Notes: Because I wonder, sometimes, where all the grunts go when you disband Team Rocket. Also, I've been meaning to write some soulsilvershipping for a while, now. Hope you enjoy.
Characters / Pairings: Silver/Lyra (soulsilvershipping). Lance, Archer, Proton.
Universe: Game. Post-HG/SS.
Warnings: cursing, some violence, tragic drama, speculation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon, nor do I stand to profit from this in any form. All mistakes are my own.
monsters
"You've really changed." Lyra tells him, voice so soft it's almost swallowed by the hungry maw of the cave.
They have just defeated the dragon trainers (together), and the heady feeling of victory makes him feel like he can do anything, makes him believe that maybe, just maybe, she's right about him.
So Silver grins lightheadedly and nods. "Yeah, I think I have."
When she smiles at him in that breathtakingly brilliant way of hers, he pushes his doubts aside and leans in to press his lips against hers.
— . . . —
Love is the sweetest of pleasures when it is nascent. Companionship, though alien to him after almost a decade of solitude, is more than becoming to him that first year. He finds himself laughing more each day with her than he ever did in a year's time alone. They walk down familiar roads made new because there is someone to share it with. Silver finds that it is hard to harbor resentment toward the world when there is someone to hold his loneliness and warm it until it sublimates into thin air, forgotten. He learns to breathe with her in his space, and after the first few moments of awkward discomfort and claustrophobia, finds himself thinking that he wouldn't have it any other way.
But time passes, and soon their year is up.
Lance finds them during the early summer months. They have been sojourning on a small island off the coast of Cianwood City, drunk off the taste of salt on their lips, sweet coconut milk and the scent and taste of each other. The dragon tamer pulls her aside and speaks to her in hushed, curt tones while Silver stands off to the side, eyes narrowed with suspicion and an edge of jealousy. After a few moments, Lyra nods and makes her way back toward Silver, an unreadable expression on her face.
"What does he want?" Silver asks her. The older man continues to watch them, arms crossed, and Silver sneers, grabbing Lyra's arm and dragging her away from the dragon tamer's watchful gaze.
"The League needs me." Lyra says.
Silver wants to argue. He wants to say that the League can't have her, because she's his and he's hers and don't they understand that? But when he meets her eyes to say all this, he finds himself staring into the steely determination and sense of duty that reside there, hard and unbendable. So instead, Silver just nods wordlessly and accepts her kiss, feather-light against his brow, like the clouds that waltz by overhead. She offers him a smile when she pulls back, but he cannot find it within himself to return it.
Instead, he closes his eyes so that he can't watch her pull out the poké ball holding her noctowl and fly off beyond the horizon. Silver wants to pretend that this won't change things, but he's never been the kind of fool that believes his own lies, so he forces himself to stare at the sand beneath his bare feet and accept it. After all, Silver's used to having beautiful things pass him by.
— . . . —
The place they live in now is extravagantly (and garishly) furnished and too large for just the two of them, but it is one of the (many) perks that come with being Pokémon League Champion, even if Lyra is never really around to enjoy it, anyway.
Silver spends his days alone in Lyra's penthouse suite. His time is usually spent watching the mind-numbing programs on television or avoiding the news (which undoubtedly brings reports of gang warfare between groups calling themselves Team Rocket) by sweating off his suppressed frustration in the gym when it all gets to be too much. He goes to sleep and wakes up alone, and finds himself staring at the phone far too often, waiting to hear her voice breathe into his ear through the receiver. He hadn't known what exactly to expect when she asked him to move in with her, but he's sure that this isn't it. More often than not, he finds himself looking at this picture-perfect example of Goldenrod high society, the lap of luxury—state-of-the-art appliances, furniture and clothes designed by people whose names Silver can't even pronounce, and a maid-service that comes in once a week to clean up after him—and thinking of how fucking domestic this all is.
The thought disgusts him.
He is used to sprinting across endless fields, scaling frigid mountains, cutting through the endless azure of the ocean on the back of his pokémon, training endlessly in caves to best opponents who are so impossibly strong that they may as well be invincible. Every day that Silver spends in that empty penthouse suite alone only makes him more and more restless, so much so that not even a couple of hours of frenzied sweating in the gym can exorcise it from his system. He wants to find Lyra and pry her away from the League and whatever mission they have her on, kicking and screaming if he has to, and take her somewhere far away, like Hoenn or Sinnoh, and live the way they used to. This place isn't them, it's stifling and pretentious and everything Lyra isn't.
— . . . —
She makes it a point to call him as often as she can, which turns out to be once or twice a week.
"How are you?" she asks over the static of the tenuous connection.
"Fine," he lies, because he doesn't know if she's doing something dangerous that could kill her if she was too distracted by her worry for him. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if that happened. "You?"
"Good!" she says cheerily, and Silver decides that she is lying; it is the same tone of voice she'd used when attempting to sneak into the Radio Tower dressed as a Rocket. Despite himself, he smirks and looks out from the balcony at the edifice—a monument to the past they share.
Silver learned early on that she cannot answer anything about where she is, what she's doing, or when she'll be able to come home. These limitations annoy him, but he doesn't ask, if only because her voice falls whenever she has to deny him the answers, and that bothers him more than not knowing. So he lets her do most of the talking, hoping that she slips up a little and inadvertently clues him in to the classified details.
"You remember that time we were camping in the Ilex Forest?" she asks, voice heavy with nostalgic longing. Silver gives a grunt in confirmation. "The stars, they were so beautiful. When I come back, we should go there again."
"That'd be nice…" Silver mumbles, imagining the feeling of grass against his skin and the softness of Lyra's palms in his.
"I have to go now. I'll talk to you later, okay? I love you."
"Love you, too," Silver replies, but the click of the phone line going dead fills his ears before he can tell her that.
— . . . —
A meeting:
It is nighttime in Goldenrod City, and he is returning from one of his midnight walks. He is taking a shortcut back home (to Lyra's penthouse suite), and this particular street is devoid of people save the occasional prostitute or shady drug dealer. Before he knows it, there are footsteps pounding the pavement behind him, and then a pair of strong arms grab him and pinning his own uselessly to his sides. He opens his mouth to yell, tries to throw his weight around so that he can break free and grab one of the poké balls at his belt, but he is lifted and tossed headfirst into a van that screeches to a halt at the curb beside them, his belt torn from him before he can even recover from the impact.
Silver blinks blearily, his head throbbing with a sharp ache. He tries to get up, but the screech of rubber on asphalt and violent turn of the van sends him careening into the side of the vehicle. There is the sound of laughter, the bark of an order, and then he is hefted up to sit by the same pair of arms that had caught him moments before. When his vision stops swimming from the pain and focuses, he finds himself staring at a well-dressed man in white, blue eyebrows raised sardonically at him. For a moment, confusion overrides everything else as he tries to place this vaguely familiar man, but then his eyes focus on the red insignia stitched into his suit right over his heart, and he snarls in recognition.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demands, fury occluding the logic that hisses at him that he is in terrible danger.
The man chuckles softly before replying. "I do apologize for how… rough we were in catching your attention, but I'm afraid that desperate times call for desperate measures, and we really do need to speak with you."
"And you think that I'd speak to the likes of you?" Silver barks, muscles tensing to lunge at the bastard. "Where the hell are my pokémon? Give them to me or I'll fucking kill you, I swear!"
A smirk, and then a nod; beside him, a man with teal hair smirks cruelly at him before gesturing at his boot and the poké ball beneath the heel. Silver's eyes widen almost comically before another snarl rips from his throat. He makes to grab at the man, but he simply clucks his tongue and presses down on the sphere with his foot. Audibly, the ball cracks.
"Do you know what happens to a pokémon when its ball breaks and it's still inside?" the teal-haired man asks mockingly, pressing down with his foot a little harder. "It dies." Another crack, but it is Silver who breaks (he is not the same boy who cared nothing about his pokémon—Lyra changed that about him, just like she did everything else).
"Stop," Silver croaks, voice hoarse. "Just stop. I'll do whatever you want. Please."
The teal-haired man's smirk curves maliciously, but when the other man snaps his fingers, he eases the pressure on the poké ball, and Silver lets out a breath of relief, crumpling in on himself like a house of cards.
"My associate's methods are a bit extreme," the first man says, "but as I said before, we really do require your full attention. We've made that point sufficiently clear, I believe?" Silver doesn't answer; from the looks of it, the man doesn't expect him to. "In all honesty, we've actually come to you looking for help."
Silver chuckles weakly. "But you aren't giving me a choice in whether or not I give it to you, are you?" The man ignores the question, but the Cheshire grin that twists his lips crookedly is enough of an answer. "Just tell me," Silver says over the lump in his throat. "Why now? After four years… why?"
The man steeples his fingers and inclines his head slightly. "After our plans were foiled and our calls for our Boss went unheeded, I disbanded Team Rocket. Yet, despite the fact that the organization was bereft of the leadership of its administrators, it persisted. The name 'Team Rocket' has been invoked frequently over the past few years, but the subsequent response to its call has been much less numerous than before. Almost pitifully so. I'm speaking, of course, of the gangs. Most criminals just don't give up their lifestyles after their employers disappear; they simply make do."
"What's the point of this police report?" Silver asks flatly, keeping an eye on his cracked poké ball and its captor warily.
At that, the man's hands tighten their hold on the fabric of his suit, rumpling the fine material. "The point is that these pretenders have been using the name of our Boss' glorious organization without staying true to his intentions," the man grits out between clenched teeth. "They profane his name! Do you understand what it is to have his glorious vision corrupted by forming rival street gangs and fighting over neighborhoods? It's disgusting!"
"And this has to do with me how?"
"You're Giovanni's son," the man says his father's name reverently, and Silver tenses at its use. "Despite the fractured condition of his organization and his absence, that name still means something."
Silver shakes his head. "If you want me to tell you where my father is, I can't help you. I don't know where he is."
But the man just runs a hand through his slicked-back hair and sighs a little wistfully. "No. After we tried making contact with Giovanni four years ago, we accepted the fact that he won't be coming back," his dark eyes consider Silver almost appraisingly. "Our interests lie more in you, Silver."
There is a moment of stunned silence in the van before it is broken by a guffaw of disbelief. "Me?" Silver says incredulously. "You expect me to take over for you weaklings and restore my father's favorite toy? There's no way in hell that I'd ever do that!"
The teal-haired man beside him growls, but the man across from him raises a hand to silence him. "Team Rocket is your inheritance. In your father's absence, it falls to you to lead us in his name. I understand that you do not particularly care for us… that you even worked against us four years ago, and I understand why," the man leans forward, makes eye contact with Silver and holds it. "We failed your father, and by extension, you. It is only natural for you to despise us for that. You must understand, though, that we are attempting to right those wrongs –,"
"You don't know anything about me," Silver cuts him off coldly, glaring at the man loathingly. "My father was a weakling and a coward who hid behind a bunch of pathetic idiots. If he was weak enough to be defeated by a child, then it served him right, being defeated. And if all of you were defeated by a little girl, then what use could I possibly have for all of you?"
Another moment of stunned silence. The man stares at him, eyes wider than the fine dinner plates Lyra insisted they buy for the penthouse but never use, anyway. Silver holds the man's gaze, watches as he collects himself.
"Perhaps you are right," the man says measuredly, face ashen. "But the fact remains, Silver, that we are yours to utilize as you see fit. The fate of this organization rests in your hands."
After that, nothing more is said. A few minutes of tensed silence later, the van again screeches to a halt and the doors open, revealing one of the street corners near his apartment complex. Silver eyes both men warily before carefully getting to his feet and inching toward freedom. He is tossed his belt and poké balls when his feet meet the cement of the sidewalk, and he clutches them to his chest, almost as if he were cradling a child. From within the car, the man tosses him something black and rectangular, and Silver catches it before inspecting it cautiously. It is a nondescript black cell phone, and when Silver scrolls through the menu, there is but one number saved there.
"You can use that to contact us if you should ever change your mind," the man says. When he speaks again, his voice is low and determined. "No matter what you may say about your father… a few moments ago, you sounded almost exactly like him." Silver freezes in shock, shivering as if someone were running their cold fingers up and down his spine. Then the doors to the van close and the tires are screeching against the asphalt again and it is careening off again, gone before Silver can even decide how he feels about what had just been said.
— . . . —
Silver spends hours staring at the phone.
At first, he decides that he wants to turn it into the police and have them arrest the bastards. But something stops him, and no matter how fucking appealing it sounds to see those monsters behind bars for threatening him with the death of his pokémon, he can never bring himself to nail the fuckers and hang them out to dry. In the end, he puts the phone into his bedside drawer and tries to forget about it, spending hours working out in the gym or taking walks around Goldenrod to clear his head. He wishes Lyra were there with him, but promptly dismisses the idea. He doesn't want Lyra involved; she's troubled enough as it is, and since when did Silver need her to deal with his problems? He's a man, isn't he?
And then comes the night when he is watching TV and about to fall asleep on the couch when a breaking news report blares across the screen: a gang fight catches civilians in the crossfire, seven dead, and thirteen wounded, most of them in critical condition.
"The gang members, calling themselves the 'Sons of Team Rocket,'" the reporter says from the scene, face pale as people wail in the background and sirens flash red and blue, "were using illegal firearms as well as pokémon. This is the third such incident this month where gangs, claiming to be the rightful successors to the criminal organization, utilized such illegal weaponry to –,"
But Silver has stopped listening, instead staring at the screen as the pictures of the dead flash on it. Some of them are kids, as young as he and Lyra were when they first met, and, oh shit, what the hell is happening?
No amount of walking or hours tearing his muscles apart could ever wipe the image of those kids (of Lyra as that eleven-year-old little girl he first met outside Newbark Town that day, that little girl dead) from his mind.
— . . . —
This is how he justifies it to himself:
The gang wars are a byproduct of the chaos that came about when the organization disbanded. Without a strong leader, the criminals had gone off on their own and started to wreak havoc. Whether he likes it or not, things like this will always exist—crime, evil, vice. If someone could harness these chaotic elements and direct them towards a cohesive goal, then the number of victims would be minimized. To do this would be to protect society from chaos' devastation, to keep children from dying before their time and their families intact. To do so wouldn't be weak, it would be the ultimate sign of strength—because a man has to be a god to bear the weight of so much sin and stand upright. The world needs a man like that, a shepherd of its evils, a hated martyr that bears the brunt of its darkness for the greater good so that others don't have to.
He is the only person in the position to be that man.
So he pulls the black cell phone out of the drawer and calls the only saved number on it. When the telltale click of someone's presence on the other line meets his ears, he speaks authoritatively into the phone. "I'm in," he says, and tries not to feel as if they have won.
When he hangs up, he calmly walks into his closet (the same one Lyra had joked was the size of her childhood room at her mother's house) and pulled out one of the suave, tailored Italian suits that Lyra had insisted he buy for 'parties and stuff.' He then walked into the bathroom and gelled his hair back so that all the bangs were out of his eyes, so that his dark gaze stared authoritatively outwards. He pretends not to notice how much this reminds him of his father.
For the greater good, he tells himself. That's beginning to become the motto he lives by, these days.
— . . . —
The old Celadon Game Corner becomes headquarters, and it is there that he recreates the organization.
He appoints the same administrators that his father had—Archer and Proton (the men who had abducted him that night, he remembers, so he keeps them on an especially short leash), and Petrel. According to them, the fourth executive, Ariana, could not be located. Silver finds that he does not care, because having her under his command would be more a hindrance than it would be a benefit, because he hardly has any patience to deal with the woman he suspects is his mother.
The executives are given a directive—recruit the gangs into the organization and 'convince' them to dispose of their firearms—of the two, Silver puts more emphasis on the latter. He makes it explicitly clear that if they do not agree to his terms—complete obedience to the organization's rightful heir and the disposal of their weapons—then they are to be eliminated. In truth, Silver prefers that they be taken out. He would be able to sleep so much better at night if he knew that none of the murderers that killed those children were members of the organization, but keeps those thoughts to himself.
Quicker than he'd thought possible, Team Rocket is reborn. Archer is very efficient at recruiting the gangs, and whenever they refuse, he finds that Proton is more than happy to do some 'convincing' by making an example of their leaders. From time to time, especially when dealing with larger, better organized gangs, Silver deals with them himself. There are two types of these encounters—the vast majority, which are actually led by former members of Team Rocket, and those led by people who simply liked the name and the reputation it carried. The former bow to the wishes of the 'heir of Giovanni' without question, but there are always a few that refuse, and when those cases arise, Silver takes pleasure in making them pay for their crimes. Silver finds that his pokémon are more than capable of handling the masses of raticate and zubat, and have no qualms about killing humans when they find their master is threatened. Each time he participates in the slaughter of dissidents, Silver finds that he gains more respect—out of fear of his ruthlessness, mostly, but from men like Proton, whose psychopathy and sadism makes them more animal than human, it is actual admiration that shines dully in their eyes.
The first time he realizes this, Silver is made truly sick, throwing up into the sink attached to his private office until his stomach's contents are expelled and he is left dry heaving pathetically. Over time, he comes to realize that men and women like Proton have their uses, so he keeps them, albeit on an extremely short leash, only let loose when called for.
According to reports, the police are baffled by the decrease in gang-related crime. Unbeknownst to them, a single man stands before hundreds of criminals in an underground facility and offers them a tight-lipped smile. He proclaims the creation of Neo Team Rocket. Elated, the crowd responds with a chant:
"Hail Silver! Hail Silver! Hail Silver!"
The cries are so loud that the patrons of the casino can feel them in the minute vibrations of the floor.
— . . . —
And then Lyra comes home.
Silver happens to be in the penthouse that day, reading reports of the organization's activities in Saffron City. Suddenly, she is standing there, staring at him, and Silver is so shocked that he cannot believe his eyes. Wordlessly, she makes her way to him, that same breathtaking smile on her face, the one he remembered, and he gets up and meets her halfway, holding her close and burying face in her hair, inhaling her scent, making certain that it really is her, that after months and months without seeing her, that this isn't just some hallucination. She is solid in his arms, and warm, and Silver lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding in, going boneless with relief and joy, because she is safe and back with him, where she belongs.
"I missed you so, so much…" Lyra murmurs into his chest, her tears wetting the fabric of his shirt.
"Me too."
— . . . —
Lying in bed together, Lyra promises to tell him everything.
"I'm sure you heard of the gang wars," Lyra says gravely, and Silver's heart nearly stops. "They were getting so bad that the police couldn't handle them by themselves."
After two months of being the Rocket Boss, Silver finds that lying is starting to come naturally. "Yeah, it was all over the news."
Lyra nods, pigtails bouncing with the movement. "Yeah… what really put it over the edge was when they started using firearms. That's when the League officially became involved. They ordered the Elite Four to track down where they were importing the weapons from and stop the flow, as well as to assist the police in shutting the gangs down."
He offers her a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but she is too absorbed in her thoughts to notice. "Well, you must have succeeded. From what I hear on the news, crime rates are dropping."
"That's what bothers me…"
Silver cocks an eyebrow sardonically (an expression he's learned from Archer), flicks her in the temple with his index finger mockingly. "What, that you actually did your job and stopped them? I'd usually tell you not to let it get to your head, but this is just disturbing. The great Champion... not gloating? Unbelievable."
Scowling, Lyra flicks him back, her nail against his chest. "It's just… Bruno and Koga followed the firearm imports to Orre and shut them down, but besides that, we didn't get much else done. We only shut down two gangs, and they weren't even the big ones."
"Maybe they got scared. If I know anything about gangs, it's that the members are usually weaklings on their own and stick together in an attempt to be strong. When they're threatened by something bigger than them, they usually run for the hills."
She frowns, considering. "Lance thinks there's someone organizing all of them… Almost like…"
Silver forces himself to laugh—it's rather convincing, actually. "What? Like Team Rocket? We took them out last time, remember? They're not coming back."
Beside him, Lyra stays silent for a few more moments, then sighs and forces a smile on her face. She buries her head into her pillow and turns to Silver. "I guess you're right. Lance can get pretty paranoid, sometimes."
"Of course I'm right," Silver replies with a smirk.
Lyra laughs, kisses him, and sighs. "I really missed you, Silver…" she whispers.
He kisses her back, grins. "I know you did."
Giggling, she runs a hand through his hair, a puzzled look on her face. "What's up with your hair? Don't you like wearing it down?"
"It's more adult this way. More… authoritative."
"Authoritative…?" Lyra snorts, twists a gel-hardened lock of hair between two fingers. "You've changed while I was away…"
He swallows down the guilt. "Well, it's been seven months. Haven't you?"
She gets a faraway look in her eyes before nodding. "I suppose we've both grown up a little."
Silver does not ask why. He imagines that she must have seen some of the gangs' handiwork while she was on their trail. The thought of Lyra, who used to apologize each time her chikorita would make his totodile cry out after being hit by a razor leaf or a vine whip, confronted with such crimes almost makes him sick. His arms wrap around her and he holds her close, after that, inhaling her scent and finding that it hasn't changed since those days they spent in the penthouse together before she had to go. Silver had been frightened that he would never see her again, had even admitted it to her, and she had just forced a smile on her face and reassured him that she would be fine, that as long as she had her friends with her, she would be okay. Now she's back, but things are infinitely more complicated.
"Silver," she says suddenly, her brown eyes lighting up. "Remember when I told you about camping out in the Ilex Forest? Well, let's do that! There's nothing stopping us now, is there? C'mon, let's go tonight! I really want to see the stars again!"
"I'd love to, but…"
But Silver is busy. He has to go meet with his father's old Silph Corporation contacts and inquire about the development of a new Master Ball, and give orders to his subordinates, and receive the reports of the newly stolen pokémon.
Lyra's face falls. "You're busy?"
Silver nods, forces a smile, placating and all teeth. "Yeah, I have an important job, now. But don't worry, Lyra, I'll make it up to you, okay?"
Her eyes search his, and he is almost certain that she can tell that he is lying to her. But then she smiles back at him, if only just a little sadly. "I'll hold you to that, then."
For the greater good, Silver reminds himself.
He presses a kiss to her forehead and tries to convince herself that it isn't the kiss of Judas that he's searing into her skin, that it isn't a sign that would spell out her death.
— . . . —
In the early evening the next Thursday, there's a knock on his office door.
"Enter." he calls without looking up from the latest reports from R&D.
It is Archer, looking rather ill-at-ease. Silver's eyes narrow, and he waves him to sit down. Despite his misgivings about the blue-haired man, Archer has proven to be one of Silver's most valuable assets. He is almost fanatical in his devotion to him, and Silver finds use for that. Nowadays he finds a use for everything, even the most deplorable of traits. Archer's loyalty is one of the vaguely positive things he's made use of recently, and in some way, Silver values that. He almost trusts Archer, except that he doesn't trust any of these bastards as far as he can throw them, so maybe that's saying a lot.
"Boss." Archer stands at attention, refusing to sit.
Silver sighs tiredly, runs a hand over his eyes. "What is it?"
"There have been reports that the League has begun to stumble upon evidence of our existence. Some of the experimental pokémon were confiscated after the Mt. Moon raid was stumbled upon by the police..."
"Your point?" Silver asks, patience wearing thin. "We knew that Neo Team Rocket's existence wouldn't stay secret forever. Or would you have preferred that we not work towards my father's goals, Archer?"
A maniacal glint lights in Archer's eyes. "Not at all, sir! I was merely alerting you to the possibility that the Elite Four may begin investigating our activities."
Silver's mouth goes dry, but he keeps the scowl on his face. "Noted. If that possibility becomes a reality, that I will deal with it decisively. You are dismissed."
When Archer is gone and the door is shut behind him, Silver brings a hand to his chest and feels the stitched-in insignia there—the crimson 'R.' Beneath it, his heart beats slow and steady, pushing the rough fabric against his palm. Wearily, he closes his eyes.
— . . . —
He meets Lyra for lunch at a high-end restaurant in Saffron City. He'd like to think that he doesn't have an ulterior motive for this, but he knows that he needs to know how much the League knows. He doesn't like mixing his private and business lives together, but it's almost impossible not to when he's romantically involved with the biggest threat to his organization and the relative peace and order he's been able to maintain over Kanto and Johto. He takes the slightest bit of solace in knowing that he really won't have to ask Lyra anything—if she's worried about something the League's told her, she'll confide in him about it as long as they haven't specifically told her not to—she trusts him that much.
"Fancy place," Lyra says quietly, eyes on the ornate chandelier that hangs directly overheard. they are seated at the best table in the house, the one at the very center of the ballroom-like restaurant.
Silver smiles at her as he cuts a piece of his filet mignon. "Yep. Only one of the many perks of my new job."
She grins—it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Silph Corporation…"
"Indeed."
Lyra looks uncomfortable, and Silver thinks that this may be easier than he thought. Feigning a concerned look, he reaches for her hand across the table and grabs it. "You look like you're worried about something. Do you want to talk about it?"
She laughs weakly. "Since when do you ever ask me if I want to talk about something that's bothering me?"
"What do you mean? Can't I ask my girlfriend if she's doing okay?"
"Whenever something's on my mind, I'm the one who brings it up. You usually have the whole listener thing down perfectly, if and when I ask you to…"
Silver hides the annoyed look that flits across his face by taking a sip of champagne. "I'm just worried about you, Lyra."
"And I'm worried about you, Silver." she says, and her voice wavers when she says it.
He snorts. "Why would you be worried about me for? I can handle myself. I'm perfectly fine."
A moment passes as Lyra stares down at her own steak, untouched and going cold. Then, she looks up and stares into his eyes determinedly. "No, you're not." at Silver's raised eyebrow, she sighs. "Silver… you don't have to do this to impress me. I know that maybe I'm the one that started it, what with the whole penthouse and everything, but all I wanted was for you to be comfortable while I was away."
"What do you mean?" Silver asks, defensiveness creeping into his voice.
"I mean… just look at yourself! This isn't you, Silver! This isn't us! These five-star restaurants and fancy jobs at Silph and penthouse suites! We belong out in the world, traveling, being free with our pokémon… you don't have to do this."
He hears the edge of desperation that's in Lyra's voice when she says this, but all Silver knows is that people are starting to stare and this isn't what he wanted at all. None of this. Anger floods his system, makes his eyes narrow on her like pinpoints.
"Did you expect me just to stay in that apartment like a good little housewife while you were off saving the world?" Silver laughs, a bit too cruelly. "I'm not that pathetic, Lyra. And I don't have to do this? Look at yourself. Pokémon League Champion, crime-fighting career woman extraordinaire!"
Lyra's face goes red, finally noticing that people are staring. "What do you mean? That's my responsibility! When the League asks me to go out on a mission I'm obligated to –,"
"Oh, please!" Silver is yelling, now. "Do you think five trainers can do anything by themselves? I always knew you were naïve, but I thought you weren't an idiot, Lyra. Taking on that mission should never have been your responsibility."
"Then whose responsibility should it be, then?" she demands. "The people who lived in those neighborhoods and were terrorized by the gangs? The police, who couldn't handle how widespread the crime was? Or was it the victims, who were too weak to stand up for themselves? Is that it, Silver? Are you back to thinking that people who aren't strong enough to defend themselves deserve to get whatever a bully with enough power is willing to do to them?"
Before Silver can shout his retort, a waiter is at their table, a rather frightened look on his face. "Is there a problem here, sir?"
"Back off," Silver growls, not breaking his angry stare at Lyra.
"Silver, we're being—" Lyra begins.
"Shut up." Silver hisses hotly.
The waiter clears his throat. "Sir, you're disturbing the other patrons. I believe it is time for you to—,"
Silver is up on his feet in an instant, and in the next, the waiter is on the floor from a punch to the face. The people surrounding them gasp, and Silver grabs Feraligatr's poké ball from his belt, cocks his arm threateningly. "I told you to leave us the fuck alone!" he snarls.
But then there is a hand grabbing his arm and pulling him away, and he rears back to punch his assailant down—
Only to find Lyra there, flinching back from his fist, eyes wide. They stand there, stuck still, Silver's fist inches from Lyra's face, her hands on his arm, the patrons of the restaurant watching them in shock. Then Silver wrenches his arm out of her grasp and makes his way out of the restaurant, past the startled staff. He is running by the time he's on the street, horrified at what he's done, but then Lyra is running after him. She grabs at him again, won't let go no matter how hard he tries to tear himself away.
"Silver," she chokes out, and he knows without looking that she is crying. "Silver…"
He says nothing, just lets her hold his arm and repeat his name through her sobs. Silver stares at the pavement, thinking about how far they've fallen from that day in the Dragon's Den, when they were on top of the world. When Silver was sure that he'd overcome his father's legacy, sure that he was worthy of someone like Lyra.
"You're in danger," Lyra almost sobs. "I'm not supposed to tell you this… but Team Rocket… they're back… they have ties to S-Silph! Silver… y-you're Giovanni's son. They'll come after you!"
"I know," Silver says quietly, almost too softly for her to hear.
A pause. "Y-you know…?" Lyra says incredulously, not understanding. But then her grip slackens and his arm falls out of her grasp. Silver thinks that this is it—the moment of betrayal, the moment he loses everything and they become enemies, but Lyra won't let him go. She grabs his hand before he completely pulls away from her. This chasm, extending between them, she just won't accept it, Silver thinks.
"Silver!" she cries, and he can hear the desperation now, because that's all there is. It's wild, heedless of what they are, what they've always been, what they've become. "Please! Y-you have to… just, come away with me! Right now! Let's run away together, anywhere! Just away from here! It's what we always wanted… just the two of us and our pokémon, together. There's still time… come on!"
In that moment, Silver is faced with the greatest decision of his life, greater than the day he decided to leave the safety of his father's abandoned gym and set out on his own journey, greater even than deciding to kiss Lyra that day, or to follow in his father's footsteps. He allows himself to entertain the thought of choosing what he wants. Waking up with Lyra every day, without any responsibilities except to each other and their pokémon.
Still, Silver knows what he has to choose. For there must always be a Team Rocket, and there must always be a Rocket Boss at its head, strong enough to keep the chaos in check. She doesn't understand, but Silver does. If it weren't for his leadership, she would still be out there, fighting the gangs futilely. A single trainer can't make a difference, not from the outside.
He pulls his hand away from her, and she chokes back a sob. They stay like that for a few minutes that stretch on for eternities, and then she clears her throat. He can feel her straightening behind him, allowing her emotions to fall back and her unflappable sense of duty and morality to rise up within her and take control, just like they always do.
"You've changed, Silver." she says, her voice hard. "You threatened a defenseless man with your pokémon… hit him… what's become of you? Are you what you've been fighting against all these years?"
Silver laughs wildly, because it's so fucking funny. Lyra stays silent, waits for him to finish, and then Silver turns to face her since the last time in the restaurant. His lips twist into a cruel smirk, allowing himself to play the role he inherited from his father. On a busy Saffron street, they stop being themselves and play the parts they've been cast in. Silver lets himself fall into it. It's so easy.
"That weakling? Idiots like that don't deserve to live if they don't respect their betters."
Lyra swallows hard, and he can see something within her eyes waver, start to spill over. "Silver, please. You're killing me. I can't… I can't do this. Just stop."
She's begging, he realizes.
It doesn't change anything.
He'll be strong enough for the both of them, then.
"Goodbye, Lyra." he says.
Silver closes his eyes and turns away from her, just like she did that day on the beach months ago, walking into the mass of people until he is lost within them, lost to her.
— . . . —
Destiny works in repetitions.
This is how it ends (and begins anew):
The door to his private office clicks open. He sits behind his desk, fingers steepled. This means that Archer, Proton and Petrel have failed, though he supposes that he should have expected this, seeing as how they couldn't stop her the first time. She has come alone—he has made sure of this by watching the security cameras. There has been no sign of the Elite Four, the police, or any League officials. He really shouldn't be surprised, but he can't help but be the slightest bit impressed at how she walks into the room without any sign to suggest that she has just waged war against an army of grunts.
"So. I'd say that I was impressed to see you here, but it's child's play for you, isn't it Madame Champion?"
She does not flinch at the formality of his tone, steely brown eyes locked on him. "I think we both know why I'm here."
The Rocket Boss chuckles darkly, runs a hand through his crimson hair. "Yes, I suppose I do. But if you have any foresight whatsoever, I suggest that you reconsider."
"If you can give me one good reason why I should let a criminal like you walk free, then maybe I'll consider it."
He smirks at her. "Consider this: the last time you defeated Team Rocket, it broke off into small gangs that fought for dominance over petty things like neighborhoods and empty fields; anything, as long as it could be considered territory. Think of it… all those criminals set loose, making deals with smugglers from Orre, importing firearms and getting civilians caught in the crossfire."
"What's your point?" she snaps impatiently.
Ah, so she still does not see.
"My point, Madame Champion, is that without leadership, the same situation will arise. Without Neo Team Rocket to keep the gangs from forming, then I'm afraid that you'll find yourself on the same kind of mission again."
She scoffs in disgust. "So you're proposing that I let you be this 'leader' so that the gangs won't spring up again?"
"Precisely." he says.
The Champion shakes her head. "No."
"I knew you'd say that. You always were stubborn."
She grabs a poké ball from her bag. "Let's settle this, then."
He sighs, pushes himself out of his (father's) leather chair, gripping the armrests tightly. "You'd still be fighting them if I hadn't intervened!" Silver shouts, breaking character. "I saw an opportunity to end the chaos and I took it, Lyra!"
The use of her name shakes her, and she falls out of character herself. "And became exactly what you hated!" Lyra calls back, hand tightening around her poké ball until her knuckles go white. "You used to fight Team Rocket, Silver! Now you've become their leader!"
"I was given a choice, and I chose the lesser of two evils."
"How is this the lesser of two evils?" Lyra demands. "You're experimenting on pokémon, stealing them from their trainers, and letting murderers and sociopaths do it all for you! I've seen Silph, Silver! I saw the labs, those horrific experiments you sanctioned…"
"Their suffering was necessary," Silver argues, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. "We were working on ways to make them stronger, for their benefit."
"Do you even believe that yourself?"
Silver shakes his head. "This has all been for the greater good, Lyra. I'm sorry. If not me, then who?"
Lyra pauses, considers, lets her arm fall limply to her side. For a moment, Silver lets himself believe that maybe she will come around to his way of thinking. In a way, she is faced with the same decisions he has—she can either choose the greater good (and him), or the chaos that comes without. But Silver knows the way her mind works, knows that she cannot tolerate the existence of Team Rocket in any of its incarnations. She would rather waste her life fighting a futile battle opposing the world's evils than condone them in any form.
In the end, her vaunted sense of morality will win, just like it always does.
Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears as she meets his eyes, raises her arm holding the poké ball. "I can't let you do this, Silver."
Silver laughs wearily, without any real mirth, rubs a tired hand over his heavy-lidded eyes. "Team Rocket will always exist, Lyra. Stop me and someone else will just take over for me."
"Then I'll stop them, too." Lyra says evenly. "Silver, please…"
He closes his eyes (he's so, so tired, he isn't strong enough, after all), slips back into the role…
"Then prepare yourself for a world of pain!"
It is only then, in that moment when the blinding flashes of light from their poké balls obscure Champion and Rocket Boss from one another, that Silver wonders if this is how his father had felt…
If it is, then he thinks he finally understands.
— . . . —
(The thing about monsters, Silver learns, is that it's not what they can do to you that makes them fearsome creatures; it's that, after all they've made you suffer through, you can turn out just like them.)
A/N: I stayed up all night writing this, so I'm a bit delirious and hope this came out okay... I think this may have been (overly) dramatic in some parts, but that's the feel I was working towards, I suppose.
Thanks go out to the readers. Thank you for taking the time to read this piece. Reviews and feedback are always appreciated!
I hope you enjoyed reading this!
EDIT: Write sleep-deprived, edit well-rested.