Author's note: I do not own Pokemon or related trademarks.

Apologies for yet ANOTHER long delay. Writer's block and a general listlessness have really screwed me up.

Language warning:

Mewtwo had long forgotten when he had first arrived in Saffron City. But since that day, he often found enjoyment in wandering the streets during the quiet of the evening. Few people would be out, and thus there was little risk of being seen. If need be, he knew he could use his powers to erase the memory of his appearance from any witnesses.

He took a deep breath of the night air, or rather, he began to, but he stopped the moment he smelled smoke.

That is far too much smoke for my liking, he mused as he followed the trail, his pace picking up.

A few blocks later, he rounded the corner to see an average-sized house burning. Pausing only to note that the blaze seemed to be fairly small, possibly started just moments earlier, he rushed the front door, knocking it inwards with all the force his frame could muster. He stopped again, coughing as he was hit with a wall of smoke, but continued forward, searching every room and finding no one until he came to what he assumed was the master bedroom upstairs. Without a moment's hesitation, he knocked that door down as well.

And there, lying naked and handcuffed to the bed, was renowned Saffron City Police Department Detective Frank Caldwell, seemingly unconscious.

Why do I have this sinking feeling that my life is about to be more interesting than I want it to be? the mutant thought as he approached. He hesitated for a moment as he regarded the cuffs, trying to think of a way to remove them without breaking them or using his psychic abilities. His thoughts were interrupted by a groan, and Mewtwo looked down to see Frank's head begin to shift.

"Where am I?" he asked, and then turned his head, seeming to regard Mewtwo like he'd never seen him in his life before asking, "What are you doing here?"

"I smelled smoke. The house appears to be on fire. I think, detective, that the question should be redirected. What are you doing here?"

"I-I remember coming over to ask Jessie a few questions-"

"Wait, you don't mean the former Rocket, do you?"

"Uh, yeah, uh, that one. I wanted to-"

The sounds of sirens approaching spurred Mewtwo into action. Within seconds, Frank stopped talking as he felt an unseen force unlock the handcuffs. No sooner did they fall from his wrists than the mutant cat picked the naked man off the bed and headed for the front door.

And no sooner did he open the door than he saw Frank look up. "Oh fuck, it's the captain. I hate my life right now."

It was not a pleasant sight as the firefighters, accompanied by their trusty Wartortles, worked to put out the fire. On the front lawn, Frank Caldwell sat in the back of an ambulance, naked save for a blanket around him, head bowed with humiliation. In front of him, Hopfmar was trying to control his anger and struggling mightily.

"Do you realize just how much damage you could have done to our investigation, Frank?" snapped the captain. "Whether you agree with Stuart or not, Jessie is still a suspect in connection with three murders. Anyone with half a brain can put two and two together and figure out that you had sex with her! Can you imagine the field day her defense attorney would have, or even better yet, Commissioner Steele?"

Frank looked up in shock. "Jessie and I had sex?"

"Well, how else do you explain being found naked in her house?"

"I don't know, I can't remember anything-"

From the corner of his eye, Frank saw Sabrina standing across the street, a stunned look on her face.

Oh my god, she heard, he realized in horror. Frank rose from his spot with a yell of, "Sabrina, wait!" but before he could take a step forward, she turned and ran down the street. The look on her face seemed to say, How could you?

Hopfmar watched as the detective slumped back into the ambulance and sighed.

There was silence for a while, an awkward silence that seemed to burn more than the heat from the burning house.

And then, in an audible whisper from Frank, "My badge and gun are in my car. Take them."

Before Hopfmar could respond, Stuart approached. "Captain, I-"

The captain turned to him. "I'll have someone take over here and then have someone else take Frank home. I'm heading to my office, and I expect to see you there before I arrive."

Stuart watched him head towards the crime scene tape surrounding the house, then looked at Frank. The detective looked like he'd been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat.

Then, and only and finally then, did Stuart McManus realize what he'd done.

"I'm going to ignore the fact that I got here first," Hopfmar informed Stuart as the detective walked in and collapsed into the chair in front of the desk, "and cut to the chase. Why are you so determined to arrest a woman for three murders that we don't know she was actually involved with?"

There was a long silence before there was a sigh.

"I should never have let what she said get to me, and you know it…."

It had seemed like weeks since Stuart had gotten back into contact with Frank, probably because it had in fact been several weeks. The entire department had begun to grow worried that something had gone horribly wrong, with LoMarco loudly proclaiming to anyone who would listen that they needed to get the army to help them line up and shoot every Rocket member without mercy, regardless of standing.

Thus it came as a surprise when he was interrupted in his usual routine of waiting in that certain back room of the gay bookstore by two knocks.

"Frank?!" he blurted.

"Sorry I didn't get word out lately," came an apologetic voice. "Giovanni's a tough motherfucker to crack."

"Any progress?"

"Yeah," Frank replied, and Stuart could have sworn he heard a smile through the wall. "He wants to arrange an AK-47 shipment."

Stuart could barely contain himself. "So now what?"

"Depends. Am I talking to Stuart McManus or am I talking to Floretta Gutierrez?"

There was a pause, then, "Oh goddamnit, Frank."

One of the things Frank had managed to accomplish since being invited to Giovanni's private poker parties, aside from defeating the Rocket boss and sleeping with Jessie, was being granted the rare privilege of being able to avoid the kidnapping-style excursions in favor of driving himself to the compound. He took the time to memorize the route, knowing that it would become necessary to the task at hand.

Thus it came to pass one evening that he stood inside Giovanni's mansion, humming, for some reason unknown even to himself, "New Millennium Cyanide Christ" by Meshuggah. He glanced towards his right at the smoldering beauty next to him, then towards the door as the sound of overly cranked bass began to vibrate from outside the building. A shocking pink station wagon came to a stop just outside the door, and out stepped a figure in the gaudiest flower-print blouse and sweeping skirt.

As Frank watched his colleague adjust the bandana that he had wrapped around his head and walk as briskly as he could while wearing spiked heels, the detective had to resist shaking his head. Maybe this WASN'T such a good idea after all.

Then there was a knock at the door, and another Rocket member opened it and was almost instantly knocked backwards as Stuart sashayed in. "Oh, sooooooooooooooooooooooooo sorry I'm late, daaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhlings," he intoned in the most over-the-top voice. "I just HAD to-"

"That's not a problem," interrupted Frank, inwardly cringing. "Katja, if I may, I'd like to introduce you to Floretta Gutierrez, arms dealer."

She did a bit of a curtsey, but Frank noticed to his ever-growing dread that she was stifling a giggle. Silently hoping that Stuart would not notice, he hastily added, "I believe Giovanni is waiting for us?"

Jessie nodded but still seemed to be having serious trouble maintaining her composure. One glance at Stuart only added to Frank's dismay, as the cross-dressed detective was having a hard time keeping his hands from shaking. Frank knew from watching previous confrontations with LoMarco that whenever Stuart's hands shook, he was about ready to fly off the handle.

As they walked down the various corridors that led to Giovanni's office, the snickers from the people they passed became harder and harder to ignore. Frank glanced behind him frequently at his partner. Stuart was clearly growing more and more irritated, and what Frank now feared was it going from "irritated" to "enraged." Jessie's giggles were now becoming more pronounced, which was why it was a major relief for Frank when they finally reached the office. The redheaded woman knocked on the door. "Mr. O'Leary's contact is here, sir," she called, her voice cracking.

Stuart sighed. "The moment that door closed, everyone except Frank and Giovanni started laughing. And Giovanni was smiling. I completely lost it: the next thing I know, I pull out my gun and start screaming and everyone else started going for their pieces and Frank was trying to keep all hell from breaking loose. Eventually, he asked for a moment to calm me down…."

They had barely exited the office when Stuart felt the ground disappear from beneath him and his back met the wall with force. Knowing that his partner was glaring a hole in him, he turned his head away.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" hissed Frank as he held Stuart halfway up the wall.

"Frank, I'm sorry, I-"

"You're lucky we're not dead right now because of your little outburst! Hopefully, you didn't fuck up the entire case now!"

"Frank, I'm sorry!"

Frank released him, letting him drop to the floor. Stuart quickly got back up and watched as his partner opened the door. "I think I got him straightened out now. He's really sensitive. I should have warned you about that."

"'Sensitive' would be a bit of an understatement, Mr. O'Leary," Giovanni said flatly. "But if all is well with him at the moment I believe we have business to attend to. Bring him back in, will you, please?"

Frank could only nod, his stomach in a million knots as he turned to the door. "Floretta, are we good now?"

"Floretta" walked back in. The giggling had stopped, but Jessie was continuing to have trouble with her composure. Deciding that something needed to be done to keep Stuart from flipping out again, Frank positioned himself so his partner could not see her face. In this position, he would be able to keep an eye on all parties and be able to prevent any further problems.

Giovanni cleared his throat. "You'll have to forgive my faithful team, " he began. "I do happen to have some more flamboyant members that get laughed at as well. Personally, I was not trying to laugh at your friend. As you know, Mr. O'Leary, rare is the day when I'm not smiling." Before Frank could respond, the Rocket boss turned his attention to Stuart. "Now, I hear you might be able to supply me with certain… 'items' that I need to facilitate many of my current business deals, am I right?"

"Floretta" gave a non-committal shrug. "I might," he answered in his normal voice.

Giovanni leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his chest. "I was informed by a certain someone that you are an arms dealer. I am interested in making a deal if that information is accurate."

"What arms are you looking for?"

"Assault rifles. Heavy street artillery. AK-47s. Military-grade stuff. Things you see shipped to drug cartels. That sort of thing, you see."

"I have my prices."

"Money should be no object."

"AK-47s are hard to get. And expensive on my end. I need to justify the work to make a profit. I need to know how much you're willing to pay before I'll strike a bargain, sir."

Giovanni turned to Jessie. "Well, I believe Katja would be more certain than I am about what our supplies are at the moment. Am I right, my dear?"

Stuart leaned past Frank just as Jessie finally was able to steady herself. "Well, there was that one agent from the Rio Amarillo cartel that placed an order for about forty AK-47s last week. Unfortunately, we only had ten on hand, so we owe him thirty."

"Thirty AKs at two thousand bucks a piece comes out to sixty grand," Stuart promptly replied.

"Sixty? That's all?" asked Giovanni, clearly surprised. "That seems cheap."

"I don't sell fakes, if that's what you're implying."

"I didn't think so, but that seems to be a little low. Think we can work towards a higher number on both fronts?"

The two detectives could not resist smiling. Got him, Stuart thought. Reassuming his "Floretta" voice, he leaned over the desk. "Oh dahling, that's something you don't have to worry yourself about."

And it was then he noticed the poorly-restrained smile on Jessie's face.

Stuart slumped forward in his chair. "I've fucked up Frank's life and career because I'm that defensive about my sexuality," he got out, his voice barely a whisper. "What's going to happen to him?"

Hopfmar took a deep breath. "Until this case is over, he is voluntarily taking a leave of absence from the force. I'm keeping it quiet so the commissioner doesn't use this as an excuse to finally fire him. She hates him enough as it is."

"What about me?"

"You're off the case as well. I'm sorry, Stuart, but under the circumstances I can't trust you to be objective. And I think it may be a good idea to start to visit the department psychiatrist as well. Dom's attitude towards you from the moment you first came to work here until his death has gotten you to the point where the slightest thing gets you worked up about you being gay. Perhaps getting some help can work wonders."

Stuart remained silent.

He never thought he'd come here again.

But as he looked up at the brick steeple of The Church Of Our Lady Of The Resurrection, Stuart felt that he needed to come back. Sighing, he walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

For my luck, Father Carmont hung it up already. That's how long it's been since I was last here.

Much to his surprise, the door opened, and an old man in Catholic priest's clothing looked up at him. "Well, either I'm seeing things or Stuart McManus has finally stopped by to visit an old man. What brings you by, Stuart?"

The detective sighed. "I think I may have cost a good man his job."

Father Carmont nodded. "Well, that is rather serious, but what exactly did you do?"

"It's a long story. Am I still welcome to enter?"

"Both sinner and saint may find room and perhaps peace here, my son. And coffee. I don't know how much help I may be, but sit down, have a mug, and maybe something can be done."