As per request, I've decided to do a follow-up to 'On the Edge'. Enjoy!

Yet another little trainer here to have their dreams crushed. Lance folds his arms with a sigh and sardonic smile. Mundane, regular, repetitive. He sends the kid packing and is about to turn back into his own chambers when Karen enters, stroking her Umbreon's fur (as always).

"Don't tell me Will's engaged a latecomer," Lance growls, keeping his back to her.

"Fear not." He can imagine her smiling in her silky-smooth manner, not the least bit fooled by her demeanor. The gentle upturn of lips and purring voice hide a mind of manipulations and the macabre, and a heart as dark as her Umbreon's pelt. "That's all for the day."

He reminds himself to maintain a facade of calm control. "So?" She will never come to him without good reason - that is, without a reason that brings in good material for her consideration and gossip.

"That boy - "

"His name is Silver."

"That you're keeping in your quarters..." she trails off suggestively.

"Is none of your concern." He grits his teeth as he is acutely reminded of the sharp stabbing feeling he tends to get around his wonderful colleague.

"I've never seen you take such an interest in any young trainer like that, not even that funny androgynous little blonde." She pauses, appearing to ponder to herself for a moment, before adding, "Unless - well, honestly, Lance, I thought you had better - "

"It's not what you think - or would like to imply," he tells her, irritation increasing by the second, and not even bothering to hide the ire in his words.

Fortunately, she still has regard for her own neck, and ends the exchange with an amused, "Very well then. I'll leave the two of you in peace, then."

He releases a hiss of frustration the moment she's closed the door behind her. In truth, it's neither her presence nor her opinion that needles him - he has never given a fig about what that slimy bitch thought, and he does not worry about tales being whispered about him behind his back - rather, it's that infuriating boy that frustrates him. He's seen plenty of introverted people, plenty of damaged, defensive wrecks, plenty of weary, limp wretches, but Silver is in a league of his own. He's not said more than ten words since his arrival, despite Lance's endless questioning, and simply give him a look of exhaustion and hollowness - the look of someone who has given up. Lance would be more at ease if he snapped at him, railed at him for saving his life, or broke down in shock, weeping. But no; all he has managed to do is squeeze the occasionally "yes" or "no" or a nod, with a weak whispered "thank you" that both of them know means nothing to each other.

That sort of nihilistic defeatist would usually only spark Lance's disgust. He'd not look twice at a pathetic creature such as that. But this one -

He hates the way the little redhead has some sort of - 'hold', if it must be called thus - over him. He despises both himself and the boy (mostly himself - he should know better, he is the responsible adult, after all, and for crying out loud, he's a typically manipulative extremist willing to resort to murder), yet there's nothing he can do. He can't turn the boy out, knowing full well what he might try next; but on the other hand he has no idea how to handle him. It's plain to anyone with a pair of eyes that Silver's ever so deeply in love with Gold, and Gold is as blind as a bat. And he - the magnificent champion Lance - is quite, or rather far too much fond of this hopeless kid.

He heaves another sigh and leans against the doorframe of his quarters, watching the serene sleeping figure of Silver, who, for a brief second, appears to be no different from any other dreaming teenager.

It is a peculiar sensation.

He can't yet figure out whether it's a dream or not. He recalls the dreamy feeling, the strange sensation of blood actually flowing out of his slit arteries, lying on the cold bathroom tiles and waiting, waiting...but the darkness never came. Everything became fuzzier, his vision clouded, and he vaguely remembers being picked up by someone and cradled in their arms...Lance, it was Lance, of course. And then soaring in the air, to somewhere far, far away, before being set down...and then he finally slipped into unconsciousness, though he knows he tasted disappointment on his own tongue before blacking out.

Of course. There are fools, there are failures, and there's him. Someone who can't even end his own life.

He doesn't intend to end his life now. He doesn't intend on doing anything. All of him, not just his bandaged wrists, feel numb. His mind is blank. He curls his fingers, gripping the sheets, trying to summon up a sensation to his empty chest, but failing.

He closes his eyes, letting himself drift off. When he wakes, from the corner of his peripheral vision, he notes the lean champion watching him from the doorway. He turns his head on the pillow, curious, only to see Lance slink away silently.

"Please," he mutters, then stops. It's futile. Besides, he's not the one who can make demands here. Lance isn't obliged to do anything for him - for that matter, why has Lance saved him and brought him here? It's so - out of the blue. They're not even really friends, are they? Acquaintances, that's all. Even if Lance seems fairly interested, and perhaps even appreciative of him.

He begins to wonder about Gold, and of course Crystal, as well. Gold and Crystal. That's how he'll have to refer to them from now onwards. Gold and Crystal. He expects to feel a bitterness starting to well up in him, and a dull ache resurrecting, but, strangely, he can't feel anything.

Why? He's thought that he would never be able to get over it, that he would always feel torn into pieces, yet - nothing.

"What?"

He starts in surprise at the sound of Lance's voice. How is it possible that this fellow can hear his feeble mumble from yards away? Does his connection with his Pokemon also extend to the thoughts of people? He watches the redhead looming over him, but his features express no more than concern. "Are you alright?"

Silver nods.

Lance's eyes don't leave his face, and, in spite of always having disliked the gaze of others, Silver doesn't mind. Rather, he begins to take note of this new sensation creeping through him - not an unpleasant one, but unusual, intense, invasive. He waits.

Lance leans down, but hesitates midway, his spine rigid, before he straightens up and remarks with a damned calmness, "Good."

When he turns and strides out of the room, Silver's surprise suddenly hits him - not just because of how that situation just turned out, but also because of the queer disappointment resting on the tip of his tongue.

A/N: apologies if there are a few wrong details - I haven't revisited the Pokemon Adventure comics for a while :) I promise I'll try to update asap