Spark didn't like that they'd been assigned to separate bedchambers. He also didn't like that he didn't speak the language required to express his dislike. He could tell that neither Blanche nor Candela were enthused by the setup either, but they'd allowed themselves to be ushered into their private rooms. Words of protest had formed on Candela's lips, but a look from Blanche had silenced her. They were Waik's guests. If this was what Waik wanted, it was not their place to argue over it.

Not that they'd had the energy to argue. To tell the truth, Spark was ready to collapse into bed for about a century, even though he'd gotten the most sleep out of the trio in the past 48 hours. Sleep deprivation had weighed heavily on his friends. He could see it in Candela's slowed-down motions, her eyes that blinked just a little too sluggishly. Blanche's exhaustion had taken the form of dark circles under their eyes. They needed rest, and maybe they'd sleep easier in their own private spaces.

Spark's chamber was small and plain, another domed bubble of a room in a hallway of rooms he supposed looked about the same. The building must have been an inn of some kind. After all, Blanche had said there were other villages in the mountain. Travelers would need a place to stay when they were away from home.

Spark knelt next to the wide, soft bed. It was composed of the same dark material that the first bed and his robe were made of and smelled faintly of a mossy forest floor. He wondered if he'd see her in his dreams.

He groaned and stood up again. He couldn't go to sleep with that thought looming over him. How he wished Blanche had given him his pokémon from the duffel before they'd split up. He understood their thinking: the less exposure these people had to the pokémon, the better. But Spark would have given anything to have Rutabaga with him in his tiny room. He wanted to tell her what was going on. Just how much could the pokémon hear from inside their balls? Were they afraid right now? It bothered Spark that he couldn't comfort them.

A metal table sat against one curved wall, and on it was a green glass pitcher filled with water and a matching cup. Spark turned the little glass cup in his hand, admiring the fine glass in the low lamplight. It had an elegant yet practical simplicity, like so much of the rest of the village. Who had blown this glass? Could they have ever imagined an outsider like him would drink from it?

Spark poured water into the cup and sipped. It was sweeter than he'd expected, and deliciously cool. Maybe he could just focus on relaxing, push the memory of seeing Dillinger's face in the crowd from his mind. It had been a brief encounter, after all. She'd appeared among Waik's people, her black hair a sharp contrast to their pale coloration. She'd smiled at him with that hungry, venomous mouth of hers. He felt like his chest had been pierced by ice. This wasn't like the Dillinger he'd mistaken Candela for. This Dillinger stared at him with knowing intent.

It had felt so, so real, and then it was over. She was gone, and Spark was on the ground with Blanche, and the moment had passed. Seeing her again had been alarming, sure, but that hadn't been the worst part. If Spark had had another incident, then the others were probably due for one as well. Not only that, but Spark couldn't help but think of what this said about his mental state. He was deteriorating, maybe faster than the others, and time was working against him.

As he set the glass down, a metallic gleam caught his attention. A plain hand mirror sat behind the pitcher. Spark picked it up and cringed at the hollow, scarred face that looked back at him from the small oval of reflective metal. His fingers traced the welt from Resolute's whip down his cheek, and he took a bit of comfort to note its reduced size. He gazed into his own eyes for a while, but felt like he was looking at a stranger. An unsettling thought rose to the surface of his mind.

"Zapdos, if you're in there…"

He paused, feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable. Was he really going to chat up the legendary pokémon that had taken up residence in his skull? Would it even work? He glanced at the empty bed. Anything to delay sleep and the nightmares it promised.

"Listen, Zapdos. I know you don't want to be in here. 'Here' being both this mountain and, uh, me. I'm going to do everything I can to get you out, but I need you to work with me. In order to get us out of here, I need to keep it together, you know? I have to be able to trust my eyes. Do you understand?"

Predictably, nothing happened. Spark searched his reflection, but found no evidence that Zapdos could hear or acknowledge him.

"I really am going mad," he muttered, then addressed the bird once more. "I realize you might not be able to help, but on the off chance you can… Please don't let me let my friends down."

He wasn't sure if he was talking more to Zapdos or himself, but Spark decided that he'd wasted enough time monologuing into a mirror either way. He set it face down on the table, turned down the lamp, unstrapped the prosthetic from his ankle, and headed for bed.

As he curled between the sheets, he wished he had a psychic pokémon with him to guard him from bad dreams. The thought immediately conjured the image of Dillinger's hypno, and Spark tensed and pulled the blankets tighter around his body. How could he have forgotten Hypno? He was still out there somewhere, maybe lost, maybe back in Dillinger's hands. At least he'd had the foresight to avoid Waik's people. He was a clever pokémon, Spark reminded himself. Hypno seemed to navigate the tunnels better than his human counterparts. He could take care of himself, at least until Spark and his friends found him. Perhaps it was more likely that Hypno would find them instead. Spark could only hope.

Spark closed his eyes, but his mind wouldn't turn off. His thoughts zipped from Hypno back to Dillinger's predatory grin. How could a human being turn out like that? How had Professor Willow failed to immediately see the evil in her heart? No, he had to get his brain away from that topic. He tried to remember the dance moves he'd learned earlier that night, but that inevitably returned him to the moment of his hallucination. So he backed up his memory further, to Blanche's retelling of their exchange with Waik. They'd described Articuno huddled on the ice, suffering. Was Zapdos in pain as well? And Moltres? What was happening to them? Even if they could do something to slow the onset of the madness Blanche had described, did they even have the strength to act while trapped in human heads?

The questions buzzed incessantly through Spark's mind as he tossed and turned. The harder he tried to shut his brain down, the more active it became. The fear of not getting sufficient sleep only worsened his attempts to rest. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. Fifteen minutes? An hour?

He finally found a semi-comfortable position, flat on his back, the moss-scented blankets tucked around him in a way that inhibited his wiggling. He concentrated on the silence of the room, hearing only his own breathing. The tension in his muscles melted with every exhale, and chaos in his mind began to still.

The door creaked softly, and Spark sat straight up, instantly wide awake and ready to leap into action.

"Spark! It's me, Candela," whispered the shadowed figure in the doorway.

Spark rested his hand on his chest as if he could will his heart to stop pounding. "Candela! You do realize that the last time you walked in on me unexpectedly, I mistook you for our mortal enemy, right?"

"Yeah, I know. What can I say? I'm a thrill-seeker," Candela said as she closed the door behind her.

Spark sighed and patted the bed, inviting her to approach. Not that she was waiting for the invitation. Candela slipped into the bed with Spark as if it were her own, claiming a sizeable portion of the sheets for herself as she went.

Spark smirked and allowed Candela to commandeer half of the bed. "You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

"Could barely close my eyes," she said, and punctuated the sentence with a heavy sigh. "I miss Cayenne. Even though she steals all the blankets and bites my toes in the middle of the night."

Spark imagined Candela's little vulpix pouncing on her feet in the wee hours of the morning. The sweet image soured as Spark thought of Cayenne waiting in an empty bed without her trainer, alone and confused. He hoped Professor Willow was there to comfort the pokémon they'd left behind. He hoped someone was there to comfort the professor himself, for that matter. What was happening in the world above?

"We'll be back in Trichroma Town in no time now that Waik's going to show us the way," Spark said, feigning confidence.

"Yeah, with Team Rocket snapping at our heels, if we stick with your plan of luring them out of the mountain with us," Candela said.

Spark propped himself up on his elbow to look at her. "We can't leave them in here. They're a danger to everyone who lives in the caves. Besides, I thought you wanted to bring Dr. Dillinger to justice."

Even in the dark, Spark could make out the fierce determination in Candela's features as she replied. "I do. I want her and every one of her cronies to pay for what they've done."

"So we draw Team Rocket out of the mountain, seal the door behind them, and call in the authorities," Spark said. "Justice served."

Candela huffed and rolled over, her shoulders forming a sharp barrier. "You sound like Blanche. You've been spending too much time with them."

Spark detected a certain soreness in her words. "What would you rather do, then? Use our pokémon to attack Dillinger and the Rockets? Use their own methods against them? What would that make us, Candela? What would our pokémon think of being used like that?"

"They'd be gratified," Candela said.

"You really think your pokémon would be gratified to be used as murder weapons?" He knew it would sting, but he had to say it.

Candela's shoulders tightened. "I… I wouldn't kill them."

"Then what would you do?"

"Damn it, Spark, I don't know," Candela said, but her voice lacked fight. "But I have to do something. Don't you understand that?"

"Of course I do," said Spark, easing up. "I just want that to be the right thing."

"And what's the right thing to do in this situation?"

Spark sank back onto his pillow. "I don't know."

Candela laughed. "Then don't put me on the spot about it."

She was quiet for a while, and Spark started to wonder if she'd fallen asleep.

"I've been thinking about it a lot, you know," Candela whispered, a bit groggily. "What I'd like to do to Dillinger. It's not good. I've also been thinking about what I did to you, or what I tried to do. I've been afraid to even think about it. I didn't know how I could ever face you again. Because I didn't see a Rocket when I looked at you, like I said I did. I… I saw…"

"You just saw me. I know," Spark said. "You're a terrible liar."

He felt the bed shift as Candela laughed silently. "Great, so you knew all along. And you're still willing to be in the same room with me."

"The same bed, no less," Spark added. "But no. I didn't know all along. I could tell you were hiding something, but I didn't know what."

"I shouldn't even be in here," Candela said solemnly. "I know it's dangerous. I just wanted a chance to talk to you without Blanche hovering over us. I already talked to them about this, and they told me to tell you the truth. I didn't want to. I really didn't want to, but I've been thinking about it all night, and I knew that it would keep eating me up from the inside if I didn't do it. I was losing my mind over this, Spark, I really was. I can't reconcile how I felt in that awful moment with who I am as a person. Because it wasn't me, but at the same time it was, and I-"

Spark placed his hand on her shoulder, slowing her down, breaking the intensity of her accelerating speech. "Hey, it wasn't you. You forget that I also attacked you when I thought you were Dillinger. It's the birds messing with us. I don't know if it's intentional, or a side effect of sharing headspace with them, or what, but you can't blame yourself for what happened, or what might happen. I'm scared, too. I want to be able to trust myself again."

"So do I," Candela said, and though she turned her head to mask the sound, Spark heard her sniffle. "My mind feels like it's being pulled in a million directions at once. I don't even feel better for telling you the truth, because I know it's not easy for you either. I don't know how you aren't falling apart right now, because I feel like I am."

"Don't worry," Spark said. "At this point, I'm pretty practiced at falling apart. But it's OK. You said you'd always have my back, and I trust that. I've got yours, too."

"But I could turn on you at any moment. You can't trust me," Candela said, half into her pillow.

"I can trust that I'll sense a change in you, like I did at the waterfall, and manage to get out of your way now that I know what's going on," Spark reasoned.

Candela digested that for a few seconds, and then started to sit up. "I shouldn't be here. It's a stupid risk."

"Wait, don't go," Spark said, reaching for her before she could get out of the bed.

She looked at him with wet, remorseful eyes. She didn't want to go, "stupid risk" or not.

"Just a few more minutes," she agreed, settling back down.

"Do you remember camping out when we were kids?" Spark asked.

Candela picked up on his thought. "Yeah, I remember. You and me and Blanche and our tiny toy tent, making plans to sneak out on school nights."

"You made those plans. Blanche and I were star-struck tagalongs who thought you were the ultimate rebel."

"I remember that night when Blanche got scared and you walked them home without telling me," Candela said.

"That was one of the first times Blanche came along, wasn't it?" said Spark, even though he knew it was.

"Yeah, and they were certain we were going to get in trouble. Which I guess is why they wanted to go home," Candela said. "But you didn't wake me up before you walked them back. I remember opening my eyes and seeing empty sleeping bags next to me, and I was suddenly terrified. I didn't know if you'd gone home or gotten lost or attacked by a wild pokémon… I started panicking. Which wasn't like me, and I think that freaked me out even more, and made it worse."

Spark waited quietly for her to continue. Candela's words were turning slow and slippery as she started to drift off a little.

"You were there, and then you were gone. I hated that, how easy it was for people to be there, right next to you, and then be gone somewhere I couldn't follow. I felt profoundly alone. And then you were back, and I was crying outside of the tent, and I had never been so embarrassed. I probably hit you or something, because I was such a little jerk. I didn't want you to think I was scared. Or that I was jealous. Because I was."

"Of what?" Spark asked. This was a detail he hadn't heard before. He recalled the night clearly in his mind. To him, it was memorable because it was one of the few times he'd seen Candela – strong, brave, shooting star Candela – truly distraught. He'd been shocked to see his idol trembling in the dirt, her eyes glassy with tears and brimming with fear. He knew she'd cried over Joule, he'd seen her tear-chapped cheeks, her hollow look when she returned to school. But he hadn't seen it firsthand. Candela had merely vanished for a while, become a ghost of herself.

"Of you and Blanche," Candela said. She spoke as if talking in her sleep, but she had to be awake. "You and me, we were best friends since forever. But then this new kid came along, and it became the three of us, always. I felt like I'd lost something. Like I was alone. And I kept on feeling alone for a long time."

She fell silent again, but Spark wasn't ready to let her sleep. "Do you still feel like that?"

"Sometimes," Candela murmured.

It was like scales had fallen from Spark's eyes as his memories filled in with this new information. He'd always viewed Candela as independent, often choosing to work solo, occasionally being standoffish, especially with Blanche. He saw her ambition, her strong sense of self, the way she drove herself to be the best, even if that required long, isolated hours in the lab. Somehow, all this time, he had lost or ignored this factor, this dark smoke that enshrouded Candela.

How could he have missed her loneliness?

"You aren't alone, Candy," Spark said, hoping she was awake enough to hear him.

Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her breathing steady. Spark shook her shoulder gently, and she grumbled, but didn't wake. She needed sleep, he knew that, but he wanted to tell her that he was there, that he'd always be there. That he was terrified of being alone, too, and jealous of the apparent confidence Candela and Blanche shared.

But Candela was deeply asleep, and liable to slug him in the jaw if he dared disturb her slumber. Spark tucked the blankets over her shoulder and lay on his back alongside her, again reminded of their youthful days crammed into a tiny tent out in the woods near town. He felt a growing guilt weighing on his chest. She was right. Ever since Blanche came along, Spark and Candela's friendship became intrinsic to their little trio. The special bond they'd shared had changed to accommodate the newcomer. While that new bond was strong between the three of them, Spark now recognized that the subtle shift had long-lasting, well-guarded repercussions that not even his insightful mind could reveal.

There had been clues, now that Spark was looking back. Even recent ones, like when she'd gotten upset over the tradition he and Blanche shared of watching bad movies together. He revisited the memory of arguing with Candela about it, that time she'd deliriously insisted on un-cancelling Starter Day when the entire lab was sick with a terrible cold. Sure, Spark had picked up on a note of jealousy there, but thought it was a recent thing, related to the extra time he and Blanche had spent together after his injury. But he also thought she was acting childishly due to her fever.

Had he managed to miss years and years of escalating loneliness? Suddenly, every memory of Candela was colored by it. The flinty look in her eyes when Spark challenged Blanche to a battle instead of her on slow days at work. The nervous lip-chewing when Blanche mentioned something they and Spark had done together when Candela was out of town.

It wasn't like she and Blanche weren't close, though. They collaborated on research, he'd overhead them talking late into the night about their findings, laughing over stories that Spark wasn't a part of, Candela coaxing Blanche into sharing a bottle of wine. They exchanged books with each other, and held playful (yet somehow incredibly intense) cooking competitions. Hell, they even flirted, though neither took it seriously. Candela would tease Blanche, trying to break their concentration, until Blanche would finally snap at her, a hint of a smile on their lips, their precisely-chosen insults missing the sharp edge of authenticity.

It had taken a while for them to get to that level of friendship, Spark realized. While he and Blanche had taken naturally to each other, it had been more gradual for Candela. Which made sense. In many ways, they were opposites, each grating against the personality of the other.

Candela's snoring startled Spark from his reflection. It was about time that he got some sleep, too. He moved a little closer, taking advantage of Candela's body heat, and matched his breathing to hers. If he sensed her breathing change, he'd be ready to jolt awake and get out of the way, though he hoped Candela wasn't going to turn murderous in the middle of the night. He pretended they were in their little tent, safe from all danger and fear, and soon fell into a tense and dreamless sleep.

§

AN: Boy howdy, it continues to be hectic as sin! But I did want to get something to you before Christmas. So, here's some "Candela is still sick of being sidelined by Spark X Blanche angst and just needs a vulpix to cuddle, some chocolate, and a jacuzzi full of champagne!" for your consideration. Happy holidays! May your days be merry and bright!