"His fist is big but my gun's bigger

He'll find out when I pull the trigger." -Carrie Underwood, Gunpowder and Lead

Bruises, Maxie had determined, were odd things, but familiar, tranquil in a brutal way, like spring pools under the skin, only in blood and not water. Or at least, that was what he had convinced himself of for a while. Now, sitting in the bathroom examining the pools of purple and red beneath his bare thighs and crawling up his bare arms, he found himself holding a negative opinion; what cruel little marks! What sadistic miniscule monsters! How-what-who had done this to him?

He was trembling badly now, having convinced himself that he was going into some sort of shock. The shower water pounded a happy albeit monotonous note; steam escaped in curls from the curtain and picked at the window and mirror. None of it benefited Maxie. He was crying on the toilet seat, wishing it were blood that ran from his eyes in rage. He had thought that he could handle this. He couldn't. He was wrong.

Trapped was the word that flitted through his mind. It made him nauseous to think the truth-he had gotten himself into this mess, but could not claw his way back out. Anger flowed thickly though his blood, a private kind of resistance. He hated him. Hated.

So why was he still here?

At this he broke down again, burying his face in his hands, hiding from the bleakness of bright reality in the comfort of darkness.

Every statistic Maxie had ever read pointed to a consensus-children raised in abusive households were very likely to land themselves in abusive relationships down the road. The fact that he had become a statistic silenced and shamed him; therefore, no one knew that his long-standing partner raised even one heavy finger to him, although many had inklings.

Archie was a big man, a strong man, a sailor. He smiled and laughed and loved a lot; he was steady and confident. Perhaps it was Archie's domineering nature that first drew Maxie to the man, a welcome reprieve from the leadership role he held as the head of Team Magma. Was it wrong for a leader like him to yearn for submission? Was it an inherent product of this troubled childhood, that which he'd worked so hard to keep buried? Maxie wasn't sure; all he knew was that he was drawn to Archie like a compass's red arrow drug towards north, and Archie to him in much the same way. It didn't matter much at first the roughness with which Archie displayed his affection; it was almost endearing. It was as if Archie had rough skin-much like his Sharpedo.

But then Archie had given him a ring. Now he wore it almost as a chain.

The torrent of hot shower water brought him back. Maxie inhaled sharply and dropped his hands. His eyes flickered momentarily to the window, the golden rays of sunlight filtering through. What a beautiful day.

He had to go to work. He had to take a shower. Slowly and deliberately, he stood up. The white bathroom tile was cold. Why was it so cold, when everything else was warm? Why was he so uncomfortably warm? Sweat pricked his skin, and when he scraped back the red shower curtain and stepped underneath the downpour, an odd dizziness swept through his being.

He kept it hot. For more than an eternity he stood there, pressing his right arm to the the marble wall and resting his forehead on that.

It was funny to think of how gentle Archie had been at first. That was months ago, perhaps even a year. The cautious way Archie had taken charge back then was indicative of a boy playing with a toy soldier that he was afraid to break. It was "Can I do" this and "Can I do" that, as if he needed his permission; a pilot talking to ground control. How far? How much? Is this okay?

It was okay, Maxie had assured him, over and over, until his fingers began to dig roughly into his skin, and his kisses began to move with more fervency, and he stopped calling to ground control, assuming everything was a go, everything was alright. Maxie didn't speak up, even when he was alarmed by Archie's forwardness, because then he had thought it was nice. This was Archie's nature-to be forward. To be honest. To be blunt and bold...and brutal.

Maxie remembered his mother as sort of a drifting, wispy notion in the thick of memory and life. She was a small woman, slight, quiet-a perfectly submissive counterpart to his father, who reminded him of Archie. He remembered the excuses she made for her bruises, and for his-"Oh, he fell, such a clumsy child," and "This? Oh, I ought to pay more attention to tables and doors!" Maxie had never come into work with bruises he couldn't hide with his usual attire, excepting a few rare cases of purple peeking from his wrist. Today, though, he had a forming black eye and a busted cheek. Anger steamed inside him, but a humiliating fear kept him quiet, which in turn made him depressed, through into a sadness that set him on the edge of tears.

There was a general hushed silence that befell the grunts he passed as he walked into the entrance of the secret base. A shock, albeit a quiet one, registered in their faces, perhaps from the stark vulnerability that Maxie was sure shown on his. The shocked stares set a trembling into his fingers, one that shook the plastic cup he picked up from the break room and filled up with water.

Tabitha was generally very observant, always asking if his boss was okay, seeming to pick up on minor nuances in his behavior. Sensitive. Soft. The exact opposite of Archie.

The thought of him made Maxie flinch, like a startled animal. He gritted his teeth, ashamed. Tabitha, the chubby, clean man, picked up on this and turned around.

"Boss?" he said. "Is everything alright?"

Maxie turned his face away, although it were not as if Tabitha could see it anyway, facing the cabinets. He didn't answer, lifting the cup to take a sip of water-

A hand on his shoulder made him start with a panic so thorough that his hand slipped and water ejected from the sides of the cup. He whipped around.

Tabitha gasped. "Maxie! What-what happened to you?!"

Maxie's wide eyes searched his. He wished to feel a shoot of anger, irritation, anything, but his heart was still racing, pumping with misplaced, wretched fear. After a few moments, and before he could say anything stupid, a hopelessness filled him, silencing his pounding fear.

"Don't," Maxie said. That was all. He swept past Tabitha and out of the door.

He and Tabitha had talked over this before. Tabitha had always been wary of Archie, it seemed. Mostly it succeeded in annoying him. Today, though, he earnestly yearned for another one of those conversations.

"You've got to do something," Tabitha had said. "You know. If that...is happening. Escape. It's the only way, boss, if you want to stay alive."

That was two weeks ago, and Maxie had snapped at him to shut up on a day that he had a bit more vitality than he did now.

"I have to do something." he now muttered to himself, his head miserably in his hands. He drew up and sighed, taking a moment to look around his office. He had to do something.

What? It wasn't as if he could leave. He had an organization to run. And if he broke up with Archie-no, it just wouldn't do. The very thought many him shake.

His eyes flitted to three pokeballs sitting plainly on his desk. Mightyena. Crobat. Camerupt. Had he left them here overnight? That wasn't a smart idea. Then again, nothing was a smart idea today.

Suddenly, a realization occurred to him. He picked up Camerupt's pokeball with not small degree of surprise from the thought that flew though his mind. Was it possible? Of course it was. Was it the only way? Maxie was afraid it was.

Tears pricked into his eyes; Maxie began to hyperventilate. When he was alone, he could act however he wanted to.

"Archie," he whispered, a hoarse, sick sound, gripping the pokeball harder.

He could see the man grinning at him, a wide, happy smile, leaning casually against the wall of the Lilycove Art Museum. "You wanted to meet me here, aye?" Archie had said, eyes flickering under the overcast sky with a light of their own. "So this is where we'd go if you picked the dates? Come here, you nerd."

As his arms wrapped around him, hesitantly, his fingers dug into his spine. Is this okay? the thought silently passed. Can I do this? Strong, tan arms. Maxie was going to have a panic attack. He couldn't, he thought. No no no no no.

And then yesterday.

"Why didn't you answer my phone call, huh?!" those strong arms terrified him now, pinning him to the wall of the kitchen. Rage sent sparks through his blue eyes. "I know you saw it. What the hell, Maxie?!"

"Archie-" Maxie had choked. How pathetic was he now? "Please, I don't..."

WHAM! His fist had come faster than anything he had ever seen. Maxie gasped and cried out in pain. He saw stars out of one eyes, nothing out of the other. His eye...

Archie clutched his arms tightly. "What the hell, Maxie?!" he repeated, enraged, shaking him. "Is that it, then?! Are you going to answer me?"

Maxie had locked his jaw shut, then. Anger flowed through his blood, red and hot. He hadn't said another word.

He knew what he had to do. The essential part was getting home before Archie. This wasn't a hard thing to do; Archie generally drank with his admins after work until six in the afternoon.

For the remainder of the day Maxie didn't say much at all. Tabitha seemed concerned, but never asked again what was wrong. Maybe it was the set of his jaw. He met Courtney's eyes a couple of times, but she seemed less surprised and more mechanical than anyone.

The sun dipped below the horizon, lighting encroaching storm clouds red, at 5:30. This was when Maxie found himself home. The house was silent and dark, all except a clock on the wall, lit by a tremendous glare and ticking louder than life.

For fifteen minutes he stood in the hallway watching the door. At 5:45 he sent out Camerupt wordlessly.

Fifteen more minutes passed. At 6:00 Maxie's heart began to pound. His fists bundled together.

The clock was a demon. It ticked the tune of a relentless bomb timer. Your time is almost up, Maxie thought. He anticipated the familiar rattle of the door handle. He found himself in an existential crisis. Who was he. What was going on here? For a few minutes he was disoriented, but it all came back when he heard Archie at the door.

"Camerupt," he croaked. The door cracked open. Archie peered in.

The man was in blue, as usual. His beard was slightly unkempt, but his eyes were light and micheivous, and a cocky smile graced his lips. "Aye...um, Maxie? Can I come in?"

Maxie shook his head. "No, Archie."

"Come on, now," his tone had turned dangerous. "Really? If its a battle you want, maybe I'd remind you of that serious type disadvantage. What exactly are you doing?"

Maxie slowly shook his head. "Camerupt," he said deliberately, "Lava Plume."

The entire door was blown up into chunks. So was something else.

What Maxie hadn't anticipated was the loud POW! that shook the house when Camerupt had commanded lava to blow the door from its hinges. For a while he calmly watched flames flicker over the bits of wood and flesh. Somehow, he felt so much better. He felt like himself. He hadn't felt this way in almost a year.

But then there was that little detail that he had just killed someone. It left him despondent.

Apparently someone had called the police, because ten minutes later they arrived, shouting angrily at him from his front lawn. Maxie petted Camerupt while they cursed and called him crazy. They had to go around the back, because no one wanted to step on the burning body-or what was left of it-at the front.

Eventually someone grabbed his arms and yanked on handcuffs. "You have the right to remain silent," he barked. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..."

Maxie didn't open his mouth after that. Mug-shots were taken back at Lilycove's police station. Maxie was compliant in putting on the orange penitentiary uniform. His one phone call was to Tabitha.

"Hello?" a concerned voice picked through the line immediately.

"You were right," Maxie said.

"What?" Tabitha asked. "Ma-Maxie? What's going on?"

"Watch the news," Maxie replied. With that, he hung up.

Other than those six words, Maxie didn't say anything, until his visit with Tabitha the next day. Throughout his stay in the jail, he spoke to no one but his admin.

Tabitha was hysterical. He had a law degree. "You need a lawyer," he insisted. "Let me be your attorney." He could get out of a life in prison, he swore. "Just look at those bruises on your face! Self defense. Maxie, you can't spend the rest of your life behind bars."

When he asked, "Can I?" Maxie stiffened and gritted his teeth, but nodded his consent.

And so Tabitha became his voice. He enjoyed not having to talk about the whole incident. Not a word escaped his mouth during the interrogation.

It went to trial. After a long stay in jail, that was. Maxie had actually begun to enjoy the stay-the way the guards kept such close watch on him, since the Lilycove authorities hadn't had a crime of this magnitude in ages, it being a sleepy sea village. He hadn't spoken to anyone in six months besides Tabitha and Courtney when trial came.

The main argument for their side was a self-defense claim, double or nothing, life or freedom.

Nobody in the court room had any specific knowledge on the crime, and the prosecution only one very iffy eye-witness, and a police man to testify on their side.

The eye-witness went on the stand first. She was an old lady that lived across the street for as long as Maxie remembered. Poofy silver hair. Eccentric. She wore a big pair of rounded glasses. Apparently, she had called police on that fateful night.

"So, you were acquainted with Archie and Maxie?"

"Well, yes, I knew Archie, such a hard working sailor, he helped me with my groceries sometimes."

Crazy bitch, Maxie couldn't help but think. He shifted silently, chains rattling. Of course. everyone knew Archie. Liked him, too.

"From my understanding, you called the police?"

"Yes, indeed I did."

"What did you see?"

She discoursed on what she saw, ending with, "He was standing at the door. Archie was."

Tabitha, admittedly, fought back quite viciously with the cross-examination, attacking her poor vision even with glasses on. He had almost convinced Maxie himself that it had not happened the way the old woman had described.

The trial wore into the next day. The prosecution brought up an expert witness to analyze the damage to the door; something about Lava Plume's power and range. Maxie mostly did not listen; trial was agony for him; he wished nothing more than to be away from the oppressively bright courtroom and back in his cell.

The defense had three witnesses-A doctor, who had examined Maxie before entering jail ("Bruises all over him, a very obvious case of domestic abuse"), Courtney ("Yes the defendant had bruises on him the day of the murder...No, I do not believe Archie was the nicest person") and, of course, the defendant himself.

"Maxie," Tabitha had asked the handcuffed boss of Team Magma, "Did Archie abuse you?"

"Don't make me answer that," Maxie whispered, voice cracking, heart pounding, eyes pleading.

"Maxie," Tabitha murmured, eyes becoming soft, "Please."

A thick pause occurred in the courtroom. The judge stared him down, unamused. Maxie became acutely aware of how many of his underlings were there, as well as Archie's. Aqua and Magma grunts filled each side of the courtroom, filling it to the brim with red and blue. The jury rustled in a wave of confusion.

"Yes," he blurted, an extreme shame bubbling in that one word, dragging with it every once of dignity he thought he had. He hung his head. "He did."

"Did he put those bruises on you?"

"Yes," he muttered reluctantly, then louder, "Yes, he did."

"If you hadn't killed him, would he have killed you?"

His eyes lifted to Tabitha. "He would have. You know that."

After Tabitha, his warm familiarity, had stepped down, the prosecutor stepped up. Maxie had broken out into a cold sweat. He wanted to be back in jail, now. He needed back his power, but here it had all been replaced with a stark, shaky vulnerability.

"So those bruises...the ones on your face, in that picture...Archie put those on you?"

"Yes," he growled, eyes narrowing in distrust.

"When?"

"When?!" he was astounded.

"Because the doctor says they were a day old."

Maxie was quiet for a while. He shook his head, locked his jaw. "I don't remember."

"So...why?"

He huffed, again taken aback. "Why?"

"Why did he hit you? For what reason?"

The question made his heart reel with anger. "I don't know," he snapped. "Maybe you should ask him."

"Now, that woman told us exactly where Archie was standing. Where were you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Why don't," Maxie growled, "You stop asking me questions?"

"Why don't you tell use what really happened?"

His heart pumped; vaguely, he felt like vomiting. Safety. Security. Power. The three fought for control inside of him. That was all he wanted now.

There was only way back to all three.

"Fine," he said, slowly, after an excruciating pause. A weight lifted from his chest; a savage flame lit his eyes, a small smile formed on his lips. "I will."

They moved him to the penitentiary on an island off of the coast of Mossdeep; they didn't keep people like him at Lilycove.

It was better, Maxie thought, this way. Life in prison. Life had ended. Perfect, sweet monotony for the rest of eternity.

In the middle of the night, sometimes, Maxie could see him. It was with sort of a rage, albeit a pleasurable one, one that turned him hot and sweaty. A cocky smile. The tanned skin. "Come here, ya nerd."

It was around midnight that they always formed. Blood filling right under the skin in unseen circles. Traces of red, purple, arcs...perfect, invisible bruises.