It's taken more than one broken cell phone for Byron to learn that if he has to throw it out of frustration, he'd best throw it at soft furniture. His latest one bounces safely against the couch cushions as he paces back and forth across the living room, mulling over the argument he's just had with his son. He gives in and hastily packs a change of clothes into a duffel bag. He's going to Iron Island as planned, forget Roark if he's too busy.

Byron doesn't need to go all the way to the tiny island when he runs one of Sinnoh's most challenging gyms. Just that he considers the abandoned mine his own personal training ground, and the little cabin beside it his second home. He is partial owner of the Iron Island mine turned pokemon habitat, after all, and it's his duty to check in on it once and awhile. Some of the members of his gym accompany him from time to time to train against wild pokemon in the rough terrain; typically he comes alone, spends a few days in his cabin, taking a break from city life.

His pokemon workout routine is hard and good, tiring him out so he can no longer think about things. It's not dark yet, but he decides it's time to head back for the evening. He's glad to see his old cabin, but not so glad to discover someone waiting around for him.

"Can I help you?" he calls out none too kindly to the stranger who has interrupted his solitude.

The man had been gazing idly at the cabin, and he now turns and removes his hat, the same blue as his jacket. One side of the wide brim is in tatters, as though it's seen its share of adventure. "Byron," he says softly, by way of greeting.

The gym leader lowers his defenses. He knows this person on the spot; at the same time, he barely recognizes him. "Riley?" He hurries to him, staring incredulously.

Riley turns his hat over in his hands, fidgeting. "I'm back."

"You're back!" With a triumphant laugh, Byron pulls him into a rough embrace, thumping his shoulders. "Sorry, kinda sweaty," he apologizes when Riley gasps.

"No, that's quite alright." He's grinning wide, and tucking strands of unruly black hair behind his ears as the wind blows it every which way.

"You got tall!" Byron exclaims, realizing that his once-scrawny apprentice now stands an inch or two above him. He's filled out some as well.

"Ten years will do that to a person. You look good. Still training as hard as ever, I see. What is this?" He tugs at the edge of Byron's well-worn, tattered brown cape.

"Protects against dust that flies everywhere when you battle wild pokemon in a labyrinth of caves." The gym leader demonstrates by shielding his face with one side. Sure, it looks silly, but it's better than getting sand, chips of rock, or even metal shavings in your eyes. What's he supposed to do, wear goggles all the time? At least his cape can also double as a blanket for when he feels like taking a little break.

Riley chuckles. "Clever. May I challenge you?"

"You a match for me now?" Byron smirks. "We'll have to do it tomorrow. My guys and I are worn out." He unlocks the front door. "C'mon, come in."

"I stopped by your gym first, and was told you were here…" Riley's voice trails off as he steps inside, eyes sweeping around the cabin. "Wow… it hasn't changed a bit, has it?"

"Not really."

"I'm glad." Riley's gaze circles back around to Byron. There's something purposeful in his electric blue eyes; the way he holds in his breath means he's here for a specific reason, bearing some kind of news. Even Byron can tell this. Why else would he show up unannounced after so many years?

"I, uh," he breaks the silence. "Lemme take a quick shower, then we can catch up. Alright?"

"Alright." He smiles, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door, along with his hat. The plain black turtleneck he wears is ornamented by a large gold pendant shaped in some sort of glyph. It's an unusual manner of dress, though perfectly suited for the stylish Riley. "I'll wait and go on a nostalgia trip looking at the stuff you've kept here."

"Heh. Help yourself to drinks if you want."

Byron spends his shower remembering how, ten years ago, he, Roark, and Riley lived in the cabin for several months. It was right before he became the Canalave gym leader — and right after the iron mine shut down, costing him his livelihood. His only goals were to take up a new career and impress his eight-year-old son, who loved pokemon battles. He also ended up with a teenage protégé. Riley had left home and begged Byron to toughen him up after too many altercations with his father. Byron agreed because he'd butted heads plenty of times with the man, and was all too glad to give Riley a helping hand. So the three of them stayed together in the brand new cabin, practicing every day with the newly-abandoned mine as their training ground.

Then, at the end of the year, Riley declared he would set out on his own with his lucario, now that he was a legal adult. He wanted to see the world, and with his steel-type training, he was more confident in his defenses. He definitely developed the confidence to confess to Byron—

He shakes his head, splashing water on his face. It's obvious to look at Riley, in his expensive jacket and shoes, that he's succeeded in making something of himself. He probably doesn't remember the foolish things he said as a teenager.

When he returns to the living room, in well-worn but clean sweatpants and t-shirt, he finds Riley looking through a handful of old video games. "You keep these here?" he asks, amused.

"Yeah. Roark likes 'em. He played a bit last time…" When was the last time? Definitely before autumn got cold. Around Roark's birthday? Six months ago?

"How is he doing? Does he like being a gym leader?"

Byron grunts. "Not tryin' hard enough. Keeps losin' his matches, and he won't train his team 'cause of the mine."

Riley sets the games down. "Well, you said he got promoted to foreman right before he became the leader. That's a lot of responsibility all at once."

"Mm. He should delegate mine work so he can focus on the gym. I told him he needs to come back out here and train this weekend, but he said no. He's gonna lose his title at this rate."

"Cut him some slack." Riley chuckles. "It's only been a month, right? He'll work everything out. He's a good kid."

Byron grunts again. "You shoulda come back and applied for it."

"I don't want to settle down in Oreburgh, of all places." Riley wipes dust off the TV stand with a handkerchief. "And besides, you should have emailed me back after I turned down that invitation. You should have emailed me more, period."

"Yeah… not good at that." Byron heads to the kitchen, pulling two bottles of dark ale from the fridge. "You wanna drink?"

Riley pauses. "I'd better not. Last time I drank, things went a little overboard."

"Uh oh, that sounds like a story." He carries both bottles to the couch and plops down. Though exhausted from training and relaxed from the shower, he's eager to hear of Riley's exploits.

Riley brushes crumbs from the cushion and sits more properly beside him, not like someone who has lived here and should be more at ease. Is the cabin too messy for him? Too simple now for someone who has attained such worldliness? This is where Byron can hardly recognize his former apprentice, who carries himself with much more confidence and grace. For what reason has he come back, if he's so uncomfortable?

His intense eyes are on him again. "Byron… there's so much I have to tell you. I spent a long time waiting for the right moment to come back to Canalave, and this isn't how I imagined it at all. I didn't want our reunion to be marred by such unpleasantness."

He takes a long drink. This can't be good.

"You heard about Stark Mountain, right?" Riley continues.

"Mm. Terrible. Glad no one was hurt."

"I went there first, to investigate. Alhabor did the actual investigating for me. He found physical evidence of the Herrera Mining Company. And beyond that, he sensed a presence at the volcano from days before. Herrera himself was in Stark Mountain, and he did something to make it erupt. And I'm certain he made sure the media reported a cover story."

Byron ponders this for a moment. "Yeah, I wouldn't put it past him."

"I can't believe he would go himself for that kind of grunt work. He couldn't have been scouting the mountain with the intention of mining it, could he? He'd destroy the whole island — he might as well set up operations in the heart of Mt. Coronet itself! I wonder, since you worked for him for so long, if you have any idea what he might have been doing in there?"

"Nope." Byron takes another drink. "Surprised you're askin' me. I haven't had anything to do with him in years. You should talk to Roark, he's his boss now. And gym sponsor."

Riley looks startled. "The company sponsors his gym?"

"Mhm. I dunno what gave Roark more leverage, having a veteran for a dad or Herrera's offer to back the gym."

Uncharacteristically, Riley slumps back into the couch. His eyes fall on the unopened beer bottle. "That would have never happened if I applied, huh?"

"I figured that was the main reason you turned it down. The coal mine is the whole city."

"Yeah." Riley frowns pensively. "I should have gone to Roark first. I just…" He sighs. "I'm really losing focus. Getting involved in this is screwing everything up."

"Oh?"

Riley locks his fingers together, staring at his hands as he folds and unfolds them. "Khaled and I made a major discovery. We were going to come back to Sinnoh as heroes, and then I was going to see you. But something happened, and I had to go to Stark Mountain, and now he's involved…"

Byron isn't sure if Riley is being cryptic, or he's just not following. "Who's Khaled?"

"Haruba Jones, the globe-trotting archaeologist."

"Oh yeah? You work with him? You emailed once about treasure hunting."

Riley smiles, relaxing a little. "You remember that? I do. Or, I guess I did. We had a good three years adventuring around the country. Now he has an errand to run in Kalos before bringing our find to Sinnoh."

"How'd you ever meet a famous archaeologist?"

"I got him out of jail."

The succinct response makes Byron laugh. "Damn, Riley! You've been up to some shit over the years, huh? How 'bout the romance department? How many hearts did you break?"

"None, I'm afraid." Riley closes his eyes, looking a bit resigned. "I'm the one who got heartbroken, years ago."

"Uh oh."

Riley gives in and snags the bottle. He fails to open it with the bottom of his shirt, so Byron twists off the cap for him. Riley sips, and blinks. "It's strong."

"Imported. Thought you'd appreciate it."

"Ha, I do. I warn you, I'm kind of a lightweight."

Byron is still curious about the story of Riley's last drunken escapade that was hinted at, but his guest deftly shifts the topic around. "How about you?" Riley asks with a sly smile. "Surely you started dating since Roark moved to Oreburgh?"

"Uhh…" Byron doesn't appreciate this direction. "Naw. Thought about it, but… naw."

"And why not? Surely the respected gym leader who keeps his body in top shape could get anyone he wants."

"Jus'... never got the chance," Byron lamely answers.

"How long has your son been gone? Three years? It's high time you got back out there."

He grumbles, knocks back the remainder of his drink, and considers another. Byron is no lightweight, and if they're discussing this nonsense, he's going to need a lot more alcohol. "I'm not one for datin'," he yields, since Riley clearly wants an explanation. "Where'm I supposed to go, anyway?"

"I know for a fact that Canalave has multiple bars for every type."

Byron scowls. "That kinda thing's not for me. Why are we even talkin' about this? I'm gettin' another drink." He scuffles to the kitchen.

Riley looks guiltily amused when he returns. "I'm sorry. I just hate to think of you being alone all this time."

"Mmn. Just how it is. Got my pokemon and my gym and my son, s'all I need." A son that he sees less and less as time goes on. He pushes that afterthought away.

A moment passes while Riley finishes his ale. His cheeks are already red; he wasn't kidding about his tolerance. He sets the bottle down and smooths his pants around his knees, deliberately. "Byron," he says in a tone that's even more serious than the Stark Mountain matter. "The reason I'm really here is to say… my feelings for you haven't changed."

The older man almost chokes. Riley looks over at him; traces of his sensitive fifteen-year-old self are there. "I did my best to move on all this time. I had my serious relationship and my fill of casual encounters. But I never forgot about you, nor what I sensed we could have back then."

Byron has no idea how to handle this admission. Or any affairs of the heart, for that matter. This explains why Riley was probing into his barren love life, the crafty bastard.

"I had always planned to come back to Sinnoh to win your heart, now that I'm an experienced adult. Even amidst all this other business," he sucks in his breath, steeling his resolve, "I won't leave Canalave until we go on at least one date."

The longer Byron looks at him and his earnest blue eyes, the hotter he feels his face getting. "Gods, Riley," he mumbles. "What'm I supposed t'say to that?"

"I—" He draws back a little. "I would hope you say yes."

"I don't… date. Goin' out to restaurants and bars and stuff, can't do it. Not with another man. That kinda thing's private." He hurriedly takes a long drink to drown out his embarrassment.

"Well… what if we had dinner at your place? Can't get much more private than that." Riley smiles, turning on the charm.

Whatever response Byron is trying to utter comes out as incoherent grunts. He hasn't been hit on in some twenty years, and he has no idea what to say. What should he say in this situation, on the spot? What should he tell his apprentice (former apprentice), who, at fifteen, made a similar, albeit more innocent, proposition?


It's hard for Roark to concentrate on his paperwork when he's still replaying the fight he had with his father in his head. He argued that he couldn't go to Iron Island because of work; here he is, not working.

To be fair, he has a ton of things to get done, which he listed off to Byron on the phone: wrap up the reports, survey all the vents, and check over the heavy equipment. An inspector representing the Herrera Company is arriving Monday, so Roark has to make sure everything is perfect. In between all this, he must find time to oversee repairs to his gym before his next battle.

Byron doesn't seem to understand that Roark must prioritize his more important job. He is very young to be a foreman, and he must prove he can handle it. He got the promotion for being the mine's resident pokemon expert, helping his fellow workers train their pokemon to assist with workloads. Now every miner has a geodude or machop to dig in tight places, smash boulders in the way, or carry heavy loads. There's been fewer accidents and increased productivity.

Roark is proud of his accomplishments, and genuinely glad for the chance to be the new gym leader. His father, grandfather, and great-aunt, two of whom are part of the Sinnoh League, are delighted that he's following in their footsteps. But he can't make them, or at least Byron, understand that his foreman duties are more important than those of the gym. Gym leaders might be local celebrities, teachers, and city pokemon officials, but they aren't typically responsible for the safety of dozens of men and pokemon who travel deep into a coal mine five days a week.

He figures Byron will realize this sooner or later. His dad is stubborn, but will eventually come to his senses. Eventually. He should be even prouder that Roark is working so hard at being his own man.

Plus, he's had to sacrifice a lot. He hasn't visited the Oreburgh Mining Museum in weeks, for one thing. That was the reason he moved to the city in the first place, to study fossils there and volunteer with the revival technology. But he got a job mining to support himself, and now he's in charge. It's kind of funny.

And then there's the fellow rock-type gym leader from far away who never emailed him back. He contacted her when he first got the position, after looking up the profiles of leaders all over the country. He thought she might be able to share some pointers, or that perhaps she'd like to come all the way to Oreburgh to check out the museum, since fossils were listed as an interest on her profile. After weeks of nothing, Roark is pretty sure he should give up.

It's painfully disappointing. But likely for the best. If he lacks the time to train with his father, he lacks the time to date. Not even long-distance would work out.

Roark stares at the paperwork that's been eluding him, takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. Maybe he should call it a night and start early tomorrow, though there's so much else to do—

His beeping cell phone makes him jump. "Dad, I swear…" he mumbles with irritation, snagging it to check the caller. He answers quickly and professionally, as it is definitely not Byron.

"Evening, Roark. How's everything going?" a cordial older man's voice asks.

"Just fine, Mr. Herrera. I'm anticipating the inspector's arrival, and I think he'll be pleased that everything's in order."

"I don't doubt that. I'm calling on gym business, not mine business."

"Oh." Roark's heart sinks. He's still not over the earful Byron gave him over losing so much.

"Don't sound so worried, son. I know you're brand new at the gym game." Darius Herrera sounds truly sympathetic. "I just want to check up on you, make sure you're doing alright with your training. A new leader can't afford to lose too many times in a row."

"I know, sir. I'm sorry. I train my pokemon every opportunity I get when I'm in the mine. I, uh, actually would have gone away this weekend to train exclusively with my dad, but I'm held up with all these pre-inspections. I'll make sure my cranidos gets in his zen headbutt practice when I'm checking out the backhoes. Not saying I'll let him headbutt those, of course. Not again."

"Good, good."

Roark is greatly relieved that his boss and gym sponsor isn't yelling at him. Then again, he's so far found Mr. Herrera to be the reasonable sort. Roark suspects that Byron's complaints from when he worked for the man at the Iron Island mine were greatly exaggerated.

"You did pass the gym leader test with flying colors," his boss reminds him. "And you've no shortage of talent for pokemon training. Runs in your family, as it were. So what seems to be the trouble?"

Roark sighs. It's easy to blame his lack of training on his job, but he knows the true answer. "It's these kids that waltz in with their water and fighting types. It's like they hear about my weaknesses and grab some pokemon to exploit them. And I… don't really have time to figure out ways to counter those, let alone teach my team all new moves and perfect them. All I can do right now is get stronger with what they already know. Zen headbutt is my best bet against those machop."

"Hmm… tell you what. I'll send you a technical machine that should help you out," Mr. Herrera suggests.

"Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that, sir…"

"Nonsense! What are sponsors for?" He sounds amused. "Just promise me you'll put it to good use, and soon. I just might come down there myself to watch it in action."

Roark gulps. "Sure thing. You're welcome at my gym any time."

"You're a good boy, Roark. You get some rest this weekend. A routine inspection is nothing to stress over."

He ends the phone call with a heavy sigh of relief, laying his head on his desk. That went so much better than he expected. He decides to take his boss's advice and save the paperwork for morning, so he can go pass out in his comfy bed right away. Maybe he can find time to call his dad this weekend and make sure he's not sulking all alone on Iron Island.