Setting: Mafia!AU of sorts, characters are from the manga
Notes: I am already regretting this so, so much. For all of you who are not familiar with my posting schedules and terrible judgement: please don't expect regular updates, or you will be utterly disappointed.
Notes 2: I'm surprised nobody did this before, though. Fandom, you should seize such an opportunity!
Dedicated to: Lisa because she used to kiss me.
In Team Rocket there is a saying. It goes, "What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh."
Silver thinks this might be the only truthful thing the organization has ever taught him as he enters the outskirts of Viridian City after his third pokémon journey.
x
Two days later Giovanni dies in a shooting.
x
These are the facts: Giovanni is dead. Team Rocket needs a new boss. Silver is Giovanni's offspring, and as such, his future offers no other prospects than to follow his father's footsteps.
x
Silver breathes in sharply and watches the casket disappear in a wave of white lilies.
(What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh.)
He is only nineteen.
x
In line to stereotypes, Giovanni's office is on the grim side of elegant, complete with broad leather armchairs and perpetually shut window blinds to keep the room in a continuing state of Godfather-esque semi-darkness.
Silver settles down in his father's old seat and rests his hands on the smooth mahogany desk. The contrast between his white fingers and the dark wood makes the back of his eyes burn.
In his peripheral vision, one of the team's four executives begins to move. Silver looks up. Archer is standing at the other side of the table, pushing his lips into a wiry smile.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you in your time of grieving," he says with great pathos. There is a loose thread on the left sleeve of his uniform. Silver has to fight the compulsive urge to pull at it. "Now that the great Giovanni has passed — may his soul forever rest in peace — someone else must take his place."
"I know," Silver says. He is familiar with the rules. Survival of the Fittest, no time to worry about the past and all that.
"Indeed", says Archer, his smile stretching even wider. "Then I'm sure you also know that Team Rocket tradition expects the candidate for leading position to fulfill a mission on their own as initiation?"
Silver squares his shoulders, which has to look ridiculous in the massive frame of his father's chair. "I know," he says again.
x
In Viridian's pulsing hipster heart, The Hatcher nestles in between coffee shops and narrow apartment buildings, fashionably outdated and probably a little pretentious like the city itself. Gold remembers discovering the place a few years back and instantly falling in love with its ridiculously cliché Kanto pub atmosphere, all brick walls and distorting sepia windows. Originally, he'd only been passing through with the plan to challenge the local gym leader and chase one or two skirts before moving on, but ended up staying as the apprentice of the former bar owner (who died recently in questionable circumstances involving green hair dye and slowpoke tails, rendering Gold the new proprietor of the establishment).
Gold has just begun wiping the counter when some barely legal redhead steps inside, intense-eyed and edgy-looking to the point of being fascinating to Gold.
"Yo," he says by way of greeting, putting on his best salesman smile. "Wanna be my new barmaid? My old one ran out on me last week and you've got just the right—"
"Are you serious?" The redhead looks at him as though he can't believe this is happening to him. Gold can relate.
"Only if you want me to be, Little Red," he says after a second of silent wonder and blows the boy a kiss, for good measure.
Short, Dark and Redheaded scowls, and it's all Gold can do not to break into a manic grin.
"You're the one they were talking about? Who purportedly is spoiling all our trades?"
It takes Gold a moment to process the questions' implications, and then the redhead's identity unfolds before him like a fast-forwarded jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces snapping into place.
"So you're from Team Rocket, huh?" Peering more closely at the guy, broody and wrought-up, he can't help questioning the organization's recruiting program a little. "And what's that supposed to mean, 'purportedly'? Of course I'm spoiling all your trades. In international pokémon organ trafficking ranks, you're maybe in 20th place. It's not exactly your strong point."
At that the redhead makes a bitchy face and says tartly, "There is no such thing as, 'international pokémon organ trafficking ranks.'"
"So I made that up," Gold says, shrugging ornately. "Your goods are still nothing short of pure golden crap."
Then, to Gold's surprise, the boy scoffs, "We're the mafia. What do you want us to do, give a money-back guarantee in case someone's not satisfied?"
Well, how about that, Gold thinks distractedly. "Why don't you just let me take over that branch while you focus on something you're actually good at? Like losing your leading figures?"
The Rocket's face almost reflexively twists into something sharp, all bickering instantly forgotten. "You just love to hear yourself talk, don't you?" he snarls. "Well, have I got some news for you. Not everyone is a fan of your oh so clever jokes, Gold."
Gold understands it's supposed to come to him as a shock that he knows his name, but if they've found out he's stealing their customers, it seems rather consequential.
"At least I have more manners than you," he sniffs dramatically. "Knowing the other's name without introducing yourself is the apex of impoliteness, you know. Didn't your mother teach you better than that?"
"My mother is dead."
Gold blinks. The boy looks like he's nearly as perplexed that he's telling Gold this as Gold himself.
"That's rough," Gold agrees. "Won't make me withdraw from trade, though."
"You think you can really meddle with Team Rocket's business just like that?"
"Honestly?" Gold is enjoying this way more than he should. "Yeah, I do."
"I'll put an end to this," the redhead declares, anger flashing into sullen confidence.
"Oh?" Gold shakes his head in amusement because because this is about as absurd as it gets. (Also, that kid wants to stop him? Ridiculous.) "What are you gonna do, glare me to death?"
"Fuck you," the boy spits and pulls out a poké ball.
"A pokémon battle? Seriously?" Gold sighs. "You're kind of bad at this, aren't you?"
The redhead pauses, suddenly unsure, like this isn't something he's never thought himself. "What do you mean?"
"This isn't a game. We are both actual criminals. Well, at least I am. So yeah, I'm not going to strike out at you with a pokémon. I have guns for that." The redhead looks thoroughly unimpressed. Gold groans. "No, you don't understand. By 'guns' I don't mean, like, revolvers. I'm not stupid. I'm talking rocket launchers here. Bazookas. You and your team would be down in an instant. Dead. Finito."
The boy grimaces, lowering the hand with the poké ball in it.
Gold smiles and almost feels a little bad for him. Almost. "Arceus, who was in charge of your training? Are you even a real Rocket?"
The redhead looks like he's ready to hiss at him any moment now, like a cornered skitty or something. It's actually kind of cute. You know, in a deranged, ludicrous sort of way.
"So," Gold says, propping his elbows on the bar counter. "What's your name?"
The boy goes still, like a spring about to uncoil. "I'm not telling you."
"Too bad then," Gold says good-naturedly. "Is that all? Do you want a drink maybe, before you run home to daddy? Or is he dead, too?"
The kid's nose scrunches up in disgust or newly rekindled rage; Gold isn't sure.
"Yes."
Awkward.
"Oh, um, sorry for your loss?" Gold tries half-heartedly.
The boy turns toward the door. "Someone has to be," he says, and then he's gone.
Talk about dramatic exits.
x
Silver takes a room in a hotel not too far from the bar, wannabe-posh and trying a bit too hard but with agreeable prices. He contemplated going to the nearest pokémon center but decided against it. He is no longer a pokémon trainer, after all.
He sits down on the bed and evaluates his situation. There are two possibilities: accept defeat and resign from his job, leaving Archer and his goons at the top of the organization, or go back to The Hatcher and get rid of Gold, who is not only more experienced than him but also annoying as all get-out, apparently.
Silver slumps head-first onto the mattress and closes his eyes.
(What is bred in the bone …)
He has already stacked up too much disappointment on his shoulders to fail again.
x
"I had a feeling you'd be back," Gold says happily as the redhead comes through the door the next day, determined and inexplicably tired.
"I want to hire you," he says, without preamble, and Gold has to admit he is somewhat taken aback by this turn of events.
"Excuse me?"
"I weighed my options," the redhead answers matter-of-factly. "Confronting you openly would end in a disaster for me — for obvious reasons. Killing you in your sleep appears more likely to be successful, though I highly doubt that you go to bed without protection, which leaves me at a point where I can only go back to the headquarters and report my failure or hire you so you are no longer in our way."
Yeah, Gold isn't buying it. He knew something was off when he saw the guy's staggering shortcomings in criminal knowledge yesterday, but this, this is a whole new world of stupidity. For example, why is he doing this alone? Anyone halfway sane would get help, along with one or two Kalashnikovs, and nuke the place. The kid doesn't look dumb enough not to think of that, so what's his deal?
"You're not very good at lying," Gold says, gleefully watching the boy's poise deflate on the spot.
"I'm not lying," the redhead says defensively. "I do want to hire you."
Gold raises an eyebrow. "You really give up that easily?"
The redhead's face turns bitter, and he says, "Believe me, I am doing everything but."
Okay, this conversation has officially stopped making any sense.
"You are full of shit," Gold says pointedly. (There is a joke in there, somewhere.) "And that is why I am now kicking you out. Come back when you've laid off the cryptic one-liners. So, get lost, scoot, shoo."
"Who are you talking to?"
Crystal has emerged from behind the bar and eyeballs the redhead beyond the counter.
"Uh, remember the Rocket I mentioned earlier? That's him."
A ghost of remembrance skirrs over her face. "Is he still trying to drive you out of business?"
Gold looks back at the boy, who is glowering at both of them. "Not exactly. He wants me to join the team."
Crystal snorts. "Good luck with that, kid," she says and disappears again, clearly deeming herself above such trivial matters.
"You do have a barmaid," the redhead accuses when she's gone.
Gold stares at him blankly before bursting into a fit of violent laughter. "Mew," he pants in between giggles. "You are killing me, Little Red."
"I wish," mutters Little Red darkly, which just makes Gold crack up harder until he's practically rolling on the floor. Once he's calmed down, he realizes that the boy has left. Just as well. He'll probably be back tomorrow with another fantastically idiotic plan, anyway.
x
Silver wakes up that night to faint scratching noises just from the other side of the door.
He grips the poké balls beneath his pillow, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He suspected something like this might happen, but he didn't expect it so soon.
He takes in a deep breath and slips out of bed. From the nightstand he grabs his backpack, shoves all of his poké balls inside except the one in his hand as well as a pair of jeans, and slings it over his shoulder. The scratching is getting louder. Hastily he fumbles the window open, and a gust of piercing cold hits his face. Suppressing a cough, he climbs onto the windowsill and releases his honchkrow.
"We need to get away from here," he whispers frantically. Across the room something cracks. "Now."
He hops onto the pokémon, glancing back to see Archer and a few grunts storming toward the open window as he takes off into the stinging air of the night.
x
At three in the morning, a banging sound rips Gold from his sleep. Bolting upright, he watches with bleary eyes something vaguely human-shaped knocking on his window. He briefly ponders the statistic likelihood of successfully ignoring … whatever is happening until it goes away, sighs and shuffles out of bed to open the window.
"Hide me," hisses the person beyond.
It's the redhead.
Gold stares.
"Hurry," the boy insists, eyes worryingly huge. His hair has been tousled by the wind, and his cheeks are a stark red from the cold outside. He's panting.
"What the fuck," Gold says.
"I promise I'll explain if you let me inside," the redhead says, rushed — almost panicking —, and wow, this is seriously weird.
"Okay," Gold says warily but guesses if this turns out to be some kind of trick, he can always shoot the kid. He doesn't wear XXL-boxers for nothing.
He closes the window and flops down on his bed, the springs groaning in slight protest. The boy stands in the middle of the room, still and tense, as though he's waiting for something huge and conclusive to strike, like some fucked-up, divine verdict, which, hello, drama much?
"So," Gold says. "I'm waiting."
"I need your help," the boy finally bites out, and Gold belatedly realizes that he's barefoot and dressed way too lightly.
He clears his throat. "Yeah, not that I'm surprised that you need help — no offense, though you didn't exactly impress me with your planning skills —, but a tad more information on this general situation would be smashing."
The redhead looks down. "You know that Giovanni — Team Rocket's boss — died, right?" Gold nods, wondering what this has to do with anything. "I'm his heir."
Gold chokes.
The boy clenches his fists.
The moment stretches.
"Heir?" Gold croaks eventually. "Like, uh, like his son?"
"No, like his cactus," the boy snaps.
Gold would have laughed at this abrupt and truly unversed attempt at snark, but he's seen the haunted look in the boy's eyes, and he's not that much of an asshole, not really.
"Watch your temper, Little Red, you're the one asking me for help," he warns because, frankly, he doesn't do soothing. They're both professional felons, and besides, he still isn't convinced the guy's story is genuine.
"My name is Silver," the boy retorts. "Not 'Little Red.'"
Now Gold does laugh. "Arceus, this is like something out of a bad movie. Or some kind of cosmic joke."
"I don't see how this is at all funny."
"Come on, me — the sassy, independent womanizer — and you — the angsty mafia prince, coming through my window in the middle of the night and begging me for help? Add the horribly cliché opposite trope of our names and tell me this is not a cheesy, borderline homoerotic adventure novel waiting to happen."
Silver gapes as though he can't decide what part of Gold's speech to be offended at most. "I did not beg," he barks at last. "And if you're not going to take this seriously, I'm leaving."
Fighting off another onslaught of laughter, Gold straightens himself and says, "Well, then. Get to the point already, so I can mock you some more and go back to bed."
"I would maul you just for that comment if I had anywhere else to turn to," Silver says, which is, all in all, a pretty dumb move because now that Gold is aware of how desperate he is, he could basically milk him for millions in return. Not that he's going to. Going for easy prey like that would be a disgrace to his reputation as a gentleman. Also, the kid is probably the most endearing brand of pathetic he's ever come across.