Chapter Fifteen: Tim
Should I be more worried for Mewtwo, or for Ryme City?Tim wondered as he drove home. If Mewtwo was seen, there were thousands of trainers currently in the city waiting for an opportunity to encounter him. The trainers didn't understand that Mewtwo saw any encounter with humans as a threat, rather than opportunity of friendship. If Mewtwo got angry—which he often did—he could very easily hurt someone. Multiple someones, if he wanted.
Mewtwo's my age,Tim reasoned. He can handle himself. And he knows better than to hurt anyone.
Still, he worried about it the whole way home. He barely paid attention as he pulled the car into the lot, parked it, and went up to his apartment. Maybe he should have told Mewtwo to wait until sundown. Maybe he should have insisted that Mewtwo come back to the apartment with him. Maybe—
"PIKACHU!"
Pikachu jumped into Tim's arms, but apparently got a little too excited, miscalculated, and landed more on Tim's neck. Tim coughed unpleasantly and wrapped his arm around Pikachu as the little Electric Mouse began to hang from his collar. He blinked in alarm as Pikachu smiled up at him.
"Pi-ka-chu," the Pokémon grinned.
But if Pikachu was here, then that meant—
"Heya, Tim." Tim looked up at his Dad, leaning against the wall as he watched Pikachu's greeting.
"You're home," was all Tim could think to say. He awkwardly readjusted Pikachu's detective hat, which had almost slipped off in Pikachu's happy leap. He swallowed, unsure how to explain himself. "I thought you said you wouldn't be back until dinner."
At this, his father frowned. "It's 6:30, Tim."
What? No, that couldn't be right. Tim couldn't have been out for more than a few hours. He glanced at the clock on the wall and sure enough, that was the time. "Oh."
His Dad quirked a smile. "Slept in late?"
Tim nodded mutely.
Harry pushed off the wall and walked up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Tim. When you become a full-fledged detective, you'll spend whole nights up…and you won't always get to sleep in in the morning."
His Dad then yawned tiredly and that's when Tim noticed the bags under his eyes. Tim ducked his head, ashamed. His Dad hadn't stayed up late last night because of a case, but because of him.And he'd been working all day.
"I'll make dinner," Tim said, because it was the only thing he could think of to make up for it. Passing Pikachu off to his father, Tim squeezed past him and headed for the kitchen. He shuffled through the drawers for a moment, looking for something good that could be cooked up fast, before deciding on spaghetti, even though they had noodles last night.
Harry set the table and Tim avoided his gaze. When there was nothing to do but wait for the water and sauce to boil, Tim just stared at the pots blankly while his Dad sat at the table. Tim heard Harry's cup touch lightly down on the table every once and a while as his Dad took a drink.
Finally, and yet far too soon, he heard his Dad sigh. "Tim…" Tim adjusted the pots on the burner, pretending that he was occupied. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
Yes.
"Not really."
Tim heard fingers tapping on the table. "So what did you do today?"
I went back to the illegal Pokémon stadium with Mewtwo and found out about illegal R dealings.
"Not much," Tim said, opening the cupboards and getting the dry noodles out early. The water wasn't boiling yet. "How about you?" He asked, trying to redirect the topic onto his Dad.
There was a pause, and then a groan from Harry. Tim glanced back and saw his Dad had slumped into his seat miserably. Tim's mouth quirked in a small smile.
"Trainers,"his Dad emphasized, "are a cop's mortal enemy." He shook his head. "They're all good kids, really. They're friendly and sweet, but they just won't listen when it comes to their Pokémon. I had to explain why Ryme City has the no-battling rule at least two dozen times today, and they stillwouldn't get it. You should have seen the way they looked at me. I might as well have told them not to breath. They would have understood me better if I had spoken Pokémon."
"Can't they accept that there's oneplace in this world where there's no battling?" Tim asked, turning around.
"Nope." His Dad stuck his chin straight in the air. "No way. Mythical Pokémon exist, sure, they'll believe that, but a place where battling's not allowed? Unimaginable."
Tim found his small smile growing into a big one. "So you've had to break up a bunch of Pokémon battles?"
"Plenty," Harry affirmed. He wrapped his arms around Pikachu and picked the little Pokémon up, snuggling him to his chest. "Poor Pikachu got caught by a Horn Drill when he was trying to break up a fight between an Excadrill and a Nidoqueen."
"Pikachu…" the Electric Mouse agreed morbidly, turning his tail for Tim to see a band-aid.
"Oh my," Tim said in a dry voice. "I'm sure he's neverdealt with anything like that before."
"Yes." Harry nodded firmly in all seriousness. "That's why he deserves an extra Casteliacone tonight."
"Pikachu!" Pikachu said wholeheartedly, immediately perking up.
Tim turned back to the water and found that it was now boiling. He put the noodles in, pressed them down into the water, and then stirred the sauce. "Do they just break out in battles in the streets?"
"Oh, yeah, right in the roads and sidewalks." Harry massaged Pikachu between the ears. "In front of stores and in parks, they'll fight anywhere. Different terrain is just another challenge to them. And a lot of them don't care about who wins the battle, but do it more for fun. There was a Rapidash against a Seismitoad, a Dragonair against a Sylveon…a Leafeon against a Hypno."
Tim froze. Surely his Dad didn't mean…
But when Tim looked behind him, the looks his Dad and Pikachu were giving him said all. Tim swallowed, not sure what to say.
When it was clear Tim wouldn't be talking, Harry waved a hand. "Tim, I know I told you to look into the R case on your own, but the battle arena is not what I meant. You shouldn't go there alone, especially without a Pokémon partner."
It was especially ironic that his Dad thought that, because Tim didhave one. Well, not quite. He wouldn't call Mewtwo his partnerat this point…but then, what was he?
His Dad didn't know about Mewtwo, though, or he would be reacting a lot more dramatically. So Mewtwo wouldn't be angry. At least, not yet.
"Where else was I supposed to get information?" Tim asked uncertainly.
"Uh, the internet?" Harry crossed his arms. "There's more to being a detective than stampeding onto the field. You could have done research on our three scientists at the Grass-Type Labs, or maybe looked more into Dr. Laurent and see if she had any assistants."
Harry was behind, very behind. He didn't know Tim had already found out Dr. Drew was the dealer, and that he had escaped with the R. But Tim couldn't tell him, because that would be admitting he had snuck into the Lab.
"We know that the stadium had R," Tim defended.
"You shouldn't have gone there alone," Harry said again. "You should have at least let me know you were going. This is what I meant when I said I don't want you sneaking off—I didn't even want to take you with meto the stadium, and now you've gone alone, without backup?"
"How didyou find out?"
"The police were following trainers today, Kid," Harry muttered. "The battle arena may be illegal, but at least it's keeping these tourist trainers off the streets. I may not have been at the stadium myself, but imagine my surprise when an undercover cop came back and told me he saw you there."
Tim tilted his head. "Then how did you know about the Leafeon and—"
"I asked for details."
It was amazing how similar Harry's and Pikachu's disappointed faces looked. "Tim, I know you've been looking into this case on your own, and I decided to let you. But if you're going to be reckless and do dangerous things—"
"Like you?" Tim said suddenly, surprising even himself.
Harry snapped his mouth shut and Pikachu's ears lowered in displeasure. But what Tim said was true. Hunting Mewtwo, investigating the most powerful enterprise in the city, sabotaging a secret laboratory full of dangerous experimental Pokémon…all of these stunts could turn deadly. Sometimes, they had. Yet Tim knew Harry had taken the cases without hesitation. And those were just the ones Tim knewabout.
"That's different." Even Harry didn't look completely convinced though. "I'm an adult with experience and—"
"Were you like that when you first started out?" Tim knew he was taking a bit of a gamble here, but he was fairly certain Harry had been taking risky cases from the beginning. Grams hadn't talked about him much, but when she did, she implied a lot. Tim knew Harry had started early and fast, taking to the detective business like a Mantine to water.
Harry put his head in his hands and Tim wondered if he was going too far. Pikachu didn't look very happy with him. Tim stayed silent, on the edge of an apology, but he also felt like he had a point and his Dad was being a little unfair to him. Not because he had no reason to be mad—but also because Tim hadn'tgone alone. Mewtwo had been there.
Harry moved his hands so that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "All right," he said finally, sliding his hands down his face. "Tim, look. I know you're an adult, and I'm trying to treat you that way, but I'm also your father and I'm responsible for you. I don't want you to get hurt. I can't let that happen, not after…"
His Dad trailed off, allowing the words he couldn't say to exist in the silence.
Not after your mother.
"So I'll make you a deal," Harry said abruptly, straightening up again. "I'll back off a little and let you go to the arena without me if—"he shot Tim a firm look "—you promise to let me know before you do and—"and here he reallystared Tim down "—you get a Pokémon partner."
If Tim had been drinking something, he would have choked. As it was, he choked on air.
While Tim struggled with his lungs, Harry went on. "I know you've been against it for years, but I think it's time. You'll need one to be a detective, there's just too much the job requires that only a Pokémon can accomplish. Even in life,Pokémon are essential. Deny it all you want but it's just the way of the world. Even your reporter friend has one, although a Psyduck is not what I'd recommend for you—Tim, calm down, breathe."
"Yeah, yeah," Tim wheezed out, waving a hand. "I know." He forced air through his lungs and looked up. Both Harry and Pikachu now looked concerned. Tim tried to smile. "I'm listening. Go on." His Dad's rambles were giving him time to recover. But he was completely taken off guard that his Dad would suggest such a thing…especially considering Tim's dream, and his alliance with Mewtwo.
Harry sighed. "I hate to make you do something you don't want to do, but I really think it'll be good for you. I won't rush you. You take your time with a Pokémon partner." He raised an eyebrow. "I've noticed you eyeing them lately."
Tim shuffled uncomfortably. He had realized his Dad was giving him plenty of opportunity to hang out with Pokémon, but it had never been said aloud until now. "Got it, I'll start looking into it." He just wanted this discussion to be over. "It's a fair deal. Can we stop talking about this now?"
"Don't just shove it under the rug and hope it'll go away," His Dad warned, pointing a spoon at him. Then he let it fall back down. "But yeah, we can drop it. Noodles done yet?"
Tim turned around and found that they were overcooked. Cursing, so much for making a nice dinner, he turned off the burner and poured them into the drainer. The sauce was also burned—again, just like last night—but enough of it survived to be edible…barely. Tim arranged three plates for them, and then carried them out and set them before his Dad and Pikachu.
Both of them looked down at the limp noodles and still-bubbling sauce. Tim felt his cheeks warm and he looked down, feeling even more embarrassed when he heard his Dad chuckling.
"Well, Tim," his Dad snickered. "We're bothhopeless cooks."
Tim stared at his Dad for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing.
OOO
Tim easily convinced his Dad to let him borrow his computer to comb through the police database. He browsed through flights, and while all the planes coming into Ryme City were completely booked (should be expected, with all the trainers tracking Mewtwo), there was nothing else strange.
Tim also managed to get his Dad into bed early, pointing out that he clearly hadn't gotten enough sleep. Harry grumbled about it, but Pikachu was tired too, and well, that clinched it.
Tim impatiently waited in his room for half an hour, before he gave up on waiting for an hour, took the keys, and left. His Dad was so exhausted he had to be asleep by now. Tim was limited on time as it was. And yet…he decided to make one quick stop.
The Clifford Enterprise security was little to none, and Tim walked into the building easily, and headed all the way up to the camera studio. It was a bit busier than last time, though, as they were preparing for the evening news. Tim shuffled through the busy bodies of people and Pokémon, ducking as Yanma carrying cameras zoomed back and forth overhead, until he finally spotted Lucy.
Lucy was seated in a director's chair, legs crossed and nose dug into a report. Her outfit was pristine, pressed to perfection as new reporters were, but she still spunkily expressed her go-getter attitude. Her blonde hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, and a pen was behind her ear, always ready to be used. Besides her chair, Psyduck was reclining in a miniature seat of his own, a little mousey Dedenne massaging his webbed feet. On Lucy's other side, a Jynx was touching up her makeup.
"Lucy!" Tim called, jogging up to her. A few humans and Pokémon spared him a glance, but most of them at least knew him as Lucy's friend by now and were used to him appearing on the set. Both Lucy and Psyduck perked up at his call, and Lucy's smile when she saw him made Tim's stomach feel like it had been filled with Butterfree.
"Tim!" Lucy said, waving off the Jynx as she stood up to greet him. "You came to visit!"
"Yeah, you know, just thought I'd stop by," Tim said, suddenly feeling warm. Psyduck struggled out of his mini-chair, and Tim smiled at him. "Hey, Psy."
"Psyduck," the little Pokémon chirped.
"We're about to go on the air in less than ten minutes," Lucy said, her smile turning regretful and apologetic but no less beautiful. "I wish I could hang out with you for longer."
"Another time," Tim said with a casual-looking shrug that came out jerky and nervous, though hewaspleased that she liked hanging out with him. "I've had a lotgoing on lately."
Lucy snorted. "You and me both."
That phrase made his smile get wider. But he was here for a reason, and he better get to it—as she said, they both had other places to be. "Listen, I'm working on a case, and I need some data."
Lucy's eyes sparkled with interest. "I'm listening," she said mischievously.
"I need to know anything odd about people coming into the city—most likely through the airport. Someone rich, and at least a little shady."
"Hmmm," Lucy put a finger to her mouth thoughtfully. "Well, I've been looking into the trainers coming to Ryme City a lot—you may have seen my article the other day—"
"Mewtwo's Attraction?"Tim interrupted. "Yeah, I did." He swallowed shyly, and a compliment slipped out of his lips without thought. "Nice title, by the way."
She beamed at him. "Thanks!" But then she got serious again. "Anyway, there's been lots of curious people. But something did catch my eye." She took out her Pokédex phone and pulled up something to show him. It was a list of flight schedules. "This is just something weird, not really a story—but I noticed that tonight and tomorrow, one of the landing platforms at the airport is going to be shut down."
Tim tensed; that was exactlythe kind of thing he and Mewtwo were looking for. "Who shut it down?"
"Nobody specific," Lucy shrugged. "Especially nothing I could track easily. The airport's using a pretty standard procedure; it might just be that the platform is unstable, or they want to do some maintenance on it. But I thought, like, it's a weird time for that to happen, right?" She tilted her head and scrounged up her face. "When every single flight to Ryme City is fully booked by all those trainers?"
Tim leaned forward to get a better look at the times. There was a wide gap in the list where the times of one platform was unavailable—it wouldn't start up again until tomorrow evening. "Itisodd. It might be exactly what I'm looking for."
Lucy bit her lip regretfully. "I wish I could join you. I'm off in two hours—you want to meet up and you can fill me in then?"
Thatwasn't a good idea. As much as Tim would love to go on another adventure with Lucy, Mewtwo would notapprove.
"Can't," Tim shook his head. "I can't explain the case yet, Lucy, but I promise I will once it's over."
This only appeared to make Lucy moreexcited. "You better. This sounds juicy."
Tim found himself smiling like a Darmanitan again. He really shouldn't let her get involved at all, but… "You might want to keep an eye on the airport tomorrow. And maybe be ready for a story."
Lucy lit up, more beautiful than a prime-breed Milotic. She took him by surprise when she jumped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "Thanks, Tim!"
Tim's mind completely blanked on what to do. Should he hug back? Could she feel his rapid heartbeat in his chest?
"Miss Stevens? We need you on set," a young boy called.
As suddenly as a splash of a cold Water Gun, Lucy pulled back and turned away. "Coming!" she called, and then grinned at Tim over her shoulder. "Bye, Tim. Good luck!" And she ran off, Psyduck waddling after her.
Tim just stood there, staring after her. The Jynx gave him a knowing smile.
He shook his head to clear it; he had to get moving. Mewtwo was not patient, and Tim didn't want to keep the Pokémon waiting any more than necessary. Leaving Clifford Enterprises behind, he got into his car and got back on the road. He cursed city traffic the whole way to the airport, and then later he cursed city parking too.
When he finally got inside the airport, surrounded by crowds of people with suitcases, he went up to a modern art display—an abstract sculpture of an Eevee and its trainer, plus a few vague, wispy outlines of its many evolutions—and pretended to observe it. Hopefully Mewtwo would sense him soon and reach out, letting him know where to find him.
The bond Mewtwo had used between them was strange, and Tim wasn't sure how it worked. Mewtwo spoke through telepathy, which was obviously different from sound. Did his words work like sound, sent out in waves to everyone who was nearby? Or could he speak to one person alone, even if another was nearby? He had spoken to Tim from a distance at the stadium, without anybody else hearing. He had said it was because Tim's mind was 'recognizable.' So did Mewtwo have to knowthe person before he could do that? How far did the distance go?
After a few minutes of nothing happening, Tim moved on from the statue. Maybe Mewtwo was on the edge of the airport and he was out of range. The place was extremely crowded, with new-coming trainers and their Pokémon, plus all the people welcoming them to Ryme City and politely, patiently, explaining that no Pokéballs nor Pokémon battles were allowed here. No one paid any attention to him in the mass. Was the crowd preventing Mewtwo from sensing Tim?
Tim bounced between all the art; there were murals and statues and pieces hanging from the ceiling, and he used them as an excuse to explore the airport and see if Mewtwo reached out to him. There was a newly vacant spot where apparently a statue of Howard Clifford had been. Tim was glad they had removed that one.
Tim tried not to get worried, as he was sure Mewtwo would find him eventually. But if the inactive platform was because of the R buyer, then they had to watch it until the time was up. Tim needed to let Mewtwo know as soon as possible.
Mewtwo,Tim inwardly groaned at his seventeenth mural. Can't you tell I'm here? What are you doing?
I can hear you, human. Tim straightened within the crowd, and stopped himself from the natural urge to look around for the voice he was hearing. Apologies for the delay. I was…otherwise distracted.
With what?Tim wondered.
It was hard to describe exactly what happened next, but Tim suddenly felt a wave of frustration and anger that wasn't his, like heat radiating off a nearby Slugma onto his skin. Was it Mewtwo's?
What happened? Tim asked.
The rage vanished, as if it had been sharply cut off. Your assistance would be welcome,Mewtwo answered simply. Tim wondered what thatmeant. Assistance with what? But he was distracted from asking when there was a bit of pressure on his mind, and his eyesight went fuzzy. The feeling vanished before Tim could fully examine it. Turn right and head towards the stairway.
Tim shook his head to clear it, and then began to follow Mewtwo's instructions. Did you just look through my eyes?he asked, edging around a group of trainers from Unova.
A small glance; I did not see any memories, only what you were currently seeing. Go through the door under the stairway, then the third door on your right.
How do you know how to navigate this airport?
I found a map. Tim's vision blurred again, and that pressure in his head returned. He paused mid-step, waiting for it to clear. It left as soon as it came. That one, and then you'll be outside.
Tim pressed open the door Mewtwo described, and fresh air and bright sunlight poured through the other side. He blinked for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the light. There was a scream of the wind, as a plane took off at the edge of the runway, soaring into the sky. Other planes careful maneuvered around the concrete, their metal bodies reflecting the orange light of the now-setting sun. A few other people and Pokémon roamed around the parked planes closer to the building, directing and unloading them.
Walk along the wall to your left, and go through the first door. It's a storage room.
You've been hiding out there?Tim asked, trying to look like he belonged as he followed Mewtwo's directions. And what bad thing has happened that you need my help with?
Mewtwo didn't answer, and Tim reached the door he had described. Inside, the room was packed with old crates and dying light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Mewtwo loomed in the dim light…and he wasn't alone.
"Mr. Mime!?" Tim blurted.
The pink Pokémon put his hands on his hips and crossed his pointed feet over each other, bowing forward just slightly. Tim gaped. All thoughts of telling Mewtwo what he had learned from Lucy vanished from his mind.
"Why is Mr. Mime here?" Tim asked, stepping in and closing the door behind him.
Mewtwo's tail was lashing side to side, and his fists were clenched. I was told that this Pokémon is familiar with illegal activity in Ryme City. Thus, I retrieved him.
While Mewtwo spoke, Tim watched Mr. Mime imitate Mewtwo's posture and movements, down to the growling scowl and wrathful eyes, angling its blue hair to resemble Mewtwo's horns. Mewtwo didn't even notice. The moment the bigger Pokémon was done speaking, Mr. Mime broke pose and twirled a finger next to his head; 'He's crazy.'
"This is my Dad's informant," Tim told Mewtwo, still somewhat stunned to see the sassy Pokémon.
Mewtwo scoffed. Informant? He has told me nothing, not even telepathically. He is a psychic-type and his mental walls are strong enough to resist psychological pressure.
Tim shot a look at Mewtwo, who had the decency to look somewhat regretful. His mouth twisted unhappily. Yes, I know, I made a promise. I intend to keep it. If I couldinfiltrate his mind, I would have waited for your return, at least.
"We're not doing that," Tim said firmly. He didn't like Mr. Mime much—the Pokémon was rude and just plain unhelpful, but Tim wouldn't have found the illegal Pokémon stadium without it. Mewtwo had already kidnapped Mr. Mime, but mental invasions was a line they weren't going to cross. "Like you said, we'll find another way."
Mewtwo did not look happy about it, but he did not object. Very well.
Tim relaxed; Mewtwo agreed without a fuss. That was a first. "So you haven't gotten anything at all out of him?" Tim asked, turning back to Mr. Mime, who was lying horizontally as if on a couch, only one toe touching the ground, and appeared to be reading a book. How he could read something completely invisible, Tim had no idea.
He has ignored all threats, arguments, and reasoning. He refuses to say a single word.Now Mewtwo's anger made sense. Tim had to admit it was a little funny to see Mewtwo face something he couldn't triumph over.
"That's not how Mr. Mime works," Tim smiled, remembering how he and his Dad-then-Pikachu had gotten Mr. Mime to talk…mime. He turned back to the pink Pokémon. "You remember me?"
Mr. Mime glared at Tim for a moment, and then he got up and set the nonexistent book down with clear firmness. Tim furrowed his forehead, trying to figure out what Mr. Mime was doing as he lifted up something heavy with one hand, and pointed something else at Tim with the other. Tim had a heart-stopping moment where he wondered if it was a gun, but then a stream of gas blew out onto his face.
Tim staggered back, coughing, and trying to fan away the gas he couldn't see, but could feel,with his hand. He tripped and fell back. Mewtwo didn't help him stand back up of course, but the clone waskind of enough to defensively place himself between Tim and Mr. Mime to ensure Mr. Mime did nothing else.
Are you alright?Mewtwo asked, once Tim began to struggle up. Tim nodded and wiped his lips, spitting out the rotten taste. What was that about?
Tim scowled. "I think he just used a fire extinguisher on me."
Mr. Mime placed a finger on his chin innocently.
Mewtwo raised the ridge where his eyebrow might have been. Oddly specific.
"Revenge, I suppose," Tim muttered. He knew it had been bad of him to cover Mr. Mime in fake-gasoline and then set him on fake-fire afterthe Pokémon had told them what they wanted to know, but that had been an accident,and it hadn't even been real.Even if Tim deserved a little justice, it still felt dumb.
Explain,Mewtwo ordered, tilting his head.
"You don't get Mr. Mime to talk—you get inside his head."
…You mean that figuratively.
"Yeah," Tim rubbed his mouth, but the mimed-gas had already faded. "Last time, I mimed things with him. That's how I got him to tell me what I wanted to know." Mr. Mime crossed his arms reproachfully to that.
The mechanics of Mr. Mime's power confused Tim, and very few people understood it in the first place. He remembered reading a magazine article that claimed this Pokémon could solidify air molecules by vibrating its fingertips. Then he saw a documentary that believed Mr. Mime's objects didn't really exist at all. He'd read at anothersource that if the opponent knewthe object wasn't real, then they wouldn't be affected by it. But that gas had felt pretty real to Tim. In which case, he'd treat it as such. It seemed like Mr. Mime's powers were as vague as psychology itself.
"So," Tim said, putting his hands on his hips and trying to look tough. He was almost twice Mr. Mime's size, but the wiry manner of the Pokémon put him a little on edge. He tried not to show it. "Am I going to have to get out the gasoline again, or are you going to tell us what we want to know?"
Mr. Mime pursed his lips for a moment, and then he uncrossed arms. His face formed a wide smile, and then he held up five fingers. "Five words," Tim guessed, satisfied. Mr. Mime nodded, and then began to hop up and down.
"Jump," Tim guessed, and Mr. Mime nodded before holding one hand flatly parallel to the ground. With his other, he wagged two fingers on top of the first, moving them across it. "Walk," Tim guessed, but Mr. Mime shook his head. The two fingers got the edge and then Mr. Mime plunged his hand down to the ground. Mr. Mime suddenly waved both hands wildly as if in panic, mouth open in a silent scream, bending his knees further and further until he was on the ground, and then he played dead.
"…You're saying I can go jump off a cliff."
Mr. Mime leapt to his feet and nodded eagerly with a friendly smile.
That's helpful, Mewtwo said dryly. I would be happy to assist youin jumping off said cliff, pathetic pantomime.
Before Mr. Mime could respond to that and anger Mewtwo, Tim hurriedly stepped in. "Gasoline it is!"
Although it felt silly, Tim curled one hand as if it were wrapped around a handle, and bent the other as if stabling the weight of a tank. He even bent one elbow as if it were heavy, but really he was carrying nothing. Tim wasn't sure how, but there was a splashing sound like heavy water. Maybe Mr. Mime's mental powers projected energy to other mimes by some subconscious function.
Mr. Mime jumped in alarm and immediately retook position as if he were holding the fire extinguisher. Tim himself leapt back, fearing he was about to get sprayed again. But Mr. Mime just crouched with his nonexistent extinguisher, standing ready.
Tim narrowed his eyes. "Oh, you're prepared this time, aren't you?"
I could set him on actualfire,Mewtwo suggested.
"That's not the point, Mewtwo," Tim said absently, trying to think of how to counter Mr. Mime's new defense.
What isthe point, then?
"To win athisgame," Tim muttered. Faced against real attacks, Mr. Mime just mimed defenses. But faced against his own attacks, Mr. Mime panicked.
Tim mimed picking up the gasoline tank again, and Mr. Mime backed up warily. Trying his best to mime it properly—he really should practice more—Tim swung the gasoline towards Mr. Mime, attempting to spray him.
Mr. Mime ducked to the side, dropping the extinguisher with a clang, and then darted forward with one arm pointed out. He jabbed at where the gas tank would have been, though his hand was a good foot away, and then jumped back.
Tim stared dumbly at where Mr. Mime had jabbed, not sure what had just happened. But he heard thedunk dunk dunknoise as if his gasoline was pouring out. He looked back up at Mr. Mime, who stood straight up like a soldier, one hand on his hip and the other held out like he was holding a glass of wine. No, that wasn't right…Mr. Mime waved the outstretched hand sharply, and there was the sound of metal swiping through air.
What is that supposed to mean?Mewtwo asked impatiently.
"It's a sword,"Tim realized. "Mr. Mime made a sword and stabbed my gas tank so it's leaking out." He dropped the gas tank and heard it thumpto the floor.
So what do you plan to do now, human?Mewtwo said, crossing his arms.
In answer, Tim spread his feet and lifted his own hand. "En garde!"
He lunged at Mr. Mime with his imaginary sword, having to stop a foot away as Mr. Mime took a defensive position and their 'blades' clashed. Mr. Mime narrowed his eyes, and then broke off and lashed forward. Tim calculated where Mr. Mime's sword would be and then blocked it with where hissword would be. There was a clangin the air.
Tim had no experience with swordfights whatsoever, but he'd seen enough movies to imitate it. Every kid had playfully swung around a stick at some point; that was about all he knew.
Mr. Mime, however, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. With fast footwork, he practically danced forward, twirling his 'sword' around to strike at Tim. Tim struggled to keep up with the fast blows, gritting his teeth while Mr. Mime looked quite smug.
This is foolish,Mewtwo said from the side. What are you doing?
"Swordfight!" Tim shouted, tripping back as Mr. Mime started to attack his feet. "You can help anytime, Mewtwo!" he added frustratedly. He barely had any idea what he was doing, while Mr. Mime moved like a professional duelist. Had Tim not been focused on his fight with Mr. Mime, he would have thought enough that there was no way Mewtwo would ever mime anything. But all he knew at the moment was that he was in desperate need of assistance.
But there are no swords,Mewtwo objected. All you are doing is waving your hands around.
At those words, Tim suddenly forgot where his sword was supposed to be. Mr. Mime jumped forward and jabbed him in the chest. Tim gasped and lifted his hand to the 'wound,' but there was no rip in his clothing, or blood coming out. It had just feltlike a sharp poke, but it wasn't real.
Mr. Mime stepped back haughtily and lifted his sword with a proud smile. He was practically preening himself with delight.
"You're not helping, Mewtwo!" Tim shouted, fisting his hand again and advancing upon Mr. Mime. Mr. Mime met each of his blows with ease, and even dared to yawn with one hand while fighting Tim with the other.
This 'duel' is pathetic, Mewtwo commented from the sidelines. I can make realswords out of pure energy.
That gave Tim a pause. "You can?"Right, Tim had seen him do so, briefly, during his battle. Then Tim hastily had to duck as Mr. Mime swung his sword at him. "Then do that!"
Finally understanding what Tim wanted of him, Mewtwo swept into the fray. Two glowing energy blades, one orange and one blue, appeared in each of his hands and he swung them down on Mr. Mime. Tim hurriedly back out of the way, nearly getting hit by Mewtwo's long, lashing tail. All Mr. Mime's superiority vanished in an instant and he looked truly afraid as Mewtwo's real blades met his invisible ones. Mewtwo paused a moment, looking suspicious as to why his energy-swords stopped midair as if he had hit something. Mr. Mime used the opportunity to duck under them, roll away, and bolt for the door.
Tim quickly jumped into Mr. Mime's path, blocking the exit. Mr. Mime swiped at him and Tim lifted his own 'sword' to block.
Mewtwo swung around and advanced on Mr. Mime again. Tim pushed Mr. Mime at Mewtwo, and after only a few short clashes between them, Mewtwo twirled his blades and Mr. Mime's hands swung open as if his sword had swept out of them. There was a clatter as the sword hit against the wall and fell to the floor.
Mewtwo pointed the blue blade at Mr. Mime's neck and the pink Pokémon fearfully put his hands up in surrender.
"Mewtwo's the winner!" Tim declared with a smile. Like there had ever been any doubt. "Now, tell us what you know, Mr. Mime." Tim, now filled with all the confidence Mr. Mime had lost, strolled up to Mewtwo's side. "Or we shall run you through!"
Mewtwo shot Tim a strange look as Mr. Mime put his hands together and nodded desperately, pleading. He then spread his arms out on either side of him in a T-formation, and began tilting them side to side. His face was scrounged up in focus and mock-seriousness. He kept his arms in a straight line, and his bends were careful and coordinated as if…
"Flying?" Tim guessed. "A plane?"
Mr. Mime nodded again and then pinched his right thumb and pointer together as if holding a small pencil. He then lifted it to his nose and sniffed, before pressing it away and giving violent, silent coughs.
"Gasoline?" Tim asked, a little confused on this one.
Mr. Mime shook his head before waving his hands wildly and giving a silent snarl. Tim thought that Mr. Mime was getting angry with him, and was about to scold him before Mewtwo took a guess.
The R chemical? Mewtwo asked, moving the energy swords a hair closer to Mr. Mime's neck. Mr. Mime froze, clearly terrified. But he nodded hurriedly. You are saying it is coming in on a flight? When?
At that, Mr. Mime merely pointed down at the ground.
"Now?!" Tim blurted in horror, but Mr. Mime immediately shook his head. "Today?" Tim broadened, and Mr. Mime waved a hand as if encouraging him on. "Tonight?" At this, Mr. Mime pointed to him; bingo.
"That matches up with what Lucy told me," Tim pieced together.
What? Mewtwo barked, glancing at Tim while still holding the swords at Mr. Mime's neck.
Tim hurried to explain. "I know a reporter, Lucy, who I asked today about any odd flights. She told me a landing platform in this airport is going to be shut down tonight and tomorrow."
What time will the plane be arriving? Mewtwo demanded again. Tim shrugged helplessly, and Mewtwo turned back to Mr. Mime. Tell us the time.
"Hold up a number!" Tim insisted.
But at their pressuring, Mr. Mime just held out his gloved hands helplessly. He didn't know. Mewtwo growled in frustrated and Mr. Mime cowered before him.
Then answer me this; who is buying my cells?
Mr. Mime hesitated, but then he slipped away from Mewtwo's swords for more space. He began to pace around the room, crouched down, hands out before him warily. His face was scrounged up and his bottom lip was puckered out.
"That could be any lowlife," Tim argued.
At this, Mr. Mime broke out of his character to glare at Tim. But then he sat back on an imaginary chair and tented his broad fingers together, adapting a wicked one-sided smirk on his lips. Before Tim could point out that this was, again, extremely vague, Mr. Mime reached down above his lap and began waving his hand as if caressing something.
Mewtwo's swords abruptly disappeared and he went still. Tim glanced back at him, but all he saw on Mewtwo's face was anger. It flowed into the air like a Torkoal's smoke. "Do you know who that is?"
Mewtwo's tail lashed side to side. He didn't answer for a moment. Maybe Mewtwo was being sloppy, or maybe Tim was getting better at reading him, because Tim saw several emotions storm in Mewtwo's eyes. Anger, surprise, wariness…fear?
No,he finally growled, practically spitting out the word.
Tim thought he was lying, but some deep-buried survival instinct told him to leave it be. So he asked instead, "Do we really need to knowwho the buyer is? We'll encounter them soon enough. Unless you want to be able to recognize them when they arrive?"
I will be able to sense my cells when they enter the airport, when they are close, Mewtwo growled, his eyes not leaving Mr. Mime. So, no. I suppose is does not matter who is after my cells…so long as they do not get them.
Mr. Mime got a hopeful look on his face, which Mewtwo noticed. You may go. But then, suddenly Mewtwo paced forward towards Mr. Mime, and Mr. Mime got so frightened he lost focus on his mimed-chair and fell back on the ground. Mewtwo did not stop until he towered over the pink Pokémon, suddenly looking twice his already imposing size.
Do not tell anyone about me or what I am after, Mewtwo hissed at the now-shivering Pokémon.Or I will hunt you down and make you regret it. Now go.
Mr. Mime didn't need telling twice. He was out of there, leaving only the slammed door in his wake.
Tim crossed his arms and frowned. "Was that really necessary? You've never been concerned about wild Pokémon seeing you before."
The other Pokémon I encountered were not connected to every bit of crime in this city, Mewtwo shot back, sounding angrier than he should.
Tim 'hmmmed' thoughtfully. His jellies, as his Dad would so elegantly call it, told him that was a complete lie. Something about what Mr. Mime said—mimed—had disturbed Mewtwo. And Tim's new friend had taken out his rage on the impish Pokémon.
But Tim didn't want to be the next target for Mewtwo's wrath, and right now, he was the only other person in the room. So he changed the subject, hoping that a distraction would settle Mewtwo's anger. "If Mr. Mime was right, then we should find your cells tonight, Mewtwo." He glanced around the storage room, its musty and unorganized crates scattered about the room. "Looks like it'll be a stakeout."
[I hinted at Mr. Mime, but you probably didn't expect Lucy as well! I felt bad that I couldn't really fit her into this story. The focus is Mewtwo and Tim, and a bit of Harry, too. There just wasn't any room for her, even though I like her character. 'Til next time!]