. Security cameras craned their mechanical necks with his motions.

There's your answer, she thought. It was absurd the way GUN workers forgot about their own surveillance equipment. Rouge never forgot the eye of a lens.

She continued to her own mission briefing in the opposite direction of where the very important people were headed. Sometimes she got to join them, but only when paired with Shadow.

Rouge descended the staircase. On crossing the final step, she sent her eyes to meet the dark eye of a lens perched on the ceiling in a quiet stand-off. They followed each other until she was out of range.

“Agent Rouge.” The soldier glanced at his wristwatch, “Fashionably late, as always.”

“Gotta keep you waiting, don’t I?” Rouge batted her lashes. She pushed past him with a timed eye roll.

“Feeling any better?”

Rouge halted. She turned to face the guard.

“Why, don’t I look it?”

“A little pale,” he averted his eyes.

Rouge fixed the fur behind her ears. I am a white bat, dummy, she reflected but couldn’t bring herself to voice her little quip.

Rouge cranked the heavy door open. Concrete walls replaced the sunlight and sucked the life out of the room. The bat sighed, relieved that her assignment sent her out of HQ; on an all expenses paid trip to the derelict Egg Quarters. She had to take what she was given—that knucklehead used up a good chunk of her sick days during the switch-up. Rouge bit her lip, her dreams of a beachside vacation vanishing into air.

The documents from the desk informed her duties. Repair the GUN installed heat sensor. Otherwise known as keep yourself busy, Agent. Yeah right.

Rouge left the mission centre, letting the heavy door latch itself shut. What did her input matter, anyway?

As she soared to the location, Rouge kept herself busy with her restless neurons. A swarm of trifles, like how she left the boutique bag on the counter, Le Petit logo blaring across it for any nosy intruder to see. Or the stupid promise she made to pinky that she’d wear the dress next chance she could.

Rouge sucked in the high altitude air. Glancing down, she imagined dropping her worries into the pint-sized rainforests, hitting the ground one by one without even a thud to be heard. The notion cleared her head, revealing a tiny glimmer.

Next week, I’m set for the crystal caverns.

She kicked her feet.

Just stick with the busy work for now, and I’ll get to pillage for gorgeous crystals to my heart’s content. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

It had taken months of overtime to get that assignment secured. Only the most dedicated agents got access to top secret places like this—the commander in charge of these assignments had a thing for loyalty, you see. When the trees began to shed their leaves, Rouge decided she would do whatever it took to get his attention. To play the role of GUN’s little worker bee, Rouge volunteered her hand for the mind-numbing rookie classes no one else wanted to do. Working late into the night for her nightclub, then showing up bright and early at 0500 military time for class; it was school all over again.

The rookies themselves also reminded her of school, with their unsavoury gestures, prolonged leering, and unabashed comments fired at her without a care in the world. Day after day, she stuck it out, even when their remarks left a dirty fingerprint on her heart for the rest of the day after, she never let it show.

Recounting her months of effort drew her eyes closed in relief that Shadow had been around to keep everything on track. With Knuckles inhabiting her body, he could have seriously squashed mountains of her hard work.

These caverns were said to be worth it; halls of spectral cobalt crystalisations untouched for millennia, so beautiful they could grant wishes. A place that was actually nice, and not a dump like the one she was being sent to.

Opening her eyes, her wings froze.

Rouge whipped them into action again, pivoting from the imaginary boundary she sensed. Lost in a trance, she overshot her coordinates. Any further and she’d be entering an exclusion zone.

With sweeping gusts, she got herself back in line and touched down on the dusty ruins of Egg Quarters.

She smoothed her suit down. After a moment of respite, she got to work.

The bat traversed the terracotta halls. The sinking sun disappeared behind the overhang of the brickwork.

Memory lane, she smirked.

She kicked at a pile of pebbles. The place looked more decayed than she remembered—not to say she last viewed it in immaculate condition. The cloudy puddles of rainwater were new, having accumulated from fresh cracks evident along the foundations. Rouge peered over, revealing a mass of pulsating mosquito larvae. She moved away, suppressing a gag.

She headed toward an altar. Some sandstone bricks had been chipped at the corners with an ashy black powdering. The phantom scent of Chaos energy.

When it came to matters regarding the Doctor, she knew better than to assume less of his clandestine operations. But her survey of the ancient base bolstered her confusion towards GUN’s choice of assignment. Was it really just a paltry repair job? A hesitancy formed, though she trampled it as she did the debris left behind by ruptured robots.

Rouge found her way to the faulty heat sensor in question. No need for a map; her meticulous gaze promptly landed on a bulky black electronic device sandwiched into an antiquated sandstone structure. GUN and subtly were at odds with each other. Being back at work brought with it some nostalgia for her dry observations.

She brought out her miniature screwdriver and fed the sensor out. The bat cleared a seat on the dusty ground caught in a shaft of light. Time slowed as she tinkered with the hair thin wires. The rhythmic dripping of the leaking ceiling lulled her into a steady concentration.

As she separated the wires to find the fault, she chuckled to herself. It took a few months of bargaining to convince the officials that she could learn how to operate and repair equipment. Her experience disabling security cameras and alarms in her teenage years was clear evidence of her skills; Rouge recalled how she hinted at this during her interviews as “Freelance security assessment work”. Disabling electronic wiring was just the big girl’s version of a daisy chain.

It was rewarding to tinker with something but she hated the noise that came with such work. The buzzes and occasional crackles and zaps would send needles throughout her skin. On days when the noise was particularly unpleasant, her back would turn red and splotchy, as if in some type of allergic reaction. To electricity? As if.

Probably a sunburn, she told herself many times, but she always failed to follow through on wearing extra sunscreen.

Her ears twitched. The sound of a scrape from another room.

Wildlife?

Rouge suspended her work. She listened in. More scrapes.

Footsteps?

The agent discarded the mended sensor in a corner. She stood, pressing her wings to the wall for cover.

The echoing grew closer and entered the altar room, Rouge’s hiding spot a pace away.

The scuffing sounds carried more body to them. The shape of skate shoes moulded in Rouge’s mind.

She sighed, adrenaline dying.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be here?”

Rouge rounded the corner, coming face to face with her partner.

Shadow crossed his arms and caught sight of the electronic sensor.

“Need a hand?”

“I’m already finished.”

Shadow observed as she fitted the device back into place. The tiny red light now blinked as it should.

“You know, they’re looking for you at HQ.”

She heard a grunt.

“Let them look.”

Rouge redirected her attention to her unexpected company, trailed by a glimpse to the discoloured sandstone. She buried the urge to ask him about his business, knowing he wouldn’t divulge anything even if she got on her hands and knees. Not that she cared. A far more appealing idea took over.

“Hey. Come back with me.” Rouge said.

“Why?”

“You’ll find out.”

Chapter Text

Shadow pressed his thumb between his eyes, head hung over his legs planted on the wardrobe's cushioned bench.

“You need my help because?” he reiterated, for the first time he asked she ignored him.

His statement halted Rouge mid-twirl.

“I thought a second opinion might be nice,” her pitch sunk in dismay. Shadow marked her sudden sincerity with annoyance, though he refrained from voicing it.

Rouge moved in, holding the Le Petit dress by its hanger. The price tag had been removed.

Shadow’s disinterested gaze waned, overtaken by a myopic stare.

“That’s… different to your usual fare,” he mumbled.

She dipped her head in agreement.

“I can be cute too,” she said though she didn’t believe her own words. She went on to clarify, “I think it’s what he wants.”

Shadow sneered.

“The echidna wants it? Did he say so?”

“No, no,” Rouge hastily laughed, “It’s just a hunch. You know, I’m his first girlfriend—” she stalled, heat entering her ears. She shut it out with a snort, “That boy is really such a dreamer deep down! I mean, why else would he be going to all this trouble? If he’s a hopeless romantic, then the least I can do is show him up.”

She held the dress over her torso like a masquerade.

Shadow, meanwhile, shook his head at her need to conjure up competition anywhere that Knuckles was present.

Accustomed to the gesture, the hedgehog averted his gaze once Rouge began to shimmy out of her suit. He spoke over the sounds of clothes rustling.

“I think you give him too much credit.”

“How so?”

“He strikes me as more hopeless than romantic.”

“Naw, jealous he’s got my attention now?”

“Please.”

Rouge could hear the smirk in his utterance. A pointed smile of her own appeared, buried into the collar of the dress bunched around her neck. She fed her arms through.

Shadow’s voice sounded again, louder.

“I’m only suggesting you take caution. Don’t get carried away by reading into things that aren’t there. The echidna has a poor way of communicating things.”

Rouge snorted, “And you’re better?”

“I’m telling you this now, aren’t I?”

The room quietened.

A deep sigh broke the silence. Shadow smoothed a hand over his quills.

“It’s not my intent to see you hurt.”

“Knuckles wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I’m talking about you.”

Shadow stood and set himself ahead of her. The mirror reflected her bare back, wings spilling out of the unfastened seam. He crossed the space between them.

Rouge hated that look in his eye. The I care about you look. It made her feel as small and dumb as a misbehaving pup. But what she hated more was the repulsive reaction that always arose in her. She cared about him too, she had no right to respond so ungraciously. But every time that look made an appearance, it reminded her of all the trouble she had caused him over the years. The drunken tiffs she’d wrangle him in, the tear-stained unannounced visits to his abode, the many unflattering sights he’d witnessed of her; all foolishly self-inflicted.

They both knew her biggest enemy was herself.

Rouge grabbed Shadow’s arm, but refused to align her gaze with his. She stared down at the floor instead.

The ultimate lifeform turned his hand towards her, receiving her shoulder in a calming caress. The less she fought him on this, the better. Rouge had learnt her lesson after their many go-arounds.

Shadow spun her around and offered to fasten the back of her dress.

With the pop of three buttons, Shadow glanced up. He intercepted Rouge’s eyes in the mirror, caught in the act of covertly policing her figure. He softened and brushed her hair out of her dress.

“It fits you well.”

Her emerald eyes brightened, casting away the clouds. She rolled in a smile and struck a graceful pose.

“You think he’ll like it?”

“How should I know?”

Rouge giggled, “Oh yeah, I forgot.”

She turned and patted his chest with the rim of her fists. Her head angled up to compensate for the inch of height she lost without her heels.

“Maybe if you picture ol’ blue in this, that’ll do it for you.”

Shadow thumped her on the skull. He strode away, folding his arms. Rouge followed.

“Hey! Don’t get so grumpy,” Rouge pouted, though it dissolved with her giggles. She hung on Shadow’s arm like how Cream would beg Mister Sonic to lift her up into the air just one more time!

Shadow shook her off, looking to change the subject.

“I feel I should let you know about the wasteland report.”

“The what?”

Rouge backed away and drew a hand to her chest.

Shadow peeked over his shoulder before permitting his body to follow through.

“A flag has been marked following unusual activity in the wasteland. Remnants of an energy field seem to be interfering with abandoned GUN satellites in the area.”

Shadow darted his eyes.

“So I heard through various channels. No immediate concern has been raised, given that it’s in the wasteland. GUN don’t seem interested in pursuing it.”

“But you are?”

He resisted the friction in her tone.

“You know when it comes to matters like these, things are safer in our hands.”

“You also know that we can’t compete with their resources, Shadow.”

“An army would only be a hindrance in the wasteland. You know it’s more effective for Team Dark to operate—”

“You’re not seriously considering entering on your own, right? Based on a single flag raised?”

“Look at the bases we’ve been pre-emptively destroying as of late. Pinpoint each location on a map and you’ll see the Doctor is encroaching on the wasteland.”

The wasteland. It was a rotten phrase to utter. The moniker was adopted to refer to the uninhabitable skeleton of Eggmanland. The acres of smouldering ash teeming with toxic waste, pulverised of all life. Nobody dared to venture there. It was rumoured a mere minute there could reduce one’s life expectancy by ten years.

“He wants to resurrect his old operations. Why else would he steal the Master Emerald in a fit of impatience?”

Rouge’s ears folded. Trepidation crawled over her, knowing that it was rare for Shadow to miss with his deductions.

“So, you’re suggesting we take an expedition out into the wasteland?”

The hedgehog comprehended the absurdity of his request. GUN commanders themselves denoted the land an exclusion zone. Any visits were outlawed, even for research purposes, which is why all they had to go off of was old technology forsaken to decay.

Rouge raised her shoulders.

“We’re good, Shadow. But we’re not that good.”

“But—”

“You’re the ultimate lifeform. But Omega and I? We have no idea what that environment holds for us.”

Shadow stepped back. He regretted the hubris he let slip.

“I’m still researching things. The perimeter has diminished in toxicity. I would handle any work to do in the core.”

“While Omega and I watch?”

“We’re a team,” Shadow inhaled through his nose, “we need each other to safely extract the Chaos emerald.”

“If there is a Chaos emerald.”

Rouge placed her hands on Shadow’s squared shoulders.

“I’m with you through thick and thin, but it’s too soon for this. Why won’t you let GUN monitor it?”

The hedgehog pressed a lid on the steam rising within him. He couldn’t bare his answer to her face, turning his head profile. His teeth clamped around his words.

“I’m beginning to question the capabilities of an organisation which leaves you in the hands of opportunistic perverts and morons.”

Tension perforated the atmosphere. The I care about you look was dyed with a deep sadness; the type that defied words.

Rouge received it full bore. She gripped at her new dress, crinkling it. Her voice wavered.

“Don’t do this.”

“Doing nothing has only made things worse for you.”

“How can you say that?”

She grasped his forearm.

“Doing nothing has kept us together, hasn’t it?” she shook his forearm for an answer and repeated herself, “If you rebel now, who will that leave me with?”

Pent up electricity conducted from Rouge to Shadow, penetrating his skin and entering his veins. He perceived the desperation behind her gaze. The sudden fear of being abandoned. He shared it too; his own face warped across the glass of the Ark’s sole escape pod, eclipsing his final image of Maria.

Rouge’s plea aroused a vitriol within him that he couldn’t afford to quell anymore. This ever-present blot in the pages of his life that intruded on the few relationships he held dear. The black wings of a raven closing in. He couldn’t let it happen again. The cancer that was GUN had to be expunged.

Shadow looked over Rouge with pity that she didn’t see the danger he saw. He couldn’t find it within him to spite her for that; it was better he protect her naivety.

He nodded. He cupped her grasp and lowered it gently from his arm. Rouge focused on him, eyes still seeking comfort and confirmation.

“I will think about it,” he uttered.

Let go or be dragged, Rouge thought. The phrase intercepted her when she could feel her grip slipping.

“And drop the wasteland plan while you’re at it,” she murmured, rubbing her forearms. “You don’t know what’s out there. If they find you poking your nose there, it might come down on me. You know how long I’ve been waiting for the crystal caverns assignment—I’ve got my sights set on a new mantle display and if I don’t get it, I’m coming down on you.”

Shadow gave a small hum of forfeit.

The two peeled away from each other as Rouge stepped to the mirror again. Her partner observed the changes in her behaviour like a researcher. He was looking for a way out to the dismal unease he had introduced into the air. Squinting, he found it in her closet.

“Will you wear the red Mary-Janes with it?”

The comment perked the bat’s ears. She turned, cheeks restored to their natural glow.

“See why I called you here?”

Shadow manufactured a smile back.

Chapter Text

A buzz filled the kitchenette when Shadow opened Rouge’s fridge. The barren shelves received him. No surprise there, he wasn’t after a drink. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the door’s interior. A plastic row of twelve proliferated holes, also devoid of anything. This perturbed him.

“You have none left,” he said, as if she was unaware.

Rouge glanced from smoothing down her iconic suit.

“Oh, you know,” she started with no intention of finishing.

Shadow fixed his gaze on her, open door angled at her like evidence. This forced her to fish out an ending to her statement.

“You know, with everything that went on, it’s been a bit chaotic.”

Simultaneously they looked at the fruit bowl. Also empty.

Rouge tutted.

“And you just had to let Knucklehead wolf down everything I had,” she pouted, pretending to be annoyed.

Everything, a dry smirk etched itself onto his features. Three practice peaches.

Rouge spotted his smirk and uncovered her real annoyance.

“Seriously Shadow, why would you let him do that? Four days—enough time for a complete digestive process in someone else’s body. Both of you should be ashamed!”

Shadow poorly hid his widening smile, impish and amused.

“I forgot to ask how you went with that on Angel Island. You drank water, didn’t you?”

Rouge’s cheeks flushed. She folded her arms in a huff.

“Of course you would be interested, old pervert.”

“Now I know what you see in him,” his tongue poked under his teeth.

Rouge launched a pillow at him. Missed. Out from his duck, Shadow circled back to the fridge and tapped the door.

“So what have you been having instead?” he questioned.

He tapped the door a second time when she didn’t answer.

“Just water, and stuff.”

“What stuff?”

A pause.

“Air?” Shadow dimly asked.

A hasty giggle jumped out.

“It comes in different flavours now,” Rouge tucked a strand behind her ear.

Shadow frowned at her.

“We’ll get a new batch tonight,” he stated.

“Shadow…” Rouge drew a hand to her chest.

Behind her taut lips, her tongue traced around her fangs, searching for an answer inscribed in braille.

“What?”

“I don’t want to encourage this side of me.”

“Encourage? We’ve been over this. You need it to live. A fish needs water—are fish ashamed of that?”

“But—”

“No, they’re not. This is no different.”

“What we do—it isn’t right.”

“Your scruples are confused. You’ll sleepwalk in and out of a grand larceny charge, but you draw the line at your nutrients?”

Rouge pressed her teeth together. Her partner had a way of running laps around her with his words and skates. Calling it nutrients had the same effect as calling a beheading a punishment. She detested it.

Frustrated, she couldn’t piece together a response in time. Shadow cut in.

“Come,” his firm tone abated, “you know if I could make things easier, I would.”

He moved in. A caring hand upturned.

Rouge noted his veins, protruding and strong. Her nose scrunched.

“That’s one thing we’re never doing again,” she hung her tongue out.

“Tonight, we’ll intercept the same route. They won’t suspect it.”

A tired breath from Rouge; too worn down to fight Shadow, and secretly drowsy from her lack of nutrients.

“So, I’ll meet you in the same spot?” she spoke low.

Shadow inclined his head. A glance at his communicator notified him he was requested at GUN HQ. He departed.

Rouge bid him goodbye and fastened the lock behind him, resting her back against the door as it clicked in. She sighed. She was glad to be free from his interrogating, but his departure left a loneliness circling inside the four walls.

The red light on her phone was still blinking. She turned away.

She dragged herself to her balcony and swiped the door open. The ever-present hum of the population eased her somewhat.

She melted into a chair, her leather wings spread and peppered with kisses from the sun. She enjoyed the fur coats that came with winter but admitted the warm air was a welcomed change. Which would mean more people out and about to spy on below.

She rested her arms on the banister, sending herself out far into the multicoloured masses milling about Station Square Gardens, but her eyes caught on her own shoulder.

Sitting up, she rolled a glove down.

Unlike Shadow, her veins didn’t protrude. They camouflaged themselves behind her olive skin. Invisible. Just like she was at times.

The crowds of the city had no idea someone like her lurked in the shadows. Underneath their picnics and dates, a dark underbelly.

She rolled her glove back up and snuggled into her forearm, hugging her knees up and encased by her wings.

She found specks of mobians playing frisbee. She squinted to make out who was the anvil of the team; the one who held the others back with their lack of skill. Every team had one, after all.

A stab plunged into her side, accompanied by a rumble.

An insistent growl. She clutched at her stomach harder.

Why did Shadow have to bring it up?

She had been doing just fine until his visit. He just had to point it out. Him and his stupid need to dote on her with that frustrating look in his eyes.

Okay, getting a little hangry there, girl.

Hunger was her friend. She was used to its cries and learnt to tune them out like a neglected newborn. She lived with it because it lived with her.

Since switching back to her body, she hadn’t touched a single thing; for once, she hadn’t lied to Shadow. Sometimes, she tried to, as if for old time’s sake, but he always knew how to catch her out.

He knew all of her tricks: the water only days, the distraction tactics, the oversharing of food when she was saddled with a plate during events. For a while, he played along with it until it started affecting her ability to work. Dizzy spells and fainting weren’t uncommon after a gruelling mission. Shadow might’ve grown annoyed from his Chaos senses beeping every time she made a famished appearance around him. Or maybe he started intervening because he cared. She never really knew which one it was. If she thought about it too much, she’d feel a sting in her head.

She focused on a family having a picnic under the willow tree. Too far away to make out their species. Two small kids. Two parents, seated together. Their picnic blanket wasn’t red, it was blue.

She looked away.

To her surprise, a butterfly had stopped on the handrail.

The wings twitched; an orange-brown gradient with splotches that looked like a Rorschach painting.

A painted lady.

If it were a monarch butterfly, the wing span would be wider and the hue deeper. Many misidentifications in her mother’s old garden as a pup drilled this distinction into her head.

She refrained from raising a finger to touch it, content with watching.

Every brushstroke of the painted lady’s wings highlighted the craftsmanship of mother nature, windowing the sunlight like cellophane with a glow that reminded her of amber. Even a common butterfly carried magnificence with a pattern one could tirelessly study.

The marmalade wings fluttered and disappeared into the breeze, leaving the bat with a curious idea.

She returned to her apartment interior, still holding her side.

Rouge opened the door to her bedroom. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Underneath her bed, she dragged out a cardboard box.

For the first time since it appeared in her room, she looked at it with tenderness. Her grip pressed against tape that bore her mother’s curly handwriting: Rougie’s things.

She fingered the flaps open. A facedown picture frame received her first. She slid it aside. Reaching in, she deftly missed the pricks of items needled with painful memories, instead, she rummaged around the bottom. She grazed her target and pulled it out.

Bulky, faded and dented; just as she remembered it. The embrace of an old friend with a long name: Winged Insects of the World - An Illustrated Encyclopaedia.

She smiled. Remember how I used to call you “The Butterfly Book?” Where has the time gone?

Rouge fell into her satin covers and snuggled between the pages of the book. She leafed through aimlessly, her only goal to fill time before her stunt with Shadow.

She had always been a collector. As a pup, she once lined her walls with frames of various butterflies she caught. On retrospection, she found relief that she graduated to jewels come her late teenage years. Unlike butterflies, jewels were beautiful from the start and you didn't have to kill them to collect them.

The hefty encyclopaedia relaxed open to a frequented spread.

Life Cycle of a Butterfly.

Colourful diagrams depicted every stage and the descriptions came rushing back to her like a nursery rhyme lying in the folds of her brain. Rouge marvelled at the creases etched in the binder.

Around the illustration of an adult monarch butterfly birthed from the pupa, crude hearts had been scribbled in ballpoint pen. She shook her head.

This is why we could never return our library books.

She brushed over the monarch butterfly illustration. Her smile faded as she imagined the fiend responsible for graffitiing in the book.

I’ll transform one day, you’ll see!

Her prepubescent voice squeaked, chin breaching to the sky.

Laughter erupted, as was often the case.

Into what—a monster?

A pest is a pest for life!

Stupid bat.

Her lungs were a swimmer’s, swallowing up the insults like oxygen. For the height she lacked her growing wings made up for. She flashed them open like peacock feathers.

Daddy says one day I’ll glow like a kaleidoscope.

Your daddy is a criminal.

Her proud smile twitched. Another voice.

He’s a leech who tries to eat mobians.

Her chin gave away a quiver.

That wasn’t him.

Everyone knows it was him.

The piglet jumped down from the fence and trapped the small bat.

There were bite marks on that lamb’s neck. Where do you think they came from?

It wasn’t him!

The boy stuck a finger under her angered lip.

Two fangs. Just like these.

She swatted his hand and backed away. Aqua eyes welled with fear, received by a swarm of hostile leers.

Careful, she’ll infect you!

She was still too young to fly long distance, forced to run away through the long, itchy fields. They hurled insults at her like stones.

Mosquito!

She covered her ears but a piece had already chipped off and nestled into her skull. “Mosquito!” it would echo for years to come. The ringing marched her into sleep like a mean spirited metronome.

Chapter Text

Shadow waited by the door, spines grazing its deep grey frame. The head office was soundproofed, but that didn’t stop him from angling his ears forward to catch any stray murmurs.

His stare gathered in the grime by the banister. His nose wrinkled.

Did the cleaners forget to look there or did they just not care?

A lock clicked open. Combat boots stepped out, leaving behind a trail of footsteps. Left behind was the commander of the A Wing, standing with his shoulders squared.

“Agent Shadow, early as always,” the commander nodded. Greys were beginning to sprout through his dense locks, even down to the sideburns on his jowls.

He brought a gloved hand up to usher Shadow inside.

Shadow stepped clear of him.

The commander sealed the door behind them, along with the sounds of life from the hallway.

The ultimate lifeform stood in front of the desk.

The suited man offered Shadow a drink but he declined.

“At least take a seat then,” he motioned to a leather chair facing his desk.

Shadow hesitated. Like a tank, he oriented carefully to the seat and sat on the edge.

The commander flounced onto his tall desk chair, swivelled and reclined slightly. His numerous badges and medals jingled with his movements.

“Finally a moment to talk. You know how it’s been with the new fangled equipment moving in; everyone comes running to me when it breaks down. Do I look like an IT specialist to you?”

Shadow's eyes jumped to the back wall, decorated with framed certificates and medals. Each plaque was assorted in ascending order, detailing the journey of Agent Rouen to the celebrated Commander Rouen.

Shadow buried a taste of vinegar under his tongue.

The commander continued freely.

“Anywho,” he sipped his drink, though the gravel in his voice remained, “If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Such is life.”

“Is there a reason why you called me here?”

The mention of equipment had frustrated him. As the commander waffled, Shadow's thinking led him down a path to the wasteland report. The last thing he wanted was GUN to set their sights on that flag.

Commander Rouen cleared his throat, seizing the rope Shadow threw at him. He appreciated a man with a candid quality.

Hedgehog, he amended.

“You’re right, it’s not that thing I’m here to discuss with you; it’s the other.” He lowered his head. The shadow deepened under his protruding brow. “Regarding the recent transfer of Agent Menach.”

Shadow's frame loosened ever so slightly. He remembered that the consignment of the agent who harassed Rouge was still ongoing, delayed by the heels of bureaucracy digging into the ground.

He revived his stoic gaze.

“The naval division won’t take him?” Shadow’s tone lacked surprise.

Commander Rouen stoked a breath that wheezed on exhale.

“We’ve struck a deal—despite Agent Menach's protests,” he sucked his teeth. “For anyone else, moving an accomplished agent like him down to the navy would have been a preposterous request. Agent Menach was a valuable asset, Shadow.”

Being addressed without his title caused Shadow’s pupils to retract. The commander noticed, pulling back with a twitch in his nose.

He spoke into his glass, voice trapped inside like a house fly.

“I suppose precedent should be established for an unprofessional public outburst. However, I believe Miss Rouge also shoulders some of the blame.”

“It was not—”

“Miss Rouge who instigated it, I know. I’m well aware this is the story you’ve stuck to. But reports did say she joined in on the assault; at least verbally. That Amy character is untouchable because she’s with Sonic, but your partner should know better.”

Shadow's pulse climbed. In times like these where he could feel his body disobey, he imagined the check-up room in the Ark. The machinery beeps and wires pasted to his fur. He pictured Gerald holding his arm, soothing the blood pressure down when it would spike.

Forced to be responsible for his own regulation, he cursed the echidna who was the opposite of that; who landed him in this position in the first place. Even if both he and the echidna wanted to punish that agent for his behaviour towards Rouge, in a world like this you can’t do as you please. As always, Shadow had to pick up the pieces through official channels while his veins bulged underneath the strain of diplomacy.

After a long final swig, Commander Rouen set his drink down.

“That is why, I am considering reassignment.”

Shadow’s red gaze targeted the commander, millimetrically pinpointed through the sight of a sniper.

The commander brushed his hands on his suit and stood. As he moved away, he felt the rifle’s laser stalk his every step.

“We have to handle the situation fairly.”

Fairly. The word nearly shot Shadow out of his seat like a missile.

“So why tell me this?” his teeth gritted, words fired in low, rapid shots.

“As her partner, I should trust you to be responsible for her.”

A woe that Shadow long saw coming but staved off with distraction and meticulous work finally connected like a blow to the chest. The commander’s comment finally confirmed Shadow’s suspicion. 

GUN don’t see us as equals. They see her as my assistant.

The commander pressed his weight onto the desk, sliding an envelope to the hedgehog.

“Therefore,” he began, meeting Shadow’s recalcitrant glare, “it will do her better to hear it from you.”

Shadow looked between the envelope and commander. His broad fingers spidered over the envelope. His face contorted. Shadow sensed he derived pleasure from issuing punishments to women.

“I can trust you’ll deliver this to her promptly, Agent Shadow,” Commander Rouen reinstated the title in his final address. He split his mouth into an attempt at a cordial smile.

Shadow stared through the gaps in his teeth.

He rose from the chair. Without averting his gaze, he took the white envelope. The hedgehog turned on his heel and headed for the door. He didn’t return the commander’s goodbye.

Security cameras twisted their necks, glued to the ultimate lifeform marching down the hallway and into an elevator. A lens focused on the spines of the hedgehog as the doors parted and he exited. He completed the security checks soundlessly. The parchment bore crinkles in his grip as he departed GUN HQ for the last time.

A crimson flash saw Shadow reappear in a warehouse.

Haloed by a sunroof, the only source of light in the dry cavern, he held the envelope at arm's length. An orange ring rippled from his thumb and soon devoured the paper.

Smouldering ash fell to the ground. He walked over it like dust.

“Omega,” he called.

In the darkness, two red spots illuminated. Mechanical pulleys resonated, moving the red lights upward.

Shadow moved in, untangling the robot from his standby cables.

“Shadow. What is it that you require?” a synthesised voice emerged.

“Run a diagnostic test. We will be embarking on a preliminary mission shortly.”

“Diagnostic test initiated.” A small blue light on his pelvis flipped on. “Will Rouge be accompanying us?”

Shadow busied himself with tidying the robot’s corner. He glanced at the schematics he had illegally made copies of from GUN.

“I’m not sure,” he answered, though he knew.

The familiar hums and buzzes of Omega’s diagnostic test running in the background kneaded Shadow’s head. He would need his concentration for the task ahead. With a momentary pause, Shadow got to work on updating Omega’s circuitry as best he could to insulate him from toxic matter.

By evening, Shadow had worked up a layer of oil and grease across his muzzle and forehead. He stood up and collapsed into a metal stool. Omega validated the new dosimetry attachment to his hip.

Before the robot could inquire about the tool, Shadow had already skated into the mouth of the sunset.

Dusk poured in through the skylight. The artillery robot retreated to the corner and waited for his ally to return with instruction.

Chapter Text

Darkness.

Submerged, but somehow breathing.

Rouge was contorted in an unbreakable coil, a vertebrate broken into an invertebrate, hung by her feet in a bind like plastic wrap.

She begged her limbs to move, to no avail.

A dim red light blinked. She couldn't crane her head far enough to find the source. The edge of the light travelled across ripples, alerting her that she was hanging above water.

A meladorous cloud from the marsh wafted up. She gagged.

A pool of decaying corpses.

The thought arose more like a spontaneous broadcast rather than logical progression.

She perspired, heartbeat striking at her ribcage.

Diseased, rotting corpses, right beneath her nose. The more she struggled, the hotter she became. The air, thick and putrid, was impenetrable.

Heat rushed to her neck and head, forcing itself out of the shrimp-like coil. Rouge started from the sight of a bloated limb bobbing in the murky water. She squeezed her eyes shut. The heat pushed out of her mouth. Gums fleshy. Her teeth fell into the murky water. Before she could scream, her muzzle and lips sprouted into an elongated proboscis. Skin leathered. Bones cracked. The extent of her deformities were obscured by the darkness, but she felt every shift morphing her body into a vector of disease.

The smell of death turned amorous, enticing.

Feed, the red light beckoned her.

Feed, my little anopheles.

Rouge shot up, bed covers strewn across her lap and dappled in patches of sweat.

She reigned in her hyperventilating and sat upright.

A crash. She searched for the source.

The encyclopaedia lay on the ground.

Rouge sighed, hand over her thumping heart.

She ripped the covers off and got to her feet. She took a second to wait out the spins, sighing once they were over.

Her body was as she left it. In the mirror, she checked that her teeth were still in place. All accounted for, twins included. She exasperated at her rattled state.

Some nightmare.

In shaking her head clear, she caught a glimpse of the clock.

Shoot!

Rouge ripped from her apartment like a bat out of hell; although meeting Shadow late wasn't exactly in the direction of heaven.

“For a moment I thought you weren’t going to show up.”

“Stand you up, Shadow? I could never.”

“Then what took so long?”

“I had to find the right outfit.”

An unamused glare travelled over her heart suit. He finished the journey at her lidded eyes with a dismissive glare.

Shadow motioned for her to move in beside him. Vegetation rustled beneath her steps. She crouched behind the same ferns as him.

A shrill buzz skewered her ear drums. She swatted her shoulder.

“We missed the 7:00 shipment, but there’s another one that was scheduled half an hour later. If on time, it should pass this bend in seven minutes.”

Rouge scowled at the dead mosquito in her palm.

“They ship two vans worth now?” she flicked the bug into the dirt.

“Haven’t you received flyers from GUN? They target every company in Station Square now with their rebate program.”

“You can hardly call it charity then.”

“Depends if you think a cookie and a sticker is a worthy incentive.”

Rouge smirked at her partner’s remark. He made it sound so childish. Her smirk weathered when she reflected on what the two of them had planned for the do-gooders.

“What did GUN want from you?” Rouge inquired to distract herself.

Shadow picked a thistle out of his glove.

“A meeting with the A Wing director.”

“What? What did he say?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t listen,” Shadow let out a controlled sigh, “formalities likely.”

“Misappropriating classified documents, Agent Shadow? Don’t let the CCTV catch you.”

Rouge surveyed his face, waiting for a fissure of guilt. For the A Wing director to get involved Shadow’s wasteland plan could have leaked somehow, but nothing in Shadow’s expression confirmed this.

Her suspicions quelled, overtaken by common sense. Every man and their decorated title wanted something from Shadow. If GUN was high school, Agent Shadow was queen bee.

Rouge’s chest warmed.

But right now, he’s here to help me.

She opened her mouth to speak but Shadow silenced it with a signal.

Engine. Tires.

Shadow burrowed into the camouflage. Rouge copied.

Two beams of light painted the asphalt.

A boxy white van approached. The driver, a tired looking hog, slowed at the curve.

A sharp clap banked the van off-kilter. The impact shook the sleep out of the hog’s eyes.

He corrected the wheel, regaining balance. The van skidded to a halt just shy of the overgrown ditch.

From said ditch, Shadow zipped to the underside of the van as the driver meandered out. Still blanketed by night, Shadow stole the seconds it took the hog to thump his flashlight into life to unfasten the spare tire from its hold. Twisted free, he launched the tire rolling into the embankment fast enough to evade sound.

Shadow retreated to the hiding spot.

Two sets of eyes watched the hog as he scratched his tusks, bemused by what could have left such a steaming gash to the front left tire. He lumbered to the side of the van and squatted down, cursing his joints.

The hog exploded into an outburst. The organisation just had to saddle him with the only vehicle missing a spare tire? After all his long nights suffered?

He fixed his trajectory on a beacon of neon light emitting from a service station up the road. His only hope at finding a payphone.

The driver fished his pockets for coins and grumbled.

“How about showin’ me some generosity, huh?” were the last audible sounds as his figure shrunk into the horizon.

The agents exchanged nods.

Rouge moved to the door of the van. Shadow followed.

With her dexterous fingers, Rouge was careful to not trip the alarm.

Some finagling.

Ca-chunk.

Rouge slid the door open. Shadow crossed his arms as he kept watch.

“You’d think they’d reinforce the locks,” Rouge commented as the cool blast of air conditioning hit her. She scanned through the labels on the carry cases.

“For a few vials that go missing every so often?”

His reply tripped her up. She tried to find her place again amongst the towers of cases—they really were overflowing with donations now.

“Well, I mean,” she shifted through, “it’s pretty precious cargo, isn’t it? May not be weapons or gold, but it is life.”

A jaded scoff from Shadow drew Rouge’s brow in a knot.

“Which is why they don’t have reinforced vans like GUN does.”

A chill penetrated her bones. Did the air-con have to be set at freezing point? With renewed exigency, Rouge seized a small case. She checked the contents. They’ll do. Guided by the oversight of her partner, they exited the scene without a trace.

Other than a dozen missing vials of blood.

For such a small case, it weighed heavy on her arms. She had checked inside only seconds before, but once taken from the van, it was as if the collected liquid had turned viscous, the vials ready to rip out of the bottom of the case like lead bullets. The pressure made it hard to walk straight.

Shadow pulled Rouge and her cargo into the folds of a bush. Chaos Control alighted the gaps between the foliage.

The hedgehog deposited the two of them in the skinny alleyway that bordered Rouge’s apartment complex. It was a coordinate Shadow was well acquainted with—Sick Alley, as they dubbed it, for the amount of drunken vomiting the laneway had been subjected to over the years.

A head check told Shadow their arrival went unnoticed.

“Why… why did you use an emerald?” Rouge caught her breath, “Wasn’t the plan to—”

“Conserve your energy.”

The case by her pelvis kept him from completely closing in, so he reached a hand over her forehead.

“Your wavelength is fluctuating. You need to replenish your nutrients as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Doc. I didn’t ask for a check-up.”

“Yet I deliver, so be thankful.”

His tender eyes betrayed his stoic voice. He didn’t sound the alarm, but the I care about you look was in full force.

“You need blood just as much as any other patient.”

Rouge slackened like her wings had been clipped. The nondescript case hung by her stomach, a cursed amulet removed from the holy place, plaguing her with guilt.

Shadow offered to carry the case to her apartment for her.

“You know they have cameras in the lobby.”

“I’m aware, but—”

“You totally got scolded by the director.”

Her thinned Chaos wavelength reported nil for the flame of mischief still radiating from her.

Shadow surrendered to a smile, letting the convalescent get her jabs in.

“What are you so convinced I got caught doing?”

Rouge giggled, “You tell me, pervert.”

The flame of mischief, stoked high, allowed Rouge the strength to soar to her apartment’s balcony. She left her comment behind like one of her heart-marked bombs, hoping it would be enough to distract him from focusing on her uneven movements.

Rouge touched down on her banister, then the balcony floor. She unlocked the door and slipped into her unlit apartment with the nighttime breeze. She drew the curtains close behind her. Consequently, her little bomb ambushed her as well, as she retraced their long-running inside joke with fondness.

The colour in her face drained as she set the case down on the counter.

Chapter Text

The light of the fridge cut through the darkness. Rouge unzipped the stolen case. Twelve vials. She transferred them into the perforated plastic holes lining the top of the fridge door as naturally as one would stock up a dozen fresh eggs.

The label of the last vial jutted out unlike the others. She picked it up.

Harker, J. O NEGATIVE. Dated today.

Usually, the labels were the first to go; they were evidence, after all. She skimmed through. Each deep red liquid belonged to a name. An upstanding citizen who donated their life’s essence to help someone else in need; a sick child, or a toiling father awaiting surgery; not a bloodsucking pest.

A sharp pang ran over the walls of her gut. She gripped the vial harder.

A fish needs water, she repeated under her breath.

She unscrewed the cap.

The copper smell filled her nose. She shivered. The scent was enough inducement to drive away all the burdensome cuffs of self discipline. So what if the vials had names? No one will find out, it’ll be our little secret—all whispered through that salacious scent.

The sweet temptation doubled into an aching blow. The doomed yearning to drink from a warm body; to hold it intimately and feel its breath. The natural warmth of exuberant blood flow that couldn’t be substituted—how divine it must be to give yourself away to such red passion. Rouge could cry, she wanted it so badly.

It’s better than a ten course meal, her father would say, using the flesh of a peach to teach her how to use her big girl teeth when they would eventually grow in.

Only if they let you, he would clarify, You must promise me, you’ll never bite someone who doesn’t want to be bitten.

But who would want to be bitten, Daddy?

Someone who trusts you, and who you trust too.

His irises looked like chocolate buttons behind his magnified glasses.

The grey bat guided her fingers over the puncture holes in his peach.

See this? You never go too deep, all you need is a little puncture.

Will it hurt them?

No, baby, they won’t feel a thing.

The little bat’s curiosity inspired her to try and copy Daddy’s bite marks. Without incisors of her own, her gummy suckling morphed the peach into loosened pulp.

She frowned, I can’t do it like Daddy.

You will someday. When you take your first bite, you’ll turn into the most beautiful vampire bat.

Her eyes welled with awe and excitement.

Inspired to try again, the little bat gnawed at the peach.

Footsteps entered the kitchen.

Fruits are for eating, not biting, Rougie!

Mom would always rip the practice peach away and pull out the cutting board, dicing the flesh into semi-moons and returning them on a plate arranged into a smile. While washing the knife she would scold Daddy for spoiling the fruits, but she never stayed mad at him for long.

She’s a natural vampire, honey, through and through!

Half vampire, dear. She still needs to have her fruit like me.

Aren’t you lucky, baby? You get the best of both worlds.

And I have to look after two bloodsuckers!

Every time Mom sighed like that, Daddy would plant a kiss on her forehead and bring her in close to him. That time, Mom imparted a whisper that didn’t escape the little bat’s keen hearing.

Can’t you at least wait until her fangs grow?

The grey bat softened. Even when wearing his adult face, his character never faltered.

There’ll be plenty of time, he soothed.

Plenty of time. The words left a matured Rouge alone, without so much as the cold touch of a ghost to comfort her. All she had were the echoes of a time she couldn’t return to. The powerlessness of the present gripped her in a vice.

The vial in her grip blurred in a scarlet smear.

You said to never hurt anyone, but you did.

More images flashed.

White hospital bed and IV drip. She never got a final look at him as Mom’s hands shielded her. From the gaps between her fingers, a face wrapped in gauze peeked through.

An accident. He went out for an evening walk and a car hit him, her mother would explain but never look her in the eye. From the first she heard it, the claim never settled. It kicked and whimpered like an amorphous burlap sack discarded on the side of the highway, desperate for someone to open it and reveal the gory truth. Rouge never got to ask him what happened, as his mind was already gone.

The day his eyes were shut, Mom brought the sack home where it rooted into the floorboards. Its presence came with repeated warnings:

From now on, if anyone asks, you say you are a white bat like me.

A festered smell followed them wherever they went, it made living in the home unbearable. When Rouge inherited her fangs at thirteen, the sack swelled and threatened to burst, but neither bat dared to touch it.

More warnings. Use them only for fruit. Don’t bite. The warnings only emboldened a teenage Rouge to disobey, of which she paid the ultimate price for.

Once Rouge finally left the poor excuse of a roost, she kicked the sack on her way out.

Dad didn’t die from an accident! You knew it was on purpose!

Her mother couldn’t align her stare as Rouge yelled. Aged from the wine and worn down from her remarriage, her countenance was still the same as it was that day in the hospital.

Present day Rouge ran a finger along the rim of her eyes.

She tipped the vial over the sink, contents swirling into the drain.

She returned the empty vial to her refrigerator and made for the pantry. Grabbing an opened tin of tomato paste, she took out a tall glass and mixed a spoonful with a helping of tap water. The placebo effect was usually enough to replenish her energy for a short while. The vegan alternative.

Rouge licked her lips clean and surveyed the red flecks coating the glass.

Perhaps I could become a vegan.

The absurdity of the statement threatened her into laughter, but the guilt was too overbearing.

With generous calculations, she could survive for another day or two. Since she was only half a vampire, her energy could be supplemented with fruit or drinks to lesser effect than the rejuvenation properties of blood, but the thought of eating and chewing was not a source of comfort. Rather, it revolted her more than her hematophagic inclinations despite being the more socially acceptable form of sustenance. Her steady diet of vials barely kept the needle on the scale at an acceptable number. Introducing food back into her body would make the tug of war with her scale unwinnable. Meanwhile, death loomed overhead like a full moon inflicting its gravitational pull.

Death was never the frightening thing others always made it out to be. Everyone dies. There was no reason to fear death as she had more than a few brushes with it to know its character and predictability. There was something comforting about knowing there was an end. Rouge spent many sleepless nights dreaming of the occasion.

An artisan coffin filled with priceless jewellery, glittering as her imperfections rotted away into mush. Every jewel caper circled back to this fantasy, to the supreme realisation of her life’s work taken to the literal grave. Knowing that one day she’d be laid to rest with her collection put a warm compress on her heart.

When the time came, it would be quick. The same couldn't be said for the mourning soul she’d leave behind. A frown belonging to the echidna heading her procession shattered the fantasy into pieces.

She stole another glance of the vial and its name tag. The cargo bag. All items that Knuckles didn’t know about.

To live up to his ideals, to be beautiful and strong, can’t be to feast on the blood of innocents. A fish needs water, but living beings need their blood too.

Rouge drew open her gossamer curtains to the nightlights of Station Square.

There’s just no place for a leech like me.

Chapter Text

Rouge tucked herself in for an early night. Lying wide awake at 1am was indeed an early night—morning, in fact.

She flounced onto her back with a sigh, wings crinkled underneath her weight. The modified curtain rod on her ceiling stared down at her in rebuke. If only she had hung upside-down—the natural way—she’d be snuggled in a cozy dream right now. Or a nightmare.

A shiver pulsed at her recollection of the red-stained lake of corpses.

She sat upright with a wince. In the contours of night, she found the edge of the encyclopaedia on her makeup desk.

Not touching that with a ten foot pole.

Putting it back into the cardboard box was too much of an effort. Then she would be faced with the trouble of rearranging everything to make space for it, too long of a chore to allow her misery the chance of a sneak attack via the assorted items. No, on the desk it stayed.

Around her bed lay the tattered wicker of what was once the picnic basket Knuckles had lent her. She brought it into her room after the first round of sleep had failed, hoping for some sort of aromatic comfort, but her fingers got the best of her and picked the whole thing to shreds. The flakes strewn about her carpet reminded her of the Master Emerald shards.

She’d leave the vacuuming for later. Of course, she wanted it clean now, but a part of her wanted to sit with the mess. She deserved it for wrecking his property.

Lay long enough and maybe her apartment would fall into ruins like the Egg Quarters. For her, the outcome would never be realised, not with hands that still tingled to pick and prod, but the fantasy was enticing. Egg Quarters, though derelict, was still vibrant with memories. At what point would decay eat away those too? Everything turns to a carcass one day.

A guttural rumble drilled into the quiet room.

Rouge tossed and clutched her stomach with a squeeze.

The pain obscured the contact of her feet with the carpet, her misbehaving legs spiriting away to the kitchen like a will o’ the wisp. Within a blink she found herself face to face with her pantry.

Her fingers rapped on the door like a pauper, eyes just as wide and full of woe. Unlike the pauper who optimistically wished for a stow of bread, Rouge knew there was nothing waiting for her behind the door. Yet she opened it anyway.

Abracadabra. Nothing as usual.

Her sarcastic flourish was the only thing to draw a watery smile from her.

The setup of her kitchen was something to behold; not for the design or decor, but for the obsessive detail in which she curated it. Any mobian could maintain an empty pantry; but how many did so with a plump bank account and rows of unclaimed shelves? Her unrelenting pursuit of nothingness saw not only calories and money saved, but nights of sugar and carbohydrate cravings crushed like an insect. This, she was proud of.

Yet the neat, vacant shelves mocked her with a strange disorder only she could see. Her discipline oozed out like a sponge laden with too much soap, streaking more than it cleaned.

She closed the door and opened it a few more times, finding a pleasant release of discomfort in the back and forth movement. The hinges squeaked when they reared their margins.

Rouge found a place for her strange smile as she reminisced. She used to rock to and fro like this all the time in her old house. When she was a teenager, she still hadn’t kicked the habit. Sometimes she’d be at the pantry for a whole hour doing nothing but swinging on the door. It annoyed her mother to no end, but she never found a way to curb her behaviour.

Her smile twinged. Did Mom ever look back on those times too?

More rappings, but not from her. Thuds, like the beat of trotters.

Her skin alighted.

You again, scratching around!

She turned, expecting to see his hefty silhouette brandishing the electric swatter. The night played tricks on her, contorting her modern kitchenette into a narrow corridor. She smelt burnt cinnamon.

Another stomp. She covered her ears.

Yer sure know how to use your mouth like a slut. You just don’t know when to quit, do ya?

Her heartbeat hammered against her chest. She slid down the door and shielded her face. Electricity popped and crackled. Lacerations burnt her skin.

After a minute, Rouge realised she had been holding her breath.

She blinked her eyes open.

The tiles beneath her were marble, not cheap ceramic. The corridor wasn’t there; it hadn’t vanished, because she knew it was never physically there to begin with. Same went for the apparition of her step-father.

She drew to her feet and held a hand to her chest to calm her rattling heart. The rappings continued in the form of scratching on glass.

She stomped to her balcony and threw the curtains open.

A flock of flickies tapped their beaks on the glass in reproach, as if to apologise for startling her. Their black pupils curved upwards and shone in a hungry plea.

Rouge bundled a fist. She ripped the door open.

“Go on! You won’t find anything here!”

They descended the balcony in a flurry.

So long as Knuckles doesn’t dump any more strawberries on me, she mentally added.

The mention of his name drew her gaze to the moon.

The pearl crescent was an eye closed in rebuke, a keeper of secrets gained from an eternity of cycles.

Rouge, seeing as her arm wouldn’t allow her to close the balcony door, surrendered and stepped outside. In her silk pyjamas, she folded her hands together and rubbed for warmth. She still had goosebumps from before.

The skin on her arms had the texture of tiny train tracks—that is if one paid attention to the grooves, which Rouge always did. More unfixable cracks.

The shoebox balcony shrunk, corners eaten away by the moonlight. Somehow, she felt better out in the cold than she did inside her apartment.

She drew up her balcony chair and crawled into it. Her ears angled in hopes of the lively city calling to her, but it seemed all noise droned in an indeterminable sludge, certainly nothing interesting to hold her attention for long enough to forget the jitters.

Instead, a neighbour’s bug zapper perforated the foreground with spine-tingling zips and pops.

Rouge pressed her hands over her ears.

Why would you leave it on all night? You’re not even out here!

She winced in anticipation of the next snap. Not that she felt bad for the bugs; how stupid do you have to be to fly to your own death?

After a long wait had passed, she withdrew her hands from her ears. Her joints panged with prolonged tension; one cut and it would come gushing out. The visual drew close enough to touch, but neared trampling the discipline she had worked so hard to build.

She knew the boxcutter was only paces away, sitting quietly in her wardrobe drawer. It was one of the few things she kept when she moved out. Although it weighed more than anything else she transported, she couldn’t part with it. The knife was easily sharper than any of the items in the box of Rougie's Things. Some logic that was.

Rouge’s restless eyes jumped the banister and landed in the night bathed gardens. A sapphire mist rolled over the lawns. Of course, the spot where the family had been having their picnic sat empty except for the breeze that rustled the willow leaves.

The field held a pocket of silence that overpowered the hum of traffic in the distance. She projected herself there on the grass, underneath the tree. The sapphire mist felt warm, though distant.

Rouge picked at her railway arms.

She suddenly felt irritated that the red light on her phone was still blinking.

The discomfort spurred her to the railing as if she were the tide drawn by the moon. The iridescent crescent shined, filed to a fine point. She traced the same shape behind her lip. Her stomach whimpered again.

ZZZT!

She flinched. Another mosquito bit the dust.

She climbed onto the railing.

Her weight balanced on the boundary. It took effort to look past the curves of her body.

Under her socks, the streets full of headlights looked like pulsating veins.

Rouge fell forward. On nights like these, she enjoyed the rush that came from forfeiting her wings until the very last millisecond. With a heavy flap, she veered from the concrete and made for the stars.