"Here we are with Leader Lenora! And it looks like her husband Hawes is here to cheer her on! So tell all of our wonderful viewers out there – what's your secret to a successful marriage?"

Red looks up from tying his shoes, watching the latest live interview from the hotel room's television. Pikachu's sitting on the table next to the television, rubbing his cheeks over the Light Ball given to him until the static makes the video flicker. Red whistles at him and gestures for Pikachu to join him on the couch. Once the video settles, the cameras are pointed at a jubilant woman, waving her hand while a meek-looking man behind her gets rosy in the face.

"Actually, I turned him down at first!" Lenora laughs.

"D-Dear..." Hawes pulls at his collar and swallows thickly, nervously looking between all the cameras aimed at them.

"Oh, don't be shy." Lenora leans into him, lightly stroking his arm. "Yes, I turned down his proposal, and that's not an easy thing to do..."

"And what changed your mind?" a reporter quickly interjects before whipping his microphone back at the couple.

"I still had to figure myself out a little first," Lenora admits softly. "We all have different thoughts about what marriage means to us. It would be kind of weird if we all felt the exact same way, right? It's natural for people to have different opinions on it, such as if it's proof of your love or if it's just a title. After pondering on it..."

Red continues watching as Lenora takes Hawes' hand, squeezing it as his anxiousness fades, and they gaze at each other fondly.

"I realized it's a wonderful way to show the world my commitment to this loving man."

He fumbles for the remote when he hears footsteps approaching, turning off the television right when Green enters the room. Green flicks at his hair, one hand on his hip and looking entirely smug about himself.

"Well? Looking good, right?"

"You look about the same," Red responds in the flattest way possible, even as his gaze lingers a little too long to make it believable (snug pants with his pokeball belt hanging loosely off his hips, a fitted shirt with all the upper buttons undone and sleeves hiked up – what a jerk). Green rolls his eyes and waves a hand at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Come here, I wanna get a look at ya."

Red rises from the couch and gets his jacket unnecessarily dusted and straightened out by Green's hands. It's just about the same outfit Red usually wears, but Green still takes his time eying him up and down. Once satisfied, Green steps next to Red and holds up his pokegear in front of them.

"Alright, picture for Daisy. Ouistiti."

"What?"

As tends to be the trend with most pictures, Red's off looking at something else, this time at Green in the middle of the impromptu selfie. Green looks at the photo and clicks his tongue, but doesn't appear too surprised at the half-aware expression on Red's face.

"Close enough." Green presses a few buttons to send out the picture and pockets the pokegear. "Let's get going."

"Wait." Red takes his wrist before he can step away. "Love you."

Despite the years between them, Green always looks a little surprised to hear it. Red learned long ago that it's not from shock, but from Green having gotten used to defensively setting himself up for disappointments in the past. The moment soon passes, and his expression gets replaced with his typical confident, cocky, wonderful look that Red's always been unable to tear away his eyes from.

"Yeah, you do." Green steps forward and props up the brim of Red's hat just enough to lean in for a gentle kiss. "Love you, too."

Red thinks of saying more, perhaps a because or rattling off a quick list of all the things that have made him stay, but Green never demands much from him in intimate moments like these, so he remains silent and follows Green out of their room.


The Champions for the finale tournament are led through the network of tunnels in the stadium's basement and brought to an area resembling a locker room, which includes private nurses to check on their Pokemon and large television screens on the walls. Red declares his items to the nurses, hands over his pokeballs for one last healing, and sits on a bench in front of a screen, waiting for his turn to be called.

Someone joins him on the bench a minute later, and Red first anticipates it's Lance, but when he glances over, it's a woman with long, blonde hair.

"You must be Red." She smiles and holds out her hand. "We've passed each other in the hallway but I don't believe we've officially been introduced. My name is Cynthia."

He says nothing in return, but does shake her hand for a brief second. Immediately he notices calluses despite the smooth appearance of her long fingers, unmistakably hardened from a more dedicated kind of training – she's a Champion. She doesn't seem surprised at the curtness of the handshake and gives him another small smile.

"Is this your first time in Unova?"

He answers with a nod.

"I hope it's treating you well."

Red's not sure what to say to that either, so he goes back to watching the television. The cameras show spectators just beginning to fill the stadium, slowly building up a tempest of noise and energy within the building. The screen above the arena begins cycling through images of the Champions, displaying their names and home regions.

"I watched the World Leaders Tournament," Cynthia continues. "I imagine it's unsettling to see a former adversary walk free like that."

Red looks down at his shoes, pointlessly checking if the laces are still tied.

"We had a similar problem in Sinnoh." Cynthia shifts on the bench and laces her fingers together. "Well, not quite in the same style as your Team Rocket, but still with terrible intentions."

He moves to get up, but stops when her hand gently rests on his shoulder.

"Red, Trainers like you remind the rest of us that we have the ability to make a difference. Hearing your story showed me I can't sit back idly when a region I love is under threat. I've wanted to thank you personally for that for years, so – thank you."

He remains on the bench as she finally leaves him. His picture appears on the arena's screen for a few seconds, then flickers off.


It's really her, in the flesh and standing proudly on the stadium floor in front of the screaming crowds – just without the sparkling movie costumes that he's only seen on Unova's Champion so far. Her energy reminds Red of Ethan – a balance of pinpoint focus and pure thrill in facing whatever foe comes her way. It's clear she's an incredible Trainer, sweeping Alder and Wallace off their feet in minutes, and her beaming smile during each fight never wavers.

Red feels the same energy beginning to build up in his stomach in his match against Cynthia, finding it easy to concentrate and drown out the roaring crowds and flashing lights. Any worries he might've had about sensory overload on the stadium floor are muted in the background, and all he hears are his Pokemon's calls. This is where he's wanted to be the entire time, adrift in the world and only needing to hear the crackling of Pikachu's electricity to feel at home. He's freed from the stuffy stadium he's forced to fight in, the past obligations people try to bind him to, and the uncertainty of what comes next.

He snaps back into the moment when Cynthia's Garchomp falls. Red glances over to the rolling sea of spectators, seeing awed expressions and homemade signs in multiple languages being waved his way. Red thinks it's more people than he's ever seen in one place in his life, and he continues staring long after the Tournament announcer has declared his victory.

Cynthia eventually approaches him and holds out her hand, mouthing thank you over the noise. Red shakes her hand, nods in response, and quickly strides off the floor, down the steps, and back to the cool calm of the locker room below.

Green blows kisses to the crowd when he saunters onto stage and matches the same pose as the picture of him on the arena's screen. Red squirms on a bench as he watches from the television, trying to resist the temptation to run out of the basements and see the action from the upper balconies himself. Green is a sight to behold when battling, expressive and taunting, loud and proud as he waves his arms and pumps a fist into the air. The fights are long and intense enough to create a thin sheen of perspiration on the back of his neck, making him flick his hair and tug his shirt away from his chest to get some fresh air, and Red hates him all over again.

Green's victorious over Steven, but falls to the Unova Champion in the next round. He's haughty as always in his body language after taking a loss, but he stills laughs with the Champion and pats her on the back in congratulations.

Red stares hard at Lance during their match in the semifinals, barely moving his hands for each order he gives his Pokemon. It's unfair and cruel, and he hopes that Lance understands to never put them in a battle situation like this again. Their handshake after Red's victory is curt and tense, and Lance's palm feels clammy against his own heated hand. The tension is unusual for a Champion of Lance's caliber, but Red's in no mood to ask about what's bothering him. It could be the various mishaps that have happened at the Tournament so far, or the heavy burden of police matters and constant media interviews while trying to focus on training, or the fact that Giovanni's eyes must be boring down on them from somewhere in the building.

The thought is just distracting enough to pull Red out of the euphoric energy he loves to sink into when in the midst of high-level battling, and he becomes newly aware of the screaming crowds and booming loudspeakers engulfing them. He cringes and yanks his hand away to push at an ear, as if it'll make the ringing stop. It's like an endless pitch from a radio signal, and it's strangely familiar enough to make him think back to another massive building also teeming with radio waves and noisy signals.

Stranger still, it's enough to bring up the memory he's been trying to unearth all week.

He thinks the announcer is signaling the end of their fight and to leave the stage for the next battle, but all he can do is stare at Lance, even after the other Champion mouths What is it? over the noise. Red eventually looks down at his shoes and the cracked panels of arena tiles their Pokemon managed to smash up, but instead he sees himself back in Sevii, just after clearing out Team Rocket yet again from their stinking warehouse, save for one stubborn scientist who stayed behind and said the most peculiar thing.

Oh.


By the time Red and the Unova Champion stand in front of each other, pokeballs gripped in hand, he's able to fall back into the hypnotic mood of battling and shelve the renewed thoughts in his mind until whatever happens after. This is what he's been waiting for all week, and for the first time in any of his battles today, Red lets a little smile slip through to match the one on the Unova Champion's face.

She tosses a pokeball up, cradles it against her chest for a meditative moment, then releases it with a brilliant beam of light once the announcer declares the start of the final battle. Red follows with sending Pikachu out and immediately points a finger up high to the sky, willing the building electricity within him to unleash and flood the world around him.


"Hi."

"Hello, dear."

Red's gotten better about calling on a semi-regular basis over the past year, but he still struggles with what to say. He feels he usually repeats the same news – training his team, what Green is up to, what the weather is like. His mother never complains, and never has before, even after years of hearing no news at all. Red shifts on the waiting bench outside of the VIP's Pokemon Center and looks down the hallway, ensuring he's alone.

"If it's late–"

"Not at all. I had to stay up to see the finals on TV anyway."

"You watched it live?"

"Of course," she laughs. "To see how far you've come...it feels like you first got Pikachu just yesterday. All boys have to leave home sometime..."

"Can I ask you something?" Red interrupts, glancing from side to side to ensure the hallway is still empty.

"What is it?"

"Did you and Dad ever think things would change?"

His mother goes quiet for several seconds, and Red looks at the pokegear's screen out of the corner of his eye to check that the call hadn't accidentally ended. It's not a topic that's often brought up, because it's rarely necessary to. Red and his mother accepted their circumstances long ago.

"Is this about Green?"

Red swallows with a grimace. "...Yeah."

"Hmm." She spends a few more silent moments contemplating the question. "I suppose everyone thinks that settling down, getting married, and starting a family means you're set for life. And for some, yes, but..."

She sighs, but it's not quite like the lonely sounds Red remembers her making during his youth.

"Your father just isn't the type to settle down and stay in one place. But I've accepted this and still wish him well, wherever he is now."

Red rests his elbows on his knees and squeezes his eyes shut. He's the same way, he realizes – needing to move and having the freedom to do as he likes, aching for open land and free skies, running towards a never-ending goal of being the strongest, even though there's no denying that there will always be someone else out there stronger than him. His loss to Unova's Champion an hour ago proves that. Giovanni learned that himself long ago.

Someday, you'll lose.

"Have you decided what to tell Green?"

"Not yet."

"And you shouldn't until you know for sure," she reassures. "And don't let anyone else decide for you, but I will say...you make him so happy."

"He didn't turn me away when I couldn't give him an answer." Words spill out of him strangely, like ancient gates snapping from a flood. "He's always liked me – like that. It's always been me."

"Honey, it's alright–"

"Even when we were kids. That's why he pushed me away." Red crams fingers up into his hair and pulls at the strands. "Did you know?"

"No...no, I never would have thought..." She trails off. In the brief silence between them, Red realizes he's breathing shallowly. He forces himself to sit upright again, feeling dizzy as his back hits the cool wall behind him. "Red, it's alright."

"I want to be sure."

"I know. The answer will come to you soon." She clears her throat. "Now, don't forget – come visit me when you're back in Kanto. All the berry bushes in the garden are starting to bear fruit."

"I will."

Red ends the call and stares aimlessly at the pokegear until a soft shadow drapes over it. He looks up to see a child waiting expectantly in front of him – blond, bright-eyed, and probably a few years away from being able to receive a Trainer's License. Red's initial thought is that the boy's a native to Unova, followed by wondering how a kid managed to get on the VIP floor. Considering the few previous slips in security, maybe it's not so surprising.

"Ah..." The boy shifts on his feet, jostling the small backpack he has in hand, and lets out a nervous smile. "Bonjour!"

Red didn't expect to hear that outside of Kalos, or outside of Green's mouth when he's trying to show off. He presses his lips together and leans back on the bench, eyes habitually shifting to the side in hopes of finding Green and letting him take over the conversation. But he's alone out here, and the boy stares up at him with unwavering focus, hoping for any form of response. The best Red can offer is a small wave and more silence.

It doesn't seem to dampen the kid's spirits. With an even greater smile, he rummages through his backpack for a folded Tournament Trainer brochure and pen, then holds them up. Red slowly takes the brochure and goes down each page, seeing inked signatures next to several of the pictures. Some scripts look clear and methodical, like Sabrina's and Erika's. Janine and Surge seem to be competing for how large they can write in a tiny space. He can't help checking the bottom of Kanto's list, and thankfully Giovanni's signature is absent from his picture.

And then there's Green's signature on the Champion page, written in both Kanto's script and Kalos' lettering (showoff), plus some short message beneath it. Red's headshot is printed next to his.

One language is more than enough. Red inks out his name – short, simple, with no need for elaboration – and hands back the brochure and pen.

"Merci!" the boy exclaims, hugging the brochure against his chest.

"De...ri...?" Red racks his brain for the fraction of key phrases he bothered to memorize after much nagging from Green. It ends up making no difference, as the boy immediately spins on his heel and starts running down the hall. He meets a woman there, presumably his mother, who waves in thanks. She has a staff badge on her jacket, which explains how the boy got onto this floor. Red sighs and bumps his back against the bench in relief. Any excuse to not speak Kalos' flowery language is a blessing he'll gladly take.

A nurse comes by with a tray of his pokeballs a few minutes later, saying his name and offering a smile to breach the language barrier. Red takes the tray and bows his head – all habit and as uncommon in this region as in Kalos, but she seems to appreciate the gesture and nods in return before leaving. Red rubs his thumb over each pokeball, feeling dents and scratches against his skin. He probably should replace them, but the sensation is too familiar.

It's safer to let Pikachu out with far less people around, now that the Tournament's finale has wrapped up and the crowds are trickling home. He picks up Pikachu to place on his shoulder and rubs at a red cheek, shaking his head when Pikachu lets out a guilty whine. They lost fair and square, but it was the kind of battle Red had been aching for.

Still aching for, in a way. His fingertips haven't stopped buzzing, and he knows his team would jump at the chance to face one more worthy opponent. He did promise Green he'd return to the hotel right away, but if there's just one more opportunity...

He barely puts weight on his feet to stand before dropping back down, nearly jostling Pikachu off his shoulder. Hidden just around the corner where he sits, a wave of familiar toxins rolls under his nose.

"You seem to enjoy taking your time."

"The press got me before I could get to the elevator."

Red hits his back against the wall, grabbing Pikachu before he's tempted to leap out from around the corner and add his own sparks between Giovanni and Lance. It has to be them, but – if any of the press are still running around looking for sound bites, they'll see them and–

"You should learn how to play low like me," Giovanni chuckles. Red strains his head as minimally as possible around the corner, catching only the hems of a black overcoat and red cape. He jerks back when one of Giovanni's shoes moves to the side.

"Well? I think I've been on my best behavior. If anything, I gave the crowds more than what they–"

"He's not coming, Giovanni."

Red and Pikachu exchange a glance as Giovanni goes quiet. Down the hallway, a faint beeping slips past the Pokemon Center's doors, then dies down. Giovanni scuffs his shoe again, sending the echo down the empty hallway.

"And you know this for sure?"

"He called me this morning," Lance explains slowly. "He said he decided against coming here."

Red rests his head against the wall and looks up at the white ceiling. Pikachu tugs at his shirt, his little mouth puckering in a muted, questioning chuu.

"I see." Giovanni takes another step to the side, pauses, then steps aside again with the same foot. "That's that, then."

"I could try calling him again and–"

"It won't matter." Broken footsteps clack down the opposite hallway. "Our deal still stands."

"The police will be here in an hour," Lance says once the footsteps fade out.


Red returns Pikachu to his pokeball, sends Green a quick text that he'll be back at the hotel later, and makes haste to the upper office levels of the stadium. There are only two guards next to the balcony door this time, and they wordlessly let Red through.

Giovanni is leaning against the balcony rails by the time Red arrives, already in the process of lighting a cigarette. This time, the lit end is indistinguishable from the growing red sunset behind him. He takes a deep drag, holds it, then lets it out between his teeth. There's a strange hunch in his shoulders and straggling weight in his exhales. He turns away from Red, illuminated by the burning sun, and takes off his hat to press against his chest.

"He was never going to come, was he?"

Red takes a careful step forward and brushes his fingers against Pikachu's pokeball on his belt. Giovanni faces him and drops the cigarette, letting it burn away instead of crushing it under the sole of his sleek shoe. His hat remains held against his chest, resembling the gesture of a somber farewell.

Most surprisingly of all, Giovanni has no last words before his departure.

He pulls his hat away from his chest, and something falls from the inside onto the tiled floor. Red feels his stomach clench when he sees the item is a fresh pokeball – nothing like the chipped pokeballs he'd seen Giovanni return after each of his battles, but polished and shiny, just like the ones handed out for free to children in the lobby before the power went out earlier in the week.

Light erupts from the pokeball as it cracks open with a deafening roar. Red loses his footing from the rumbling earth and falls backwards, elbows scraping mercilessly on the floor as a Pokemon's Earthquake begins ripping the balcony apart. Emerging cracks in the flooring race towards him, threatening to collapse and take him down with the rest of the crumbling balcony. Somewhere between the flying chunks of new tile and destroyed potted plants, Red sees the purple form of Giovanni's Nidoking slam his massive arm down.

Red's heels skid as he tries to get some footing before the balcony falls a dozen floors below. The world lurches at a sharp angle and the remaining chunk of tile that Red's lying on slopes down towards the concrete plaza beneath, with only a few metal foundation bars preventing the chunk from falling right away. In a split second, he sees the small, distant forms of attendees in the plaza running for their lives, screaming for help and covering their heads from the rain of dust and debris.

In the split second after that, Red sees his own dangling feet from over a decade ago, in his old shoes and worn jeans, writhing from the iron grip Giovanni had on his neck as he dangled over the broken windows in the president's office of Silph Co. A split second after that, Red was falling with a fainted Charmeleon at his side, plummeting eleven floors below – and another split second after that, Red was soaring eleven floors above with Charizard, vowing he would never see redemption from the leader of Team Rocket.

Charizard. Red bats at the pokeballs on his belt, slipping and skidding further down the lurching chunk of torn balcony. A nearby potted plant drops and hits his arm before he can get a grip on Charizard. He tries again, grabbing the pokeball and holding it high, but pauses when he sees a growing crater emerging directly below in the plaza.

Red leans forward dangerously in its direction, despite the shudders from the remaining bit of balcony threatening to give at any second. He's there, escaping through the earth to avoid his fate, but Red can catch Giovanni, just one more opportunity, if he just falls in after and sinks beneath the surface with him...

His shoulder jolts at a harsh angle when something yanks at his arm, keeping him suspended in the air as the last chunk of balcony finally gives in to gravity. Red watches the remains splatter into the opening of the crater with a blast of smoke. The crater groans from one last aftershock of Earthquake, then fatally collapses towards the center, crushing anything else within its innards and sealing off any chance of following its route.

Red slowly looks up, tasting dust and smoke through each heavy inhale he takes, and searches for what's holding him in place.

Leaning over the partial bit of balcony still intact near the doors is Green, staring at him with wide eyes, both hands gripped onto Red's arm to prevent him from falling, chest heaving as though he ran across the entire city to get to Red's side.

Wordlessly, Green hoists him up, like a ship rolling up its anchor to set sail, and Red doesn't resist.


The room Red's been waiting in for the past hour is much closer to his personal comfort – simple style, little decor, and fold-out chairs that he can carelessly lean back on the rear legs. There's no window to the outside world nor endless free pastries, and the best Green can do is bring in paper cups of hot tea as they wait for Lance. Green leans against the wall as he sips his tea, while Red lets his own get cold on the cheap table in the middle of the room.

Neither of them look at Lance when he finally enters the room and shuts the door with barely a noise. Lance picks up a fold-out chair and sits on the opposite end of the table with a heavy sigh. He looks tired, no doubt having spent the last hour braving the press and local law enforcement. Red brushes lingering dust away from the scrapes and bruises on his arms. Green sets his tea aside and crosses his arms, staring at his shoes.

"I owe you an apology," says Lance.

Green scoffs and loudly dumps his half-drunken tea in a nearby trash bin.

"I thought I could handle this situation, even with Inspector Looker's absence," he continues, gently tapping one finger on the table's plastic surface. "My motivations were also personal, which I should have been upfront about from the beginning."

"Personal?" snaps Green.

"I know Giovanni has a son," Red intervenes. "And you and Ethan know who he is."

That shuts Green up, and Red thinks he sees him gaping from the corner of his eye. Lance leans his elbows on the table and presses his hands together.

"Yes," he admits. "But Ethan has no involvement or knowledge of our investigation here. He only knows that our deal for letting Giovanni come here was to see his son."

"A testimony wouldn't have changed anything."

"I know." Lance rises to his feet, keeping his chin up and shoulders wide despite the visible exhaustion on his face. Red keeps his own expression impassive, not yet ready to let go of some bitterness about this situation, but he can't help having a fraction of sympathy for the PR disaster that the Kanto League and Tournament committee will be going through for months to come. Was setting this up really worth the risk to Lance? Red shakes his head at the thought; the less he knows about the background to this entire setup, the better.

"Next time you see his son," he says as Lance heads for the door, "tell him Giovanni hasn't changed."

"His son already knows that." Lance turns the cheap doorknob and takes a quick look around the corner, ensuring no one's been waiting outside their meeting room. "That's probably why he never came."


"You were going to jump in after him."

Red scratches the side of his cheek and glances away. Green tugs on that same cheek moments later.

"Hey. Don't think you're getting out of this one."

"He was escaping," Red protests.

"Yeah, I don't think anyone could've missed that." And even if they did, no one could miss the current activity of half of Unova's police force surrounding the crater in the plaza and sending in a hundred Dugtrio to find a trace of an underground trail. Red knows it's futile; Giovanni would've covered his tracks immediately and is probably halfway across the region by now.

"Heat of the moment. He seemed strong. I wanted..."

Red's only goal for coming to the Tournament was to fight the strongest. It pulls him in like a magnet, and he easily forgets the risk or danger that comes from being sucked in. Dealing with Giovanni here would make him chase with tunnel vision – and Giovanni planned for it to happen from the start. It was easy for him to lure in his oldest adversary, and Red was a breath away from jumping into the crater, where Giovanni would have buried him for good.

Red crosses his arms, shoulders hunching, and drags his fingernails over one of the scratches on his elbow. He only stops when Green sits on the table and rests a hand on his shoulder.

"How long have you known he has a kid?" Green asks.

"Since...Sevii. Someone in the Rocket warehouse said it. But I forgot about it until a few hours ago." Red offers a helpless shrug at Green's exasperated look, then leans away in his chair in case Green wants to strangle him as badly as he looks like he wants to right now. The urge might be partly warranted. "It was a long time ago."

"You're unbelievable." Green slips his hand down, thankfully deciding against strangling, and instead buries his face in his palm. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Red nods without protest to that and holds Green's free hand, waiting for the shaking in his partner's fingers to stop. They exchange no words for a minute, soaking in the simplicity of the room and subtle ticking sounds from the standard office clock on the wall. There's nothing really left for them to do here, and yet there's a million things they can do, just outside the stadium walls.

"Let's stay here a while longer." Red suggests, squeezing their hands together. Green finally looks at him again, eyes glassy and breathing just a hint uneven. "Just a few days. We can travel and see it all."

"...Alright." Green's hand squeezes back, this time without any tremors in his fingertips.