DAKOTA WESTFIELD & FRANCIS ROLFE

Dakota had chanced it and took Frank to a hospital. Once upon a time, it mightn't have been the cleverest move for a person like her to take – but the fear of nurses discovering track marks or random police searches were a thing of the past, and now Saffron was used to youths coming in at all hours of the night. Rape victims, drug overdoses, stab wounds, pokémon attacks. Normality is restored, Dakota thought as she flicked through a magazine in the overflowing waiting room.

Now, they were holed up in some crummy motel. She fobbed the doctor off with some tale as to why Frank couldn't stay in for observation, she couldn't remember what exactly. Thankfully, his wounds hadn't been life-threatening. He'd cracked his skull, bled a lot. Dakota was glad she hadn't stuffed a finger or two into his eye socket; then she'd be in trouble.

Frank was fast asleep on the double bed. Dakota hadn't been able to sleep. For one, she wasn't about to cosy up to Francis Rolfe, and two, someone had to watch the door. There was a latch and key, but Dakota doubted their security.

She sat beside the half-shuttered window, kicking her feet against the side of the bed and watching the pedestrians on the street below. Some had pokémon by their sides; the rest simply hurried along, heads down, eyes averted. The morning sunlight was a watery affair, rays sliding despondently down buildings to cast weak slants of light across busy roads. The cacophony of the street rose up to meet her, sounds of hover car horns and people yelling and pokémon chattering and footsteps slapping. Dakota pulled the thin blanket around her shoulders and settled further into the back of the threadbare armchair.

She'd stayed in this motel a few times before. Its regular clientele – prostitutes, shady 'businessmen' – didn't bother her, and she didn't bother them. After she'd managed to haul Frank here after the hospital, a few extra bucks had gotten them a room on the top floor, complete with leaky roof and no neighbours save for a noisy couple across the hall.

Dakota closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the darkness, before she opened them again. She was desperately tired. Dakota had run to the bathroom down the hall earlier, leaving both Sasha and Nix on guard in their room. A quick shower had worked its magic; she felt clean and brand new… and very sleepy. What she would give…

Sasha snuffled. Dakota opened her eyes again, drawn to the poocheyena lying by the door. Nix was curled on top of the bed, at the foot of the mass of blankets covering Frank.

Dakota knew she needed a plan. They couldn't stay holed up here forever, as much as she'd like to. Her money was going to run out sooner or later. As soon as Frank awoke, she'd weasel the story out of him. How had he managed to find her, after all this time? And why mention Johnny?

Even the mention of his name caused her heart to clench painfully. Dakota gritted her teeth and stared at the stain ceiling.

What did Frank want with her, anyway? Surely he knew what had happened to his brother. Surely he knew what had happened to her. Surely he knew that there was no chance they could team up, safety in numbers style… Though his axew would prove a good companion.

Dakota stared at the lump on the bed. A tuft of blonde dreadlock was just visible. The fact that Frank had an axew didn't surprise her in the slightest. After all, the Rolfe family weren't exactly scratching around when it came to paying the bills. But still, Frank wasn't a stupid guy. Why had he brought axew with him to Saffron? Pokémon like that – especially Unovian pokémon – fetched quite a pretty penny, if you knew where to look. And Dakota knew where to look.

Biting her lip, she let her gaze drag along Frank's body, hidden under the covers. She could always take everything he had and make a run for it. She had no need for an axew, or any other rare pokémon he had. And a find like that would keep her comfortable for quite a long time.

Fine. If Frank double-crossed her in any way, she'd kill him. Dakota had no issues with doing something like that – even to someone who was related to… Even so. If Frank did anything, she let Sasha rip out his throat before she dumped his body in an alleyway somewhere, skipping off with all he had on his person. Maybe she'd leave his body somewhere public, just to get some attention. Maybe she'd pry out his eyes. The Saffron underworld knew Dakota's style. It'd buy her some safety, no doubt about that.

As Dakota slipped into a daydream about pummelling Frank to a bloody mess, said boy stirred. He shifted a few times before sitting upright with a dreadful moan, eyes squeezed shut. He collapsed against the wooden headboard, the impact unfortunately padded by some musty cushions. The bandage around his head was thickly wrapped and clean. A necklace of purple fingerprints decorated his lovely neck.

Dakota didn't… like people, as such. But seeing a vulnerable young man in a soft white bed, with the covers pooling in his lap, revealing a hairless tanned chest… Even a boy like her had needs.

Frank lay completely still for a few minutes. He opened his eyes, peering weakly against the gentle sunlight coming in through the half-shuttered window.

"You're a bastard." His voice was rasping like old autumn leaves. As he spoke, he touched his throat self-consciously, tracing the pattern almost in reverence.

Dakota didn't say anything. Frank sat up straighter, drawing his knees to his chest. It was then that he noticed his shirt was missing. Catching Dakota's gaze, she motioned towards the other armchair, where his denim jacket and flannel shirt lay in a tangled heap. She'd been kind enough to leave his jeans on.

Frank gingerly felt the bandage, his fingers tiptoeing around the back to ghost over his tender skull. When he hissed in pain, Dakota stood up, taking the blanket with her. Frank stiffened immediately. When she sat beside him on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly, he narrowed his eyes and made to grab his pokéball.

"You're not that stupid, are you?" Dakota asked scathingly. Frank scowled, dropping his hand in his lap, though still on guard. "Tell me why you were following me," she demanded, "and tell me what you want."

He licked his lips. And suddenly, so quickly she almost missed it, Frank's gaze dipped to her mouth.

Dakota drew back. He couldn't have been following her just for that. She gave her favours on nearly every street corner. There hadn't been any need to skulk after her just for a quick fuck.

Still, he was hot. She was still riding high on the last vestiges of adrenaline. He was practically naked.

Dakota paused. It was like last night, when she'd come out of the diner. Motel or mugging? Motel, or mugging? Decisions, decisions.

Internally, she sighed - but filed away his subconscious behaviour for future reference.

"Tell me. Or I promise, you'll go right back to the hospital, except you might be wheeled into the morgue this time." Dakota couldn't help herself, darting out to twist his bare left nipple to punctuate her words. Frank drew in a sharp breath. His other nipple stiffened.

You've got to be kidding me. Just when she'd decided to be honourable, for once in her life, he was making everything veer off course.

"Listen to me." She leaned forward, twisting his nipple until his expression spiked from pleasure to pain. "You tell me right now what you were doing last night." As if scripted, Nix and Sasha was suddenly on the bed beside her, eyes flashing and soft growls rumbling.

Frank's eyes skipped between her pokémon and back to her, any arousing thoughts vanishing. He dropped his gaze shyly, and Dakota was reminded of a very young boy. He touched the bandage on his head, as if for reassurance.

"I… You knew Johnny."

When Frank made to meet her gaze, Dakota forced herself to remain impassive. She twitched his nipple.

His breath hitching in pain, Frank continued: "I know you and he… I know you were best friends. Even though you don't know me, I know you." His words were earnest. "You're Dakota Westfield. You started your pokémon journey with Johnny. You're just like me."

"Just like you? How the fuck am I just like you?"

"You're a runaway. A deserter. That's what people call ex-pokémon trainers, 'deserters'. I'm a deserter, too. I was at that club last night, I saw you fight, and I recognized you, I recognized you from Slateport -"

Dakota shoved him away, hard, and his head collided with the headboard, but this time the impact wasn't cushioned. Tears sprang into his eyes and he cried out, both hands coming up to cradle the back of his skull.

"Say one more word, I dare you," Dakota breathed, hands shaking. "Just say one more word."

"The Slateport Massacre!" Frank blurted desperately. "I saw you there, with Johnny! I'd gone up to see him, he was so excited about his gym badge, I thought I'd surprise him – I was too late - but I saw you, Dakota!"

She pushed herself up and away from the bed, back to the window. She gripped the window sill tightly with two white-knuckled hands.

"Please, Dakota, you have to help me," Frank said at last, the plea quiet and hesitant, coming to hover between them, a dove with an olive branch. "The guy… You know, the guy who did it… He's here, in Saffron."

Frank met her frightened gaze. "I'm going to kill him. I need you to help me."

The room was silent.

"You're the only guy I know who'd help me." Frank was crying now, just like he had when Dakota had held him pinned to the brick wall, with blood dribbling from his nose and skull. "You need this as much as I do. He needs to die, for what he did.

"The police never caught him. But you'd know that… He came here three days ago. I've been following him, and then I saw you in the club, and I had to follow you and get you to help. You killed that guy in the club, you know that? You almost killed me. You can… m-murder Johnny's killer too, I know it.

"I'll help you. I'll do whatever you want." Frank's eyes shone with tears and something like devotion or mindless, cold-blooded rage.

Dakota stared at him. Her hands had cramped around the window sill so tightly they hurt to unfurl. She hugged herself, pain shooting up her fingers. Nix came over to her and whined.

"Okay." That one word made Frank to slump against the sheets; Dakota's heart to start beating madly; her back stiffening with fear and cold.

The thought of killing Johnny's murderer… Of having that power in her hands, the power to vanquish the light from his eyes, those eyes that had watched thirty-five people die…

Normality is restored.

A/N Filler is filler. The 'Slateport' massacre is reference to a real-life tragedy, by the way. These references are intentional, as I kind of wanted this cross-referencing, if you like, to be present in this fic. I mean absolutely no offence by referencing these tragedies and global events.