A/N: This is a very different kind of story for me, in a writing style that I normally do not attempt. I was torn on making this a very long one shot, or a collection of very short chapters. I have gone with a short chapter length, and I hope you find it effective. If not, tell me what I can do to fix it. Hopefully this shorter chapter length (read 2-3 pages, rather than my usual 20-30) will lend itself to quick updates as well. And by posting this, I am likely to finish it too. Hooray!

This story details the development of a Teresa/Irene relationship within the context of the manga and anime canons as seen through the eyes of Irene. I haven't decided yet whether there will be any Teresa/Claire. It seems to me that Raki/Claire is the favorite of most that post here, and though I do love a well written one, but there are so many other pairings that need a lot of love.

So please, for all our sakes, take a chance on a Teresa/Irene As always, R & R. I will keep your opinions in mind if you leave me helpful feedback!

---

Chapter 1: Reflections

I knew that one day they would find me. It is rather hard to fake your death, when you have no body to leave behind. The organization may be slow, but they have never been dumb. I should know. I, once respected as the Flash Sword Irene, used to be their number two fighter. But even if you are that big, you cannot hide forever. Until I met Claire during her fight with Ophelia, I had wished that I could do simply that. Hide. To hide until I could figure out a way that I could defeat Priscilla.

I am sorry Teresa, but that day will never come. There is someone else to follow in your stead. Only now do I realize it was never even my job to begin with.

The wind blew a few errant strands of hair into my face. I closed my eyes on the mountain summits below.

“It feels like there was another one here, too. Is she gone?” The voice behind me was young, but it still spoke with the scratch of hard won battles.

I should have known that the organization wouldn't have sent someone more experienced after me. Most of my warrior generation was gone, either killed by the loving hands of a close comrade, or dismembered by a youma in battle. Of those who took up the sword decades ago, most who survived were deserters like me. That is, if they were able to avoid the organization's assassins.

It is a small wonder that nobody chooses to become the unfortunate beasts humans call Claymores.

The assassin behind me took an impatient step forward. I don't blame her for any of it, the coldness, the rudeness, the savagery. When I was a dog of the organization, I just tried to get my work done, too. The least I could do was share a little bit of information with the reflection of my former self.

“Yes, she's gone. She left just a bit ago,” I responded.

“Well, it doesn't matter. The voice sighed, and I heard a hand move to her sword hilt. “You're the one I came for. You've hidden yourself well all this time. Not even normal people would find you here.”

I stood calmly and straight. I had been told by many friends before that my stiff habits were intimidating, but really it was just more economical to plan out your emotions ahead of time. My lack of fear was the only defense I had left. Now here I was, armless, and defenseless in front of one of my young, greedy successors.

I suppose it was little more than my own sorry fate. Believe me, I know that people get what are coming to them. Running would have only postponed the inevitable. After all, Teresa was a nice girl and look at what happened to her. Me, I never lived my life so fully, so right-to-the-brim with love, as Teresa did. Therefore, by the laws of nature, my death will not be nearly as gruesome.

Because I see the truth, I don't talk much to others. They tend to find my sense of humor a little...off.

The girl kept talking. “After all these years of suppressing your youma aura, it's almost vanished. It couldn't be sensed. It was a mistake to practice your flash sword technique. Because of that, you're radiating youma energy like a normal warrior.”

Ahhh, so she was smart. I wondered how much longer the organization would be able to keep her completely in the dark.

I smiled. “May I ask your name?”

“Rafaela, number 5 in the organization.”

I turned around to see a girl in her teens with a scar decorating her left eye...not that age really meant anything to my kind. I had celebrated my 24th birthday for the past ten years.

“What is that scar?” I asked. I wanted to give Claire as much time as I could, in case this one would come after her when she had dispatched me. “Something from before you became half youma?

Her lip curled at the question. “Is there any reason why I should answer someone about to die?”

Raphaela thrust her sword out in front of her, as if to keep me at bay. It struck me as funny even as I stared down the flat of her sword. Honestly, what was an armless Claymore, with her back to a cliff going to do to an assassin like her? Especially when I hadn't run when I felt her presence miles and miles before.

“Irene the deserter," she snarled. "The organization has ordered your execution. I heard that you had lost an arm but it seems like you have lost both. That's unfortunate...bad luck for you.”

“Bad luck? Not really.” These words had long wished to come out. “Fate follows its own plans.”

Raphaela smiled slightly, ignoring my speech and catching her reflection in the metal of her blade. Something still wasn't quite right about her. “As strong as you are, why have you stopped at number 5?”

I knew that it had stung her. Her single eye twitched as she pretended that I had asked anything else, but nobody can hide their emotions as well as I can.

“Sorry, but I've got no reason to answer that either,” Raphaela growled. She was proud, beautiful, defiant. I remembered that feeling, its liquid steel coursing through me; what it felt to be ignorant and sure.

I closed my eyes again. I had nothing left to live for anyway. I had hidden myself long enough, given my remaining arm to Claire, and the only other who had truly known me, Teresa, was dead. Teresa had been dead for a long time—and from that moment on I had been dead too. But, as much as I had hated Claire for taking Teresa from me, as jealous as I was that Teresa had been so happy with Claire by her side and not me; I had to forgive her. That is what Teresa would have wanted.

As much as I had loved-- still love Teresa, I had missed my chance.

---

Next chapter: First impressions

For those who were wondering why I am starting with this scene, just know that I am writing this as if Irene is narrating her memories. This will be almost like Irene seeing her life flash before her eyes in the seconds before death. Crazy, yes, I know. But I am always up for a challenge.

Reviews are always appreciated.