Chapter Text
The nurse visits early the next day to pass along word from Will: an offer to open his library to Steven while he’s here and share anything he might be interested in reading. It’s a challenge not to come off as overly enthusiastic when accepting it. When she asks for his preference, he puts in a request for non-fiction, unable to go much more specific than that. He doubts Will’s reading material would cover topics of his interest anyway. Fiction can’t imprint itself in his mind right now. It feels like he’s living something so ridiculous that he could see himself reflected in the pages. His mind needs to be tethered to something real.
She files away his request with a small nod. “Do the new clothes fit?” she asks.
He looks at her blankly.
She moves his gaze beyond him, in the direction of his bed. “I brought some layers up yesterday. I was told it would be mentioned to you.”
His mind reaches for context, replaying the events of yesterday by order of importance until he realizes what she’s talking about. “Sorry, yes, it was,” he says, his voice still wobbly with awkward uncertainty. “I haven’t had a chance to check, but I will today. Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need different sizes. We guessed.”
He smiles at her to show his gratitude, still unable to voice the discomfort at the given thought that he’ll be here long enough that the forecast should be taken into account.
She looks more interested in him than she did the days prior, lingering a moment longer with concern in her eyes. He waits for her to say more, but the opportunity passes, and she excuses herself with a polite bow in lieu of calling attention to whatever has piqued hers. She has placed the change of linens aside. He quietly defeated her insistence on turning the sheets over. It didn’t feel right, even if he is a guest, and he’d prefer to keep an eye on his belongings right now. The mass of them collects in the spaces around the bed, the place most sheltered from the door that only gives the illusion of privacy.
He eats reheated breakfast while watching the light snowfall outside, made interesting only because of how rare it is to see in Hoenn outside of controlled conditions. The Noctowl leave tracks in the thin layer of snow accumulating beneath as they forage. As the world around them livens with daylight, they slowly make themselves scarce, retreating to the tree line that hides their nests and young.
The sun tries, and fails, to break through the overcast cover. The surroundings are left desaturated and plain. Mount Silver is a fascinating landmark, but from afar there is not much to look at, and its body blocks the sights that would otherwise stretch before the grandeur of the League. When he tires of retracing the same few points, he finds himself retreating to the television. Not for long, he reasons, but just enough to refresh that one connection to the outside world that doesn’t come under hushed breath.
It brings him to the channel he was last on, the local broadcast. He sees the row of panellists looking stark-eyed at the camera with pinched brows. One is mid-speech, talking so fast and out of context that the words could be in a different language.
In bold white letters, the heading on the news scroll reads: ATTACK ON DEVON BUILDING IN RUSTBORO.
He sits frozen, waiting for the broadcast to pan away from the newscasters and show him Hoenn. It feels like minutes pass before the familiar rock face comes into view. It’s a scene fresh from yesterday evening: the headquarters are still smoking, a hole blasted into its midsection. Emergency crews are underneath. A gurney sits abandoned as firefighters comb through the flaming wreck. Swaths of people stand around the fenced perimeter, the majority of them hoisting cameras on their shoulders and wearing the brand of their news outlet. The locals, in fearful bewilderment, pack the in-between gaps to fill out the crowd. Some desperately clutch PokeNavs to their ears, saying nothing themselves and waiting for someone on the other end to confirm their safety.
It takes a minute for the panic to wear off. As soon as he can feel blood in his feet again, he’s on the move. He snatches up his belt of Pokemon, yanks the charger for his PokeNav from the wall hard enough for the cord to whip back and strike his wrist. The skin pulses hot as he gathers the few belongings to his name under one arm, shoving them through the open mouth of his bag, the teeth of the zipper nipping at his wrist.
When he throws open the closet to retrieve his jacket, he sees the row of new coats that found their way inside. He doesn’t pay them any mind at first, until he dons his jacket and remembers air travel will be frigid on the back of Skarmory, more than a single layer can handle. The first jacket he shrugs on stops an inch before his wrist. The second has a better fit, though it drops after his shoulders and bunches under his arms. He practices rolling an arm back and doesn’t feel restricted in movement. He plans on returning it shortly after, so it’s not worth subjecting the same scrutiny he would to other items in his wardrobe. It will do for now.
He runs into Will, almost literally, on the way down. The other trainer lunges for the rail to avoid falling back.
“Steven–”
“Sorry,” he apologizes, in part because he nearly sent him flying down to the last storey, but also because this good-bye will be brief. “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for offering your books.”
Will opens his mouth, but Steven continues on his way. He still doesn’t know the best route to the closest exit, and it’s now too late to ask. He forges on, retracing his steps as best he can until he finds himself in the Champions’ wing again. From there, it’s just a matter of throwing open doors to find the one that spits him out at the Pokémon Centre at the front entrance.
By the time he gets there, Verity is stationed at the front doors, talking with a few other individuals that he doesn’t recognize who are similarly dressed. One is petting an Arcanine on the head, who sits obediently at their feet. They all look up at the sound of the door closing behind him, squeaky on its hinges.
Her eyes immediately catch on his bag. She breaks away from her group hastily to greet him halfway.
“So you heard.”
“Yeah, I heard.” If his breath weren’t coming so short, he would laugh. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”
“It happened a few hours after we spoke.”
“But after you found out, you didn’t think I wanted to know?”
“Lance didn’t want us to say anything until it was handled. We were just about to come up.”
He doesn’t linger on the other Champion’s involvement; there are too many things competing for his attention right now. “I need to be there and handle this. I can give you whatever else you need over the phone.”
She moves forward before he’s finished speaking. They’re of equal height and build, but she carries herself with the confidence of someone who could stand in physical opposition. Behind her, the other agents reinforce the wall. The Arcanine flicks its ear at a noise in the distance, refusing to let Steven leave its line of sight.
“Hold on. Let me explain the situation first.” Her voice cloys, trying hard to placate him. Being treated like he’s on the other end of a hostage negotiation does not improve the situation in her favour.
“What’s there to explain? I can see what happened.”
“There’s more than what the public knows right now.”
“I don’t need to be here for you to say it.”
“Just listen to me,” she stresses, visibly fighting not to talk over him. “We have an investigation underway, and you can’t just go storming into it.”
“I don’t want to be involved with your investigation.” The raw nerve in his voice pronounces itself, almost embarrassingly so. It makes him feel petulant. His hands clench around an empty grip to muster his focus. “I have people who depend on me; I need to be there for them right now, not you.”
The door of the Pokémon Centre opens behind her and startles the next objection before it can form into words. Lance walks in, an assortment of items stuffed under one arm and a bag slung over the other. His face is rosy from what he presumes is from the thrashing of wind and cold, prompting blood to rise to the surface. His expression momentarily softens when he recognizes it’s Steven he’s looking at, but it is brief; brief enough that it could be the twitch of a muscle.
“What’s going on here?” he asks. The other agents move themselves out of his way, legs together and arms behind their backs.
Had he shown up in this fashion yesterday, Steven would have all but thrown himself behind his protection. The sudden change in dynamics in the last hour leaves him still.
“I’m going back,” Steven says, squaring his shoulders to match his large presence as best he can.
Lance only looks at him for a moment before turning to Verity. “Did you tell him?”
“It’s on every news channel,” she responds.
“Undoubtedly.” He comes to stand behind her so he’s not raising his voice across the room. “Sorry I didn’t return yesterday as promised. Things escalated very suddenly.”
Steven shifts his weight between both feet. “You were there?”
“Close enough when we got the call. Devon Headquarters were already on high alert.”
“This is more than just a suspicion of an attack now. I can’t be away at a time like this.”
He wishes there was something more on Lance’s face to read into, but he’s unlike Verity in that regard. “I do. I’m not suggesting that we ignore this, but we’re trying to make sense of things before we act.”
“How do you think it looks to have these attacks happen and I’m nowhere to be seen?”
“It doesn’t reflect badly on you.”
He rears back, insulted for that to be the drawn conclusion. “That’s not what I mean. People expect the members of the League to protect their citizens. It sends a message if I’m not there.”
“This isn’t about your abilities as a trainer. If something happens to you – and they will target you when you make an appearance – they have a bargaining chip that will make your region capitulate in any negotiation. For the safety of everyone, we need to think through our next steps carefully. That includes mobilizing your League, if needed. We need you here when we’re making those decisions.”
Steven grips the strap of his bag firmly, the leather warping under the heat and pressure of his hand. “I’m not intending on making a string of public appearances. It’s my League I need to talk to, and I can’t reach anyone here. You've been saying for days I could talk to my father and I still don’t know what’s happened to him, let alone anyone else."
Lance looks at Verity with not quite an accusation in his eyes, but a glint that’s just as sharp. “I thought something had been arranged?” he asks.
He can see her cheeks pull in. Surprisingly though, she does not come to her own defence. She just stares back, biting her tongue.
With no objection from her, Lance returns to Steven, drawing even closer. “I’m not asking you to abandon the thought of going home early, but I just ask that you come up with me, let me tell you what I know, and we’ll get you two on the phone. Verity, can you make that happen?”
“Sure.” Lance is now blocking the view of her, but Steven can picture the expression she’s wearing from the low draw of her voice.
Lance adjusts the contents in his arm, using his free hand to extract a laptop that he hands to Steven. The make of it is sleek, something that wouldn’t be found on a consumer shelf.
“I brought more information, and a few things I need your help with. At least let me give you the facts before you make your decision.”
He doesn’t want to go anywhere near that room again. The resistance to him leaving, particularly given the circumstances, doesn’t sit right with him. Lance’s reasoning is no balm. It invites more questions. The temptation to stay and have them answered is the subtle persuasion he recognizes as acting upon him. With all of these people here, pressed against the glass, he wonders if it is only the illusion of choice.
It’s the call with his father that wins out. It’s been promised many times over, but now it’s on Lance’s order, something more meaningful than an idle musing at the end of a string of questions. If he leaves now, he is no closer to knowing what’s become of him. There’s nothing saying he can’t leave if it falls through again. So, reluctantly, he nods. Some of the tension bleeds from Lance’s face when he does. He didn’t realize how terse the man had become. It’s a reminder, for better or for worse, that he’s just as unpredictable for them.
Though he tries to press Lance for information on the way back, Lance repeats that it should only be shared behind closed doors. Only once they’re back inside Steven’s room does Lance unload the physical remnants that have found their way back with him, covering every inch of the mahogany dining table with paper, wires, and electronics. Steven helps himself to the papers within reach, most missing the context needed to understand their relevance. Behind them, the same broadcast that Steven first tuned into remains plastered on the same images of destruction, no less horrifying than they were the first time he saw them.
Lance ends up turning off the television so he’s not competing with it for Steven’s attention. His report on the series of events is much less sensationalized. A Devon security guard had flagged two ill-fitted and suspicious individuals in a secure wing of the research facilities, who immediately fled when approached. Their Pokemon blew a hole out the side of the building in an attempt to escape, which ignited hazardous material stored in the fossil reanimation labs beneath. More than two dozen people were injured in the blast, some with first- and second-degree burns. All other employees were evacuated and questioned; none could answer how the individuals managed to get so far on the premises.
The account is corroborated by the evidentiary record of what the investigation has culminated in thus far: the ID scanned at the door to admit entry belonging to another scientist who has been brought in for questioning, pictures of individuals Lance asks Steven to identify to the best of his ability (he can’t; nothing about them strikes a chord, but that doesn’t come as a shock given his sporadic visit history). The individuals made all efforts to conceal their appearance: they seemed familiar with security placement and coincidentally always had their back turned to the feed. A few of the men in cubicles had cast suspicious looks when they walked by, but none acted on it. Protocol would have demanded they say something to their direct report immediately.
He comes across a copy of the warrant authorizing the seizure of the computers that were accessed, filed by the local police who have the appropriate jurisdiction. Steven gives himself a moment to read the grounds of belief, though the reasoning is nothing more than probable cause that it may afford evidence about this group and their whereabouts. It was reviewed and signed by a judge in less than two hours. What’s strewn about them is the result.
“They were focused on your research at Meteor Falls,” Lance shares, to guide his reading. “Not sure if that was their original goal, but once they found your cave survey they pilfered anything they could find related to it. You can see,” he reaches forward, finger tracing the column of a spreadsheet detailing access logs, “it wasn’t sophisticated, but something tipped them off. They knew what drives they needed to access and moved quickly from there.”
There’s no doubt in his mind that there must be people posted at Meteor Falls already. The Draconoids have already known enough disturbance for one lifetime. He has always had faith in them to protect their secrets given how much they resisted him last, even when the world was at stake. But, for the first time, he can appreciate Lance’s argument that however competent and skilled one might be, there’s no sleeping easy when there’s a target on their back. Especially one they might not yet know exists.
“Any sightings of them at the Falls?” he asks Lance, clinically.
“Nothing yet. It’s possible they slipped in and out before we got there though. What do you think they were hoping to find?” His voice is kept steady, preventing Steven from knowing if he holds any frustration for not contributing that piece earlier. Slogging through the terabytes of data at an earlier stage wouldn’t have been the best use of their time, and he can see why the agents didn’t try absent more direction from him on what to look for.
“It was one of the places I was working, rich in history and rare stones; though, they wouldn’t need to break into Devon to know that.”
“Can we reasonably assume they found what they needed for Mega Evolution?”
“At the Falls? No. If it was as easy as finding a stone, then there wouldn’t be millions poured into that topic of research.”
He can see the flood of questions pushing at Lance’s mind, only betrayed by a subtle crease of the skin between his eyebrows. “What exactly were you doing there then?”
“I didn’t say stones weren’t involved in my research. I’m testing what conditions Pokemon need to be under when exposed to drive specific changes. Cause and effect. I’m not trying to prove something revolutionary.”
“But some might argue you are, in a way. All feats in evolutionary science make waves.”
His face pulls a disagreement before his words can. “Mega Evolution has a very specific connotation. Geomagnetic energy in Kalos doesn’t have much in common with discovering new evolutionary stones. They can both be feats of science without being one and the same.”
“Could Meteor Falls also be the sort of place to host those energy fields?”
“No, because then Mega Evolution would be naturally occurring in Hoenn. We do not have a history of rogue evolution here like they do.”
“Legends don’t count?” Lance muses out loud, not innocently.
He's shocked Lance didn't bring Groudon and Kyogre into conversation earlier, given his firsthand experience. “Legendary Pokémon are in a category of their own. They wouldn’t be the first to change forms, and I wouldn’t feel confident calling it evolution.”
“Do you or your father have any close ties in Kalos?”
He shakes his head, lips thinned. “No, only travelled there for leisure.”
“So why did they come to Hoenn for Mega Evolution? Clearly, you’re linked in some way to bring them here.”
“I don’t know why. I honestly don’t. Unless they’re also curious about legends.”
Lance leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against the inside of his index finger. “Let’s say they do follow a false lead to Meteor Falls. Is there any risk of them discovering something that might help them nonetheless?”
“That’s a hard question to answer. I don’t know what their plans are, but there’s nothing left to be found in Meteor Falls, I’m afraid.”
“Magma and Aqua had a few appearances at the Falls. How much survived their dismantling? There must be evidence that was confiscated.” The thought forms as he’s speaking, sparking behind his eyes.
“I wouldn’t know. It wasn’t kept at Devon.”
“Would members of your League know?”
“I can ask the administration. I can’t make any promises though.”
However, Lance is already making a note for himself. “I’ll check with them.” His writing is quick and chicken scratch. Steven can’t read what it says.
“Even if they did have it, I can’t see them handing it over to you.” It’s a protest for protest’s sake. Clearly, Lance has the region in his back pocket, a thought that unnerves him the more he considers it.
Unlike Steven, Lance does not dwell on it. “I was part of that counter-operation, remember?” He rips the note off and sticks it on the inside of a folder, joining a few others with similarly illegible writing. There is no greater thought put to his words; he’s telling him a fact, like a co-worker relaying the weather report.
“But you are not their Champion.”
Lance stops closing the folder midway and looks up at him.
“I’m not,” he says carefully, “but I don’t need to be.” He straightens his back, giving himself a few more inches. His arms are bared open on the table in front of them.
“They’d be more willing to cooperate if they knew I was standing behind you. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I can’t work behind the scenes, or that my existence has to be a secret from them."
“The plan was to tell them, but with the recent attack, there’s a good chance they’re targeted next, especially your younger Leaders. It gives them plausible deniability if they don’t know. We don’t know what this group is capable of and what they’re willing to do as a means to an end. More people could end up hurt in the process."
“There has to be a middle ground. It can’t just be that I’m there or I’m not.”
He expects Lance to push back with more force, not for him to place a hand close to Steven’s own. Steven resists the urge to take his back. “You are already doing what you can. I don’t know if they got a hold of what they wanted, or if there was ever any intention of taking it from Devon in the first place. It may very well be their plan to bring you in by hitting as close to home as they can.”
He swallows around nothing, using the printed screenshots strewn in front of him as the excuse to look away. “Can you at least tell me that everyone at Devon is accounted for?”
“The local forces are still taking a tally. Only a few sustained life-threatening injuries. They were taken to Verdanturf hospital, last I checked.” His accent twists around the enunciation of the town’s name, good for a first attempt.
“If you could let me know if everyone is there, I would appreciate that.”
“I’ll ask. Anyone in particular you’re worried about?” Lance’s voice takes a different tone for that question, more interested in its answer than the last few.
“Not really. I don’t know which departments would’ve been hardest hit.”
He hears the scratchings of Lance jotting down another note. “Impatient records may take a few more hours. I’ll see if I can get my hands on an org chart to narrow it down.”
“My father would be best to ask about that.”
“You can ask him yourself, in a bit.”
Some of his irritation dims. “Have you spoken to him?” he broaches, afraid to scare him away from the topic of conversation, the only thing he really wants to talk about right now.
“Your father? No. You’re the only one I have contact with.”
“But you must know where he is.”
“I don’t, as I said.”
Steven pinches a corner of one of the papers between his thumb and the table, folding and re-folding it until the crease is heavy. “I don’t know if I believe that. It feels like you’re heading this.”
“You’ve just seen more of me than you have the ones in command. You shouldn’t conflate that with status.”
“Are any of them going to come and talk to me?”
“No, because that’s my responsibility.”
Responsibility, like he is a burden. He supposes that’s an accurate read of the situation even while Lance pretends he’s a guest. “Which you must be regretting, I’m sure.”
“Verity might have some regrets, but I don’t.”
“I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“You think?” It catches him off guard, hearing Lance jest at a time like this. Getting him to relax seems to be Lance’s intention. “No, she’s good at what she does, but patience has never been her strong suit. Or people skills, for that matter.”
There are a lot of things he can say to that. The first three that come to mind are facetious. In the end, he chooses diplomacy. “She’s persistent, I will give her that.”
“She cares very deeply, and she’s chasing nothing but loose ends. That will slowly unravel a person.”
“But you look very composed.” He finally looks up, and regrets it immediately. Being the subject of Lance’s fixation makes him want to shrivel up and hide. He exacts a form of pressure just by concentration alone, like a cuff pulled just a bit too tight around the arm.
“I’m more experienced. That doesn’t mean the situation isn’t frustrating.”
“I’m not trying to add to that frustration.” He struggles to put it into words, because he bears some culpability in this. It doesn’t mean he revels in it. Half-truths take so much more to craft. “I would help you more if I could.”
Lance holds his gaze a second longer. “Well, whatever it is they’re seeking, it’s something they can’t find in their home region. Let’s hope they didn’t find it at Devon.”
A ring interrupts them, coming from Lance’s own device. He excuses himself from the table to take it, leaving Steven to glance over the reports again. Steven prevents not to eavesdrop, but there isn’t much to overhear; Lance only answers in the affirmative or the negative. When it seems like he finally has more to say, he ends up leaving the room anyway. He can hear his voice booming down the hallway, growing more amorphous with distance.
Minutes later, Lance escorts him down to a room nestled in an offshoot of the Pokémon Centre, aside from a lounge area with furniture dated enough to age the room almost twenty years even with its plain walls. There’s a landline there, and Verity speaks into it first, numbering off a few digits as Steven stands awkwardly aside.
Eventually, Verity holds the receiver out. “Here.”
“What?” Steven asks, and then he hears static feedback through it. He holds it to his head. “Hello?”
“Steven?” It’s tinny and wrought with feedback, but he’d recognize the voice anywhere.
“Dad?” The bottom drops out from his own voice, which has suddenly become so shaky.
“You’re okay.” The relief from his father is palpable, enough to make emotion swell behind his eyes. “Son, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you brought into this. Forgive me.”
“I’m okay. I’m in Johto,” he says, looking Verity in the eyes as he says it, challenging her. He dares, and almost expects, her to rip the phone out of his hands. Her skin tightens around her mouth and throat, but he hasn’t crossed whatever invisible line she’s drawn in the sand just yet.
“Not too far then,” and before Steven can ask where he is, “you’re safe?”
“I’m safe. They got to me before the other group could.” It’s partially mumbled under his breath, not that it makes a difference with unwanted company in close earshot.
“Did you see them–the suspects?”
“No, I’m just told.”
His father makes a flat noise, same as he does when stuck on his morning crossword. “Your stones?” he asks, without actually asking.
“They’re okay.”
“Did you–”
“No.”
“Please don’t think you have to fall on your sword. If you need to do something to protect yourself, do it. We can figure the rest out later.”
“I’ll keep them protected,” he promises instead. “How much have you said?”
“Very little. I don’t want to put anyone else in danger.”
“They attacked Rustboro. Blew up the side of the building.”
“I heard.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would.”
“They’re telling me about everything.”
Steven coils the cord around his finger. He squeezes the tip white of blood. “Wish I could say the same. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“How much are they asking you about?”
It’s dead silent in the room, but Steven presses his other ear closed to hear him better. “What you’d expect. There’s only so much to say.”
“Did they ask for your affidavit?”
“What?”
“No, then.” His voice shifts, whatever device he’s calling from being moved around. There’s an echo in the background that could be a voice. “Good. Be careful.”
“Always.”
“I can’t talk long, I’m afraid. They only gave me a few minutes.”
“I’m sure they could spare more time. It took this long to get on the phone with you.”
“There’s too much to look over after the attack. The board of directors have been on the phone since nine. This is just a short break to make sure you’re doing okay.”
He speaks like one pressed for time. Steven has had too much of it. He feels more useless than ever.
“Are you okay, Dad?” And then, tentatively, “Are you being treated well?”
In normal circumstances, the role-reversal would make his father laugh and poke fun. To be mother-henning his father, Steven would not hear the end of it for weeks. The fact his father does not chortle is what seals the precarity of their situation.
“I’m fine, I have all I need. It’s temporary. It’s others I’m worried about. It won’t end here.”
“I don’t think it will end.” He can’t help it; it just comes out. That nagging feeling at the back of his head that is convinced this is the beginning of the end. There is no turning around, just a march forward into the unknown.
“Steven, are you okay?” Near the end, his voice gains more courage.
Steven didn’t mean to imply he was in any danger. “I’m okay. I’m probably feeling the same as you are right now.”
“Try to remember it doesn’t fall solely on you, even if it feels like it.” Another murmur in the background- what sounds like a chair scraping against the floor. “Take care of yourself. I will see you soon.”
“Where are you?”
The call abruptly ends. He waits a few moments to accommodate the possibility that it’s a mistake, but the disconnected tone drones on. He eventually returns the phone, relying more on the physical feedback of it latching back than his eyes. Verity reaches over and presses a button that cuts the sound.
“You shouldn’t have said you were here.”
“Arrest me, then.” His anger is supercharged by frustration. For something usually so rare for him, he is now overcome by the feeling.
“I’m not joking. You could be moved. I don’t think you want to end up in an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere.”
“You say that like it’s any different from this.”
Verity’s expression hardens. “It could be a lot worse. I wouldn’t push.”
He fights the urge to argue. Pushing through it takes every ounce of his composure. “I’d like to go back to my room,” he tells her, so taut there’s no mistaking what he actually wants to say.
“I’ll bring you up,” Lance says, appearing from the back, where maybe he’s been lingering the whole time. He touches Steven on the arm, gently guides him back in the direction of the room like he’ll bolt at any second. One of the other agents seems keen to tag along as insurance, Arcanine at his foot, but is scared away by a look from Lance.
Steven stays resolutely quiet on the way back. He asked for this, and they complied. He can hardly be upset with the inevitable outcome. He is, irrationally, upset to have his father’s whereabouts confirmed; to know that it wasn’t an unfounded rumour and that he’s being kept as secure as collateral can be. Lance does not pry, even as minutes pass without them speaking. He holds open doors, keying them through a few that wouldn’t budge earlier, and does not follow too closely.
Upstairs, the events of the still-early day catch up to him as he haphazardly kicks off his shoes. The room feels even emptier with his belongings slung over his back and the bed stripped. There are still hours left to kill until the sun will sink into the other end of the sky. He both wants to tear this place apart and also collapse into a dreamless sleep until he wakes up in Mossdeep, whether that be two days or two weeks from now.
He isn’t expecting Lance to enter with him, casting a quick glance at the covered table with an unreadable look on his face.
Steven turns his back to him. He pushes a few strands of hair from his eyes, the tips sticking to his tacky forehead. “I’m really not in the mood to talk.”
“I won’t stay long. I just want to make sure you are okay. Hearing about an attack is difficult, especially when you’re not there.”
“Next time, tell me right away.”
“I hope there isn’t a next time,” Lance says, his voice thrown in another direction. Steven can hear him rummaging around and looks over his shoulder, just in time to be handed a small package in crinkly foil.
The plastic at first obscures what it is, but he’s met with the familiar sight of Lava Cookies when he turns it over. The weight doesn’t feel real in his hands, an out-of-place object in the surrounding context.
“I figured you might want something from home. Sorry it’s not fresh. I was supposed to give it to you yesterday, before plans changed.”
Seeing them twists something inside of him. Being away from home, his father in trouble, people hurt, it all boils up. He has to look away for a second.
Lance doesn’t seem offended by Steven’s lack of gratitude. In a way, the meaning behind it translates. He rests a hand on his shoulder in reply. Steven leans in, surprised to find he draws any comfort from it.
It emboldens Lance, who takes a step into his personal space. Steven keeps his gaze on his socked feet. There is a salty, tropic note in the air, brought in on Lance’s travel clothes. He takes a moment to sit with it.
Steven could press about his father. He wants to. He wouldn’t describe Lance as being defensive about the topic, but cagey, yes. It should bother him more, but Lance is the closest thing to his ally in this. He could poke around until they’re at each other’s wits' end, but that would be a poor use of the cards he’s been dealt.
“I don’t want to talk to the agents again without you there,” he says instead. It may not be a realistic demand, particularly if Lance is being honest about his part to play in this, but it’s not like they can mandate his cooperation either. It’s only fair that he tries to set a few conditions.
Surprisingly, Lance does not shoot it down immediately. “I’ll try,” he responds. Not said with any strong conviction, careful not to overpromise, but with some desire there to see it through. “Will you be okay here today?” he asks, gently.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?”
Lance doesn’t seem to know what to say in response. He releases Steven’s shoulder, his fingers brushing against the back of his arm as they return to his side. “If not this evening, I’ll be back first thing in the morning. I’ll forbid any visitors until then. I know you need space right now.”
Steven nods. It’s better than nothing. “If you see Will, can you apologize again to him?” He angles his head so Lance is back in his peripheral vision, still upset but not wanting to be openly disrespectful by keeping his back turned.
“Did something happen?”
“I was rushing to get out of here earlier. He offered to bring me books. I didn’t properly thank him.”
Lance glances around the room, as if realizing for the first time it has held Steven this long, in all its plainness.
“I’m sure he understands, but yes, I’ll let him know when I see him.” He sounds distracted.
“Thank you. If his offer still stands, I’d like to take it.”
“I’m sorry for not thinking more about it. I was going to make a suggestion before I go, but now it feels in bad taste.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t stay plastered to the broadcast. It won’t do you any good.”
Steven exhales. “Easier said than done, I’m afraid.”
Lance’s under eyes crease with sympathy. “I know. I’ll see if they can chase down Will now, so you’re not left alone for too long.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m probably just going to sit with my thoughts for a bit anyway.”
As far as reassurances go, it is not convincing. He can see Lance’s dilemma play out on his face: knowing the situation here has deteriorated but limited in what he can do at the moment to repair it. Frankly, Steven is surprised they would consider leaving him alone at a time like this. He doesn’t know what he’d say if Lance insisted he stay here. If he wasn’t being called away by duty, the conflicted look in his eyes tells Steven that’s exactly what he would do.
Steven shuts himself in the bathroom the moment Lance has seen himself out, the grey pallor of his face pronounced under the overhead lighting. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Lance to keep his promise; he just feels more comfortable being in the one room that he can lock.