Sonia had learnt yesterday that sitting there worrying over every turn of events—Hilton's whisper to one of his aides, Costanzo's expression shifting into a brief smile as she read a sheet of paper, the judge's eyebrows raising briefly when Hilton raised a point about intent—was not conducive to anything. On one level, it was great having all of these emotions to feel while she was blacked out and they were inconsequential. But it wasn't really a good thing when all of the emotions were stiflingly negative, making her palms cold and clammy and making tears peek in the corners of her eyes until she ran out, and whether it was the nausea of stress in her stomach or, somehow, actual dehydration from all the tears which made her drink cup after cup of water.

It was something of an embarrassing feeling, needing to go to the bathroom while in an important meeting. Needing to go to the bathroom in court, on the other hand, was something very different, and various shades of unpleasant. It was one thing leaving your fate up to the judge and jury; it was another to put your hand up in front of them and ask the judge if you were permitted to vacate your bladder.

Being too embarrassed to do just that was almost embarrassing in and of itself. Sonia held on until a break was called for whatever other reason.

Sonia tried to pay attention, absorbing the information and processing it—then realised that was far too stressful. She over-analysed everything, running causalities in her head like a computer program—if a computer program was agonisingly slow and faulty. Every statement had subtext wrapped inside of a double meaning tied into a knot of implications.

Sonia found herself zoning in and out. Without her powers she had little to keep her grounded—her thoughts went uninterrupted by the idle chatter of the minds around her. It was with almost nauseating speed that she shuddered to a stop each time in reality when something emphatic was said or large movement occurred.

"...Raphael d'Alcott."

His testimony. He's just been called to the stand. Sonia straightened; it had come both achingly slowly and far too quickly.

"Please describe for us the events leading up to the kidnapping. " Costanzo's voice rang clearly in Sonia's ears. "Please try to include as much detail as possible; however, as your friends Thrones and Verity are also testifying, don't feel too pressured."

Raphael nodded, tight lipped.

"What were you doing just before the kidnapping?"

"We were travelling through Viridian Forest, on our way to Pewter City. On our journey," Raphael clarified, speaking quickly. There was tension in his muscles, Sonia could see it—and it was familiar, too, something she'd seen him so before but never noted. His body's expression of an emotion that her empathy had always just fed to her. Raphael continued, breath shuddering ever-so-slightly. "Beedrill attacked us. We're not sure why—Felix said we didn't disturb their nest and it didn't look like we'd walked into their territory, and we couldn't really think of any other reason." He glanced up at Sonia, eyes darting up and then back again in an instant.

Sonia was too stilted interpersonally to accurately read that gesture. Was it a favour, not mentioning Raphael's 'attacking the Psychic' theory? That almost felt condescending—unless it wasn't a favour, but something almost kinder; conceding. Conceding that he'd crossed a line, that his 'theory' had just been a poorly handled jab at Sonia's presence.

Or maybe it was neither and Sonia was just overthinking everything.

Raphael went on to describe the Beedrill attack, his and Felix's separation, and then their attack at the hands of Team Rocket. Sonia's stomach clenched.

Then he described how Sonia was knocked out.

Sonia felt her palms clenching, brought back to awareness by her fingernails pressing into her cold, clammy skin. Raphael described how she was knocked out, how he, Mal and Felix were pressed into the tree telekinetically.

Sonia, briefly, thought it funny—even if she herself wasn't represented as a terrifying example of Psychic power, Odette had already done that damage. Even more ironically, Sonia's telekinesis was stronger than Odette's, as far as she could tell, while Odette was so powerful telepathically Sonia wondered if even Sabrina was weaker.

"After Sonia was knocked out, the bigger of the two guys picked her up." Raphael wetted his lips, his jaw working and clenching. Was it just Sonia, or was he strangely reactive? He'd never done all this before, with his body language, when he was nervous at other times—or had Sonia really just never noticed?

Raphael continued. "And the Psychic, Odette, she turned to speak to us."

What?

"She said 'sorry boys; you're just not as interesting as Sonia. So we'll call off our game with you.'"

Sonia could feel her heart pounding. They hadn't told her about this, they hadn't said this had happened—

"Then she said 'but we're going to take care of Sonia, don't worry.'" Raphael exhaled, breath shuddering. "'I'll open up her mind, learn all of her secrets, and put her back together just right so that she… Loves Team Rocket.'"

They hadn't told her about this. They hadn't said anything about any of this.

Sonia stared at him, eyes wide, feeling her own body twist and tense to convey it—the terror, the terror while she stared at the boy who might have just sent her to prison.

"What the fuck was that?!"

Raphael looked up, expression momentarily blank with confusion. "Wh—"

Sonia's hand hurt. Her wrist felt wrenched. Raphael's blank expression was replaced with shadow and a faint red mark on his cheek.

"Sonia!" Mal interposed himself, staring down Sonia with an even, implacable expression. There was tension at the edges of it, pulling his eyebrows forward and narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips.

"You never told me about this!" Sonia's voice hurt against her throat, scraping and scrabbling at it. It felt almost relieving. "You never said that happened—you just doomed me! You just sent me to prison and you never even told me that happened—!"

Mal grabbed the front of Sonia's shirt.

All the words withered and died, leaving Sonia's throat feeling empty and sick.

"Calm. Down." Mal's words were measured, but measured so they contained just the right amount of force. "Do not hurt him. Do not hurt yourself. There is nothing to gain now by reacting like you are."

Sonia's breath shuddered as her body wound down, releasing the tight coils that held her muscles. Mal's malachite eyes seemed so much more like the stone they resembled, now, hard chips of mineral, unyielding as they stared her down. She could feel his breath on her, feel how close he was, how far far far far too close he was…

Mal blinked, and something lifted like clouds blown away by the wind. He released her, smoothing out her shirt before stepping back. "I'm sorry. That was improper of me."

Sonia opened her mouth, but a louder one beat her to it.

"Improper?! How about you start with the fact that she fucking hit me?!"

It was Raphael's turn to interpose himself. He strode forward, and it struck Sonia just how short she was and just how broad he was. He wasn't thin and lanky like many of the Psychics Sonia had known, nor was he crammed uncomfortably into his skin—his muscles were defined and seemed all the more noticeable now, when Sonia was full of fear of his reprisal.

"I went up there and I defended you. I talked to a room full of complete strangers about my failure as a trainer and as a person to do anything about a Team Rocket attack which hurt me, my friends, and resulted in someone getting kidnapped. I went up there and I told the Arceus-damned truth for you—and you decide to repay me by swearing at me and hitting me?! As if you're justified, as if my attitudes at all justify what you did, when it had nothing to do with what I said?"

Sonia stepped back, feeling impossibly smaller as he stood over her. Any faint mark her feeble strength had left on him had faded, and all that was left was his very plain, very obvious mask of anger.

"Do you know why I told them? Because it'd come out anyway. They'd go into our heads and they'd double check all our stories and I'd let them even though I never want a Psychic near my head again—that's how much I'd do for justice's sake. And they'd find out if we lied, find out if we 'forgot' to mention what she said, and how bad would things look for you then, huh?!"

Sonia opened her mouth to speak again–

"Don't speak!" Raphael roared. "Don't say anything! Don't try to be clever and debate with me! You're not as smart as you think you are and there aren't any clever words you can come up with to fix things! My mind is not your book to read—you don't know who I am and why I do anything. Okay?! I am a good person who's willing to do something for you—is that so surprising?! Of course it is, because you couldn't understand! You're selfish, you're self-righteous, you're just like every other Psychic who complains about unfair treatment and crap like that when you're a threat to everyone around you!"

The world was ringing, light. That feeling one got when they were in trouble with a parent, a teacher. Everything was light, uncomfortably numb. "...I'm sorry."

"You better be. You're lucky I won't add an assault charge to your worries," Raphael spat.

"I'm sorry."

Raphael turned and strode away. "I was right about you! And you can't argue with me! You lost any right to argue!"

"I'm sorry."

Raphael was halfway down the hall. "Maybe I should have lied! Maybe I should have let them find out! Maybe you deserve to go to Isolation Isle!"

Sonia's voice cracked, crumbling into a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He turned the corner and he didn't answer.

Mal stood against the wall, impassive. Dark, shadowed. Bleak.

Steps sounded loudly in the hall, someone running. Mal's head turned, the only movement.

Felix jogged down the hall, expression furrowed with concern. "Did something happen? Raph looked a little—"

"Something happened." Mal's voice was final. There was something almost suggestive in there, threatening—as if Mal was asserting his control, telling Felix to back down.

The fear, Sonia realised, hadn't ebbed. Even though Raphael was gone and Mal remained. Mal had done so much to bring her back—and yet she had hit his pseudo-brother.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying it." Mal's gaze was still turned away from her. "It loses all meaning if you keep saying the word like that."

"But I am," Sonia said quietly. Hopelessly. She felt helpless. She was able to single handedly fight off any normal threat to her life—she didn't fear muggings or murders or crashes or fights. But she was helpless now. And this was where it mattered.

Mal turned back to look at her.

His expression… Sonia didn't know. And for once, she was glad her empathy was shut off.

She didn't want to know what Mal was feeling right now. She was scared to know whatever Mal was feeling right now.

Raphael may have clearly hated her. He may have had the muscles and the martial arts training to break Sonia's bones. But did a Psychic fear physical threat—no.

Sonia had been so awfully lucky to have Mal on her side before. It was Mal, and all the soft power in the world that he wielded—the connections, the money, the honeyed words off his silver tongue, and the emotional connection that he'd created between himself and Sonia.

That was what would hurt her the most.

Mal and Felix had to include it in their testimonies, now. It took some pressure off of Felix, at least, who was frightened of testifying, let alone omitting a detail.

Sonia had been left to stew alone, after that—Mal had left, taking Felix with him, implacable. Hilton had found her a few minutes later, tried to reassure her—but Sonia's mind was anywhere but the present, now.

Sonia lost any ability to focus on her trial. She tuned in at key moments, but otherwise found herself too emotionally drained. She'd always been so sensitive. It had been so disastrous to pair that sensitivity with being a Psychic. But now the outburst had happened, and yet the world still sought more from her? Arceus, no. She couldn't.

Zorua, Lilith and Kai were what kept Sonia going. Kai held her and let her lean against him when Sonia was too drained to sit up, Zorua telepathically kept a running commentary even on the boringest bits and laughed maniacally as she nattered on and Sonia could only respond with eye rolls, and Lilith sat beside Sonia and she understood, she could feel everything as deeply, and feel the world reacting.

When it was her time to testify, Sonia broke down.

"Please explain what Team Rocket had you do with your telepathy. Expound upon the rather minimalistic explanation which you offered to the media." Bella Costanzo, in full force in her role as the District Attorney. Still with the dried-blood suit.

Sonia opened her mouth to speak, but the sound froze in her throat. It was like in the interview; inside her head it was fine, it was buffered. But when the memories had to be brought out, they felt like claws stabbing into the flesh of her throat, holding on and refusing to move.

"If you could excuse my client." Hilton's voice sounded, bringing Sonia out of the haze. "It appears this may be too traumatic to discuss."

And Costanzo had given him that look of pure, utter condescension, like his very job of protecting Psychics was worthy of it. "With all due respect, Mr Obanashi, I am sure a Psychic of all people could put aside their emotions. And if not, that doesn't help her case, now, does it?"

Something had lurched inside of Sonia. It nearly made her feel sick, that feeling. The flecks at the edge were something she could deal with; the actual knowledge of the psychology that what the woman had just said was utterly wrong, and the need to enlighten her of that. No human being could put aside trauma just like that; it burrowed deeper and into more insidious depths than even the rawest or most surreptitious of emotions. The flecks of that smart-arse, stupid, stupid response she could put aside. But it was the core of that lurch that Sonia couldn't fight. Because in that statement, with that look of condescension, the woman had revealed her true colours, like picking away the dried blood of her suit and professional demeanour to reveal the flood of hot, angry red fluid beneath. She didn't value Sonia as a human being at all. Bella Costanzo was fighting to prosecute her not just because Sonia was just another defendant but because she was Psychic.

Hilton turned to the judge. "Objection, your honour; trauma is not related to emotions in such a way that a Psychic could simply ignore its effects, such as in the case of post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Objection overruled." The judge's voice was like his gavel; it came down and shook Sonia with its decisive power. "If the defendant could please answer the prosecution's question."

They had the right to force her to speak? What happened to her rights?

Since when wasn't she a person anymore?

It was enough to make her cry.

She didn't care at this point, what it signalled to the jury, about how willing she was to control her powers. Her record was enough damn proof of that, her history and all these years. Her body needed to cry.

Even Costanzo recognised that. She pulled back on her examination.

For a brief moment, Sonia wondered if the woman was doing it out of kindness, rather than the sheer practicality of it. It made her cry even more when she realised she honestly had no way to tell.

When she was done, Sonia couldn't read the jurors' emotions, as she was. She had no clue how they responded. She could only hope it was well.

Lill assured her it would be.

As the trial neared its climax through the closing statements, Sonia realised she hadn't been able to read the jury at all. Not just at that moment, but the whole time. If she'd had her empathy, she would have been able to tell. It would have been less stressful even if they had gone against her. She'd have had warning, it would have been slow, it would have been easier.

This way, even though it took them hours to decide, it still felt like jumping straight into the icy cold water.

The speaker cleared her throat. Sonia's throat constricted.

"How does the jury rule on one count of psychic delinquency?"

"Not guilty, your honour."

Sonia breathed out, slightly, just slightly. That was the easy one, the check-ins. Only the cruelest of juries would have forced that one, and Hilton had done all he could in selection to prevent that, even with how stupidly fast the selection process had been.

"How does the jury rule on one count of abuse of telepathic power in the third degree?"

"Not guilty, your honour."

Sonia's throat wouldn't open up. That was nothing to relax at—either she was fine, or she was guilty of something worse.

Sonia's heartbeat hurt.

"How does the jury rule on one count of abuse of telepathic power in the second degree?"

"Guilty, your honour."

Guilty.

Guilty.

Guilty.

There it was.

Sonia felt like white.

"How does the jury rule on one count of abuse of telepathic power in the first degree?"

"Not guilty, your honour."

Their voices faded and echoed. That was it. That was it.

"How does the jury rule on one count of aiding and abetting a criminal organisation with the use of Psychic power?"

"Not guilty, your honour."

Everything, the pounding numbness, it dragged her down with heavy weights.

Sonia buried her face in her hands. She shut off the outside world until it was time for the sentencing. She moved through reality like she wasn't quite there, only visiting. She had a criminal record, now. It was done. It all moved so slowly, and yet when the sentencing came it felt like no time had passed at all.

Hilton had reassured her—the jury had only convicted her of one crime. The jury had been reasonably well convinced. One could be hopeful the judge was the same.

Sonia looked up at him, now. The judge. As he cleared his throat, poised to read, Sonia searched his face for something. Any clue, any hint.

If one was to be found, it needed a better eye than Sonia's.

"This is a difficult case to judge." The man's voice was even. "It is a commendable feat for the jury to have come to a decision so cleanly, despite the consequences. It leaves a young person with a spotless history with a criminal record—after an attack which demonstrates the true danger this person poses, where she not so well-integrated into our society."

Sonia's heart was beating faster, again. The blood was starting to rush to her head a second time.

"Then there is also the matter of what actually occurred—a murky inquiry into intent, reliant on good character, the lines in the sand blurred. She may be guilty of a second-degree abuse of telepathic power, and yet there are nuances within this case that suggest degrees within those degrees."

Wait. Was he saying—

"I sentence Sonia Darkin to one year of probation and close monitoring by the Department of Psychic Affairs, with a possibility of reducing to six months on good behaviour. This will entail increased check-in frequency, biotracker injections, monthly appointments with the department to evaluate the state of affairs and a Dark-type human acting as a probation officer."

The minimum sentence.

Sonia could feel the blood in the body, feel it moving, feel it pounding and filling her head like helium into a balloon. Sonia got why they said the relief was palpable—she could swear she could reach out and feel it and press it to her chest in a hug. She wasn't going to prison. She wasn't going to some horrible hellhole which would drive her insane. It didn't matter as much if she had a criminal record—at least there was still a chance, still a life to live.

Sonia didn't hear anything else. She was too busy trying not to cry for a second time during the trial. Well, after, now. It was done.

And she was free.