Sound and Silence

by Geekachu

[discontinued; being rewritten]

6. No One is Safe

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.

A/N Sorry for not uploading in a while, guys. Life's been a little bleh lately. But here it is, finally (and it's my longest chapter yet)! I'm not sure if this chapter's especially good or especially poor, or maybe just average. I'm hoping for the first one.

Sort-of warning: There is some angsty stuff in here, and I've never really done that before. If it makes you gag, I am sorry. I tried my best to make it good.

OoOoOoOoO

Chapter 6: No One is Safe

Chris, Bayleef at her heels, dashed towards Gold's receding figure. She didn't know whether to be annoyed or concerned at his complete lack of response to her call.

She quickly caught up to him and gave him a firm tap on the shoulder, which was apparently the wrong thing to do. Gold flinched and whirled around to face her, looking abnormally startled. He quickly recovered, though, and sent her an irritated scowl. His quilava looked at her and Bayleef with an expression of aloof curiosity on its face.

Chris resisted the urge to huff at the blatantly annoyed look on Gold's face. He didn't need to overreact so much—it's wasn't like she meant to scare him. But, not one to pick a fight, Chris put on a passably apologetic expression. "Sorry about that."

Gold responded with a half-shrug, but didn't say anything. He ditched the stupid glare, though, and was now simply looking at her expectantly.

Suddenly, she didn't know what to say without sounding really awkward. Hey, my bayleef likes you, so you wanna hang out?Yeah, that sounded stupid. And stalkerish. Before she could formulate a proper sentence, though, she saw Gold's eyes rove from her face to the night sky.

His eyes widened. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and started to run, roughly yanking her towards a dark alleyway. Chris gasped and tried to rip her arm away, but Gold's hand held on like a vice as he dragged her along. She doggedly struggled against him (thoughts of getting Bayleef to help absent from her mind) until she caught a glimpse of the sky.

Her blood ran cold.

Massive flying-type pokémon—hundreds of them—swarmed the air as they descended into the city. Their silhouettes stood out in stark relief against the starry backdrop, and Crystal could make out the shapes of dozens of fearow, xatu, and honchcrow.

And the noise! The air positively vibrated with the sounds of screeching birds and screaming humans. What once Crystal thought was a rather lonely part of the city now seemed to be filled with panicked civilians running every which way. She could distantly make out a few words here and there ("Get everyone inside!" "Watch out!" "Mommy, where are you?"), but it mostly just wordless screaming.

Bayleef was running alongside her with his head up and alert, ready to lash out at anything that came near. Ahead of her and slightly to her left, Chris spotted the lithe form of Gold's quilava, head and tail blazing. It was only when she felt herself suddenly surrounded by darkness that Chris realized that she was still being dragged along by this Gold character. She yanked her arm away (successfully, this time) and glared at him.

"What are you playing at?" Okay, so he had just been trying to help. But he'd managed to scare her pretty badly, so she felt somewhat justified.

Gold ignored the question and simply gestured for her to come closer to the side of the alleyway. She complied (she was just about to do that anyway) without complaint. Just after they sat down against one of the brick buildings, Chris turned to him, ire forgotten for now. They were in immediate danger, after all—if she looked out at the street, she could see that dozens of the flying-types had landed close by—and a plan would probably do them good.

"We need to get inside somewhere," she hissed at him. "Anywhere with a roof is fine."

Gold, who was now looking towards the opening of the alley, made no indication that he'd heard her. His quilava crept closer to where the action was, then turned to them and jerked its head in a 'follow me' sort of gesture. Bayleef hurried up to the fire-type, then looked back at them with an expectant expression. The two trainers faced each other, eyes locked in a silent attempt to gauge the others' approval. Chris spoke up first, raising her voice to be heard over the steadily rising din.

"Let's follow them." Maybe the area was clear enough for them to make a break for it.

Gold paused briefly, then gave a curt nod. Together, they cautiously walked up to their partners and took in the scene before them.

The streets were teaming with not only pokemon, but their owners as well, who had apparently been riding the birds. Some of the humans released several houndour, which immediately started to howl and spit flames. The light of the fire gave more visibility to the invaders, and Chris could make out a single red R on the front of each persons' shirt. She felt her breath catch in her throat.

Chris had seen that mark before. It had been all over the news when she was twelve. That R was the trademark sign of an organization that had been eradicated by Trainer Red three years ago.

Team Rocket. Back from the dead.

A million thoughts swirled around her head at once. When did they come back? How? Why were they here?

She was brought back to the present by Gold, who had just pressed himself against the wall again, and pulled her with him. His face was even grayer than before, and he was standing stock-still, staring at the stream of Rocket members flooding the surrounding area.

Quilava and Bayleef looked wary and unsure, probably wondering whether to stay here and hide, or to try to escape with their trainers to somewhere more secure. They looked up at the two humans, their eyes imploring.

Gold's eyes kept looking out at the chaos, then looking back to where they were right now. Chris could practically see the gears grinding in his head, trying to come up with a plan—anyplan—to get themselves out of this mess. He looked down at the Pokégear on his wrist and rapidly typed something out and held it to her face.

Have any othr pokemon?

She nodded. Does this guy ever talk? "Yeah, a butterfree. I'll send her out."

She grabbed the pokéball out of her bag and pressed the button. Butterfree appeared in a flash of light, looked around, and gave a worried cry. Quilava ran up to the bug-type and started speaking to her, probably explaining the situation. After several seconds of rundown, she flitted closer to the main street area, then hovered there fretfully. She looked at both Gold and Chris, waiting for a command.

Or maybe she wasn't, because she abruptly turned around and flew completely out of the alley, apparently with a plan. She flew high in the air and flapped her wings hard, dispersing a fine purple dust on many of the nearby Rockets. Poisonpowder.

The Rocket humans stumbled and furiously scrubbed at their eyes, while their pokémon, receiving no orders to follow, stopped their attack and nervously waited for their trainers to recover. Poisonpowder, when used as a fairly wide-ranged move as Butterfree had just done, often had little effect on pokemon. Humans were a different matter. While not lethal, it was still poisonous, and it wreaked havoc on human's bodies when the stuff landed in their eyes and air passages. It wouldn't put them completely out of commission, but it would give Gold and Chris enough time to make a break for it.

They didn't waste any time in bolting out of their hiding place and trying to run to a Rocket-free area, which quickly proved to be more difficult than they had expected. It wasn't that there were so many people that they couldn't move anywhere—it was just that they had been spotted.

Several Rockets quickly swiped their eyes and rasped out commands to their pokémon. The teens found themselves up against half a dozen snarling houndour.

Chris' heart was pounding painfully hard against her chest. What were they supposed to do now? Randomly bark out orders?

Well, that was as good a plan as any.

"Bayleef, Butterfree, use poisonpowder!" In her peripheral vision, Chris spotted Quilava making a mad dash towards the group of houndour. It dodged around the dark-types, spewing out thick smoke wherever it went. Crystal bit her lip in anxiety—if it wasn't very careful, Quilava could easily get a face-full of either Bayleef and Butterfree's poisonpowder or the houndour's smog attack.

She and Gold both heaved a sigh of relief when the fire-type spring out of the smoke, beautifully unscathed. The relief didn't last long. Three of the houndour were tired and disorientated from the smoke and poison, but there were still three left to go. Chrisl supposed they lucky that none of the other Rockets had joined their little fray—they would've been completely done for if that happened.

The Rockets members shouted out commands, and the three houndour sprang towards them in unison. Quilava bombarded its opponent with an onslaught of quick attacks while Bayleef and Butterfree dodged about and attacked whenever they could.

Chris quickly scanned the area for more incoming Rockets, but they all seemed to be heading to one specific place—Falkner's gym. From where she was standing, Chris could just make out a figure standing on the very top of the pyramid-shaped roof. Judging from the large bird pokemon swirling around the figure and dive-bombing the Rockets, she would be willing to bet that that was the gym leader himself. Turning back to the battle, Chris felt a little more optimistic. Once they warded of these grunts, they would hopefully be able to make it to safety. That idea was dashed when Chris heard footsteps behind them.

"Hold your fire."

Chris whirled around as the Rocket grunts called back their pokémon. Standing not ten feet from her was a tall, thin, teal-haired man. He was smiling calmly, almost serenely, as he regarded the two young trainers. Gold had turned around by this time as well, but he wasn't looking at the man's face, but rather, who he had with him.

Standing in front of him, held in a firm grasp and with a knife to his throat, was a red haired boy about her age. The Rocket smirked lightly. "Pleasure to meet you, children. How are you this fine night?"

Chris straightened up and squared her shoulders. "We'd be a lot better if you'd let that guy go. And maybe if you'd cleared the city, too."

The man looked amused. "Well, aren't you feisty? But so very polite. Tell you what," he said, pressing the blade against the captive's throat (who snarled and sucked in a breath), "if you hand us your pokémon without a fuss, I'll let him go."

Crystal gritted her teeth. "So is that why you're here? You bring a huge mob and trash the city to steal a few pokémon?"

The man laughed out loud. He looked very at-ease. Not that he didn't have any reason to be—not only were his fellow Rockets causing mayhem throughout the city, but he had a young hostage. Not to mention his only immediate opposition was a pair of rookie trainers. He was in control, and they all knew it. "Well, I would say it's more like a bonus. So let's not waste any more time. You are to recall your pokémon and hand them over without a fight. We don't want any trouble, we really don't."

Chris looked helplessly at Gold. Gold pressed his lips together in a firm line, looking defeated, and nodded to her. There was no other choice. He spared a glance at his quilava, who tensed up and crouched on the ground, glaring at the Rocket ringleader. Bayleef looked grimly resigned, while Butterfree was clearly very frightened.

I'm sorry, guys. Chris slowly withdrew her pokéballs from her bag, while Gold pulled one from his pocket. Chris gave her pokémon a weak smile. "Don't worry, you two. It'll be okay."

"Stop stalling." The man's voice held no more patience. "Returnthem."

Suddenly, though, something round and suspiciously pokéball-sized flew towards him, striking him squarely in the forehead. He recoiled slightly and cursed, loosening his grip on the red-head, who promptly dropped to the ground while Quilava lunged forward.

What followed was pure chaos. Quilava had managed to bring the teal-haired man to the ground, knocking his knife away in the process, but a houndour, under the orders of one of the grunts, barreled forward into Quilava's side, starting a vicious wrestling match.

The grunts looked panicked—apparently, the houndour were the only pokémon they had on hand—while their leader, having risen to his feet, was livid. He flung two pokéballs in the air, releasing a golbat and a weezing. The golbat swooped over to Butterfree, hitting her hard and smashing her to the ground. Quilava had gotten free of the houndour and was now racing to Butterfree's aid, but cried out in pain and fell to the ground when it was sludged by the weezing.

"Croconaw, use water gun on the weezing! Gastly, curse the golbat!"

Crystal suddenly realized that the former captive had joined her and Gold in the fight. He was standing between the two of them, snarling at the Rockets as he directed his team. The weezing was knocked several feet away, and as it prepared to attack the blue alligator pokémon, it was hit from behind by an ember from Quilava. The gastly looked exhausted and pained from the effects of its attack, while the golbat, who was still fighting—and winning—against Butterfree, seemed unaffected. For now.

"Bayleef, razor leaf the golbat!" The move wasn't meant to damage the bat, only to distract it from Butterfree, which it did. The golbat flew high in the air, then set its sights on Bayleef instead.

"Golbat, wing attack!" The hit landed, sending Bayleef reeling. As the golbat went in for another, it suddenly screeched in pain, and nearly fell out of the air. It recovered quickly, but was very shaken—courtesy of Gastly's curse.

Chris grimaced as she returned her fallen pokémon, who hadn't risen after the golbat's assault. Then she heard Gold gasp, and looked in his direction to see what had happened. Her breath caught in her throat.

Smoke was pouring out the gym's windows—the Rockets had set it on fire. They were about a hundred feet from the gym, but even above all the noise outside, Chris could hear the terrified shrieks of the many bird pokémon—and their trainers—trapped inside.

The Rockets had noticed this as well. "Fall back!" their leader shouted. "We're done here." He put two of his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Right on cue, a large fearow sped towards him. The man swiftly recalled his other pokémon, then smoothly mounted the bird as it flew by. The other Rockets returned their fainted battlers, then made their way to the gym and climbed on their own flying-types. As leader's fearow flew away, it gave a long, loud screech. This must have been a signal for all the other Rockets to retreat, for they did just that. They climbed aboard their charges without hesitation, then disappeared into the dark sky.

But the gym was still ablaze, and the air was still filled with horrible screams. Gold turned to the others. He jerked his head towards the burning building. He didn't have to say anything to make himself understood. We need to help them.Without waiting for a response, he sprinted off, Quilava in tow.

The stranger turned towards her and fixed her with an appraising, steely-eyed gaze. "I'm going after him," he said curtly. "You do what you want." And with that, he returned his gastly, barked at his croconaw to follow him, and ran after the black-haired boy.

Chris felt Bayleef nudge her leg. She looked down at him, then back up at the fiery gym. "All right, Bayleef. Let's see what we can do."

OoOoOoOoO

Gold ran as fast as his legs would carry him, taking big gulps of air, which grew smokier the closer they got to the gym. With the Rockets gone, it was substantially less crowded, and it wasn't too hard to get to the front doors, which stood wide open. He slumped over and put his hands on his knees, wheezing slightly. Quilava,he said, still trying to regain his breath, do you think you can go in there and see who you can get out?

Of course!she replied with confidence. She was a fire-type, after all. You stay there.Then she bounded into the building.

Gold stood there, waiting with baited breath as flying-types raced in and out of the gym, the larger ones carrying trainers, the smaller ones leading their fellow birds out into the fresh air.

Quilava suddenly ran out with a tiny pidgey in her mouth. She ran past him and put the pidgey in a nearby bush—safely away from smoke and flames and trampling feet. When she returned to his side, she looked almost frantic. Gold,she said, there are still people and pokémon on the higher floor.

That was bad, but nothing he hadn't expected. All right, I'll have to try to get up there—

The ladder's broken.

What?

Quilava's eyes were wide with fright. The ladder's broken, and the fire's climbing up the walls.She looked at him imploringly. What do we do?

Gold bit his lip. He didn't know what to do. He looked around at the people gathered outside, who all seemed to be trying to come up with something to do to help, but there were no pokémon around that could climb, and the flying-types were all sick and exhausted from all the smoke. His gaze went back to Quilava, who was staring at him anxiously, but trustingly. She had no doubt that he could get everyone out of this mess, and was simply waiting to be given instructions.

His thoughts raced, even as his heart sank. There wasn't anything he could do to get everyone out, plain and simple. But, he thought, he could try to stop the flames. Better the victims die from smoke inhalation than burn to death. Round up any water-type you can find, and tell them to put out the fire. Run!

Quilava immediately scampered away. Gold stood rooted to the spot for a moment, then ran in the direction of Sprout Tower. It had a large pond in front of it, he recalled. It wasn't at all far away from the Gym, either. He hoped his idea would work. He arrived at the edge of the pond and skidded to a halt. He'd never tried calling out to any pokémon he'd never met, and wasn't sure he knew how. But he could try.

Hey, all you water pokémon! Want to help a guy out?

Nothing. He wasn't even sure they were aware of his presence.

Gold! Gold!

He whirled around and found himself face-to-face with none other than Croconaw, who had been running to the pond.

Silver sent me here to help. Is there anything I can do?Croconaw asked.

Gold turned back to the pond and put his hands on his hips. Yeah,he said, staring into the water. Do you think you could round up some recruits for a little firefighting?

Sure thing.The water-type dove into the pond and vanished from sight. Gold spent a tense minute and a half waiting for Croconaw to resurface, jaw clenched and shoulders taught. He had counted to ninety-nine before he saw movement just beneath the surface.

Croconaw reemerged with an impressive gathering of poliwhirl behind him. The pond inhabitants eyed the trainer suspiciously, then saw the smoke, and looked worried. Okay, so, I haven't actually explained what going on here, but . . . here they are, Croconaw said.

All right. Just tell them that the city was attacked and we need help putting out the fire.

Croconaw relayed the information to them. Some of them, mostly the bigger poliwhirl, stepped forward immediately, but the majority looked unsure. One of the poliwhirl addressed Gold directly. Wait, so somehuman place is burning down, and you need our help? Don't you, have sort of human water brigade to do that for you?

That was exactly what Gold had been thinking several minutes back. I don't know.(The poliwhirl looked surprised at hearing him talk.) I haven't seen them.He turned back to Croconaw. Look, we need to them that if they're willing to help, we'll make sure that nobody will try to catch them, or hurt them, or anything like that. And if they don't want to help, well,he added a little nastily, they can just go back to whatever they were doing and not worry about the pokémon that might end up being burned alive.

Croconaw repeated the information to the others, and Gold saw them turning towards each other, probably muttering things among themselves. He waited with bated breath. One of the larger poliwhirl stepped forwards. We will help you, human. But you must keep your word; no one is to capture or harm any of us.

You have yourselves a deal. Now let's go,he said, already turning around. We're running out of time.

OoOoOoOoO

Bushes and tall grasses rustled softly as a little pidgey did her best to get along quickly. She was in Route 36 now, hopping-slash-stumbling along. She desperately wished she could fly right now, but she had just come from a very smoky Violet City, and a bird's delicate respiratory could only take so much abuse at a time. So she sort-of ran instead, wishing Walker would swoop in to the rescue.

She'd heard a lot of stories about Falkner's father. According to Falkner, he was the best flying-type trainer in the world—no one else even came close. If he was so good, then surely he could make everything right for the gym, right?

"Hey, Pidgey! A bit late for your kind to be out for a stroll, no?"

She skidded to a halt, then flopped down on her belly. She was tired, and completely defenseless right now, but she wasn't worried for her safety. She knew that voice.

A large noctowl stood on a low branch of and old oak tree, and was looking down at her with some concern. Pidgey felt like crying in relief.

"N-Noctowl!" she gasped. "T-there's a fire . . . we need Walker. . . ."

The owl pokémon cocked his head to the side. "Oh, yes, I can see smoke from here. We haven't had a forest fire around here since, oh, well before you were born. Don't worry, though. The locals all know how to evacuate in such a situation, and I can carry you if need be—"

"N-no! Not . . . forest. Gym. People and pokémon . . . stuck. Lots of them. Walker . . . can fix it. Can't find Falkner. Need . . . Walker."

Noctowl was shocked. "Oh . . . dear," he said faintly. "I suppose Walker's help would be in order, wouldn't it?"

All the bird pokémon surrounding the city—in fact many all across Johto—knew of the Violet City gym. Once owned by Walker, bird master of Johto, then passed down to his son Falkner, the gym was a widely respected place of training, and often sanctuary, for a multitude of flying-types. Noctowl knew that Pidgey had been living there for a fortnight now, after the runt had been abandoned by her parents and Falkner had found her and offered a place to stay awhile.

Now the tiny fledgling was seeking help for the only real home she had ever known, and everyone still trapped inside. Noctowl nodded. "I'll find him." Then he was off.

Pidgey gave a little sigh, then slowly closed her eyes. She'd done her part to the best of her ability. She just hoped it was enough.

OoOoOoOoO

Noctowl flew as fast as he could as he climbed higher and higher above the forest of Route 36, his wings making no sound as he went up. He was going to try to tap into Pidgeot's (one of Walker's more powerful pokémon) mind, using his psychic powers to create a mental link. Pidgeot!his mind called out. This is Noctowl of Route 36 speaking. The citizens of Violet City are in need of Walker's aid!

Noctowl felt a voice of another inside his head. What happened?Pidgeot's mind asked him. Is the gym of your city in danger?

Yes, very much so. The gym is up in flames, with many still trapped inside. I have reason to believe that Falkner is among them. Please hurry.

There was a horribly tense pause. Then . . .

We're coming.

OoOoOoOoO

Silver surveyed the scene before him. He face held little sign of any emotion besides anger, which was mostly what he felt right now, anyway. Sure, he didn't want any innocent people to die, but his mind was mostly taken up with thought of Team Rocket.

Damn them! Just what were they trying to do here? The blueish-haired Rocket who had threatened to kill him had said something about 'making a point.' What kind of point were they trying to make? That they were back and ready to fight? That they had some personal vendetta against the region's gyms? Or maybe they just wanted to be taken seriously. These people were ready and willing to maim and kill to get what they wanted—though what they wanted, Silver wasn't completely sure.

He nearly jumped when he felt Croconaw nudge his leg. Croconaw turned his head to the posse of poliwhirl he had brought along. He then looked back at Silver, perhaps waiting for approval. Silver nodded. "Good enough," he said gruffly. "Tell them what to do."

His pokémon hurried off to direct the troops, and about half of them rushed into the Gym. Silver spotted a quilava—it must have belonged to that Gold kid—running out the door with a pair of weary poliwag on its back. It deposited them on the ground in front of one of the poliwhirl, who quickly rinsed them off with a gentle water gun. It was a good system—some of the water-types would go in to douse the flames, then come out when their skin became too dry. They would get hosed off while another batch would take a shift.

Suddenly, Silver felt something swooshpast him and into the gym. He had only gotten a glimpse, but he knew who it was.

Crouched low on the back of a pidgeot, flying at break-neck speed, was Walker Bertram, former Violet City gym leader.

Silver watched as Walker flew out only seconds later with an unconscious passenger held tightly in front of him. The pidgeot gently dropped a batch of pidgey and spearow on the ground before gently landing near a group of medics who had finallyarrived.

"All right," Silver said, as he held up a pokéball and returned Croconaw, who had just come back out, "we're done here."

OoOoOoOoO

Hours later, not long before the sun would rise, Walker sat in a chair next to a hospital bed, head in his hands. When he'd arrived at the gym, water-type pokémon—many of them wild—were hard at work, working together to put out the fire in the building. They shouldn't have had to do that—the gym's interior was specially treated to be flame-resistant.

But Team Rocket had managed it ignite it anyway. They must have come well-prepared. According to the witnesses, the Rockets had stormed the city on bird pokémon, and released a multitude of houndour and growlithe upon landing. Their main goal, it seemed, was to destroy the gym, or at least its inhabitants. Not that that was the only thing they tried to do—many of the locals' pokémon were stolen. Some of them were killed.

The attack on the gym was disastrous. The gym had been filled with trainers and pokémon at the time, and were shown little mercy. The Rockets hadn't tried to kill any of them directly, but if they had, it would have arguably more humane. When Walker had flown over, most of the bird pokémon that were outside had passed out from the smoke. The larger ones had tried to help the others get out, but flying through the unventilated gym had taken a toll on them. The ones that were trapped in the gym for longer periods had fared even worse. Some of them had flown all around, searching for an exit, but every window had been closed and locked, and the smoky air had left them disorientated. Many of the smaller ones, mostly pidgey, spearow, and hoothoot, had huddled together in little groups, hoping for rescue. As it turned out, that was the best thing the little ones could have done—if they had tried to fly away, they would have breathed in too much smoke, and most, if not all, of them would have died.

Many of Falkner's pokémon—such as his pidgeot, noctowl, swellow, and staraptor—had fought heroically, and suffered for it. The Rockets' pokémon had targeted them first, and fought without mercy. His son's team was very powerful, and some of the gym trainers' had done their very best to fight back, but they were horribly outnumbered. By the time the gym was set on fire, many of the Rockets' pokémon were out of commission, but not without bringing many others down with them. Many of the pokémon had ganged up on Falkner's pelipper early in the game—which, in all likelihood, was a premeditated decision to prevent it from helping with the fire that they started afterwards.

The pelipper was now being treated at the pokémon center, and was in critical condition. The nurses at the center had little hope of it surviving for much longer. Out of Falkner's entire team, it was in the worst shape. No, make that the second worst—Falkner's pidgeot was dead.

Walker sighed and massaged his temples as he mentally went over the damage to the city. The gym, while it had some fallen platforms and beams, and was badly scorched, could be repaired without a huge amount of trouble. While it would take quite a while before it was completely back to normal, it could, in theory, be up and running in a few weeks, ready for more challengers.

But Falkner wouldn't be.

He was the last person to be taken out of the gym. Walker had been the one who found him, trapped beneath a fallen beam, unconscious, blood soaking his clothes and pooling on the floor beneath him.

Things seemed to get worse when he was brought to the hospital. The doctor had taken one look at him then immediately ordered an emergency surgery. Falkner's condition was bad, and his list of injuries was long: second-degree burns on his arms and torso; bruised, cracked, and broken ribs; a broken collarbone; a punctured and collapsed lung; a damaged liver; torn muscles in one of his legs; massive internal bleeding; smashed fingers; and an arm that had been barely attached to the rest of his body by a bit of skin and ligaments.

Walker remembered pacing around one of the waiting rooms as the doctors worked to save his son. They had been honest with him; there was a distinct chance that Falkner wouldn't make it through the surgery. His heart had stopped only a few minutes after they had gotten him on the operating table, but the doctors were able to restart it without too much trouble. An hour later, he crashed again, and it took longer this time for his heart to start beating once more.

Walker wasn't sure how long the surgery lasted. All he knew was that it felt like he was there for days. When he was finally allowed to see his son, who was finally stabilized, he had gone to the room in a flat-out run. That was two hours ago. He hadn't left since.

He brought his head up and forced himself to look at his son. Falkner was still unconscious, and he looked horrible. He was hooked up to different monitoring machines, making sure his heart kept beating and his oxygen levels stayed level. He had a breathing tube down his throat, and several IVs attached to his left arm, administering some sort of medicine that had about a million syllables in their names. His right arm had been reattached, and was securely bandaged—he was lucky to still have it. Any of his skin that wasn't burned was ghostly pale.

Speaking of ghosts . . .

"How is he?"

Walker turned his head to see none other than Morty, Leader of Ecruteak Gym, and ghost-type specialist. With his shoulder-length golden-blond hair, striking violet eyes, and general air of dignity and class, Morty was well-known for being unfairly immune to looking awkward, scruffy, ruffled, out-of-place, et cetera et cetera. Now, however, any sign of the collected Gym Leader was gone, leaving a worried, haggard man who looked far older than his twenty-five years.

Walker didn't trust himself to speak, and only looked down and shook his head. He wasn't surprised to see the clairvoyant here; he and Falkner had struck up a close friendship some years back, just after Falkner had taken over the gym. News of what happened here must have hit him hard. Walker suddenly wondered just how Morty had learned of the incident so quickly.

As if he had read his mind (who knows, maybe he had), Morty spoke up again. "I had a vision." Ah. "I came here as fast as I could." His voice was soft, and sounded tired. "I could stay here if you'd like, while you get some rest," he added.

Walker simply shook his head again, then gestured for him to take a seat on the other side of the bed. As Morty complied, Walker stared at him blearily. "You look like hell," the older man said flatly.

Morty almost smiled. Almost. "The worse the vision, the worse the after-effects." He paused. "I told the police about everything I saw. Hopefully it will help."

Walker, almost unconsciously, reached up and gripped his son's hand (the unbroken one) in his own, staring at it as though worried it might disappear. "What did you see?" he asked, not looking up.

"Team Rocket members—close to a hundred, I would say," Morty said with a tone of someone who had repeated it many times over. "Only one of them I could see clearly. He was a higher-up, I believe. I don't not know why he was there; one would think he would stay behind and send his orderlies to do the dirty work." He stared distantly off into space, then continued. "Perhaps he wanted to observe them more closely. Or he simply wanted to enjoy the spectacle in person. It's hard to say."

Walker still didn't look up. "I'm not interested in your theories," he snapped, or would have, if he wasn't so tired. "Just tell me the dry facts, if you will," he added, a little less harshly.

Morty bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Walker," he said apologetically. "I don't have very much else to tell you. There was a good deal of violence." He swallowed. "Falkner was trying to get everyone out. A fearow knocked him off the battling platform. The safety net had been destroyed. Pidgeot barely caught him in time to save him, and covered him when one of the walkways fell. Pidgeot was killed."

Morty had whispered the last part almost inaudibly, and was now hunched slightly over, looking at the floor. Walker closed his eyes. "Anything else?" he croaked.

"Very little. There were three children that stood out for me—two boys and a girl. They had confronted the Rocket leader, or rather, he had confronted them. I could see his intentions—he didn't have a particular desire to kill them, only to take their pokémon. He had taken one of the children hostage—the boy had tried to stop him on his own. They got lucky; the leader ordered a retreat once the Gym caught fire. The three young ones went to help the others immediately after. One boy ran to ask the local water-types to put out the fire, and the other boy sent his pokémon along to assist him. The girl called the medics. No one else had."

Walker took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. This was a mess. "How . . . how many fatalities?"

Morty looked grieved. "In the gym? One human, and about thirty pokémon. Outside the gym, maybe ten or so pokémon, and no humans, as far as I know. Many more were injured."

Walker almost didn't want to ask the next question, but his morbid curiosity got the best of him. "Who was the one who was k—didn't make it?"

Morty closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward off a headache. "They haven't disclosed names. Or even told the public if any people died," he added quietly. "But, you know, I . . . I watched it happen." Morty clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. Walker didn't miss the shaky breath he took. "It was child, maybe ten years old. He couldn't—the smoke was—there wasn't—"

Morty gave a short gasp and covered his mouth, looking like he was about to be sick. Walker looked away.

After a moment, Morty spoke up again. "I'm sorry, Walker. I-I do believe I should leave for just a little while. I'll be back, Falkner." Walker watched out of the corner of his eye as Morty walked out.

Walker sighed tiredly as the door closed. He turned back to Falkner's still form and squeezed his hand. "You know," he said huskily, "that was the most emotional I'd ever seen your friend be. It was horrible." He smiled weakly. "You'll have to wake up here soon and cheer him up. Cheer me up, too. You were always good at that, weren't you, kiddo?" He gave a small laugh that sounded more like a sob, and he felt a stray tear roll down his face. "You got a lot of people out here who care about you, you know that?" he said, hoping his words reached him somehow. "Get better soon."

Please wake up. Please.

OoOoOoOoO

Gold slowly came back to consciousness when he felt a bright light hit his eyes. Darn alarm clock. Keeping his eyes shut, he withdrew his arm from beneath the covers and waved it around, trying to find the snooze button. He felt nothing but air. He reluctantly opened his eyes and realized where the light was coming from. The window. Oh.

Gold dragged himself up in a sitting position, trying to remember how he got here. When the memories started to come back, he suddenly wished that they hadn't.

The night had been awful—full of scared people and angry houndour and cough-inducing air. His freshly re-awoken mind vaguely remembered something about a bunch of poliwhirl, a Team Rocket guy with a knife, and some blond dude riding a pidgeot. As his mind perked up some more, he looked around the room, and his eyes landed on the bed next to his. Peeking out from under the covers was a head of ocean-blue hair.

Ah, yes, he remembered that. After the whole Team Rocket fiasco, many of the locals had stayed at the center in order to be closer to their injured pokémon. The rooms were quickly filling up, so Gold and Chris had agreed to share a room. They were almost complete strangers, but after battling together the other night, they figured they could trust each other enough to not turn this into a weird situation. Not that Gold would ever do that anyway, oh no.

The aftermath of the attack had been awkward for the two of them. The paramedics on scene had forced everyone that had been near the gym to get checked over. Gold and Chris had been sitting next to each other, oxygen masks in place, when the medics started to ask them questions—how are you feeling, are you lightheaded, and so forth. Chris had answered their questions without a problem. Gold, on the other hand, had obviously been a different story. It had been too dark out for him to see much of what they'd been saying, and he had already returned Quilava, so she couldn't help him either. They'd assumed that he had some sort of head injury, and Gold pointing to his ear and shaking his head hadn't seemed to tip them off at all.

He learned afterwards that Chris had figured it out first, and told the medics. Some had looks of enlightenment on their faces, while others had managed to look professionally embarrassed (Gold wished he could pull that look off). They'd been released soon after that. Without further communication, the two of them had walked to the pokémon center together.

The center had been crowded when they'd gotten there, and Chris had pulled Gold off to the side soon after they were in. She had a Pokégear strapped to her wrist, and she had quickly typed something out.

Maybe we could share a room. We may not be able to get one each.

Gold had responded in kind. yeah thats fine. and u can just talk you know

"Oh, right, of course. I'll get the room key. Be right back."

It was only minutes later when they walked to their room, finally getting away from the hordes of people outside. After they had taken turns showering and changing into some clean clothes, they'd both struck up a somewhat awkward discussion of the night's events. Gold had asked her if she was planning to leave Violet in the morning, and she had replied that she was staying for at least another week—apparently, her grandparents lived on the other side of town, and she wanted to stay with them for a little while.

It was then that Chris remembered to introduce herself at last. "I'm Crystal, but you can call me Chris," she had said. Gold had smiled and nodded at that, but the language barrier had prevented him from having any sort of quick comeback to ease the tension.

They had gone to bed not long after that, and within minutes, were both fast asleep.

Which brought him back to the present. Gold shifted a little and looked at the clock sitting on a nightstand between the two beds. 9:31, it read.

Whoa. He swung his legs off the bed, shifting the blankets and waking up Quilava, who was lying on top of the covers. She shook her head and blinked sleepily. Are we leaving?

Not right away. Go back to sleep if you want.

Cool.She closed her eyes again.

Gold rolled his eyes and smiled as he went into the bathroom to change out of his pajamas. He would wait patiently until Quilava was ready to leave. After last night, she deserved all the rest she wanted. And, he thought, he could use a bit of downtime too.

He'd just come out of the bathroom when his Pokégear buzzed. He looked at the screen, which informed him that he'd gotten an email. He sat down on the bed and opened the message. It was from Lyra, which was unusual. They texted each other on a daily basis, but Lyra usually only sent an email if it was something really important.

Heya Gold!the email read.Guess what! You know after you left and stuff? Well, I spent a lot of time at your house, making sure your mom wasn't lonely (she misses you and everything, but she's not all sad and stuff, don't worry). Then, about a week ago, she just came out and said that I should think about going on a journey too. And honestly, I was thinking the same thing! I really wanted to go, but I didn't want to leave Dad and your mom alone. But Dad says that if I want to go, I could at least try it out for a little while.

So that's what I'm doing! I was worried that Dad wouldn't let me go, but he was surprisingly cool with it. He just told me to be really careful, and keep Marill out at all times, and call him every day (sound familiar?). Marill's having a lot of fun, I can tell, and so am I! I'm not sure if I'm gonna try to get all the badges or not. I mostly just want to travel. You know, see new things, meet new people, all that jazz.

Please don't be mad I didn't tell you earlier. I wanted it to be a surprise for later, so . . . surprise?

Anywho, I'm a few miles into Route 30 now. I haven't caught any new pokémon yet (have you? :3), but I passed by Mr. Pokémon's house, then met this weird kid with a rattata who kept rambling on about top percentages and shorts (don't ask).

Okay, Marill's being a brat right now and wants to get going again, so I'll text you later.

Bye!

Gold read the email with mixed feelings. On one hand, he was happy that Lyra going on a journey now—she was obviously enjoying herself. On the other hand, he was worried. Violet City had just been attacked—what if those Rockets came back again? What if Lyra was there when it happened?

Should he stick around and wait until she arrived, then leave when she did? Gold didn't particularly want to stay in one place for that long, but he'd willingly do it if it meant Lyra would be safer.

But wouldshe be safer? If he stayed here, and the Rockets came back, maybe some of them would recognize him. He had, after all, thrown a pokéball in the leader dude's face and teamed up with Silver and Chris to battle him and his minions. He didn't know how bad-tempered these guys were, or how good their memories were, but he didn't want to be singled out if they came back. If that happened, and Lyra was with him . . .

Gold sighed in frustration and dug his fingernails into his scalp as he tried to think. He didn't know how criminals' minds worked! Sure, he'd spent time with some downright nasty people before, but he didn't know a thing about the workings of the newly-rejuvenated Team Rocket. He paced around the room, struggling to come to a decision.

He contemplated the idea of telling Lyra to turn back and go home until things were better. But, he thought, what if Team Rocket went to New Bark? The lab was there, after all—they could decide to check it for rare pokémon to steal. Lyra often liked to hang out at the lab, and would occasionally help out the Professor by rearranging his desk—which was an amazing feat, in Gold's opinion (though now he was getting a little off-topic).

It seemed that whatever way he looked at it, Lyra could run into trouble.

He stopped his pacing for a moment and stared thoughtfully at Chris, who was still nestled under the covers. His mind went back to their conversation last night. She was staying in Violet for a while—she'd know if something bad came up while she was here, wouldn't she?

Gold huffed and blew at his bangs. Maybe he was over-thinking this. Perhaps his fears were entirely unfounded, and it wouldn't matter whether he stayed or left, and whatever Lyra did wouldn't lead her into any danger. Then, later on, he could look back and laugh at how paranoid he had been. Or, maybe, his decision would actually matter.

He sighed. This whole 'go on a journey and be a trainer' thing was a lot more complicated than he had expected.

OoOoOoOoO

Chris woke up to an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. She vaguely wondered if she was sick or something, but then recognized that feeling as hunger. It was ten o' clock in the morning now, and she hadn't eaten since early last night. Just thinking of last night made her cringe. She wasn't looking forward to going outside and seeing the damage, or hearing on the news information about how many were injured or killed. This day was going to be a long one.

She slowly came to the realization that Gold wasn't here anymore. She supposed she shouldn't be too surprised—trainers weren't exactly known for sleeping in. She felt a little lonely, though. It would have been nice to get to know him, she thought. He seemed decent enough.

Well, no use staying in bed any longer. She got up and twisted around slightly, stretching her back. It was then that she caught sight of something on the nightstand.

Lying next to her Pokégear was a piece of note paper and a small photograph. Curiously, she picked up the photo.

It showed the image of a small, spindly girl clutching a marill to her chest and grinning at the camera. Maybe Gold had left the picture here by accident. She put the photo down and picked up the notepaper. It read:

Chris,

I put my name in your list of contacts in your Pokégear (please don't be mad). Long story short, I need someone I can count on to let me know if they see any sign of Rocket activity. Seriously, if you see anything that you think looks suspicious, then please text me, or email me, or whatever. Let. Me. Know. I don't know if there's really much to worry about, but for all we know, one of us might end up running into that dude we battled the other night. I don't know if he'd recognize us or anything, but for all I know, he could have us at the top of his hit-list for trying to mess with him. (I mean, probably not, but whatever.)

I left you a picture of my best friend. Her name is Lyra, and she left home just a little while ago. She'll probably be in Violet in a week or two. She's part of the reason I want you to call me if anything looks fishy. I don't want her getting hurt, and I'm not sure if I should stick around and wait for her. If TR does come back, I don't want her to be seen with the guy who threw a pokéball in the leader dude's face and made him lose a hostage. (The hostage guy's name is Silver, in case you wanted to know. You might want to stay away from him.)

Anyway, let me say it again: if you see something weird, tell me. I'm worried about Lyra and I'm worried about you. Don't freak out—I'm worried about you in a completely un-creepy way, because I'm just that swell a guy.

Keep an eye out,

—Gold

Chris wasn't quite sure how to react to the note. Gold seemed pretty paranoid to her. But then again, it certainly wouldn't hurt to stay alert and be especially careful.

She just hoped it wouldn't prove to be necessary.

OoOoOoOoO

A/N So . . . what did you think? I seriously don't know whether to be pleased with this chapter or not. How about you? Reviews are really helpful. :)

Oh, question for all readers! You may know that, in HG/SS, the main character can receive an eevee from Bill in Goldenrod City. While it'll be some time before Gold gets there, I want your opinion. Do you want Gold to get an eevee when the time comes, or do you want me to just keep his team eevee-free? I know that eevee is a terribly overused thing in general, so if you don't want one in this story, please let me know. And if you do, please let me know!

Review? :D