Winnifred and Lyle's Everyday Miracle
…
Homecoming – Part 1
-Lyle-
True to her word, Cossette had Lyle's Styler fixed by the next morning. He took the train to Aspartia Gym again, though this time, he didn't get the run-around at the front entrance. The doors pulled open to reveal the attack Styler nub resting in a plain cardboard box. Lyle removed the box and stepped outside. The doors shut behind him, and the locks slid into place.
Not that he wanted to see the Covenant today, anyway. Though using their underground tunnel network—courtesy of Cheren—would have made the trip faster.
When Lyle got to his hotel room, he pulled off the dirty clothes he made the trek in, pulled the blinds open for the dawn sunlight, and popped the attack nub back into the complete Styler base.
One missed call. Lyle tapped the missed message. It rang once.
"If I were any other supervisor in this building, Ranger, I would have terminated your file last night at 11:59."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Yes Ma'am what?"
Lyle stumbled around the garbage at the floor, searching in vain for an unopened pack of Pop Tarts or a Cup Noodle. "Yes Ma'am, thank you ma'am for being so gracious and wonderful?"
"That's more like it." This was where his supervisor would rub her eyes. "Tell me that lead you were working on actually panned out. I need to give my bosses something."
Lyle tried crouching and searching under one of the beds. Bad move: his lower back screamed. Lava Cookies don't heal everything. "That's not a problem," Lyle said. "Though you won't like what I have to report."
"Any news is better than no news."
"I'm working with Covenant Operatives and a local."
Because if they hadn't already fired him for missing two contact deadlines…
"The Covenant," said the Head Operator, slowly, drawing out each syllable. "The Covenant is involved."
"XD-01 was confirmed to be…I wrote it out in the report."
"The one you scribbled seconds before calling me back, right. I remember." A pause while she flipped through other screens. "Michael is documented to have that particular Shadow Pokemon. It does stand to reason…What are the Covenants' motives?"
Lyle ran his hands along his face, failing to rub the sleep off. He forgot to shower before going out again. Particularly-girly-coconut-conditioner-smell lingered on his fingers.
"Michael is having a fundraiser in Hilbert Towers two days from now. Covenant Operative Wes plans to intercept Michael the Metal Arm. Myself and the other Operatives are to integrate ourselves into the crowd and await further orders."
"So one of our Rangers is reduced to back-up manpower. Flattering, Lyle. Making us all look good." Then: "And what of this civilian?"
Right. What of this civilian?
As if right on bloody time, a pop-up on his computer screen, beside the Styler.
FrontDeskSupport: Hi! =D
FrontDeskSupport: I mean, hi. =I -srsly, wini is srs.
The 'new message' chimes bounced off the walls. Lyle flicked off the alert system and swiped the messages away.
Head Operator: "I'm waiting…"
"The civilian has a history with the Metal Arm, as well as social influence among his peers. She works with us as a guide, nothing more."
That sounded plausible and not like over-selling, right?
Lyle's supervisor hummed. He could hear the pursed lips. "This is acceptable, if only thanks to Covenant involvement. If they were going full-vigilante, there would be signs of laws broken and violence taken. If this goes bunk and the XD-01 operation fails, at the very least, we will be able to trace Wes's location."
Lyle stopped. "Trace his location? Why?"
"Covenant Operative Wes may have been a hero at one point, but since then, he's only succeeded in attacking corporations and intervening in capital interests. He's yet to answer for singlehandedly keeping Silph Co. from entering Kalos three years ago."
"That's a good thing. Silph Co. is just Team Rocket's façade." He felt a warmth in his hands. Façade.
The Head Operator raised her voice. "It's not a good thing to place detonators in buildings, threaten executives, and introduce to the most recent UN addition the idea that laws are just opinions. We already have these Calem and Serena characters to deal with, and who knows how they'll take that idea…"
"So you'd rather let Team Rocket—Team Rocket—get into Kalos."
"If that means abiding by the laws that govern our society, yes, Ranger, it does." Then: "You'd be surprised how many Covenants have ruined their lives with acts of international terrorism. The fact that Red's Mt. Silver is a diplomatic gray zone between Kanto and Johto should tell you something."
Lyle clenched his fists.
"I'm looking at the report here," she continued. "Only Wes is listed by name. Who are these other operatives?"
"I don't have their names yet—"
"I swear, Ranger. If you're protecting them—"
"I wouldn't dream of it. That'd be acting above the law, wouldn't it?"
The supervisor seemed to think it over. She ultimately let it rest. "Next contact is in 72 hours. Please, try and keep track of time."
The line went dead.
Lyle sat on the less-messy of the two mattresses, scooted back, and let his legs dangle over the edge.
The computer screen flashed once, twice, thrice in the span of a minute. Lyle didn't notice.
Wes really was a criminal. What did that make Dawn, Nate, and Cossette? And hell, they had that air of pretention to them, but these people were not convicts. Biker Roy, that was a convict.
People that rose to the ranks of Trainer Gods, then threw it away to fight injustice at the expense of their livelihood…How could that be anything but noble?
A knock on the door. Lyle stood, bent backwards to crack his back, and approached the door. Pulling it open and announcing: "No thanks, ma'am."
"No thanks ma'am, what?"
Lyle blinked. "Winnifred?"
"You were expecting someone else?" A scrunched-up smile, hands behind her back, and that stupid strand of hair still sticking out, even when the rest of it flowed around her. She glowed. "Maybe someone with your shirt?"
He looked down when she gestured. Lo and behold.
Lyle escaped back into his room.
…
"You're sure this is how you want to spend your lunch hour? Running missions isn't nearly as relaxing as…well, lunch."
Winnifred stumbled as the train took a sharp turn. They goofed up and caught one of the express trains: bodies compressed all around the two. If Lyle's heart didn't bust out of his chest last night, it probably never would, but this still wasn't helping that nervousness.
Winnifred herself wasn't helping. Let it be known: cherry-red lip gloss is a cruel mistress.
She reached to his arm, bent her head, and read the directions from his Styler screen. "I guess we're getting close. Three…no, two more stops." She glanced out the windows. "Though we're all the way out in suburbia. I guess that's the adventure part of it, right?"
When she said 'adventure', Winnifred's eyes outright glowed.
She caught him watching. Lyle blinked away.
The train screeched around another curve.
Neither of them brought up what happened the previous afternoon, and Lyle knew better than to bring it up himself. It was weird: he always thought kissing a girl solved your issues, and everything went smoothly from there. False: all that does is bring your issues to the surface. Nothing had really changed after Lyle left Winnifred's apartment, after approximately fifteen minutes of kissing—
Of…making out?
That didn't do it justice, either. Maybe that's what you called it when you were with girls routinely, and these feelings were apart of the everyday. 'Making out' was for people that knew what they wanted; 'kissing' was reserved for little teeny-boppers on February 14.
The way Winnifred had let his hands wander, slowly and stumbling, while she held her hands at around neck like a lifeline, was something to itself.
"So," Lyle said, waiting for Winnifred to stop looking at him with that 'gotcha!' expression. With her stupid black skinny jeans and button down that was two sizes too large, and together somehow made a work uniform.
"So!" She boasted. " Mission: Deliver the Mail!" Then: "We'll have to pose when we get out at the next stop. Stupid cramped metal tube train."
Winnifred was true to her promise. The two of them were the only ones getting off at Lime Street, the quaint hub of a quiet neighborhood twenty miles out from the main city. The platform was the first Lyle had seen to be located at ground level, with only a ticket machine and a few benches to signal the train stop. The train pulled away as quickly as it arrived, eager to leave and return to the city.
"Ready?"
"For…what?" Lyle asked.
"On three. One, two, three! Mission—"
Winnifred spun too quickly, too excitedly, and almost blinded him with her hair whip. Lyle ducked under it, then performed his backflip motion.
"—Start!" Winnifred cheered, thumbs up. Then: "Lyle, you goofed it! We're supposed to finish at the same time?"
"Yeah, but you're supposed to take into account your hair becoming a weapon."
She instinctively gathered the web of mahogany and held it in her hands. Winnifred was this close to issuing an apology, but then she shrugged her tiny shoulders and skipped—skipped!—to the main sidewalk.
Something had changed since yesterday, Lyle thought.
The Styler beeped at him. New message, unknown address. Only Ranger HQ had his Styler address, so what would be the point of hiding their information? He flicked the message across the screen to open it.
…And immediately wished he hadn't.
...
-Winnifred-
Lyle was a strange boy. She knew that going in, when he infamously jumped six feet in the air to go fight Roy that first time, when they ran in the city tunnels. Thinking about it still brought a smirk to her lips. Six feet in the air. Who does that?
He had acted strangely during all of their Ranger Missions up to this point, and today was no excuse. Lyle read his Styler message back at the train station, and he spent the rest of the time either staring back at it, or moving like the invisible man, crashing into things half the time and going completely unresponsive at others.
She was fine with that, though. It meant Winnifred did all the talking. She had to introduce herself to Richardson, their twenty-something client who lived in a shack across from the dollar store. She had to handle the package that was delivered to his home instead of his ex-girlfriend's, and she had to hear that it contained the medicine for her Munna.
It also meant it fell to Winnifred to bring up yesterday.
She didn't want to.
Every time Winnifred tried to use words and vocalize her relationships, they went down in flames. Her parents had argued for years, but when it came time to finally talk about it, bam, divorce. Her parents always got annoyed with her school fighting, but when they sat down to talk about it, bam, Trainer School. And hell, living with her parents and fighting bullies with her bare knuckles weren't even things she liked.
She liked Lyle.
She liked the hand-holding, she liked how he was only ever awkward when he was afraid he would be, and how it meant he was natural and calm and charming with her. Then, there was how Winnifred liked that someone, somewhere, actually had played with her ridiculous hair and held her at her sides. That was never supposed to happen. Nobody ever smooched and groped the school outcast.
Because, be real, Winnifred: nobody outgrows being the school outcast.
The instant she asked what all of it meant, it put the ball in Lyle's court. It let him end whatever this was.
They appreciated the peace of the suburban world, walking along the roads with houses whose backyards stretched for solid miles, with curbs that ended without sidewalks, so they could walk however they chose. Winnifred watched for cars, then walked right in the middle of the road, feet following the yellow paint in a perfectly straight line, arms out wide for balance. At first, Lyle simply shook his head disapprovingly, then watched behind them religiously for cars. After he accepted that nobody lived out this way, or at least nobody with silent-but-deadly killing machines on wheels, he tiptoed along the edge of the neighbors' lawns, arms wide.
They had to arrive eventually.
The ex-girlfriend didn't recognize the package at first. Winnifred had to explain four different ways that it was medicine for a certain sick Munna, and that it had simply been delivered to the wrong destination. Winnifred knew in one look why she broke up with poor Richardson: ironed slacks, a business jacket, hair up in a tight bun, and a Blackberry in her off hand. Just headed off to work.
A slacker and a young go-getter, Winnifred mused. Tale as old as time.
The woman took the package and tossed it onto the hardwood floor. She opened the door just enough for her slim form to slide through, and then she shut it and turned the lock.
"Your girlfriend is a dick," Winnifred told the slacker guy back at his apartment. After he paid them, of course.
Before Lyle could chide her: "Who are you telling?" Followed by an offer for a Taco Bell run. Winnifred had to turn it down, and she wasn't sure she would have if not for lunch hour being almost over.
"The thing about these missions is," Winnifred said as she tip-toed along the street line, passing run-down residences that stretched onto infinity, "You've gotta be a wizard at time management. I'm all about time management. Try busting a Wavedash-slide-to-Charge Tackle with a Pokemon you just got. It's all timing."
Lyle wasn't listening. He ran his hand along the Styler screen again, this time pressing a bunch of buttons as he walked. Winnifred stopped, and he didn't notice for another few moments. Lyle finally glanced up, and it as though he were in a battle somewhere else, eyes both like slits and like stone.
"Lyle?"
He froze.
"What's up?"
Still nothing.
"If it's about what I said to that guy, his girlfriend really was a—"
"Move!"
The next think Winnifred knew, a muscular mass of teenage boy was crashing into her with the force of a linebacker, knocking both of them onto the dead lawn across the street and having it crunch against her work clothes. The black convertible rolled past, honking the horn twice as if to laugh, and kept chugging along. They lay there, both breathing hard, Lyle's off-brand-mint-toothpaste breath along her collarbone.
"Sorry," Lyle finally said.
"For saving my life, you mean?"
"I should have said something sooner. I should have heard the car. Walking and texting…"
"Bad combination?"
"Almost as bad as you on the front grate of that asshole's car."
"I'm just all about bad combinations, huh?"
Winnifred would look up on the computer back at work: were Rangers allowed to blush that hard? Or was that just the one she had?
…Her Ranger.
Great. Now her own cheeks had gone ablaze.
One of them managed to be responsible. Lyle crawled off of her, up to a crouch and then jumping, kicking out his black converse feet from under. He offered a hand. Winnifred took it, then immediately wished she hadn't.
"I'm not getting that back, am I?" Lyle asked.
It rubbed her the wrong way.
Put a gun to Winnifred's head, and she couldn't tell you why that comment had her dropping Lyle's fingers and walking off. Maybe it had something to do with him being the first one to actually, well, mention the grabbiness.
And of course, when he did, it was sarcasm.
That might make a girl a bit ticked. Maybe. Or something. Whatever.
She started into the road again, but Lyle jogged to her side. "You should probably stick to the not-sidewalk."
"You should go back to texting whoever lives on your screen thing."
He cracked a smile. "Can I hold your hand, Miss Lambert?"
"Not now." And then she held her hand out at her side. But she'd be damned if she was gonna look at it.
The moment lingered. Winnifred glanced back at him, and Lyle was watching the road again. He watched her for a quick moment, as though she'd just run off when he wasn't looking, then one more glance to the road.
"What? Is the car going to race down here again and—"
-Lyle-
Kissing Winnifred was shutting his brain off and reveling in the peace.
He had to do it fast, fast, before he lost what little nerve was in him. The anger at the messages, at his Head Operator, at the dick that drove a billion miles an hour, at the woman who would give her Pokemon medicine when it fit her schedule, all of it turned to rocket fuel. Lyle shot for her, his body a missile. They bumped against an innocent homeowner's chainlink fence. No car in the driveway, and no motor engine sounds for at least a few miles out. Brain: off.
Last night had been different. It was all tentative, it was all new. Kissing a girl was new; Kissing Winnifred was never in the rulebook. In the back of his mind, he had been waiting for it to go like those dramas, for her small hands to push him back and throw him out of the apartment, then to label him a creeper and probably ruin his life.
Right now, not only was Winnifred okay with having been kissed, she was asking to hold hands. Asking, in her own backwards Winnifred Lambert way.
There was a fine line between not taking hints and being straight dumb. Lyle was anti-social, awkward, afraid to go into small cafes, prone to flaking out and particularly prone to sabotaging his family. But he was not dumb.
Winnifred kept her arms out, linking her petite fingers along the rusted fence and kissing him back, clearly focused on mocking Lyle with quick tastes of cherry lip gloss.
Right hand: holding-and-this-close-to-basically-clawing at her hip, appreciating the thin fabric of her work pants and how they hugged the soft cloud curve. Then, reaching back and grabbing her behind—a heart attack to itself!—and pulling her closer, closer.
Left hand: cradling her head, running his fingertips at the back of her head. Then, running down along her collar and toward her chest, while his lips divert to the soft skin along girl's radiating neck—
Winnifred: "Lyle? Car!"
Black Convertible Driver Who Clearly Is Lost But Doesn't Want To Slow Down: "Get a room!"
…
"So, I'm thinking we need some ground rules."
Rush-hour traffic leaving Aspartia Town? A nightmare. Traffic going back? Empty train ride, and still, they sat shoulder to shoulder, hands folded on Winnifred's thigh. A crimson blush remained along those bulbous cheeks, an irresistible detail replacing the obliterated-but-memorable lip gloss.
"Ground rules, definitely," Lyle agreed. "No grabbing you in the middle of the road."
"No referring to it as 'grabbing me', because that sounds like you're forcing yourself on me, or something."
Taking a risk: "W-which I'm not?"
"No, you're not."
The train doors opened at the next station. Nobody got on, and nobody got off. And onward the train went.
"No kissing me," Winnifred choked on the K-word, "when I'm being a grouch."
"Because that's a consent issue, where I'm obviously ignoring your problems and instead going for—"
"I will stop you right the hell there and say No, it's because I'm…You'll laugh at me."
"I didn't laugh when you beat the crap out of your License test proctor."
She raised her other hand, as if to argue, then let it drop.
"You know how, when you're with someone, there are rules that you just kind of learn?"
What he wanted to say: "Not really, nope."
"With Michael, it was…well, he didn't like me very much."
What he wanted to say: "You're flawed…where, exactly?"
"He liked me as a person, but let's just say he kept reminding me I wasn't the prettiest person in the world. Part of that was, I could never kiss him. I was barely ever alone with him, and if I did anything first, he'd feel embarrassed. Like I wasn't good enough for him, I guess.
"And before you can think to refute that, because you're a do-gooder and so you're the exact kind of boy to tell a girl she's the greatest thing in the world, I'll cut to the chase. Don't kiss me when I'm mad, because I'll start getting mad just to get you to do it, because I'm too much of a chicken shit to do it myself, because…well, I've never done it before." And looking right at him: "I've never started a kiss before."
And immediately: "I knew it! Lyle! You're laughing at me!"
"Well, yeah. Who said I thought you were the greatest thing in the world? Have you seen my room? My adoration belongs to ramen noodles."
…
-Winnifred-
He got weird right when they stepped off the train platform. She had tried justifying it before, how Lyle could get her heart racing, and then go so distant that reaching out across a nebula would be a cinch in comparison. The rest of the short walk to the hotel, Winnifred figured she would be volleying the conversation ball back and forth, following the routine they slowly but surely were developing. But no, the universe screamed as it ripped Lyle to the cosmos. Hands went in his pockets, head craned down and eyes glued to his shoes. Winnifred popped her lips and muttered a "So…" once each.
"I didn't tell you what the messages were about," he finally said. Uncle Howard's hotel loomed the next block over, the afternoon sun bathing it in a gentle orange glow.
She turned to stare up at him. And when it didn't work, Winnifred walked directly in front of him and got on her tip-toes, closing the few inches between them.
"It wasn't that important, was it? Not like it pulled you away from saving my life."
"You're not letting that go, are you?"
She shook her head, grinning from ear to ear. "You saved my life, Lyle Forrester, and even if saying it that way makes pushing me out of the road and smooching me sound way more dramatic than it was, I'll say it however I darn well feel."
Lyle threw his head back, his blond hair flying and his glasses riding further up the bridge of his nose. "You'll rip my balls off for this."
"I will not."
"Rip my balls out and put them where my eyes go, and rip my eyes out and put them where my balls go."
"I made that phrase up! Fifteen cents for copyright fees, please."
Then, staring her in the eye: "You'll have a message to go to room 28. Nate's waiting to talk to you."
Winnifred slowly lowered herself. "Talk about what?"
Thirty seconds later—that was being generous—Winnifred banged on the door of room 28. Lyle leaned on the wall by room 25, down the hall and out of range. She saw the tumbleweed of hair before the door swung back all the way and pushed herself inside.
"Sheesh, nice to see you, too," Nate said. There was another girl in the room, with a white beanie cap and that ridiculous skirt-and-winter-boots combination. "Running in here seconds after a message. Man, the IM system here is timely as hell."
"Save it. Where do you get off using Lyle to get to me?"
"…Come again?"
"You messaged Lyle about getting me involved in some stupid Covenant scheme. He told me, so there's no use in lying about it."
"God, I didn't know you two were an old couple." Then, gesturing to the girl: "That's Dawn, by the way. Covenant of Light, Sinnoh designation. Pretty fierce with an electric type."
Dawn waved. Winnifred nodded.
She turned back to Nate, and found Lyle closing the room door and leaning on the frame. Trapping her in? Or staying along the walls and keeping out of it?
Either way, he certainly wasn't sticking up for her. I mean, duh. What kind of boy did that?
"This was the best we could do," Nate continued. "You're an average joe, so we couldn't bring you into our command center. Which we do have." He added a wink. Then: "So we got a room here, figuring it'd be easy to get in touch."
"I don't want to be in touch. I don't want anything to do with you."
"Is this because our boss knocked your boyfriend's teeth out? It wasn't anything personal."
Dawn jumped. "What Nate is trying to say is, we have a mission that requires someone close to our target. We understand if you have prior commitments, or if you simply don't feel up to it. But since we didn't know your answer, we couldn't invite you to our headquarters."
"Hence the room. I get it," Winnifred sighed. She folded her arms. "What's the big emergency that two of the greatest Trainers ever need my help?"
Dawn smiled. "We're not the greatest—"
"Dawn from Sinnoh, right? Team Galactic incident. You beat down Dialga, and there are rumors on the Internet that you kept Palkia after catching it with a Great Ball. Then beat the Elite Four and went on to take out Giratina with said Palkia.
"Then Nate here, he's the reason Aspartia Town got so famous. Team Plasma tried to make a come-back and started the Kruyem Incident, so Nate stepped in and finished it. He's also one of the only Trainers to beat Iris since she became Unova Champion.
"Am I right? Or did I not spend enough time online recently?"
Nate and Dawn traded glances, Nate with that stupid smirk he always wore, and Dawn with her eyes wide and concerned.
Dawn pressed on. "Even Trainers with our reputations need help. Our mission plan hit an unforeseen complication."
"Trainers with your reputations...what makes you think I'd be any good in a fight against—"
"It would be a noncombat role," Dawn said. "Lyle and myself would be the offensive force. Nate is to remain incognito. You would be with him."
Nate winked.
Ugh.
Winnifred put a hand to her head. "You guys do realize that I forgot to do the reading for this lecture."
"Ranger Man over there didn't tell you everything?" Nate asked, gesturing to Lyle but keeping his gaze fixed on Winnifred. "What the hell have you been doing with him all this time, then?"
The conversation lulled. Lyle had gone full-catatonia, but hopefully, that meant Nate couldn't get anything from him.
Dawn recognized the tension in the room, somewhere between Nate and Lyle glowering at one another, and the moment when Winnifred could actually hear her own heartbeat. Dawn sat on the edge of the bed. Her gloved hands fiddled with the edges of her scarf.
"Michael the Metal Arm has invited his entire team of advisors for a gathering, two days from now." She was unfazed by Nate's shock. "Winnifred has a point: if we're drafting her, she has a right to know why." And back to Winnifred herself: "It's the annual Aspartia Town Homecoming, in Hilbert Towers. We Covenant Operatives, with the assistance of Ranger Lyle, are planning espionage."
"That's the most exclusive event in southern Unova," Winnifred said.
"Exactly. Michael is using the exclusivity as a cover to bring his men together. We managed to obtain tickets through means…not exactly mentionable in an un-bug-checked room." She laughed as this was mentioned. Dawn clearly wasn't the type to take herself seriously. "The problem is, the tickets are for couples."
"Couples?" Winnifred said, gritting her teeth. "How wonderfully convoluted."
"Our engineer did some perfectly-legal-tinkering with the guest list to put myself, Nate, and Lyle on the guest list. Unfortunately, we do not have time to send for another girl Covenant member."
"Well, what about your boss?"
Nate's eyebrows twitched. "What do you know about Wes?"
"He's the one that beat up Lyle. He's head honcho here, right? We live in a free country, Nate. Take this Wes guy as your date and leave me out of it."
Before Nate could intervene, Dawn jumped in: "Wes has his own mission agenda. Our attending the homecoming event has its own mission requirements separate from….Plus, it would be appreciated if you refrained from mentioning his name. We are a secret organization."
I mean, come on. Holy shit, it's Nate and Dawn. And Nate was a stalker dick, but Dawn!
Winnifred nodded, very sure that if Nate had asked instead, she'd be shouting Wes's name from the walls. Granted, she did, but she could suppress the fangirl inside for another few minutes.
This would only take a few more minutes. Winnifred knew exactly where this was heading. "You want me to get an invitation to Michael's thingy, don't you."
"It would require no work on your end," Dawn promised. "Our engineer had to add her own code, in a month-long project, to get our names on the Hilbert Towers Homecoming guest list. The database either has codes generating new invites, or it searches for individuals that have been invited before, and re-activates them." She paused. "In English, it means we only have time to generate an invitation for someone who's already been to a Hilbert Towers event."
"And that would be me," Winnifred sang.
"That would be you. As I said, the mission has Nate running reconnaissance. All you have to do is stay with him for the evening. Michael should be busy with Noel, so the possibility of the two of you meeting is—"
"Who's Noel?"
"Michael's new squeeze," Nate provided. "Some uppity chick from all the way out in Fiore. She's packing Pokeballs, but there's no record of her beating a league or anything. She might be a convict." And finally, with a sadistic grin: "You jelly?"
Winnifred's laugh actually made Nate flinch. "Please. You know why this is a couples' event? Michael is so insecure, so goddamn insecure, that he's afraid if he lets this girl wander, she'll get chatted up. He's a jealous whackjob." To Dawn: "If he's got…what, Noel, you said it was? If Mike's with her, he won't even notice I'm alive."
Of course, if anyone tracked Winnifred's blood pressure, they would have seen a spike the instant Michael having a new girlfriend was brought up. But that wasn't fair to Michael, though, even if he was a psychopath. People move on, and they're allowed to. After all, Lyle was…Nope. Not right now, Winnifred.
"I'm stuck with Nate," she groaned. "Fine, whatever. And I can't believe I'm saying this, because clearly nobody in this room gives a hell what I want, but read my lips. I'm not involved with this Metal Arm stuff after the homecoming. I'm only doing this if you promise to never contact me again. Capice?"
Dawn bowed her head. Nate unfolded his arms in a 'who, me?' pose.
"Good." And storming out, fast enough that Lyle knew to step to the side and pull the door open: "I've got to get back to work."
It wasn't even a blatant lie. Winnifred gave it ten minutes at the front desk. She didn't see Nate or Dawn come down and leave, meaning they were probably going to stay there and keep an eye on her until the homecoming mess.
"Great," Winnifred sighed. She threw her head back. "Another homecoming."
"I thought those were only for high school jocks and the cheerleaders that snog them," Mac called from his office.
She leaned forward and jarred the computer mouse. The IM window came back up, and she closed the waiting room 28 messages. A certain 'room14' was still online.
FrontDeskSupport: I do not appreciate being 'drafted' by a bunch of famous hipsters with beanies and gloves.
Room14: Wat?
FrontDeskSupport: Nor do I appreciate having them in my hotel.
FrontDeskSupport: Or needing to take tomorrow off to buy a dress.
FrontDeskSupport: Or not being told that ORRE INCIDENT WES beat your face in!
FrontDeskSupport: ORRE INCIDENT WES and GALACTIC INCIDENT DAWN! AAHHH!
FrontDeskSupport: OR still having your handprint on my ass.
Room14: This is your life, your life is amazing.
FrontDeskSupport: UGH.
Right. Lyle was back in his room. No more mister awkward, quiet guy.
She pushed the keyboard aside and ran her hands along her face. One, then two messages beeped.
Room14: Sorry about the handprint.
Room 14: =D
FrontDeskSupport: I am going to scream.
Room14: Covenants are not my cup of tea, either. But thanks for agreeing.
FrontDeskSupport: You owe me for this. Helping, I mean.
Room14: Well, I'm not allowed to kiss you when you're mad...
Winnifred raised her hands from the keyboard. Her fingers went rigid and twitchy.
FrontDeskSupport: DO NOT THROW MY WORDS AT ME.
Room14: Oh, man. She'll handhold me to death.
FrontDeskSupport: Excuse me? I'm not playing!
Room14: k
She stared at the screen, eyes filling with red.
K? K?
Winnifred leapt over the desk, vaulting like an Olympian. Mac called something behind her, some mess about leaving the desk alone. She didn't care. She climbed the stairs, turned the corner hard enough that she actually gave her own neck whiplash, and stopped at the door to room 14. She raised a fist to it—
The door pulled open. Lyle stood there with that same blank, awkward look he had back in Nate and Dawn's room, that same spaced-out stare where some people had a resting bitch-face and somehow Lyle had resting gorgeous…
She crossed inside, leaned her body against the door, and bam, they were right where they were on the side of the road, picking up where they left off at her apartment.
"This wasn't fair," Winnifred said when Lyle broke from her lips and started to kiss her cheek, hands working to unbutton her shirt. "You got me mad."
"Just to get you to relax. Ranger skill: defuse the civilian before they snap at a bystander."
Lyle didn't pull her shirt off once the final button came undone, either because he didn't dare to or just didn't think to. He ran his hands around her sides, and she could feel the callouses on his fingers as they moved, slowly. They started running up…
Trying and failing to keep her thought processes moving: "I said, no grabbing me when I'm mad!"
"You also said not to call it 'grabbing'."
What was it with this boy and neck-kissing? A gentleman didn't routinely electrify the daylights out of a poor girl.
"I guess I say a lot of things," she said. "New ground rule?"
"No ground rules?"
"Yes, please." Then: "Yes, please."
-Lyle-
I think I'm in trouble.
Thanks as always for reading! Updates are coming at a crawl. It's a combination of professors throwing a veritable Elite Four of projects at me, my writing class being a pain, and NaNo coming up.
Yeah, by the way. It looks like there'll be another Pokemon fic which I'll be writing concurrent to 'Winnifred & Lyle' this November! Stay tuned!
You guys are bosses. Review if you like, and I'll see you all next chapter.