Chapter Fifteen:
Resting Up

Disclaimer: I do not own the series Pokémon. Like, at all. It and all its respectable characters are © to Game Freak and Satoshi Tajiri. However, all writing contents and semi-plots here are © to me; unless it is stated otherwise. All shows/ books/ video games/ songs that are mentioned in this chapter are all © to their respective owners, I do not own them.

Notes: I spent the last few weeks doodling, sketching, and working on some serious character art projects, for any interested in viewing it on my Tumblr, blue-skiesand-silverlinings! Feel free to stop on by and check it out, and for anyone who has any inquiries directed at the characters—Keno or Sela or Shay or anyone else—the ask box is open!

With that aside, thank you to all the new readers who followed my page and this story! I'd love to hear feedback and how you're liking the story so far!

Current Team: Keno the Marshtomp, Sela the Poochyena, Ambrose the Ralts, Faye the Taillow, Breela the Shroomish, Luna the Skitty

Badges Won: Stone Badge


Filled with mingled cream and amber,
I will drain that glass again.
Such hilarious visions clamber
Through the chambers of my brain.
Quaintest thoughts—queerest fancies
Come to life and fade away;
What care I how time advances?
I am drinking ale today.
-Edgar Allan Poe


"Oh, come the fuck on, dude!"

"What? What happened?"

"The fucking server won't fucking load! Jesus fucking Christ, I can't even log in to Pokémon Go! I keep getting kicked off or given some kinda error code, telling me to 'try again later'. I just signed up and made my password, and now—can't even get on it! I want my fucking Squirtle!"

Sergeant Hawkins guffawed, and listened with rapt attention as her coworker continued ranting and raving about the newest and latest craze enveloping the Pokémon game-loving community worldwide: Pokémon Go.

Sergeant Decker was a tall, broad-shouldered sort of fellow, one who probably played football in high school. He had the build, the height, the weight, everything. If he had never joined the Marine Corps, he said that he'd probably have gone to college to try and break out professionally. Sergeant Hawkins could only speak for herself, and believed he probably would have made it, but she didn't really know the whole process and had to take Sergeant Decker's word for it.

At the moment, he was practically squeezing the life out of his iPhone, threatening to snap it in half with his thumb and index finger alone as he glared at the screen, his face purpling with barely contained rage. Most of the others in the room weren't having that issue, Sergeant Hawkins included. Everyone was involved in their own pokémon-catching shenanigans, some cursing the weak internet connection, whilst others would zoom out of the room in search of a Pidgey or Rattata or what-have-you. The break room ebbed and flowed with bodies, everyone having either already logged on or were trying to, such as in Sergeant Decker's case.

Sergeant Hawkins herself had already caught her first team member: a Charmander, whom she named Charlie. Every time she poked at its avatar, it would give an indignant little roar and scowl at the camera, tail flaring upwards briefly before its animation went back to cheerful idling.

Corporal Booth—skinny as a stick and knobby joints and knock-kneed with a bulging Adam's apple that bobbled whenever he spoke—sat at another break table across the way from Sergeant Hawkins. He suddenly leapt into the air, knocking his chair aside and whooped in triumph, drawing attention from all around the room to him, his Southern drawl just as prominent, if not more so, as his features. "Fuck yeah! Caught a Zubat!"

A series of groans chorused around the break room. It was small and squashed and room was a scarce thing on a Naval aircraft carrier. The reception was, however, rather decent in this part of the ship and it was chowtime, so they could dick around on their phones all they liked. Sergeant Hawkins could barely tear her eyes away from her own phone's screen, even as she shoveled some food into her mouth. It was chili for chow today, but it barely had any oomph to its taste when she got it. She liked spicy food and rectified it with what she could get her hands on, but after Pokémon Go started up, she barely noticed.

"I don't see it. Where's the fucking Zubat, Booth?"

"It was there, I swear."

"Bullshit!"

A smattering of separate conversations carried on, whether it was a Gunnery Sergeant or a Private First Class, or even a Lieutenant or a Captain—the only conversation going on at the moment was pokémon-related. It was surprising, however, to some of the younger members in the room, that an officer or Staff NCO would admit to showing interest in anything Pokémon-related.

Pokémon was universal. People either hated it or people loved it.

At the moment, everyone seemed to love it. Besides the usual bitches, moans, and complaints Marines loved to indulge in, games were universal to them, Pokémon quite possibly competing neck-in-neck with Call of Duty or Battlefield.

"Gunny, Gunny, Gunny—what would be your dream team?"

The question drew Sergeant Hawkins' ear, and she twisted to find the source of it. Gunnery Sergeant Bay was a thin man, but he had a rather doughy face and a red kind of complexion to it, like he was perpetually sunburnt, even when he hasn't seen the sun for days. He was in charge of another part of Sergeant Hawkins' unit, but she consulted him enough times that she could now pick his face out in a crowd.

He turned to the voice that asked him the ephemeral question, his phone clutched between his long fingers.

"That's easy. I'm a Gen-Oner and I like the fighting-types, so I'd pick from there."

"Rah, Gunny!" someone, she couldn't see who, shouted out in agreement.

Gunny Bay chuckled. "I like Primeape and Machamp, Hitmonlee and Hitmonchan. That'd be my dream team."

"That's like, four pokémon. What about the other two spots?"

"Uh…if I had to go with two more and from some other generation? Makuhita, for sure and…Lucario." Gunny Bay grinned again, looking proud of his choices. "I like dogs, too. Got one back home, waiting for me with the wife and kids. Lucario fits a bill I hadn't been expecting."

That conversation turned into many splitting apart, most of them revolving around what team would be "the dream team". The team that you would, hypothetically, battle an entire circuit of gyms leaders, Elite Four, and grand Champion to come out on top with?

When the question was posed to Sergeant Hawkins, she found the words dying on her lips.

"Any pokémon?" she pressed to the hungry faces staring back at her. Fervent nods replied to her inquiry. "Not just a team built by region or type?" Another series of nods. "Does it include Legendaries or Mystical?"

"Duh," someone snorted.

"Just six?"

"Duh," someone said again, impatient and amused, as though she were being incredibly thick for even asking, when it was apparently obvious to everyone but her.

Now she felt very put on the spot. She's thought on the matter, often enough. She couldn't just narrow it down to six spots. She had soft spots for the big, kaiju-esque pokémon like Garchomp or Feraligatr or Noivern; the dragons or dragon-like pokémon such as Charizard or Lugia or Tyrantrum; the dog-like pokémon such Arcanine or Houndoom or Suicune; the foxes such as Ninetails or Eevee or Zoroark…

It was hard boiling it down to just six. Impossible, even. She'd have a main team, a backup team, a backup team to that backup team, and if she was lucky, it'd just be all that. It was difficult to mash all of that into a singular response—one that any of the guys staring her down would fully understand. So, she shrugged her shoulders. She told them, "Charizard, Lugia, Garchomp, Tyrantrum, Feraligatr, Arcanine."

They left her alone after that, moving on to others, or turning back to their phones in a vain attempt to either catching pokémon or to access the server for Pokémon Go. Sergeant Hawkins found that she'd been kicked off herself, suddenly. She'd have to log back on, and she'd be hard pressed to wriggle her way back on, if it was hard enough for the others as it was to do so.

Her thoughts churned as she downed the rest of her lunch. Her answer hadn't been the full scope of who she'd pick on a dream team, if she could have access to and had choice pick of any and all pokémon laid out like a spread to her.

But it was a small start, in her mind.


Shay stared at the blank canvas of lined paper, fresh and crisp, the pages smooth and untouched by ink or charcoal, crayon or marker. The television set was playing softly, every inch along her skull was throbbing dully, and despite having taken another pain pill—as prescribed on the bottle, spaced out in a timely manner, and chased with an acetaminophen-based generic over-the-counter medication (something similar to Tylenol, but Shay couldn't recall the actual brand name) because addiction was not a fucking joke—she wasn't tired. So instead, she turned to something that would occupy her attention more readily than the rather cheesy action movie playing in rampant fashion across the screen.

Her team was enamoured with the current film playing on the screen, especially when the pokémon came out, stealing the thunder right out from under their human co-stars. Even serious little Faye and Sela appeared to be enjoying themselves.

Shay began writing.

Began detailing all that she remembered from the original Ruby and Sapphire games—she had never owned Emerald from back in the day, strangely enough—and noted the newer additions to the Alpha Sapphire and Omega Ruby games as well. Or, at least what she could recall from them, anyway. She tried to remember everything she could, considering she didn't have her games with her, and hoped she was doing the recollection justice.

It felt strange, listing the narrative of the game out in ink before her when she seemed to be living it. The idea or writing it out itself hadn't occurred to her before this, and thinking back on it, she probably should have done it much sooner. The ache in her body, and especially her head, dulled to a manageable level as she scribbled furiously. She tried to recall as many details about Hoenn as she could—even if she forgot names, she knew who they were, what they did, how the interacted with the player character…

She itemized everything that's happened so far, racking her brain to drain it of every detail and how it correlated with what's to come. There were minor differences, of course; elements of the plot that were inexorably changed or altered in some way. They were miniscule in comparison to the majority of how things have played out so far.

For example: she hadn't had a trainer battle with Brendan yet, not once; the area where Mister Briney lived was no longer a singular, lonely cottage just south of the Petalburg Woods, it was an entire district of homes, moorings, and shopping strips along the dockyard; and there hadn't been a battle between herself and Wally yet either, strangely enough.

Norman had put a halt to that before Wally could even finish asking.

"You're not ready for it," he had told Wally, kind yet firm and final despite Wally's pleading protests, before sending the young man off home. Shortly after that, Norman had seen her off as well, and that had been that.

What should have been May, or hell, even Brendan—the latter of whom was still alive—was now Shay, playing out the events as the player character would have. This place, this world…she theorized it was probably an alternate timeline to the original storyline she was used to. Not for the first time, and perhaps not the last, she wondered how this all existed, came together, worked.

But did this world have something to do with the weather anomalies from back home? Did the Creation Trio, in their violent war with one another…did they somehow bring about the calamitous weather that was plaguing her world? And if people were being displaced into this world, then did that mean people—and even pokémon—were being brought into hers?

So many questions, and she was no closer to any answers. All she could do was theorize, postulate.

Shay would pause often and check on her team every once in a while, paying attention to whatever was on television alongside them, even ordered some food up to the room for lunch so that they all didn't go hungry. She barely touched her food as she finished writing what she could for the time being, and laid down on the bed, falling into a half-sleep. She was barely aware of the room around her, but she could hear the murmur of voices and the droning of the television—although to her half-awake brain, it all sounded the same, to be fair. It was surprisingly soothing white noise she allowed herself to snooze to.

It was only when Keno was shaking her awake, gentle as he did so, when she startled awake, breathing hard and heavy, like she'd been running for miles on end. He skittered back, hands held up in surrender, tiger-orange eyes wide and shocked at her reaction.

"It's…it's Brendan at the door, I think. He's here."

She swung her gaze around, still trying to shake the fatigue from her head, as she stumbled gracelessly off the bed and toward the door. Her heart finally slowed, and she managed to take a few breathes without panting as she gripped the door handle. Brendan was indeed behind the door, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever. He started to smile, relieved that she had answered—or perhaps that she had indeed given him the right room number instead of a false one—but it faded once he laid eyes on her.

"Jeez," he breathed out, trying and failing to hide the incredulity of his tone. "You look like shit, Shay."

"Thanks," she muttered back, leaning on the doorjamb. "I was hoping I was pulling off the "runny shit" look because I feel like one."

He huffed a laugh in spite of himself, before tilting his head a bit to the side, glancing into her room. It was dark, save for the screen of her television. The team was no longer focused on whatever was playing on it; they were all staring back at him.

"So, I guess you had a good day, doing nothing? Well, almost nothing, right?"

Shay grunted, swiping a hand across the back of her head. It was tender and throbbed, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut until it all faded. She opened them back up to look at Brendan.

"Yeah. Pretty much." She cleared her throat, eyes still bleary and tired. "I returned the case to the people over at Devon. They were pretty happy about that."

"I expect they would be. That's good to hear." Brendan replied, pausing politely before pressing on. "So, do you need a little time to clean yourself up or…?"

Shay just barely managed to contain the strangled groan building in her chest from spilling out. She pushed the door open with her socked foot and turned on her heel. "C'mon, you can wait ten minutes for me to get ready."

Brendan took faltering steps as he followed inside, hesitation written so plainly on his face as he slowly closed the door. Shay glanced at the clock and cursed under her breath. She'd been sleeping longer than she'd realized. Well, to be fair, she had been dozing, but the principle was still the same.

She noticed that the team had taken note of the new arrival. Luna whipped her tail in agitated little circles, casting her yellow eyes on Shay and quietly groused, "Why is he here? He couldn't wait for us downstairs?"

Sela was quick to reprimand her, to which Luna offered a soft, annoyed growl in return.

"Your Skitty doesn't sound too happy. Is she okay?" Brendan remarked aloud, glancing at Shay as she retreated into the bathroom to change from her sweatpants into her cargo pants.

Need to do laundry in the next day or so, she thought absentmindedly.

"She's fine, probably not happy with more people in the room, though," she called to Brendan from behind the closed door as she slipped her pants back on. The material was durable, comfortable, and breathed well in all climates—especially the temperate region of Hoenn. However, it was still somewhat stiff from newness and would take more time to break in. She threw her night shirt off as well, gritting her teeth as she clipped her bra on, and slipped on the same tank top she had gotten with Norman their first weekend together—the Zoroark emblazoned across the front still had a wickedly mischievous gleam in its eye, promising all sorts of mayhem. It had been the last one in her size.

It gave her some form of energy back, as she stared at the dark fox in the mirror and smoothed the tank top out. She brushed her fingers through her mussed-up hair, chestnut-dark tresses shot through with traces of red-gold threads in the light of the bathroom. When it was an agreeable sort of tame, she stepped out, snapping the light off and found Brendan still standing in the room, awkward as can be. He alternated between glancing at the television screen, a smile playing on his face, and then looking at the pairs of eyes staring up at him.

"They haven't looked away since I walked in. Are they okay?"

"They're fine. Guys, stop staring. It's just Brendan."

One by one, they reluctantly turned away. Faye was the last to do so.

"They weren't like this at breakfast."

"We were in public. This is…kind of private. I don't exactly bring people into the room."

"What, never? Not even for a quick little fling?" Brendan teased, and Shay rolled her eyes as she crossed the room to plop down on the bed, pushing her feet into her boots. She began lacing them up, noting how close Luna pressed against her side, practically sliding into her lap. She crooned softly, warm and soothing.

"Yeah, because I want them watching if I decide to screw someone. That really sets a mood."

"It sets some kind of mood," Brendan snickered. Shay finished lacing up her boots and reached over and smacked him on the arm. Luna leapt off of her lap and she heard a soft chuckle arise from the little pink cat.

"Ah, ah! Okay, truce! I give! I'm sorry!" he yelped, and began rubbing at his arm in exaggerated motions, grinning broadly. "Gosh, so violent. I think you're compensating for something."

"Yes, I'm short, so therefore I'm angry. The correlation is astounding, isn't it?"

He laughed, appearing more relaxed than moments before. "Yes, that must be it. Short equals angry. I got it now." Brendan jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. "You ready?"

Shay breathed in slow and deep, turning to her team. "You guys ready?"

There was a chorus of agreements sent her way. The television winked off, and Ambrose tossed the remote across the bed before slipping down off the bed. The others stretched and did the same, coming to her side. She glanced back at Brendan. "They're good."

"Okay, then. I think the place I picked out is really good. Hope you like Kalosian!"


It was French, in Shay's mind. The Kalosian food was French to her.

Growing up, her grandmother on her stepfather's side would occasionally treat her, her younger brother, and her mother to French cuisine for brunch.

Shay couldn't recall what she liked to get, even if she tried. Her mother, on the other hand, always loved the French onion soup, without the bread. It was the one thing Shay could remember, out of everything from those mornings. Her mother loved French onion soup.

"So that the bread doesn't soak up all the soup. The broth is the best part!"

The thought of her mother made her throat threaten to pinch itself shut and Shay had fought to keep it open, to stop the threat of tears from building in the corners of her eyes. She couldn't handle crying, not when her head was still tender and hurt almost all the time, not when her eye was still black and blue and so very swollen and sensitive.

She'd pay for it tenfold later on.

You'll see her again, she kept telling herself. Stick to the plan. You'll see her again.

It didn't make her heart ache for her mother any less. It didn't stop her from wishing she was ten years old again, crawling under the heavy blanket in her mother's bed early on a Saturday morning and snuggling with her. Her mother hadn't always been the most understanding person in the world. But she had tried her damnedest to support Shay growing up, feeding her with books and homemade meals and trips to the zoo or the aquarium or even the movies when they could afford it. She had tried, and always said to Shay, "I only want you to be happy," while she'd been growing up. Shay wondered what her mother was doing right now and then regretted it, the worst possibilities overwhelming her, and she had to take a long draft of her water to try and clear her head.

Shay tried to not think of any of that, of the memories spent out and about with her mother, as she skimmed through the menu. She tried and failed not to correct 'Kalos' to 'French' when the words 'onion soup' were paired together on the menu. Shay hated onion soup, but a part of her was tempted to order it, if only to feel that small connection with her mother once again, even at the expense of her taste buds.

She flipped to the back and skimmed through the drinks, and when the waiter came around, she ordered the sweetest white wine they had before diving her nose back into the menu. Her eyes skimmed over the words, but she wasn't really reading any of it. The letters blurred together, as though they were forming some foreign language, one she was trying in vain to decipher.

"Are…are you okay?"

Shay sucked in a breath between her clenched teeth, glancing over her menu. Her jaw ached from gritting it so tightly. She had to force it open to relieve the tension.

"I'm…fine. Just tired."

"You know, you didn't have to come out with me, if you're still not feeling great. I would understand if you wanted to cancel."

"I'm fine," she asserted more forcefully, dropping her gaze to try and decipher the menu. She breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. "I needed to get out, and more than once in one day. I've been cooped up the last day and a half."

Brendan was largely silent as he took in her answer. The restaurant was small, but it was boasting enough of a crowd that belied its popularity. It seemed Hoenn was soaking up the diverse range of restaurants from different regions, and business was booming as a result. She found it a curious yet welcome detail that was sorely lacking in the original games. The closest to a human-centric restaurant she could pull from the top of her head was that Subway-esque sandwich place in New Mauville. Yet, even that place was saturated with something pokémon-related, and that was…battling. Battling to earn your seat and keep it, or you'd risk losing not only your place at a table, but also your meal.

It would definitely have to be noted in her little book back at the room. (A note that would have an add-in about how annoying that would be, especially if you were starving after missing a meal or two and wanted nothing more than to eat undisturbed, but refusing a battle was considered incredibly rude, no matter what region one was in.)

Brendan made a small, startled noise at the back of his throat, and fumbled with something out of Shay's line of sight. A spray of light lit up and a soft peeping noise erupted from beneath the table. A moment later, a tuft of pale orange and goldenrod feathers popped into view first and then a fluffy little bird face followed suite. Amber brown eyes blinked into the lights of the restaurant, head bopping every few seconds. They paused to assess Brendan and they lingered the longest on Shay.

"Hey, Sienna, you remember Shay, don't you?"

Sienna twisted her head to look back at Brendan, and she squeaked out with an enthusiastic nod, "Of course I do! She worked at the lab for a little while ago!"

But to Brendan, Shay wondered what he heard. Brendan beamed, turning back to Shay.

"You can let out your pokémon too, but…I would suggest just one. Having a full team might be a bit much." His smile turned sheepish. "We can get food for the rest of our teams to go, so don't worry about them going hungry!"

Relief flooded her at the reassurance and glanced at the pedestals that the waiter had brought out for both of them. Sienna sat upon one, the other was empty and waiting. Shay, upon having seen them in various places since she's come to Hoenn, and having quietly observed without asking since, she realized a long while ago what they were for: pokémon. For any who wanted to dine with their companions of agreeable inside-sized proportions, they were readily available. Whether they used pedestals, bird stands, chairs, or cushions of some sort, they were readily available at a trainer's request.

Shay's fingers drifted across the expanse of each pokéball at her belt. They were all in the same order, all neat and in a line. She knew who was where. She had to. She couldn't afford to fuck up.

She plucked a pokéball up, the plastic smooth and warm to the touch. When she flicked her wrist to snap it open, and out popped the light that formed a little being into existence, Brendan's eyes spread wide in surprise—and perhaps even a smidgeon of disappointment.

"Oh," he said, breathing out as his voice dropped. "I thought…you aren't going to let our your Marshtomp?"

Shay reached over and helped Ambrose up, and he settled upon the pedestal comfortably, hands reaching out to feel for the table. He pulled himself up to it, resting his arms on the flat surface as he offered a toothy grin in Brendan's direction, then Sienna, and lastly Shay.

"No. Just Ambrose."

"'Just Ambrose'? Wow, that's cold," the little Ralts chortled. Shay just barely managed to stifle herself from bursting out laughing. Brendan narrowed his eyes as he leaned in and looked at Ambrose, perplexity screwing up his face in a kind of adorable way. The moment didn't last for very long.

"Tell him to take a picture, it'll last longer. I can practically feel his breath on my cheek," Ambrose said, leaning away.

"Holy—is your Ralts blind?" Brendan hissed, gaze rounding on to Shay. There was abject horror written plainly across his face as he stared at her, mouth agape and eyes round.

Shay flicked a quick glance towards Ambrose, who sat calmly at her side, head tilted just enough to let the seafoam-green fur to shift back and reveal one of his eyes—or where they would be, where the flap of thin skin that covered his orbital sockets laid. His toothy smile didn't abate when Brendan looked at him again, and bald surprise lanced through the dismay Brendan was openly expressing. Brendan scrubbed it all from his face as he looked back at Shay, still holding a wretchedly disturbed expression on his visage.

"Shay—Shay, you can't make a blind pokémon fight in battles, it's just…not right. Legally, I mean…it's—there's nothing against it, but…but morally? It's wrong. It's just—it's just wrong."

Ambrose's smile faltered, just the slightest bit. Shay saw it dip, his preening stuttering briefly. He kept his sightless face turned toward Brendan, not seeing, but feeling him out.

Shay jumped when Ambrose's tiny paw reached out and wrapped around her pinkie finger and squeezed it. A jolt of encouragement rushed into her at the singular motion, and his smugness turned sweet as Ambrose tilted his head in her direction. She met Brendan's gaze, holding it steady even when all she wanted to do was look away and fumble with her hands in awkward silence.

"I know he's blind. And he wants to battle—"

"—but you can't make it battle, Shay, it might not be illegal, but it sure as hell isn't right!"

"Him." Shay spat back, tension flaring up her spine, riding along the curve of her shoulders as she sat stiffly in her seat. Brendan's mouth clacked shut, sharp and loud, silence shrouding the yawning space between them. Sienna shivered, her feathers puffing up violently. She began to nervously preen herself as the quietness ensued. Shay's heart hammered against the back of her ribcage, hard and angry as it beat away. Anger burned, white-hot as a star, and she could taste it at the back of her throat, hard and bitter. Painful ringing grew louder in her ears, drowning out the rest of the white noise of the restaurant's business around them. "Ambrose isn't an 'it', Brendan. Ambrose likes he and him pronouns."

Brendan stared back, mollified and thrown off kilter at the acidity of Shay's tone. When he managed to untangle his tongue, he nodded first and simply said, "Okay."

The waiter chose that moment to swing by their table, offering a broad smile and a basket of fresh soft bread and butter as he asked if they were ready to order, or if they needed time to review the menu any further. Shay stiffly recited her order, and Brendan offered his in a quiet, subdued voice. The waiter swept up the menus, beaming as he did, and it was back to the simmering silence that stewed between Shay and Brendan once again.

Brendan picked at his cutlery after unwrapping it from the clothe napkin, setting them neatly side by side on the table, the napkin an uneven lump off to the side. Sienna pecked at his arm, cheeping at him for some of the bread with both words and pantomiming with her head. She wouldn't meet Shay's gaze, making it a point to avoid it completely. Brendan got Sienna her bread and she pecked at it absently. Every other peck, she'd pause to assess her trainer. Shay asked if Ambrose wanted anything, and he nodded. Shay slid him a piece as well, and he nibbled at his prize.

"I'm sorry."

The words pierced the ringing still on-going in Shay's head and the sound dimmed. Brendan was tentative as he met her gaze.

"I didn't mean to offend you or make you mad. It's just…I've seen the results of pokémon forced to battle, even when they're at a severe disadvantage because of a disability."

"Are you speaking from personal experience or from having watched one too many documentaries on television?"

Brendan's gaze fell to a spot on the table, his shoulders hunching in on themselves, making him seem smaller. "A bit of both," he admitted. "Not…not me, personally. But other trainers whom I've seen in other towns when I visited with my dad on his business trips, when I was allowed to come. Pokémon with missing limbs. Hearing problems…blindness. Other stuff. Their trainers kept them around, even though they obviously didn't need to be in the ring. And…don't even get me started on the illegal underground fight rings. Those places…no pokémon should ever be found there."

He reached for the glass of water on the table, the glass beaded with condensation. He gulped down a few large swallows before continuing. "You'd think that pokémon with disabilities would be barred from battling. That they'd be restricted from it or that the League would draw the line somewhere. It's natural, of course, for pokémon to want to battle. There's nothing wrong with that, except…they sometimes don't do as well, they suffer more. And it isn't fair to throw them into the ring when they might have a type disadvantage but also a physical disability."

He snapped his mouth shut, perhaps feeling as though he was rambling and getting too heated on the topic. He took another long draft from his water. Sienna paused in her bread-pecking to glance worriedly at her trainer. She shot one or two looks Shay's way as well, but her focus largely remained on Brendan.

Ambrose tilted his head at Brendan, thoughtful as he chewed his food.

"Brendan, I'm not making him do anything he doesn't already want to do. Ambrose chose to come with me. He chose this life. If he chooses to not battle anymore, I won't make him do it against his will. He should have that choice; I shouldn't be forcing what I want on him and I won't." She thought for a moment, collecting her words before an idea struck her. "Do you guys have the Olympics here in Hoenn? For people, not pokémon."

"Um…sure. Sports contests and stuff."

"Is there a division for people who lost their limbs or the ability to walk," she pressed, and he stared at her as though she had suddenly begun to grow another head or set of limbs.

"I…guess? I never really paid attention to that kind of stuff, but yeah. I think so."

"Does anyone ever force them to do that stuff?"

"Uh…no. I don't think so."

Shay shook her head. "Same concept—and bear with me here—it's the same concept with Ambrose. I can't speak for those other people and their pokémon that you saw…but I can promise this. I won't force anyone on the team to fight if they don't want to. Not just Ambrose. If he one day decides to up and quit, I can't and won't force him to stay. I'm not some slave-driving asshole who's trying to squeeze them for every penny they can make me. Okay? It's their choice to stick around for as long as they want. I'll get sad and maybe upset if they decide to leave, sure. But I'm not going to be that kind of asshole. I'm a completely different kind of asshole, but I'm not that kind."

Brendan snorted in spite of himself, a grin cracking across his face.

"Arceus almighty, Shay. You…you, I really don't get you. Sometimes I think I do, and then you go and say shit like that," he said, shaking his head. He stifled his laughter, but there was a melancholy written in his eyes, one that touched the smile on his face. "I'd like to believe that. Really, I do. But a lot of people tend to make that same promise. And a lot of them tend to break it."

He shifted his gaze to Ambrose once more, pity and contriteness lining the curve of his jaw and the lines of his brow, lingering still. Ambrose stiffened, his attention once more gravitating to the young man across the table.

"Tell him to stop that. I don't want nor need his pity," Ambrose muttered darkly to Shay. She frowned at him but turned to Brendan all the same.

"He doesn't need your pity, Brendan. He'll be fine. Ambrose may not see like you and I do, but he can sense the world well enough that he can navigate just fine."

Brendan opened his mouth as though to pursue the topic, but gulped back down his words, appearing cowed enough to know better. Instead, he lapsed back into silence and for a moment, Shay hated her own defensiveness about as much as she hated him for not trusting her, believing her. And in that moment, she was back to swallowing the bitter anger and sour confusion that plagued her from back home whenever she heard her more conservative coworkers openly supporting a man who shouldn't have been voted into the presidential office, and yet he was despite all the wrongness he stood for. And when those in power flout the law so openly, so brazenly, those beneath would come crawling out of the woodwork, emboldened by an authority figure doing much the same to allow their narrow-minded bigotry to take the wheel like a drunk driver with car keys in hand.

This right now wasn't the same thing, far from it. She couldn't imagine the experiences Brendan went through growing up, of the sights and situations he had been witness to. But it made her wither on the inside that he didn't seem to trust that she meant every word that she said, that she meant on following through with her promises.

He didn't know her that well. How could he judge her so quickly?

Food arrived shortly after, and Shay was glad to have something to do with her hands and her mouth. She ordered another glass of wine, was almost tempted to just ask for the whole damned bottle and then some to go after dinner. She was still entertaining the idea when Brendan spoke again, drawing her out of her contemplative thoughts.

"Everyone keeps looking at us."

Shay had noticed. Whenever she grew tired of looking down like a beaten dog, she'd take a gander around them, and noticed from time to time that people would look back at her, really stare long and hard. Sometimes, when gazes met, the other party would hurriedly look away, as though embarrassed that they had been caught looking at her.

She glanced at Brendan, catching the concern painting his face. She returned to spooning more food into her mouth before answering.

"They see me, a young woman with a swollen shiner and a bunch of stitches across her face, who is upset, and you, a strapping young man who is nearly twice as big as me, arguing in public. It doesn't take a genius to make assumptions."

"Assum—oh. OH. Oh, crap. You don't think that they think…?"

"Yeah. I do."

Shortly after her MEU deployment, one of the only other females Shay had bunked down with on the ship, who had deployed with her from the same unit, had returned home in short order. Three weeks after they had all settled back down, Corporal Browne came in to work, sporting a fat lip, a lacerated cheek, and an eye so swollen she couldn't see out of it. She claimed she ran into a doorjamb at home, clumsy mistake. A week after that, her husband was arrested by PMO, and a month after that, she was divorced and living in the barracks again. They had had no kids or pets, so there was some relief to be had, although not by much.

They'd been married for less than two years, but everything came spilling out into the light once the Lance Corporal Underground got its hands on the juicy details: Corporal Browne had been enduring her husband's abuse in all senses of the word. The day she walked in with her face jacked up had been the first time he's ever hit her where it could be plainly seen. Everything else had been where the bruises wouldn't show in any uniform she wore. Deployment had simply been a long break for her from his fists.

Perception was reality in most cases. She told Brendan none of this, even as she mused on the memory of a young woman she hadn't thought of in years, not since she'd left North Carolina years ago.

"In about ninety-five percent of cases, perception is reality," she simply told Brendan, then took a sip her wine. It was sweet and bubbly, with the faintest tingle of alcohol touching her tongue. It was delicious.

"And the other five percent?" Brendan pressed with a tentative and lopsided smile.

"Well, that's where we fall in. This isn't one of those cases in the ninety-five percentile."

"Thank goodness for that, I guess." Brendan's smile grew, somewhat emboldened by her encouraging words.

"Who knows. Maybe they think you're the guy who came to my rescue from some unseen assailant. That could be the best-case scenario," Shay went on, offering him a cheeky grin, even if it stung to stretch her facial muscles. Brendan snorted derisively at the idea.

"Right. Like you need any rescuing. From what I can tell, you can take care of yourself just fine. You and your team sent that Team Aqua guy and his pokémon running for the hills with their tails tucked between their legs."

"Yeah, I did, so you better check yourself before you wreck yourself when you tangle with me, if you know what's good for you."

Brendan's smile practically split his face in two, mirth glittering deep in his eyes as he regarded her from across the table. Relaxation seemed to finally seep into his frame. Sienna seemed to reflect this as well, as her sluggish, nervous movements gained a more peppy and energetic flow. Ambrose leaned her way, head tilting upwards as he showed off yet another grin.

"Not bad deflating the tension, Shay," he said, encouraging and soft and approving. It was a departure from his usual cockiness, lending her comforting and tender affection.

Her smile softened, but she said nothing as she took another sip of her wine. The waiter returned, a tray brimming with delectable foods sitting upon its flat surface. He doled out the plates for Brendan and Shay, then offered two bowls of simmering pokémon food to Sienna and Ambrose. He gave pause, asking for the number of each of their teams, and went bustling away with promise to have food ready for them when they were ready to leave.

"I'm surprised that you have a full team already, Shay. I don't even have that," Brendan said after a few bites into his food. Shay dug into hers as well, tentative and experimental. It was a stew of some sort, simmered in a red wine that served as the broth. It was surprisingly good, if a hint bit sweet for her tastes. She didn't hesitate to lay out a barrage of pepper to spice it up just a bit.

"Hey, do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Technically, you've already asked me something, but go ahead and ask me something else, if you still have questions."

Brendan snorted, grinning. "Smart ass."

"You knew I was a smart ass."

"I actually didn't, not really. I only hung around the lab a few times since you came to work there. Kind of wish I stopped by a little more now."

Shay stiffened at the remark, but Brendan didn't seem to notice, and he pressed on with his previous line of inquiries.

"I noticed that your Poochyena had some horns growing out of its head. And your Taillow, they didn't seem to be pure-bred, either. Do you think I could take a look at them later on? It's for a line of research I've been pursuing for a while now, but I've never really gotten a chance to…um…what is it?"

Shay's spoon clinked gently against the fine china of her bowl. She heaved a long and heavy sigh, lips pursed tightly together, but she kept herself calm and measured instead of snapping like before.

"Sela and Faye are fine. They don't need to be poked and prodded."

"Oh. Oh, no! No, no, no! That's not what I meant. I just want to record them. I'm not going to hurt them."

"I don't think you're going to hurt them, Brendan, I just don't want them to be…" she paused, twirling a hand, as though the motion would conjure up the words she could feel but couldn't formulate. It evaded her completely and she groaned. The feeling was gone and so were the words, so teasingly close on her tongue, but they escaped. "Why do you need to look at them?"

"I only wanted to record their data. Nothing more. I don't want any blood draws or other kinds of samples. Just visual. I've never seen a Poochyena with horn nubs before, and your Taillow has a…slightly more elaborate dressing of head feathers than I've seen. I surmise they're hybrids of some sort, two separate pokémon parents that aren't of the same species. I've seen photographs in scientific journals and meetings whenever I could, but I've never really seen anyone go into depth on the breeding specifics, on hybrid offspring. It's a bit of a field that no one else has tackled, it seems. Maybe I could work on it as a starting point if I want to become a professor like my dad."

There was an earnestness in Brendan's face as he spoke, his eyes alighting in passion driven by something he seemed to love. It was a far cry from the uncertainty that had plagued him that night when she had gone out to dinner with him, Jacob, and Meryl. Perhaps their wheedling had caused him to withdraw into himself, but now that he was out of their good-natured jeering, he felt safe to flourish on his own.

Shay felt a little bit of jealousy roil up and churn within her, but it was fleeting and lost shortly after. She had stayed so long in the military, she hadn't known what else to do with her life. She hadn't thought of going to school for a professional career in the workforce outside of the Marine Corps. Even if she did, she doubted she'd be able to get a job in any other field aside from supply and logistics while she went to school, and she didn't want to do that.

She was good at supply. It didn't mean it was her dream job. It didn't mean she wanted to be doing it for a majority of her life. She didn't know what she wanted to do, and even here and now, she still didn't. Perhaps her art? She hasn't drawn anything worthwhile in…Christ, months. It felt…wrong. She wanted to draw, even if they were stupid scribbles and not the full-fledged illustrations she was used to working hard on, day in and day out, in the comfort of her barracks room. Supply was what she was good at, but it wasn't what she wanted to do.

What would she do once she got back home? Could she go back to the Marines? Or would they treat her as a deserter and throw her ass in the brig for god knows how long? Would she be kicked out, dishonorably discharged, forever more with that black mark upon her permanent record? She'd be barred from any benefits, educational or medical or what-have-you.

The acerbic thoughts of everything spiraling into the worst possible scenarios made her stomach turn. Suddenly, her food tasted bitter and dry in her mouth, and she had to force it down rather than throw it back up like she wanted. She turned to the last remnants of her wine, ignoring how it tasted sour to her tongue instead of sweet like it once had minutes ago.

"Um…if you don't feel comfortable with me looking, I won't ask again. I didn't mean to impose the idea—"

"Only if they want to. That's the condition. They don't like it, you don't look."

Brendan stared, mouth popping open slightly before he clacked it shut and gave a sharp little nod.

"Okay, then. Agreed. I can't force them if they don't want to be looked at. And I sure as hell can't force you to let me, not even if I tried," he said with a grin before adding, "Clearly, the other guy didn't learn his lesson until you had to beat his ass into the ground. I'd rather not be on the same receiving end if I tried my hand at it."

Shay's smile came more slowly this time around as she tucked back into her meal. Her good mood had spoiled from the intrusion of her earlier thoughts.


Have some military lingo!

MEU: Short for "Marine Expeditionary Unit"; basically, you stick a bunch of Marines on a naval military aircraft carrier or ship of some sort. They focus on ground, air, and water combat elements and are meant to be quick reaction forces abroad. There's a lot more to it, but I will admit: I haven't been on a MEU. I wish I had gone on one, because that would have counted as a deployment stint in my career. Unfortunately, I had a micromanaging Gunnery Sergeant who refused to let me go, insisting I needed to be overly intimate and knowledgeable with my job as he was…even though I wouldn't really have needed to be on that kind of deployment. Not really.

PMO: Provost Marshal's Office. Basically, they're military police. PMO Marines hate other Marines. It's a simple fact of life. An example being that, if someone were to drive 36 MPH in a 35 MPH zone on base, they can and will pull your ass over and issue you a ticket out of pure and utter malice. (This actually happened to one of my guys from my first unit; PMO literally quoted it on the ticket he received.) They delight in dangling their authority over any and all they can. A measly Lance Corporal can pull over a full-blown Colonel and issue them a ticket without repercussions, and without giving a good-goddamn about it, either. Marines, in return, hate PMO. It's the circle of life with base living.

Lance Corporal Underground: The absolutely legendary methods in which the lower enlisted use in order to acquire and spread information and rumours. It's the only way those beneath the rank of NCO know what the hell is going on in the tightknit Marine Corps community, long before it is even officially announced. Someone's getting punished? We heard about it before even the Commanding Officer did. The new check-in just slept with someone from the local stripper bar and got married? We sent the newlyweds a house-warming gift before they even stepped out of the courthouse with their signed marriage certificate. Surprise inspection at the barracks at the end of the week, with beer and titties? Okay, that last part might not be true. Misinformation tends to spread just as fast as actual information. But the point still stands! WE KNOW THINGS.

Additional Notes: True story; when Pokémon Go first came out, everyone in my company (a measly fifteen people strong, when the Reservists weren't in during their obligated weekends) that was a Sergeant or below began playing it (which was roughly half the company). Literally all we did all day. Oh sure, we had weapons that were on backorder and due any day, supplies that needed tracking, Reservists' paperwork to take care of…but we put it all on hold to play Pokémon Go. Or, alternatively for one particular Sergeant, he struggled to even get on the server to play in the first place. I recorded him ranting and raving and overall, every other word out of his mouth was "fuck" by the end of things. It was delightfully hilarious, and I took some things from that rant and plopped in here.