A/N:

Sorry for the holdup. Important chapter here, mostly for character development. Also the introduction of another significant character in the story.

Thanks again to Orthros for proof reading services prior to publication.

If you like this story, please consider checking out my Explorers of Sky fic, Into Darkness.

"…" - Spoken dialogue

Italics - Michael's thoughts

'Italics' - Telepathic dialogue

/\/\/\ - Lemon Scene

"The only mistake you can make is not asking for help."

-Sandeep Jauhar

Ch. 36 - A New Conflict

"What do you mean I can't just leave?" Michael asked. "I just had to deliver the biggest disappointment in the girls' life - and I could undo it all. We could still make it there before they start tomorrow!" At this point, he was furious.

"You are now enlisted again," Wesley replied, more than sick of repeating the same thing over and over. "You can't just up and quit like that! You're working for the government - you don't just walk away!"

"Why the hell would you ask for my service and not let me serve?" he asked.

"You think this is my fault?" the Colonel asked. "Or even Alex's for that matter?"

"Honestly? It's kinda obvious at this point."

"I thought on it for hours last night, and I don't know what to think. Why would someone who has known you for over ten years lie about something like this? What would he have to gain?"

"I don't know?" Michael stated. "He probably didn't think. May have felt that he was helping, but he should have stayed the fuck outta my personal business. And now everything is in the hands of one prick that has no fucking clue what's at stake right now. All he has to do is check a single box and they'll have me on medication for years. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing that I can't do the one thing I came here for? The one thing that I just chose over their happiness?" He had realized it now. He may have been one of the most skilled operatives in the military, but he should have never enlisted in the first place. Everyone would have been better off had they just taken their trip as planned.

"I'm sorry, I really am. But I don't know what to tell you. I was required by law to document the possibility, and now we need to know for sure. As things currently stand, we really don't have any choice in the matter. Be upfront about everything, and if there's nothing wrong, you'll be back out there again very soon. That's as much as I can tell you." Michael stood up and paced around, thinking of something to say - anything that could possibly reverse the situation. But nothing came to mind; he would have to go through this. He had hoped that there could be some last minute measure he could take to get out of this altogether, but it was to no avail. And if he wanted this over quickly, then he'd need to really be strategic with how he played his cards.

"You know just as well as I do that this is a load of bullshit," Michael said.

"It couldn't have been at a worse time, that's for sure. I need you out there, not cooped up at base. But the fact of the matter is that you're staying here until I get some real answers." Knowing that he wouldn't be making any headway in the matter, and that he had no choice at all, Michael left the Colonel's presence. What a fucking prick, he kept thinking to himself. After all these years, he goes and throws me under the bus like that!

"How did it go?" Layla asked as soon as he stepped around the corner.

"It was a tremendous waste of time. He said I've got no other option."

"Dang… and to think we ditched the league for this…"

"Yeah, I know," Michael admitted. "I'm doing what I can to work my way outta this. But it's not looking good. They got me fucking caged." They walked down the busy hallway towards the cafeteria, where the others were waiting for them. "Bad news girls," he said as he approached their end of the long table, "that prick managed to get me booked with that therapist."

"That's not a very nice way to speak about your advisor…" Alaina said.

"Wasn't talking about Hawkins. He's just doing what he's obligated by law to do."

"Oh…" she said. "You know just as well as I do that Alex wants the best for you. He did what any friend would do."

"He should've thought of the consequences that it would have for me. I went and made a decision to ditch everything we wanted to do so I could stop these invaders. Now because he went and ran his damn mouth, I can't do that either."

"Then I would encourage you to treat these therapy sessions seriously," Alaina continued. "I'm sure you could get a lot out of it. Maybe us coming here was for the best after all."

"What do you mean by that?" Michael asked.

"Well," Alaina stated, "you won't admit that there's a problem, even though there clearly is. You know that as well as any of us - and as well as Alex. You weren't about to reach out for help, so maybe it's for the best that you aren't given a choice in the matter." He stared at her in confusion, but she was certain of her position.

"Why is it that you constantly think there's something wrong with me?"

"Would you like me to go down the list?" Alaina asked.

"Sure, humor me."

"Alright," she said. "Well for starters, you are clearly paranoid. You don't sleep, and when you do, you have nightmares. You probably don't remember it, but I woke up one night to you trying to strangle me in your sleep. You don't find enjoyment in anything anymore, and we haven't had sex in months. The Michael I once knew hasn't been here in a long time." That one hurt to hear, but as much as he wanted to say something in his defense, he couldn't find the words.

"…She's right, you know," Charlotte said to his annoyance.

"I don't think so…" Michael stated.

"Oh? Want to try to disprove anything I just said?" Alaina asked. "I'll tell you what, give me one thing I was wrong about and I'll take it all back." She looked him directly in the eyes, challenging him to do just that. He thought for a moment before managing to put together a response.

"Just because I have a gun under my pillow doesn't make me paranoid. I'm just not willing to risk losing any of you if something happens again."

"Arceus, of course that would be what you bring up out of everything," she said, rolling her eyes. "Listen, it's not the gun under the pillow. It's the gun under the couch, in every closet, in the cabinets, the drawers… You're scared that an army is about to storm the place!"

"Seems to me like that's what happened last time, and we weren't prepared to stop it," Michael countered. "And it cost us a lot of good people. I don't take chances, not when it comes to you girls." The latias just shook her head in annoyance, clearly agitated by the fact that he had found a way to turn the conversation against her, albeit not very effectively.

"Whatever you say. Just go to the sessions and actually try to get something out of it."

"If you say so."

. . . . .

After lunch, Michael checked his phone and noticed a text from Samuel.

Heading out to the range today to sight my rifle in. Want to come?

He thought it over. Samuel didn't really play much of a role in Alex's decision to speak up to Hawkins, so Michael tapped away at his phone and sent his response.

Just the two of us?

Hopefully it would be. He didn't feel like being around too many others for the time being, though a trip to the range would be welcome.

Nicole's here.

Of course that wasn't surprising. The ninetales often went with the sniper to assist him as a spotter.

That shouldn't be a problem. Will be there soon.

Most of them were headed back towards their quarters, so Michael would need to make sure to grab his M1A. Both Ver and Alaina would soon be attending an EMT exercise, so they likely wouldn't be home until later that night. Kinda weird… they'll be experiencing more action than I will for awhile… But hopefully he'd be out there again soon.

"I'll be heading off soon," Michael stated as they walked into their part of the duplex.

"Really? Where to?" asked Layla.

"The range. Gonna try again to zero that damn thing in. Hopefully Samuel can help."

"I thought you were satisfied with it," the lucario said.

"Yeah, for close ranges. But what if I need it to accurately hit a target farther away?" The lucario rolled her eyes.

"Are you planning on hunting?"

"Not really, no," he replied.

"Then why on earth do you need something like that?"

"Because I want to. That's why I got the thing in the first place." Odds were the lucario decided to drop it because she didn't feel like following the conversation up any more. In any case, that was the end of it.

"What time will you be back?" Elise asked.

"I dunno, when I get the damn thing working right or when I run outta ammo. Whichever comes first."

"What about your appointment?" Layla inquired.
"Should be back in time." Michael slung the rifle over his shoulder and grabbed the range bag before heading out of the house. "See you all later."

. . . . .

Despite the constant gunfire, the range was a very peaceful scene. Rather than a massive outstretch of mountains in the distance, there was nothing but a relatively flat field as far as any bullets they were using could possibly reach. Targets of all sorts dotted the landscape at varying distances, and the shooters were positioned on top of a small hill that gave them a slight height advantage. Towards the end were the two that he was interested in.

Nicole was lying prone alongside her trainer, looking through a spotting scope, her left eye squinted shut. Just like everyone else there, she wore ear muffs, though they looked a bit odd on the fox-like creature.

"I see you brought out the Lapua. Finally manage to shoot out the barrel?"

"Yeah," Samuel replied. "Fucking thing goes a lot faster than you'd think, too."

"Hey Michael," Nicole said.

"Hey," he replied. "How's his shooting?"

"Oh, he's not doing too well today. Only five centimeter groups at six hundred."

"Fuck, I'd be happy to have that at three…"

"Well let's see what you got," Samuel stated, motioning for him to set his range equipment down. "I've left my three-hundred target alone. Have at it." Michael unlocked the latches for his rifle case, to which his comrade shook his head. "Really? You went and bought a semi? And for such a good caliber too."

"Yeah well you don't seem to have a problem shooting the Barrett…"

"That's different. And is that a fucking ACOG on there? Can't wait to see the groups you come up with."

"We'll see." He retrieved the box of ammunition from his bag and went about loading the first clip - something that he probably should have done beforehand. He inserted it into the bottom of the rifle and pulled the bolt back. Looking through the scope, though, he had to admit that Samuel was right. That hundred meter increase from his previous range session was making all the difference in the world. With the tripod keeping him steady, Michael gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle jumped, and in the distance, he could see the large impact in the dirt behind the target.

"Not even close," Samuel stated, causing Nicole to laugh.

"Only about a foot and a half. Lower right," the fire fox said.

"Damn. By that much?"

"Did you change your ammunition?" Samuel asked.

"I think so. I don't recall them being heavier though," Michael said.

"Let me see." He handed the now empty box to the sniper, who looked at it for only a second. "They're 168 grain. A rifle like that tends to favor 150. You can adjust it as you see fit, but they're heavier than they should be."

"Great. So now what?"

"Well you've got what you've got. Go ahead and shoot." Michael adjusted his scope to account for the rightward drift and simply aimed higher than his previous shot. The gunfire echoed out once again, this time landing him a hit on the target. Still a bit towards the right. He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession, landing one hit and barely missing the second one, sending the bullet over the target. He kept at it in his attempt to score multiple hits anywhere on the target in rapid fire, but he was having no such luck.

"Hope you're having better luck at this than I am," Michael said. Samuel was looking over a few things on a notepad to his side, then repositioned himself behind the rifle once again. He experimentally felt the barrel.

"Looks like it's cooled down enough," he stated. "Yours on the other hand… You just went through twenty. Great way to kill a barrel."

"I'll just buy a new one. Now let's see what you've got with that."

"Alright." Samuel adjusted the elevation turret multiple clicks down.

"Well shit, how far are you shooting?" asked Michael.

"I think he might be going for the twenty…" Nicole said.

"Yeah, sure." The sharpshooter eased his finger on the trigger, his breathing coming to a halt. But before he could fire, the loud buzz sounded across the range, and taking the signal, everyone ceased their firing.
"Of course. Why not?" Samuel asked. He flipped the safety on. "It'll take them about ten minutes to switch out all the targets." While the range staff tended to the replacement of the used targets, the two Reapers decided to make conversation.

"What's the status on your situation?" Samuel asked.

"The therapy bullshit?"

"Mhm."

"That's where I'm headed after this. Hawkins said I've got no choice in the matter."

"That's hard…" Nicole said. "And it's too late for the League…"

"You knew?"

"Yeah," the fire-type replied, "Charlotte told me about it."

"Well then you know exactly why I'm as pissed as I am. We gave all that up so that I could come help again, and now that's been robbed from me."

"I can get that."

"Yep. So one random dude gets to decide what the hell becomes of my future - including whether or not I need medication. And that would earn me a discharge. Not to mention they could confiscate any firearms registered in my name."

"That's not true," Samuel said. "Can't be. My mom was diagnosed with both PTSD and depression and she was still able to buy the hunting rifle. Now if you get checked in to a mental hospital, then it's a different story. I don't see that happening in this case."

"I must've been mistaken then. Well at least that's some good news throughout all this."

"Yeah, but being grounded still does suck though," Samuel said.

"But I don't think you should've hit Alex…" Nicole said.

"Probably not, but he had it coming. Lillian's thunderbolt stung like a bitch though."

"Well you did attack her trainer," she stated.

"If you don't mind me asking, why would Alex think you have PTSD?" Samuel asked. Michael shrugged.

"I've got no clue," Michael replied. "But the girls are actually backing him on this."

"Don't you think they know you better than anyone?" the sniper inquired.

"Well yeah, but it's very well possible they're reading too much into the situation. Maybe I have changed some over the past years, but that doesn't indicate a fucking mental illness."

"Maybe not, but don't you think it might be safer just to find out? Is there any harm in it?" Michael thought it over for a second.

"It's a massive waste of my time, and kinda a huge 'fuck you' when the girls and I just ditched the League for it."

"They'd have done well too," Nicole said.

"I know. The most intimidating guy there was someone we've already beaten before. We could've taken the Indigo League, but I get to sit here and listen to some prick waste his time and break down my mental status."

"Looks like there's nothing you can do about it, so you may as well be honest with him and see if something's wrong," Samuel said. Michael shot him a sideways glare upon hearing this.

"Do you think I have something wrong with me?"

"Never said that."

"Well you kinda implied it," Michael retorted.

"That's not at all what I was going for. But I can't help but wonder… what something actually is off and you just didn't think there was. Don't you think that could be damaging to your relationships? Would you trade the girls for the ability to serve?" The question caught Michael by surprise, and he didn't have an answer for it. Of course he didn't like the idea of trading their happiness for combat. Yet that seemed to be exactly what he was doing. And if he didn't participate, then no doubt he'd always feel guilty for abandoning his comrades to fight an invading force without him.

"I wouldn't, no. It's already taken a strain on my relationship with each of them, so I've agreed to call it quits after this tour. But I am going to do what I came here for. That's where my frustration lies." The ATV pulled up beside them, with the soldier on the back holding the collection of targets that they had been shooting at.

"They're in order from closest to farthest," he said as he handed them the large stack.

"Alright. Thanks." Samuel started rummaging through the pile and found his target of interest. "There we are." His four-hundred meter target had three-shot groups in several different locations. All of them had the rounds all touching one another. "Let's see, looks like maybe a centimeter and a half."

"I'd say that's about right," Nicole said. Meanwhile, Michael's target had bullet holes scattered about. The shots that he had been aiming carefully during were a little better.

"What do you think? Five inches?"

"Centimeters, Michael. Centimeters. You're on base now. Time to drop those damn imperial units," Samuel said.

"Okay smartass. So fourteen centimeters, right?"

"About thirteen. Still not that good, and that's not even covering that rapid fire bullshit. Should've spent the money on a Remington 700 if you wanted a .308."

"Alright, tell me how you really feel."

Soon, the targets had been placed out once again. The moment the vehicles had made their way back behind the firing lines, the buzz sounding once again. "About time," Samuel said, readying his rifle once again.

"You're seriously going for that? That's over a mile away." Michael said.

"You act like I haven't made a shot like that before."

"Yeah, but a .50 BMG is a whole different platform than a .338… That target's made for practice with the Barrett, not a Lapua."

"It'll reach it without a problem. Only question is if I can compensate for drop. Not much wind today, so that shouldn't factor in."

"He's going to hit it," Nicole said.

"I mean if he lobs fifty bullets over there, sure, but—."

"I'll only need three," Samuel stated without looking away from his notepad. Michael couldn't see what his comrade was writing, but he was intently scribbling on the paper while quietly saying a few things to himself. Being that his turrets had already been adjusted for the specified distance, Samuel pushed the bolt forward, ready to fire. He hugged the rifle against him, his finger brushing lightly over the trigger as he stared intensely through the scope. A second passed, and the firearm recoiled harshly against the Reaper's shoulder.

Looking through his ACOG, the target in question was but a small dot in the landscape. Two and a half seconds after the thundering sound, though, a cloud of dirt could be seen far behind the target, ever so slightly to the left of it. "Shit, drift was a little more than expected." He pulled the bolt back, ejecting the empty brass case, and loaded another directly inside. "Two meters. Maybe a half to the right…" There was no warning as he shot once again.

"Got it that time," Nicole said.

"For real?"

"Looks like I only needed two," Samuel stated. Nicole scooted over, allowing Michael to look through the spotting scope. Surely enough, there was an indistinguishable hole in the lower left quadrant, only four inches away from the center.

"Son of a bitch…"

"Told you."

"That you did," Michael admitted. "Just didn't think you'd get it that fast…"

"To be honest, neither did I," Samuel said with a slight laugh.

. . . . .

Michael's time at the range had ended before long, coming to a close when he realized that he would be late in his first appointment if he delayed much longer. With the little bit of good mood that he had managed to create now leaving, he said goodbye to his friends and walked back towards his quarters. Then again, he could definitely scare the shit out of the therapist if he showed up with a semi-automatic .308. The thought brought a slight smile to his face despite his annoyance with the situation.

When he had arrived back at his place, Michael noticed that Alaina and Ver had both recently returned. "You two weren't out long," he said.

"It was just a flight exercise," Alaina said. "Mostly evasive maneuvers."

"You two better not be making any use of those…"

"Alright, whatever you say," the latias replied. "You're going to be late to your session if you don't leave soon…"

"About that - Ver, think I can get a ride over there?" She nodded.

"Okay." The large dragon set her equipment down on the couch and headed for the door.

"Thanks. Saves me a good bit of time." As he closed the door behind him, Ver got down on all fours, ready for him to get on. Truth be told, he didn't ride as often as they once did, so she was probably welcoming of the request. And the moment he mounted her, Michael had to clamp down hard as she lunged into the air. Seconds later she had steadied herself about a hundred meters in the air, where she came to a soft glide.

"Where exactly are we heading?" she asked.

"Right on the edge of the main post," he replied, pointing towards the corner of the large construct. A small series of office buildings bordered it, with one of the rooms being his destination. "What do you think about all this?" he asked as she came to a slow descent.

"The therapy? I don't like it one bit. Not saying that you don't need it… but why would they throw it on you like this? This soon into a tour…"

"Thank you," he said. "If there was a concern, they should have prevented me from coming here in the first place."

"Maybe they didn't think things out. But there's nothing that can be done about it now. It just pisses me off that this is how it all turned out…" the flygon said.

"That makes the two of us." She softly contacted the ground, to which Michael stepped off. "What time will you be out?"

"I have absolutely no clue. You go ahead and join the others. I'll be there as soon as I can." He rubbed along the length of her neck just the way she liked, slowly trailing his hand up and pulling her into a light embrace. "I love you." She returned it without hesitation.

"And I love you. Now go take care of this. I'm sure we can find something fun to do when you get back." He reluctantly let go, looking for her for a moment as if to ask for help. There was nothing he wanted to do less than to walk through those doors, but as of now, there was no other option.

Inside the relatively small hallway, there was little activity, with about seven doors on each side. Let's see… room 408… Jackson Slater. He scanned over the plaques outside of the doors, finding the corresponding number to be beside the one door that was slightly open. Well, here goes nothing… Michael walked up to it and slightly knocked on the door.

"Come in," the voice from inside said. It was unusually cheery, which was not what he had expected to hear from a person with such a position. But it also sounded young. The Reaper pushed the door open and walked inside.

A man, maybe in his late twenties, sat behind a neat desk. His desktop computer was on and was displaying some sort of records, likely those of Michael. He had a smaller build, wore casual clothing, and had jet-black hair. An absol was seated by his side, who wore one of the older VFT collars. Not that it mattered with his implants. "Wait a second, I've seen you before…"

"Probably. I'm all over the base. Maybe during a morning jog?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Well as you may have guessed from the sign outside, I'm Jackson, but I usually go by Jax. This here is Arabella." Kind of a weird nickname to go by…

"Hello there," she said. "It's kinda weird seeing you here. I heard about you on the news and all. Glad you guys stopped Douglas, or else people like us might be dead now…"

"I'm guessing you two are—."

"Yep," Jax said. "I don't particularly care who knows. But tend to stick away from PDAs, ya know? Last thing I need is some Assembly sympathizer to come knocking at my door…"

"Got that right," Michael replied. "That was a nasty bunch. Every once in awhile you hear something from them, but they're gone for the most part."

"Thankfully." Jax scrolled down on the computer before minimizing the window. "Alright Arabella, sorry to say, but this part has to be done in private."

"Of course." The absol stood up and stretched out before slowly heading for the door. "It was nice meeting you," she said.

"Likewise." She lightly kicked the door shut behind her on her way out. Michael took a seat on his side, while Jax sat there for a moment, straightening out some papers on his desk. A notepad in front of him had a pen resting on it.

"Hope you don't mind the casual setting here. Not too organized as you can see," he chuckled.

"Not really."

"Alright, let's get started then." He held one of the papers in front of him and silently read from it before speaking. "Says here you have five pokémon, one being that latias of yours. All female. Interesting." But regaining his focus, he started the session. "So what have these past years been like for you?"

"What do you mean by that?" Michael asked.

"It's a high stress environment - I'm sure you can agree with that. Moving all over the place, everything being secretive… I'm wondering how all of that has changed you."

"Oh. I don't know. I will admit that it's been a rough ride at times."

"I'm sure. I've read through your files. Military is a huge change from what you were initially set out for, especially when it leads you against your own family," Jax stated.

"I can agree with that."

"Would you say that it's negatively affected your mood? Your thoughts?"

"No, not really."

"I am kind of curious, because I'm reading reports of paranoia and hypervigilance. What do you think about this?"

"It's bullshit," Michael said, "just like this entire process, to be quite honest."

"Oh? Why do you say that?"

"Because all of this has been based upon the statements of one guy, forwarded by my commander. You can't tell me that's a reliable enough set of data to make a diagnosis. But then again, I might be expecting too much. People in my field have always considered psychology to be a pseudo-science of sorts. Looking at how all of this is playing out, I think I'd agree with that position."

"Alright," Jax said with a laugh, "tell me how you really feel."

"I intend to," Michael said. "I want you to think about this for just a minute."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"The girls and I were going to compete in the Indigo League. This time we'd have won it hands down. We've already beaten the expected champion, and now two of my pokémon have military training. And I just had to make the hardest decision of my life in order to come back here and try to fight off a new force of invaders - a group that wants to destroy us from within. And a few days after I get here, I get told that I can't do what I came back for, and that I need 'therapy' just due to accusations of PTSD."

"That does sound frustrating," Jax admitted.

"And to make matters worse, I can't leave. I've enlisted again, so I'm here. But they won't allow me to engage in the very thing I came here to do, and they won't let me out unless I get a discharge. So I can't fight, and I can't go back to the League. Our first battle would have been this afternoon, but we can just fucking forget about that because Alex decided to be an asshole and throw me under the bus."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is it an official diagnosis that you're after?"

"No. And it'd come far too late to actually be able to do anything about the League. It's too late to sign up. I'm here for good. But so help me I better be out there soon."

"What is it that you expect me to do?" Jax asked. "These things take time."

"At least six weeks from what I've read to establish a diagnosis," Michael replied. "Unless, of course, you dismiss the possibility from the very start and let me go on my way."

"You know just as well as I do that I can't do something like that," the therapist stated.

"And you know just as well as I do that's a load of bullshit. In fact, if you write on that little notepad of yours that this is unnecessary and that I'm fine, then they'll take your word for it."

"Dismissing the possibility simply because you asked me to?" Jax asked. "Something like that could cost my license…" It had only taken a few minutes for the conversation to take a negative route.

"Your license? That's what you're worried about when there's a growing insurgency in this country?"

"This is my job - how I stay alive. Of course I'm invested in it."

"Well if that's the case, it's in your best interest to let me outta this whole thing," Michael said.

"Excuse me?" Jax asked.

"Tell me, what do you think the country would do if a decorated war hero was offed just like that because some wannabe scientist decided that he couldn't do it anymore?" Michael could hardly believe the words had come out of his mouth, but as sure as they had, Jax was looking at him in shock. There was no turning back now.

"Are you… threatening me?" he asked.

"Call it what you will. But with everything I've lost, I'm not losing this too. The country needs all of the Reapers now - me included. So you can either get with it or the both of us can go down." The therapist shook his head in disbelief, clearly not having predicted the conversation going in such a manner.

"I've been at this for three years now," Jax said. "That's not too terribly long, but I haven't ever given up on a patient."

"Alright, so we are gonna play this game."

"That's not what I said," he responded. "You didn't let me finish." He got onto his feet and headed over to the door. Jax slowly opened it and looked into the hallway. "Good," he murmured, before shutting it behind him. "I… wasn't expecting you to issue such a threat," he admitted. "That came out of the blue."

"But you must understand why it had to be made. I can't leave this."

"You're afraid," Jax said, "aren't you? That I'll diagnose you."

"That's exactly what you'll do - what everyone seems to want. Like they all know my own mind better than I do. But I'm not giving you that chance. If you pull this trigger, so will I. Take my job and I take yours."

"Well I can't have that."

"Then I guess we're done here," Michael said, getting up from his seat.

"Not so fast," Jax said. Fuck, what now? "I'm not just going to let you go like that."

"You intend to stop me?" Michael asked, grinning from the mere thought of it. "Let's see how that goes."

"No, not like that. What I meant was that I would like to make a proposition with you."

"Really? This seems like a stalemate to me," Michael stated. "What you possibly have to offer me?"

"An actual solution," Jax said. "I'm not interested in canning you from service. I don't like the idea of a guy with potential PTSD with a gun, but my intention is not to take away a career that you love. But I'm not going to sit here while a problem consists. You do realize that if you do so happen to have PTSD and you don't get it treated, you're at a high risk of suicide? Or hurting the ones you love? Is that how you want to treat your pokémon? I mean relationships that have lasted way longer than your all's have been destroyed because of PTSD. Do you want to take that chance with them?"

"What? What do you mean?" Michael asked.

"Oh come on, I've been in this ring much longer than you have. I think I'd know another pokémon lover when I see one." He was completely dumbfounded to hear such words, and for the first time in the exchange, Michael found himself on the defensive side. How could he know?!

"What is it that you want me to do?" the Reaper questioned.

"It's simple actually. I'll write down that this whole thing was a waste of time and that you're fine. But in return, you come by here twice a week." He still disliked the very idea of coming here to talk with this man anymore. But he would be back out in the field by the next mission, and perhaps this would appease Alaina's endless nagging about going to get help.

"But you will be handing Hawkins a note saying that I'm perfectly fine, right?"

"Isn't that what I said?" Jax asked.

"Alright then. I want that to be the first thing that I hear tomorrow morning - me being fit for service and all."

"So do we have a deal?" the therapist asked.

"Yeah," Michael said, extending his hand, "I guess we do."