A/N: Constructive criticism equals a bigger drive for writing! Just – throwing it out there? (winks at you all)
Chapter Five:
Peace Treety
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If Lambert had moved any faster, he would have slashed across Mike's neck. Claire was still kneeling, gripping the card with angry, white-knuckled fingers. Mike swallowed, pressed against the wall, a still hand directed to his seviper, who had stiffened and bared her fangs with a hiss as soon as Lambert had trapped her trainer.
Sandslash were not large pokémon, but they were fast, and their claws could cut as well as any knife; Mike would not move, if he knew what was good for him. Vincent and Sophie looked frozen as well, as though they were also being contained. Sophie's eyes slid calmly from Claire to Mike, behind the glasses she had just cleaned and straightened. They made her look older, but her face hadn't shifted. Vincent, contrarily, looked pale and nervous, eyes wide and a hand on his ninetales' head.
Chama's careful eyes were sparkling like dark glass, staring straight at Claire.
"I'm having the strongest déjà vu right now," Mike said, grinning, but his voice was empty of joy.
"Shut the fuck up," Claire said, all anger and bite, her rib aching as her stomach tightened. She didn't care. "If I see you move a finger in the direction of your belt, je vais vou touer."
Mike's smile dimmed. Hemlock was still drawn tight, ready to spring, but Claire knew Lambert could dispatch her if it came to that; despite the seviper's size advantage, they were under soil, Lambert's natural element – and Hemlock was weak to ground anyway. Mike, staring at Hemlock, shook his head minutely; she relaxed after that, just a tad, but didn't even blink, not wanting to miss anything.
"Explain," she said, throwing the card into the pile of stuff he had taken out. It landed face down, on top of a lazily folded jacket. Vincent, still sitting close to her, fidgeted, but Claire wouldn't have looked away from Mike even if she had been offered the champion title.
"It's kind of a long story," Mike said, shrugging good-naturedly.
"Plus près," she said, as coldly as her hands felt, and Lambert stepped further, pushing his claws deeper in. Claire could see where the flesh of Mike's throat was being pressed, but no blood had yet come. Lambert would be using the blunt side of his claw until Claire said otherwise.
Mike still stiffened, trying to edge away; the wall blocked him, and his head made a dull noise when it hit. Claire would have teased him about it, if not struggling to stop herself from maiming him. It was one thing to kill a pokémon: a wild beast murdered in self-defense would not be mourned, but Mike was no pokémon and Claire was no murderer, though the picture of the mightyena's open mouth and lolling tongue flashed across her thoughts. She swallowed, thick like the silence.
"Michael," Sophie began, placid, "it really would do you wonders if you would please explain why you are carrying a team Aqua key card with you. In fact," she added, and when Claire looked she found no expression on the bespectacled girl's face, "I confess I find myself a little confused regarding the matter – is this the card we were accosted for?"
"Well, I never said I didn't have it," Mike replied, all traces of a smile missing. Claire took in the steel in his eyes, recognized it, and stood, unwilling to look up at him. "I never said I'd been chased by mightyena, either – don't blame me for the assumptions you've made."
Sophie raised one eyebrow, looking down at Mike like a matron would have, and then pushed her glasses up her nose. She did not add to the conversation (was she upset?). Vincent, who had been left behind after Claire had closed in on Mike, continued fidgeting. She could see him out of the corner of her eye; Chama was still staring.
"So you're nothing but a common thief," Claire spat, and Hemlock hissed at her, disgruntled, straightening her spine. Claire gave her a look of disgust. "Are you working for Aqua?" she continued, turning to Mike again. "Did you desert them? Is that why they knew you?"
Mike looked at her, and it did feel strange to see his face so plain, so hidden. Had it been an act from the start? Had his easy smirks and his childish behavior been nothing but a way to assure his protection? Claire grit her teeth, angry. Her rage was hot, as hot as Smile's grin had made her the first time, as hot as the summer days in Mossdeep.
"Answer me, you fucker!" she shouted, taking another step in his direction. Hemlock lifted, hissing, and this time Mike didn't stop her. Lambert let go of his neck to roll in front of Claire, arms crossed to take the blunt of the impact; Claire watched him swallow the pained cry any other pokémon would have let out, silent as he'd always preferred to be, and her mind went white-hot with a need to hurt someone. Mike was reaching for his belt, and Hemlock's mouth was around Lambert's crossed arms, barring him from using them.
Claire went for her belt as well. They reached at the same time, but Claire hadn't gone for a pokéball, and therein lied Mike's mistake. With an odd twist of her hand, Claire found herself in the same position as the one Lambert had been in, seconds before. Mike swallowed, hand around an enlarged pokéball, his Adam's apple leaning against the cool metal of Claire's knife.
"Call her off," Claire said, in a whisper so low it was barely a hiss. Mike glanced at her, eyes wide, and she leaned in, until she could feel Mike's chocolate breath on her face. Her grin was animalistic, she knew it, and she liked the way her wet, wild hair only added to the threat. Mike stared at her for a very long time, poker face on. Like he had realized something. "Don't make me say this again," she added, in the tiny voice from before, the voice neither Vincent nor Sophie would hear, "or I'll kill you and I'll kill your fucking seviper afterwards. Comprend-vous?"
Mike's eyes stilled, that pale gray surprised by her apparent bloodlust, and Claire finally backed away, though the flat of the blade stayed. There was a long pause. Sophie also stood up, dusting the dirt off her pants and knees, picking out the mess out of her clothes. Vincent, she couldn't see as well, but it seemed like he hadn't moved at all. Perhaps he was frozen by fear?
"Hemlock, down," Mike finally said, voice crisp, and the seviper blinked. The two pokémon were at a standstill; Lambert was unable to use his arms, yes, but Hemlock was unable to use her mouth for anything other than an improvised handcuff. "It's okay," Mike added, after a beat. Hemlock opened her maw further, releasing Lambert, who instantly backed away, rolling. His arms were wet, covered in saliva, and when he tried to wipe himself off, the flinching that came with poison halted his movements.
"Vincent," Claire called, not looking away from Mike, "there are antidotes in my bag. Use one on Lambert."
"I yield," Mike said, smiling again. It seemed genuine, tired, and amused all in one, but she didn't know where his acting skills began or ended, and didn't relent. Behind her, someone was shuffling through a bag.
"You do not seem ready to yield," Sophie pointed out. "In fact, you seem ready to battle."
"Oh, right." He dropped his enlarged pokéball sheepishly. Hemlock stood still a few feet away, looking confused and oddly hunched, like she was afraid. No, it wasn't fear – it was guilt. Claire could recognize it, could remember seeing Marie look at her like that, could see Marie trying to hide herself from Claire's angry eyes. Mike looked at Hemlock, mouth a smile that wasn't forgiving, just warm – Mike seemed to think there was nothing to forgive. His grin was soothing, impish, like the boy had been before.
Claire's grip on her hunting knife was soothed by the memories; by the gross, bubbly feeling heating up her chest. Hemlock finally relaxed, still looking at Mike as she curled into herself, red eyes wide and concerned. Claire looked away, forcing herself to think of nothing but the matter at hand.
"Thank you," Sophie said, using the same tone with which other people said 'finally' after waiting. "Now, if you'd please, could you explain to us why you are being chased by team Aqua?"
"You haven't figured it out? Don't tell me you're just a pretty face," he teased, grinning shamelessly. Sophie crossed her arms blandly, waiting, and Mike sighed. "Yeah, okay, just – can you freaking lay off already," he continued blandly, staring at Claire with impatient eyes. "I'll return Hemlock and I'll give you my pokéballs, just – just get that knife away from me, god."
Claire looked over her shoulder, her other hand grabbing at his own, ensuring he wouldn't escape. Sophie was looking at Mike, brow frowning like she was peering into him, arms crossed and hip slightly cocked. Her glasses were still slightly bent, despite her best attempts at setting them right.
It was Vincent who made Claire feel sick to her stomach; he was looking at her with wide, horrified eyes, the brown hopping from her face to the hand near Mike's neck. He had put his shirt back on, his hands tight around the spray can. His mouth was a line, and, though he was still sitting down, he had already picked a ball to release. Chama's ear flicked, her black eyes boring into Claire's. The ninetales had remained unruffled, it seemed.
"What are you looking at me like that for," she hissed, and Vincent did not blush, as usual, but he still looked away, after a silent beat. He quietly went back to tidying up his bag.
Of course she knew why he was looking at her like that; Mike might have been the enemy, but it was Claire the one who had him backed into a wall, a knife at his throat.
Mike had already taken off his belt, under Sophie's supervision, so Claire looked away from Vincent's pale, disappointed (was that what it was? No one had ever given her a look like that) face, and allowed Mike to bend down to pick up Hemlock's pokéball, sheathing her survival knife back on her belt.
Hemlock looked betrayed as the red flash of the ball enveloped her, and Claire heard the beginning of a worried hiss before the ball clicked closed. Mike handed it to her slowly, perhaps afraid Claire would take up on her previous offer, and then sat down and sighed. Heavy and desisting.
"Well?" Claire asked, watching him massage his neck and leg. She clipped his seviper's ball on her belt distractedly.
"What do you want me to say?" he replied, smirking. It didn't look cheerful. "Yes, they were hunting me. Yes, I took the card."
"Why?" It was Sophie's voice. She had gotten up from the floor and was now crouching by Chama's fire, warming her hands. In the dim light, Claire thought she looked too pale, but it wasn't cold enough to die. At least, she hoped; perhaps her clothes were simply better than Sophie's, perhaps Claire's hot anger had warmed her instead of a fire. She leaned against the wall, feeling the adrenaline pass, and then sat. Lambert, no longer flinching, returned to her, attentively staring at Mike.
Claire risked glancing at Vincent; the young man was still wide-eyed and silent, and she looked away when he turned to stare. He had clipped his pokéball on his belt again, though he had kept his hand there.
"Why? Because I needed money," he said, shrugging. Claire gave him a look of outraged disbelief, and the shorter boy smiled. "Not everyone has a rich family to lean on," he added, leaning back into the rocky wall with his chin tipped up superiorly, and Claire felt herself go cold. He knows, she thought, swallowing. His gaze was as smug as his smile.
Sophie cut in, probably unaware of the tension; Claire closed her fists. Lambert gave her a look, stoic as ever, but in the end chose to lie down, closing his eyes. He was tired, she knew, and let him sleep, brushing a hand across his quills.
"Are you telling us the truth? Why go to so much trouble? What went wrong with your plans?" Her brown eyes were bright and calm behind the lenses. "While I admit that I am willing to believe you, for the greater good, I have to warn you that I do not think Claire's attitude was unfounded, and I will not stop her if she decides to bodily threaten you once more."
"I feel so loved," Mike replied sarcastically, but eventually smiled again. "Look, it's pretty simple, okay? I was in Lilycove. It's swarming with Aqua members, and everyone with a brain knows they're bad news. These?" He raised his hands, wiggled his fingers quickly. "These were my bread and butter for a while, and it wasn't hard to swipe a card from one of the admins."
"How are you able to recognize the Aqua administrators?"
Mike gave Sophie an impatient look: "They're all over the police posters. Most members of a Aqua and Magma are."
"Right next to the bounty requests," Claire confirmed in a grunt, distracted.
"You're a hunter?" Sophie asked.
Mike shrugged.
"Like I said, I do what I can to earn some money. I – guess I could try and make a living out of battle, but catching violent pokémon is worth a pretty penny, and, well, the rush is great." He ran a hand through his damp hair, grinning at the floor. His freckled face looked younger than ever, and Claire thought of how guarded he had looked when her survival knife had been leaning on his neck. It was like he had been someone else. Had that been her fault? What had he seen, when she had leaned in and promised him death? Now, Claire felt stupid, mostly, and also nauseous.
She hadn't been bluffing, not really, but the anger had been multiplied in the heat of the moment, and she had meant it at the time. She didn't, now. How could she? She had nearly thrown up when the mightyena had fallen. How would she ever murder someone else?
She rested her forehead against her crossed arms, one knee drawn up. Her ankle was alright enough, though her ribs still protested whenever she moved.
"Who asked you to steal the card?" Sophie asked, then, breaking the thoughtful silence.
"What?" Claire asked, bringing her head up. Sophie was looking in Mike's direction, still calm, but she did not look away to answer Claire. Mike stared back, mouth a line.
"An Aqua key card is virtually worthless to the common man," she replied dully, never glancing away from Mike. "You were asked to steal it, weren't you, Michael? And I suspect you were ultimately betrayed by your customer. Am I correct?"
Mike grimaced at the sound of his full name, but nodded. Very reluctantly, Claire noticed. His gaze lowered to the floor, his brow creased and his mouth taut.
"Some freaking asshole from Team Magma bought me out. He didn't say he was from Magma, but I could recognize him from the posters." His fists closed. Claire felt a sudden swab of sympathy, but immediately brushed it off, trying to hold on to her anger. Forgiveness would always stab you in the back, she thought. "He payed half of it up-front, told me to deliver the card to someone in Fortree. I was half-way through the route when I heard people."
"Those three?" Claire asked, unable to contain her curiosity; she didn't want to admit he existed, much less talk to him, but the question had slipped out.
Mike nodded sullenly, apparently not minding talking back to the girl who had almost slit his throat. The guilt weighed so much, Claire almost hung her head again, but that would have been weak. She stared at him steadily, throat tight.
"Hemlock has me covered when it comes to other trainers. I knew they were there before I could even hear them." He sighed, then, running his hand through his hair again. "I eavesdropped a little, realized they had been given a description of me, and got the hell out of there. It wasn't raining half as bad as it is now, but I still went inside a secret base," his eyes turned to hers, amused, "and the rest is history."
Sophie nodded slowly, still analyzing Mike's expression. Claire did not react. How much of it was true? She had no way of telling. The way he had closed off his expressions so easily just moments ago did not allow her to trust him as easily as she would have trusted dull Sophie or frightened Vincent.
"Very well," the other girl was saying, finally standing up. She seemed to have dried off enough; the color had returned to her cheeks, somewhat. Claire opened and closed her fists, feeling her hands starting to go numb. When her anger had subsided, the heat had scampered off, but she didn't want to come any closer to Vincent, who had looked so horrified when facing her.
She could almost hear Mr. Lehrer, standing beside her: you could do so much better, Ms. Tolbert. You are a bright young girl, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Surely you can take some time to consider your chances? And Claire, well, Claire had shaken her head and remained obstinate. She always did that. If I can't stand up to myself, who will? That was what she always thought, but that day she had said it aloud. And Mr. Lehrer's eyes had softened, and he had taken off his glasses and polished them, looking older than usual. My dear, you do not have to try so hard.
Liar, she thought now, gripping at the short sleeves of her t-shirt. She'd never really been enough. She had failed her mother first, Alex later, and now she would fail her father. She couldn't die like this; that was why she'd done it. It had just been a survival knife, and Claire had spent years on the road, and she knew how to handle it. She would have never – she would never kill a person. But she wouldn't give her father another empty grave, and that, when compared to Mike's panicked eyes and Vincent's horrified expression, at least softened the blow.
What would have Alex thought of her if he saw her doing this? She let go of her sleeves in order to stare at her hands. They were clean, damp, smelling of mud, but they were trembling.
"Um," Vincent said, offering her an energy bar. Claire tensed, surprised, unaware that he had come closer; he mimicked her, leaning away tentatively. "I, um – I thought—"
"Thanks," she said, extending a shaking hand. Vincent's eyes stopped on it, so she withdrew it quickly, closing it. It still shook.
"You need sustenance and warmth," Sophie said, from Mike's side. When had she—? "You display an astounding assurance, as well as an impressive discipline, but your body is starting to shut down." Her voice was unaffected, unemotional, and Claire had never really been at a real doctor's office, but she assumed this was what it was like. Sophie, helping Mike with his bandages, glanced at her briefly. "Your lips are also turning purple, so I suggest you feed and sit closer to the fire. The fever I expected earlier is probably starting."
Claire brought a hand to her lips, both horrified and humiliated, trying to shield them from their eyes.
Mike stared at her, and then his face shifted, like he had been reminded of something.
"What's your last name?" he asked, and Claire almost cursed. He frowned. "Don't look at me like that. I've come clean. It's about time you do the same."
How dared he compare the two things? She narrowed her eyes at the same time she clicked her jaw shut. Sophie gave her another look, but it was Vincent who spoke.
"Chama," he murmured, and the ninetales yawned, looking displeased, but the next second a sharp flame popped inches away from Claire's face, half-blinding and scaring her; she tensed, ready to jump away, but the fire withdrew as fast as it had appeared, and instead floated dully towards the ground. Lambert was on his feet immediately, claws drawn and eyes wide; the ninetales closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, and Lambert relaxed, though the curling position he took up after seemed slightly unnatural. Claire tried to give Chama a dirty glare, though she couldn't quite see where she was. Had that been a warning? Was the seemingly unruffled ninetales worried about her trainer after all? Vincent chided Chama with a whispering, frantic voice, while Claire curled and uncurled her toes, grudgingly thankful for the heat.
"Is your mom's name—" slowly started Mike, and Claire turned her head in his direction, angry and hot, almost crushing the energy bar Vincent had subtly placed by her side.
"Shut up!" she snarled, though her eyes were still half-blind with the flame's light. Mike still tensed, she could see at least that, and it filled her with satisfaction. Lambert stirred, next to her.
"It's the hair. When it's wet, it just – you look a lot like her. Is that why you had it tied up?" he asked, and Claire would have seen white from her anger if she weren't already.
"Michael," Sophie cut in, sounding a little annoyed (much to Claire's surprise). Mike looked at her, probably shocked as well, and Claire turned her face to the floor, burying it between her arms again and subtly searching for a scrunchie. Her wrists were sadly bare, and she cursed inwardly.
"I'm going to sleep," she said mechanically, reaching for her bag. Her sleeping bag had been hastily rolled up, and it was easy for her to unfurl it and open it. It was slightly damp, but she knew the fire would take care of that.
"I – um, I'll keep watch," Vincent said quietly, but Mike made an offended noise, so he lamely tacked on: "B-Because of the Aqua members, I meant."
Claire was now staring at the dark wall, mind a hurricane. A lot of things had happened, and all she could think of was Alex's smile, of Mr. Lehrer's hands, of her father's pancakes. Lambert curled up tighter, next to her, and though he wasn't warm, he made her relax. The peanut energy bar tasted bland and dusty, but she didn't mind.
Lambert, she thought instead, closing her eyes, what am I doing?
Route 111's desert loomed before her, exhausting and hot. The empty water bottle in her hand crinkled and popped with every step she took; the sand was scalding, even through her sneakers, and it weighed her feet down. The sky was blue, like the sea surrounding her backyard had been, and that simple fact consoled her.
"This is hard," she said, tired.
"Yeah," the golbat beside her said, smiling. Claire supposed every golbat was always smiling, but this one's mouth was too wide, and his eyes were too pleased. She kept on walking, looking away into the distance instead of peering into that toothy abyss. "You should let me help you."
"Why? You were my only mistake," she replied, stopping to straighten her back, her hands resting on her sides. Her hair was wet with sweat, under her cap, and her eyes were tired from the sand's glare. There was no wind, she realized, pleased and suspicious at the same time. "My first and only loss," she added quietly, feeling tiny.
"The desert that exists between Lavaridge and Mauville, also known as Route 111's desert, is primarily known for its terrible sandstorms despite the fact that most countries in the world also have a stormy desert. Why is this?" Mr. Tolbert asked, from her left.
"The death rate is the highest," she replied automatically, looking at the sky. Claire didn't want to take another step, but she had to. How would she dare die here? There was absolutely no way.
"Very good," the golbat crooned, "gold star for you."
"And why is that, Ms. Tolbert?"
God, she hated that name. Mr. Lehrer had always called her by her mother's name, always rubbing salt on the wound. No one else ever called her that, never, not even in tournaments or gyms. Alex had told her that if it were him, he would've felt proud. Claire had never understood that, not really.
"Because the cacturne population preys on the unprepared trainers that cross here."
The golbat chuckled, his heavy, slimy drool dripping down to scar the sand into a deeper color. Claire's hands were empty and open, and she ignored him, focused on the distance. She started walking again, her shoulders burning from the sun.
"Correct," Mr. Lehrer said. "My dear companion," he added, then, directing the golbat, "you are being rather rude. Frankly, I see no need for it."
"It's what I was made for, I confess," he replied, flapping his wings, his end talon missing Claire's ear by inches. Her hair fluttered, and she looked at her hands, searching for a hair tie. She never left without one, that was her thing. Every trainer had a thing; she'd met a boy who had a thing to always have ten repels with him, and an older girl with a thing to always take lemonade, though it wasn't as hydrating as water and she knew it.
She didn't have a hair tie.
"I'll cut your hair for you," he said, flapping his wings again. "It must bother you, right? In this heat?"
"I don't want to cut it. If I get it cut, I'll probably forget what she looks like," she answered promptly, though she had meant to ignore the golbat. Her feet were hot, and when she spoke her tongue stuck against her teeth and lips, dry as they were. The water bottle popped, mocking. "The pictures in the papers look strange, you know? Like she's someone else."
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard," the golbat said, flapping his wings mopily. His sullen voice was over the top, but she didn't care he was making fun of her again. "But you're the saddest thing I've seen. Normal people keep pictures."
"Yeah, I know. But my father – "
"Is a grown man and has moved on, as should you," Mr. Lehrer argued, nodding politely. Claire felt a sudden heavy urge to sink to her knees and give up; her calves ached with every step, and her throat burned when she breathed in. Why hadn't the sun set yet? She had been walking for miles, for hours, why was the sky still blue instead of black?
She took another step.
"I'll take you," the golbat said, grinning again. "The skies are clear, and the wind has refrained today. It would be so easy. So quick."
"I have to do it on my own," said Claire, shaking her head. Her hair was sticking to the back of her head, wet and heavy, but she'd never take any of the golbat's offerings. The scrunchies could wait. It was just lack of attention, she supposed, and she'd buy a new pack when she reached Fallarbor. She continued walking.
"Why?" Mr. Lehrer asked, though when she turned to give him a glance it was Alex the one looking back at her. His blue eyes glimmered in the harsh sun, reminding her of the foam inside sea waves. His old backpack shuffled behind his back, worn but stitched and patched tightly. Claire was surprised not to see it torn and bleeding and hated herself for it.
"Because neither you nor maman – " She stopped, feeling sick.
"Neither of us did it. So? It happens. Trainers know what they're getting into." He adjusted his bag's handles slowly, like he was basking in the sun. Claire wiped her forehead with her wrist. "You don't have to get yourself killed just because we did. Do you miss us that much," he teased, then, smirking and elbowing her on the arm.
"I miss you more," she replied blandly. The golbat's laughter was screeching.
"It's only logical," he said, between chuckles, breaking the moment. "It's not like you ever met the woman."
"You don't have to know someone to miss them," Alex said, cocking his head to the side.
Claire thought about the framed picture of her mother in the entry hall, her blond hair and blue eyes lit up from the camera's flashes, the victory in her smile palpable. Claire liked that picture as a picture, but the one she loved most was the one sitting on her father's night table, of a woman holding a baby to her chest, caught unaware in their backyard. The sky was blue, behind the canopy of berry trees her father insisted on planting, the sun filtering through. Claire felt like that was the only picture that portrayed Capucine, the mother – instead of Capucine, the battler.
"I'll get the best of you one day," she said, stopping and turning to stare at the golbat. It flapped its wings, waiting and smiling, and Claire was suddenly flooded in icy water –
"Va te faire foutre," she groaned, resisting the urge to splutter.
"Good," Mike said cheerfully, holding a water bottle, "you're up."
Claire glared at him, baring her teeth, and then felt satisfied when he recoiled. Drops of water fell down her hair and nose, but she wiped it off with a corner of her sleeping bag. Vincent and Sophie were asleep, curled inside their sleeping bags; Chama was still napping, royally resting her head on Vincent's legs. Sophie had chosen not to let her pokémon out.
A flare of alarm shot through Claire's still sleepy thoughts: "Why are you the only one awake?" she asked in a hiss, hand searching for his seviper's ball. It was there, where she had clipped it, and she relaxed.
"We need to talk," he replied, instead of answering. Claire narrowed her eyes; Mike only brought his hands up, clearly nervous. Or not, Claire thought, still reminded of the way his face was so, so easy to shift. "I took the liberty of maybe drugging Sophie—don't give me that look, Ms. Stabby-stabs, it was just a sleeping pill." He coughed, then, and it sounded like or two. Claire frowned at him. "Hey, at least I won't accidentally slice her throat off."
Claire would have liked to say she would only slit someone's throat off if she wanted to, but refrained, cautious and curious (shooting Sophie a quick glance just to check). Lambert snored softly, just once, and went back to a quiet sleep.
"Look," Mike began, exhaling, "I know you want to get rid of me, and I know I might have fucked things up by withholding information, but! But, I'm willing to beg for forgiveness."
"Begging will not take you anywhere," she murmured, steely, but the fact was that he hadn't tried to steal his pokémon back and kill them, and that was a gold star for him. Claire paused, then, letting her shoulders relax and the pain in her rib ease as she sat up a little better. "But it's not like sending you out on your own will please anyone but me, so you better talk. And tell me how much I slept."
"I was wondering when you'd ask – exactly two hours, Colonel! I let you sleep in." He tipped an imaginary hat. Claire narrowed her eyes at him. He went on. "Well, okay, I – I've already told my side of the story. Now you know why I'm stuck here with you, and why I kept quiet. But I dislike the fact that I'm holding zero cards and you're holding all the trumps, so. How about a peace treaty?"
"A peace treaty?" The suspicion showed, and Claire didn't try to hide it.
"Yeah, a treaty, or an alliance, also known as a a link, a union or association. Whatever you wanna call it." He was grinning and it seemed genuine. The fire had heated all of them up, had brought a healthy flush to their previously pale faces. Mike looked better in the warmth, she thought, his freckled face and smile all lit up like that. He looked younger, and less of an actor. "Why don't you want them to know who your mom was?"
"I don't know you," she hissed, aghast at the boldness present in the smaller boy. "Why should I talk to you—"
"About something you clearly don't want to talk about?" he completed, and then shrugged. "I'm a nosy person. And Capucine Tolbert – I should've figured it out when you released your cacturne, really, but I just thought you were some hard-ass fan – but yeah, Capucine Tolbert, oh man, what are the odds?"
"That's what people usually say," Claire droned.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Mike said, then, in a tiny whisper. It surprised her, but she only sent him a weird look. "I mean it, man, I – you must've been really young."
"What does this have to do with a peace treaty?" Claire cut in, suddenly annoyed, her exhaustion gone. She wanted to kick Mike in the face, or maybe just punch him really hard, but at the same time she didn't even want to lift her arms. She looked at her hands, lying closed in her lap, and opted to open them instead.
"It's called knowing your business partner," Mike informed cheerfully, or at least as cheerfully as a sleep-deprived trainer could manage. Then, he gave her a strange look, reminding her of The Face, that face he had done, the quietly empty one. "Let's not forget, please, that you did threaten to kill me and my pokémon."
Her face heated. Claire did not look away.
"I did. I have plans."
"To become the champion your mother couldn't?" he asked, still whispering. Claire knew she wouldn't be able convince him of otherwise, so she finally looked away in silence, confirming it. Mike nodded to himself, hanging his head. "I want to live, too. I guess all of us do, but – we have a drive, right? You want to be champion. I – " And then he paused, a little hesitant, his eyes darting out to gauge her reaction. "I want to be the League Board's chairman."
Claire turned to look at him, surprised. Mike seemed to expect this, because he returned it with a slightly embarrassed smile. His fingers were twitchy, rolling and unrolling around one another. This doesn't meant anything, she thought, think of The Face, think of his lies. But she still felt sympathy.
"I'm only dying if I drown in my enormous piles of money," he added, and though he was smiling Claire could recognize the way he said it. Not like he was convicting himself, but like it was an unassailable fact. She nodded, then, only half-meaning to.
"I'm only dying after my dream, too," she replied simply, because it wasn't just the League, it was also her mother and finding Alex's killer and that golbat, but that was too much, and she was already surprised she had allowed Mike to take his stupid touchy-feely bullshit this far.
He brought his outstretched hand, hopeful, and Claire thought about it for a couple of seconds, thought about brushing him off and maintaining her rage, her anger, but eventually slipped hers into his, shaking it firmly. Mike's hand was warm, was what Claire thought, before Lambert jumped to his sleepy feet and unsheathed his claws. They glistened in the firelight, and, and – Chama! Chama was on her feet as well, tails drawn high and taut, her teeth flash-white.