Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Mx. Noire, would you please stop stalking up and down the hall? It’s making the other patients nervous.”

Noire glared at the nurse for a minute, mildly impressed that she didn’t cower and tilted her chin up challengingly instead. They scoffed then stomped over to the sitting area and flopped down in a chair directly opposite their twin, legs sprawled and arms crossed. Blanche glanced up in acknowledgement then went back to pouring over their tablet, making notes in a separate notebook in their lap.

“Find anything?” they asked quietly, tilting their head.

Blanche’s brow twitched, though their eyes stayed glued to the screen and they continued to write. “About as much as we thought we would.” Their pen paused as they sighed. “Worse, even.”

“Worse?” Noire sat up straighter, frowning when their twin’s posture stiffened. “What do you mean ‘worse’?”

“Exactly what the word implies,” Blanche snapped, gesturing to their tablet and beginning to write again, “What we encountered and thus broke up was an outskirts lab for Team Cipher – a Phase IV location with a prerogative in human experimentation,” they paused to glance in Noire’s direction, voice lowering, “We were in Phase III.”

Noire’s upper lip curled up in distaste. “So, the bastards kept experimenting. We figured as much, right?”

Blanche nodded, their free hand swiping across their tablet screen to move to the next document. They studied their twin for a moment, taking in their tense shoulders and the way their pen seemed to move more than it should, twitching in their grasp with tremors they couldn’t seem to stop. They sighed through their nose and sat up, uncrossing their arms.

“Blanche,” Noire said, leaning across the gap between them to snatch the tablet out of their hand, “Let’s put this away for a bit.”

Their twin flinched when Noire took the tablet, glare cold as they held out their hand. “No,” they said, voice firm, “This needs to be done eventually, and I’d prefer no eyes but our own be first to review it. Not to mention any bit of information could prove vital to-”

“You’re shaking,” Noire cut them off, motioning to the way their twin’s hand wavered in the space between them. “You’ll only upset yourself more if you keep at it, mon petit chou.”

Blanche retracted their hand, curling it into a fist on their lap. “I’m fine.”

Noire raised a brow and sat back into their seat, keeping the tablet with a challenging jut of their chin. They glanced over the page Blanche had pulled up, attempting to keep their face smooth. “Phase IV, Section YD000: ‘Clones of the Beast’,” they mumbled, swallowing back a bit of bile that tried to creep up their throat, “So that’s what they are.”

“Based on the other records, I can estimate that were over one hundred clones in the beginning,” Blanche said, glancing down at their notebook, “80% of which did not mature past organogenesis and thus perished.”

There were far too many emotions that stirred within them at the thought of being cloned – rage, horror, indignation, disbelief – but Noire brushed them aside for the moment. They weren’t any different from what they already felt towards the organization that had turned them into a human weapon, after all, only geared in a new direction.

“Cipher playing with an imperfect science,” they scoffed, repressing the urge to shudder, “What else is new?”

Blanche nodded. “Precisely. It’s one of the reasons they terminated the cloning division – too many wasted resources when there was no guarantee of success for the main process.”

“The Corruption Program.” The two of them fell silent for a moment, faces equally dark.

Noire sighed, curling forward to rest their elbows on their knees, tablet hanging limply in one hand while the other rubbed at their face. “How many?” they asked, thumb and forefinger pressing against their eyes hard enough to hurt, sparks dancing in the darkness behind their eyelids, “How many were ‘successful’?”

“None.”

Noire looked up. “None?”

Their twin nodded, shifting in their seat. “There were none that registered as a full transfer.”

Noire sighed in relief - bitterly glad they wouldn't have to hear of Cipher taking over cities with an army of corrupting children anytime soon. One Beast of Orre was enough, thank you very much. They shook their head then sat up and looked down at the tablet once more, not even bothering to read any of the information they’d stolen only roughly 24 hours before. “But there were a couple that had limited success, weren’t there?” they said dully, the question flat enough to be a statement, “Prismatics.”

“Yes.” Blanche reached out to take their tablet back and Noire let them. They used a finger to sweep back through a few of the documents, tapping one firmly and studying it for a moment. “Seven in total. How ironic.” The quiet laugh that followed was bitter.

“Full spectrum?” Noire asked, raising a brow.

Blanche shook their head, making a note in their notebook. “Not quite: two Rouges, three Verts, one Bleu, and one Indigo.” Their voice was soft and devoid of emotion, but Noire knew enough to peek at their eyes. They recoiled slightly from the agony that flickered through them, swallowing, words of comfort left unsaid.

Noire turned slightly in their seat, looking down the hall. “And they would be?” They let the question hang, gesturing vaguely toward one door in particular when Blanche glanced their direction.

“Difficult to know for sure.” Their twin swallowed, looking back down at their tablet briefly before meeting Noire’s eyes. “The Indigo, notably unstable, had a psychotic episode two years ago and decimated a Rouge and two Verts during a duel and suffered from multiple organ failure as a result. The three victims, unfortunately, also succumbed to their injuries. The remaining Rouge and the Bleu recently attempted to escape the facility and were killed in the process of recapture.”

“Merde,” Noire breathed, “Was it a lab or a fucking slaughter house?!”

“Knowing Cipher, likely both.” Blanche paused, closing their eyes for a moment and exhaling shakily. “That leaves one Vert and a handful of... of… Clai-”

“Got it,” Noire said briskly, “So they have either moderate abilities or none at all.”

“The records indicate that the remaining... unsuccessful clone subjects as well as a few of the others were designated to be sent off to other facilities to be used in alternate experiments.” Blanche inhaled deeply, shaking their head. “The transit was to take place in stages over the last few days, so it is uncertain which they might be until we can speak with them.”

“Ugh!” Noire groaned, throwing up their hands and leaning back in aggravation, “All this waiting is really starting to piss me the hell off!”

“Well, be grateful! Your wait is finally over.”

Both twins jumped slightly at the voice, looking over to see Amelie approaching down the hall, a thick stack of papers balanced in her hand. Annie remained further down the hall, speaking quickly to a small cluster of nurses and doctors, handing over an equally padded bundle to the police officers that hovered nearby.

“Is it done?” Noire asked, leaping out of their seat. “Can we see them?”

The redhead nodded, searching through the stack and handing them each a few papers. “As soon as you sign these,” she said, sighing and rolling her shoulders and neck, “It was a trip through hell, sans handbasket, but we got it all squared away. It’s a good thing Willow stepped up to claim them. As he’s a guardian already registered in the region, it really made everything smoother - well, more legal, anyway.”

Blanche glared at Noire when they snatched their pen, studying the sheets they’d been handed. “We’re being listed as ‘next of kin’?”

Amelie nodded. “Technically, he and Executive Sabrina were your foster parents, and even though you’re not minors anymore they still can claim you two – which the good Professor did willingly.” She paused to shrug. “It was the fastest way for you to get access to them.”

“And the other children?” Noire asked, handing the pen back to their twin after signing the documents with a dramatic flourish.

“They’ll get a full diagnostic in this hospital and then be sent off to various other locations, as per your orders,” she replied, “Discreetly, of course. They’ll eventually be placed in secure foster homes, as you had been, and hopefully fade into anonymity.”

“Good,” Blanche said, “The less they appear on official records, the harder it will be for Cipher to locate them.”

“Or anybody else, for that matter,” Noire added, sharing a look with their twin. They both handed her their signed sheets, which she quickly tucked back into her stack, and then the three of them started down the hall.

Syric met them at the door, eyes brightening when he saw the stack of papers. “It’s official?” he asked, reaching for them. Amelie handed them over readily, sharing a tired smile when him as he signed off on various documents with quick, efficient strokes. He’d been acting as a bodyguard, of sorts, for the child – gently bullying the nurses and other doctors out of their room as much as possible. It helped that the hospital already knew who he was (or rather, who he worked for).

“How are they?” Noire demanded, attempting to peer into the room around his large frame.

“Sleeping, actually,” he replied, handing the completed pile back to Amelie before looking at the twins, “Can’t say I blame them though. Based on just the initial test results, they’ve been through quite the ringer.”

“We’ll discuss it in detail later. For now, we would like to see them for ourselves,” Blanche said briskly. They appeared to be trying to will him out of existence with their mind, eyes narrowed and lips pressing into a thin line to show their displeasure at his continued hindrance of their plans.

Syric sighed, then grudgingly moved out of the way. Noire elbowed him in the side for good measure, doubtlessly just to be an asshole, though he barely reacted beyond a small grunt and a glare. Amelie scoffed and patted his arm, drawing him from the doorway to give the three some privacy. Blanche entered the room right on their twin’s heels, their eyes landing on the small frame arranged on the hospital bed at the same time Noire’s did.

It had barely been a day since they’d seen the clone last, and yet it still was off-putting. Long limbs lay spread out, arms tucked against their sides as their legs were positioned straight down from their hips, awkward even in their stillness. Their face should’ve still had a soft roundness to it, the last vestiges of childhood fighting with adolescent maturity; instead, their cheeks were gaunt, dark circles blackening the skin under their eyes. Their silvery hair was clipped in a short bob, spilling out onto the pillow beneath their head.

Blanche’s hand found Noire’s, a motion borne of instinct rather than intention, but Noire laced their fingers together regardless.

“So small,” Noire breathed, throat tight, “Look at them, Blanche. They’re just… so…”

“I know, mon chou,” Blanche replied readily, voice equally weak, “I see them.”

The two moved closer, scooting the chairs right up next to the bed before sitting in them. Neither spoke for some time, too anxious as they each traced their… new little sibling’s features.

Noire glanced to the foot of the bed, clicking their tongue in annoyance. “Syric took their chart. Bastard.”

“Would it really do any good?” Blanche said, cautiously reaching out to smooth a wrinkle in the dull blue hospital blanket, “We’ll find out eventually.”

“Weren’t you the one that wanted to know everything just a few minutes ago?” Noire said, scoffing.

Blanche glared at them mildly, fingers continuing to trace the stitches in the rough linen. “I still stand by that, you know. It’s just…” Their eyes returned to the child on the bed, expression faltering. “I’m almost afraid to find out what was done to them, what scars they’ll bear.”

“What?”

“We at least had each other,” they explained, shaking their head, pained when they stared at the clone’s sleeping face, “Someone to live for, to protect. They had no one, Noire, and I can only begin to imagine what sort of despair-”

“Yeah, well, they have us now so don’t worry about it,” Noire said firmly as they slung an arm around their twin’s shoulders, fist clenching when they flinched in surprise. There was a moment of stillness, tension radiating between the two, until they both slowly relaxed into the embrace. It had once been so easy between them, and the reminder hurt worse when faced with what at first glance seemed like a mirror into the past.

They sat like that for what was likely hours, time only indicated by the sliding of the sun across the sky and the periodic checks by Syric or another member of Noire’s medical team.

There was a slight stirring, the child’s expression twisting into a small grimace before relaxing, their green eyes sliding open slowly. They blinked, hazy and disoriented for a moment as they stared at the ceiling, confusion flickering across their face as they slowly became more coherent. Noire shifted in their seat and the clone turned their head immediately in their direction, the only reaction being a slight widening of their eyes.

“Hi there,” Noire said, giving a half-wave with the hand that was draped across Blanche’s shoulders. Their clone’s eyes darted between the two of them, struggling to sit up.

“Easy,” Blanche said, reaching over to try and push them back down, Noire’s arm sliding off their shoulders from the motion, “It’s probably best that you do not move so much.” They frowned when the child’s eyes widened further, shying away from Blanche’s outstretched hand and ducking their head.

“Hey, relax,” Noire said, sitting straighter, “We’re not gonna hurt you. You’re safe here.”

Their miniature doppelganger tilted their head slowly, shoulders hunching. Blanche glanced at Noire, then looked back at them with a slow blink. Based on what they’d seen in the documents, they had a sneaking suspicion why the little one was staying so quiet.

“Is this better? Can you understand me?” they asked, lips twitching when the child’s eyes lit with comprehension.

“Yes,” came the reply, soft and demure. The victory of eliciting a response was a hollow one.

(‘-and thus, subjects are to learn French as their primary dialect for the sake of rendering them unable to communicate with the local population on the off chance they manage to escape the facilities. This will lessen the likelihood of them receiving outside aid and increase the rate of recapture-’)

Noire, unaware of the strategic conditioning they had witnessed, looked between the other two and smiled. “Hey, they sound like you, mon petit chou – cute and small,” they said, the smile morphing into a smirk when Blanche scowled at them and the child blinked in confusion. They looked back at them after a moment, studying their clone with carefully schooled features. “Do you have a name, kid?”

“A… name?”

“What you are called.” Blanche clarified.

“Yeah, like, I’m Noire,” they said, squeezing their twin’s shoulder just to be cheeky, “And this is Blanche!”

“Names are not ranks,” Blanche said quickly, wincing at the disappointment the clone’s face now showed when their eyes had snapped to them in surprised awe, “But it would help if you told us yours.”

The child frowned, glancing away. “I am 480227YD000. Designatio-”

“Ah, this little one’s awake! And has visitors!” a nurse said brightly as she entered, a tray of food balanced in her hands. The three of them jumped at the sound of her voice as well as her sudden appearance, though she seemed oblivious to the reaction. She set the tray on a side table, turning to call over her shoulder, “Isn’t that wonderful, Callie? You’ll be able to give them your egg!”

Several things happened all at once when the Chansey entered the room, none of which were good.

The clone immediately let out a shriek, flying out of the bed in a flurry of sheets and their pillow, their IV being torn from their arm and blood beginning to trickle down their skin from the small puncture. Blanche and Noire stood and stumbled back, their chairs being knocked to the ground, instinctively trying to get out of the frenzied being’s way. The child raised their injured arm and gestured at the Pokemon, trembling, eyes tinting a tell-tale shade of poisonous magenta.

“Leave!” they said, voice a soft rasp that held the same force of a shout, “Get away!”

The nurse looked terrified, taking an involuntary step back (understandable, given the fact she’d just been hissed at by an incensed child in a language she likely didn’t speak) only to bump into her Chansey. She glanced down to see the pink Pokemon move back, hesitate, then set her egg on the ground, giving the shell a gentle pat with a small, slow nod. Her eyes were glazed a matching magenta as she finally turned and toddled out of the room.

The woman looked between the three in the room and the door, stammering, “I- Wha-”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Noire snarled, making a similar motion to their clone at the nurse, sans the compulsion, as Syric and Amelie burst into the room. “We’ve got this. Go!” The woman looked at Syric, who nodded, then turned tail.

“Callie!” she called, voice fading down the hallway, “Where are you going?!”

A wet, rattling cough drew everyone’s attention, and Noire turned to see their little clone had collapsed against Blanche, who was helping them remain standing by holding onto their arms just above the elbows. They covered their mouth, blood seeping between their fingers and dripping from their nose as they continued to cough.

Syric immediately strode over, militant, medical efficiency oozing from his form, barking orders over his shoulder to the small cluster of nurses that had gathered at the door as he carefully took the kid from Blanche and lay them on a gurney when it arrived. Their clone flinched when he touched them, green eyes glassy with pain flickering briefly to magenta, then went limp in his grasp.

“No,” the medic said firmly when Noire tried to follow, jerking his chin back toward the room. “Probably better if you stay here.”

They wanted to argue, but a look back in the direction he’d indicated halted them in their tracks. Blanche remained in the spot they had been before, unmoving, staring down at their hand with a pale, unreadable expression. Blood flecked their normally immaculate blue coat, reaching only about to the middle of their ribs, but they seemed totally unconcerned.

Amelie put a hand of Noire's shoulder, making them jump slightly, her face impassive save her one, glittering grey eye. They met her gaze, nodding at the unspoken question, touching her hand lightly before shrugging it off. They squared their shoulders as their assistant walked away, shaken and antsy after everything. Honestly, they'd prefer to put the adrenaline pumping through their veins to good use - but, as always, Blanche came first.

Noire moved toward their twin, glancing down to see the smear of red in their palm and swallowing harshly. “Blanche-” they began, cutting themselves off when their twin let out a weak chuckle.

“Well,” they said, lips twisting into a bitter smile when they looked up to meet Noire’s concerned eyes, “I suppose that clears up the mystery of what they are.” Blanche’s fingers curled into their palm, almost protective of the scarlet mark staining their skin, clenching a trembling fist as they sighed in what was likely equal parts resignation and relief.

“Yeah.” Noire nodded, face grim. “They’re the Vert.” They grunted when Blanche suddenly tugged them into a hug, blinking in surprise when they tucked their head under Noire’s chin. Their heart hurt when they registered the faint trembling emanating from the other.

“Our Vert,” Blanche corrected them, arms tightening around their twin’s waist.

“But of course, mon petit chou,” they replied, pressing their lips to the top of Blanche’s head and running a hand between their shoulder blades in soothing circles, “They are our precious little sibling.”

Chapter Text

“I cannot believe you had your lackeys attack one of my gyms just so you could arrive first.”

“Really?” Noire said, raising a brow, “What exactly about that was out of character for me?”

Blanche’s glare was the definition of a winter’s blizzard as they came to a halt beside them. Noire met their eyes smugly and leaned against the reception desk, looking all the part of a Rocket Executive despite wearing civilian clothes. The secretary looked a little disgruntled to have them treat her workstation with so little care, but seemed to think better of scolding them for it.

It was decided that the two of them would deliver their little sibling to Willow’s home (Annie and Amelie obviously being left in charge of their respective organizations). The Professor was still busy fixing up their room and attempting to traumatized-child-proof the rest of his house in preparation for their arrival. As the press would have a field day if the child’s existence was discovered before they had released their official statement to the public, it was probably for the best.

So, in secrecy they rode. Well, in theory, at least.

Noire studied their twin, lips twitching in amusement at how uncomfortable they seemed. Blanche understandably looked a little out of their depth when not swimming in a sea of blues and violets. Even still, there was a swell of annoyance toward the Valor leader (as compared to the usual level of ire they sent in her general direction) for obviously convincing them to wear her colors. A black button-up would’ve been less flashy than a vibrant crimson, after all, and weren’t they trying to be subtle?

They blew out an impatient sigh and fiddled with the cuff of their own lavender colored top, glancing down the hall at the same time as Blanche when they heard someone approaching, only to deflate when it was just another nurse doing her rounds. Neither of them liked hospitals all that much, but at least when they were patients they had no choice in being there.

Having to wait for someone to be released was the worst sort of hell.

Speaking of hell, the past week had been filled with a mixture of horror and anger as more of the Cipher lab’s reports were analyzed and decrypted. There were several terabytes of information that still needed to be decoded, of course, but the things they had discovered had been done to the children at that location was enough to boil anyone’s blood… if it did not curdle it first.

(Syric had looked paler than they had ever seen him when he reviewed the medical documents on the children, and, in particular, the ones for their little sibling. “Christ,” he said weakly, running a hand down his face and setting the tablet on his desk in disgust, “I knew they’d be messed up, but this is some next-level bullshit. All those procedures – well, they explain the scars, the extensive bone remodeling… fuck, I feel sick just thinking about it.”

“Will you be able to help them?” Noire asked, fists clenching.

The medic gave them a dark look. “I’ll do my best, Noire,” he said grimly, “But don’t expect a miracle. Especially if they turn out to be anything like you.”

They let out a small, helpless laugh. “Do they have a choice?”)

Blanche and Noire had long described their own experience as a side-show science prison. It was awful and they had suffered, but the system at least had made sense in a weird way. There was a pattern, a method to the madness.

 But what the reports described about the Phase IV location showed it was more like a perverse, hellish concentration camp where the doctors treated the children like chattel for any experiment or test their deranged minds could come up with. The documents recorded the horrors almost gleefully – electroshock torture as penalty for speaking out of turn, whipping for underperforming on tests, solitary iceboxing for crying out during another penalty, etc – and that the scientists had chosen Pokemon as the vehicles for the punishments explained a lot.

Noire had been hit by their own Venusaur’s vine whip enough times (in training and on accident) to know that sort of attack wasn’t for the faint of heart. And they were more than a little aware of how much of a bitch electricity hurt.

Their little sibling’s dramatic reaction to the Chansey didn’t seem so unfounded now.

What made things worse was the fact the lab had been given new management a few years prior, under a doctor whose name alone made the twins’ stomachs clench. The reports of torture multiplied rapidly after his ascension, with a massive increase for those in the cloning division. He’d always been an unpleasant bastard, after all, and Noire had been his favorite plaything.

Noire snapped out of their bitter reminiscing when Blanche suddenly touched their shoulder, looking up to see them staring down the hall. They followed their twin’s gaze, heart aching as they pinned a grin to their lips when they saw Syric pushing a wheelchair toward them.

“We would’ve been here sooner,” he explained when they got close enough, “But I was graciously reminded of this hospital’s policy on patient releases.”

Their little sibling sat quietly with their eyes cast downward at where their hands rested in their lap. They were dressed simply in a pair of black pants and light grey shirt, hair still a little damp from a shower. Their cheeks were slightly fuller than they had been when they were rescued, but the dark purple bruises under their eyes had yet to fade.

“Hello, again,” Blanche said, a small smile on their lips when the child inclined their head.

“Hello,” came the reply, soft as air, “We apologize for the delay.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Noire said with a wave of their hand, “Syric would drag his ass even if it was on fire.”

“Excuse you!” the medic said as he crossed his arms, slipping into French easily, “I’m not the one that can’t function properly without coffee!” He paused to send a glare in Blanche’s direction as well. “Or an energy drink.”

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Blanche asked dryly.

Syric threw his hands up in the air before resting them back on the chair’s handles and leaning forward a tad to try and catch their little sibling’s eye. “I regret to inform you that your family has a medical inclination toward caffeine addiction,” he said seriously, “And chronic sass. I’m leaving it up to you to make sure neither of those things gets them killed, okay?”

The child glanced up, briefly looking at the twins before lowering their gaze. “I am sorry, good doctor, but I do not believe I am qualified for such a mission.”

Noire snickered at the defeated sigh Syric made.

“Well, well, well! What do we have here?”

The four turned to stare dumfounded when a fifth member decided to make his presence known, strolling up to them with an easy gait. His eyes brightened when they landed on the child in the wheelchair, tilting his head curiously in a way that was distinctly avian.

“Spark!” Blanche hissed, eyes narrowed, “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, dumbass, aren’t you and that Valor bitch supposed to be giving a press conference in the park or some shit?”

The Team Instinct leader shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “It got rained out,” he said simply, smile innocent despite the flash of yellow in his eyes and the fact there had been no rain in the forecast (and they all knew it). “We had to reschedule it for tomorrow. Hey, Blanche, that means you’ll be able to attend, too! Isn’t that great?”

“Wonderful,” they said dully, peering around him, “Am I to assume Candela will be joining us?”

Noire sneered. “She better fucking not!”

“Nah, she volunteered to go make sure Willow wasn’t tearing his hair out,” he replied, shaking his head, “Well, more so than usual.”

“Poor man,” Syric said, chuckling in pity, “His hair will likely turn completely white after all this is said and done.”

“Speaking of which,” Spark said, dropping to a knee beside the wheelchair and peering up at the child, his voice sweetening, “Hi there! I’m Spark. What’s your name, mini-Noire?”

Noire scoffed. “Oi, shitstain, don’t bother.”

“Huh?” Spark said, looking up.

“I told you that they do not speak English, you know,” Blanche said.

The Team Instinct leader smacked his own forehead. “Oh, right! Duh!” he replied, clearing his throat and looking back at the child, “Thankfully, I’ve been practicing my French for just such an occasion: Bone-jur! Jay maple Spark. Comet view appley view?” He smiled brightly, obviously pleased with himself.

Their little sibling turned slightly in their seat to stare at the other three, the novelty of them willingly offering eye contact tempered by the fact they looked utterly perplexed. “Is… Is he trying to speak with me?”

“Yes, with a distinct emphasis on ‘trying’,” Blanche replied, shooting the other two an annoyed look for their muffled snickering. Well, muffled in Syric’s case – Noire was almost cackling. They waved a hand in the direction of the man still squatting next to the chair, his blue eyes twinkling with curiosity as he looked between them. “This is Spark. I’ve told you about him, I believe.”

“He is your fellow assistant for the Go Program under Professor Willow,” they quoted readily, “The leader of Team Instinct.”

“Correct. He said hello and was asking for your name.” They paused, glancing at Noire. “Which I am just now realizing we never finished discussing.”

Their little sibling looked between the two of them, their normally expressionless face twitching into something that may have once been discomfort or even shame before they lowered their eyes and ducked their head, offering meekly, “You have stated you wish to call me ‘Vert’.”

“Yeah, but that can be temporary,” Noire broke in, previous mirth dissipating quickly, “If you find a new name you like, just let us know. We’d be more than happy to call you whatever you want.”

“We almost encourage you to, in fact,” Blanche added, “Choosing your name can be very… empowering.”

The child tilted their head in consideration, glancing over at where Spark was still crouching next to them expectantly and shying away from him. “It is like pronouns, yes?” they asked, “Up to the individual? Though, neither of you liked the ones used for me previously and insisted we change them.”

“First of all, quit it with the formal ‘you’ business. Informal is fine. Second of all, you are not an ‘it’,” Noire said, hackles rising, “You are a person.”

“If you say so,” they said softly, flinching when Noire let out a growl and glancing at Blanche, “Would you mind introducing me to your fellow assistant? He has been waiting for some time.”

“Of course,” Blanche replied, “Though we will be discussing this further later.”

“Understood.”

They sighed, catching Spark’s eye at long last. “Their name is Vert for now, though that will likely not stick. I will let you know when the change occurs, of course, and request that you act accordingly.”

“Sure thing! Vert, huh?” he said slowly, tilting his head and catching their sibling’s eye, “Nice to meet you!”

The child seemed to understand the sentiment despite the language barrier because they nodded to him, which only made his smile grow as he stood. Spark paused, digging around in his pocket. “Hey, I have something for you!” he said, motioning for them to hold out a hand. Vert did so quickly, hunched shoulders the only indication of their discomfort. They flinched when he dropped the object into their palm then stared at it in consideration.

“A Rubik's Cube? Are you fucking kidding me?” Noire hissed, scoffing at the miniature puzzle.

“In all fairness, it is a pretty entertaining toy that doesn’t require a lot of explanation nor feature any Pokemon,” Blanche defended, nodding toward the receptionist when she handed them Vert’s release form. They signed it quickly then motioned for the others to move along.

Syric smiled, pushing the chair toward the entrance at a slow pace. “Nice job, Sparkles,” he said, “I think they like it.” He inclined his head to where Vert was fiddling with the toy, their eyes bright.

“Thanks, bro! I figured it would-” Spark paused, glancing down to see Vert had caught his jacket sleeve and was holding the cube out to him, “Huh? Oh, no, little one. It’s for yooouuu—holy shit!” He carefully took the toy out of their hand, tilting it from various angles and gawking at it. The puzzle had been solved, each of the six sides showing a single color.

The Team Instinct leader glanced at the others, eyebrows raised. “Are we sure they’re not Blanche’s clone? Because they are way too smart to be Noire’s.” He yelped when Noire kicked him, making Vert jump in their seat and look at him in alarm.

“Did I fail?” they asked, “Is he being punished for my poor performance?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Syric said quickly, “He’s just an idiot.”

“Oh…”

-/-

Candela met them in the driveway, hands on her hips with a large grin on her face. She’d traded her normal polished outfit for something a bit more practical, though there was no doubt the overalls and cotton top were still somehow, someway designer. “It’s about time you got here!” she said cheerfully as they piled out of the car, “I was about to murder the Professor and then we’d all be out of a job.”

“I was just trying to make sure it would be welcoming,” Willow protested, running a hand through his hair.

The stare Candela sent his way was telling. “Professor, you wanted to tear out a wall,” she said dryly, “When they were already on their way.”

“Aw, Prof! Never took you for a fussy nester!” Spark said, grinning at the older man.

Professor Willow sighed. “Spark, how many times do I have to tell you that nesting is a Pokemon behavior? People don’t really do that sort of thing-”

“Speak for yourself,” he shot back, grinning when the sibling trio finished climbing out of the back.

The car was rather tall (more an armored vehicle than anything, really), and while that proved to be no problem for the twins, the newest addition seemed to be having some difficulty. Blanche held out their hand to help Vert down, and after a brief moment of hesitance they took it and hopped out. They let go immediately after, of course, ducking their head with their eyes on the ground.

“Oh, they’re positively precious!” Candela cooed, delighted, her eyes alight with pleasure, “And tiny. Were we really ever that small?”

“Yes, Candela, and smaller still,” Willow replied, eyes distant with fond memories, “Such is the beauty of life.”

“Waxing eloquent just so you won’t have to walk over there and seal the deal, eh, old man?” Spark teased, unaffected by the baleful glare that was immediately sent in his direction, “Worried they won’t like you or something?”

“… Will you think less of me if I say yes?”

Spark patted his back cheerfully, his smile wide as he shot the Professor a cheeky thumbs up. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Professor. I’m sure they’ll love you! You got Blanche to like you, remember?”

“Perhaps even a little more than like once upon a time, if memory serves,” Candela said.

“Silence, Candela. No need to bring up the past,” Blanche said coolly, walking over to the trio with an annoyed look on their face. Syric and Noire also strolled over, the medic reaching out to shake hands with the older man while Noire just looked smugly amused. Vert stood silently between their siblings, hands clasped in front of them with their face carefully neutral. They glanced up quickly, eyes catching on something behind the group and widening slightly, before returning down – though, they did not stay there as they usually did, sneaking secret glances.

“Are you sure they were ready to come here?” Willow asked, concern pinching the skin between his brows, “We only spoke a handful of times when they were in the hospital and my French is decidedly rusty.”

“Can’t be worse than birdbrain’s,” Noire drawled, shooting him a glare, “I swear I almost suffered a fucking aneurism just hearing him speak.”

“Don’t you always?” Syric said slyly.

“Hey, I tried really hard you know!” Spark protested, “And it worked out just fine, mercy buttercup!” He sniffed dramatically and wore his most offended expression, though his lips twitching when the others groaned gave him away.

“Now you’re just doing that on purpose!” Blanche accused, scowling when he winked at them.

Noire looked down to check on Vert only to freeze when they were no longer beside them, looking around before nudging Blanche and pointing over to where their sibling had slunk off and was now blatantly staring at the lawn. They shared an equally puzzled look before moving closer to join them. “You alright there, kid?” Noire asked, tilting their head.

“I am unharmed.”

“Yes, we can see that,” Blanche said, resisting the urge to sigh at their unintentional evasion. They understood the reason behind it, of course, but the constant back and forth was beginning to wear on them. Perhaps it was because they themselves were guilty of such tactics at times?

“Is there a reason you’re inspecting the lawn?” Noire inquired, “I’m pretty sure the Professor keeps it to code.”

Vert hesitated. “Permission to ask an inane question?”

“Granted.”

“Is… Is that grass?” they asked, pointing to the small plot of greenery that sprawled between the house and the sidewalk. It was recently trimmed, and the scent of freshly cut grass wafted through the warm summer air despite the surprise shower from earlier.

“Yes?” Noire said, quirking a brow.

“I see,” Vert said slowly, “Permission for another inane question?”

“Also granted.”

The look they sent the two of them was positively shy. “May I touch it?” Their voice was soft, as it normally was, but filled with a tentative, sincere hope that made both twins’ hearts clench. Their tone held the cautious reverence of someone who had only known the definition of the word but had never come into contact with the thing it described.

“Touch what now?” Willow asked, strolling over, “Sorry – like I said, my French is rusty.” Vert jumped slightly, stepping away from the lawn and looking down and away as though they had been reprimanded. They wrung their hands fretfully for a moment then stilled completely, barely daring to breathe as the other two team leaders and Syric also decided to approach.

“They are asking for permission to touch your grass, Professor,” Blanche said, voice strained.

“My… grass?” He quirked a brow, incredulous smile sliding off his face as he looked at the child in question, comprehension dawning quickly, “Oh. I see.” He moved closer to Vert, dropping down to one knee next to them. Unlike Spark, he did not try to meet their eyes and merely looked at the lawn from what was roughly their height.

“Have you never seen grass before?” he asked gently.

Vert shook their head, eyes still downcast. “No, Professor Willow. I have not.” Above the two, the other adults shared a pained, horrified look – well, the ones that spoke French, anyway. Spark seemed to understand something was wrong regardless, his expression darkening as a distant roll of thunder echoed his mood.

Willow inhaled deeply, letting out a slow breath. “Would you like to feel it?” He smiled when they nodded, taking one of their hands with careful deliberation and tugging them closer to the edge of the concrete. They went willingly, shoulders still tense.

The Professor reached out to press his palm against the turf, motioning for them to do the same. Vert hesitated, as they seemed to do often, then crouched and copied the action with cautious curiosity. Their eyes widened, lips parting in a small show of wonder as they moved their hand against it, blades of grass poking between their fingers. They seemed absolutely mesmerized by the sensation.

“Well?” Willow asked after a moment, “What do you think?”

Vert frowned slightly, pointer finger tracing a single blade that was slightly longer than the others. “It is prickly. Good for tickling, maybe?” they said, slowly, “And very green.” They punctuated the statement with a small nod, pressing their hand fully against the turf, fingers spreading out as far as they could go.

“Do you like green?” he asked, tilting his head.

They paused in their childlike exploration, fingers curling in the grass briefly as their expression turned unreadable. Vert glanced at him before looking up at the twins, saying softly, meaningfully, “For now.”

Chapter Text

Willow inhaled deeply, the steam from his mug rising slowly, bringing with it the thick scent of coffee. He took a sip, as pleased by the flavor as he was the smell, warmth trickling down his throat in a soothing cascade. His companion waited silently for him to reorient himself, for which he was grateful. It had been a long couple of weeks.

He’d received a very helpful packet from the hospital upon his new charge’s release: childrearing books, parenting tips, etc. Willow had done his own research when he’d brought Blanche to live with him all those years ago, of course, and could still recall most of the information. As far as anyone could tell, their ages matched up pretty well, too.

It was a surprise to find that one of the nurses had slipped in a recommended meals plan, but upon reviewing the charts he realized the purpose behind it. The children of Cipher had been fed very specific meals (most of which were chemically formulated to meet their growing bodies’ needs and utterly unappetizing to say the least) and a sudden dietary shift into fresh foods and higher-carb and protein contents could potentially cause more harm than help.

Then there was the issue of their trauma. It was ever-present, naturally, and they both were learning to live around one another. Willow made sure to keep all his Pokemon in their balls when he came home, or at the very least when the child was out and about the house. He never forced them to look him in the eye, kept his voice low and soothing whenever he spoke to them, and never tried to touch them without asking permission.

That seemed to confuse them the most, sadly enough, that he would think to ask at all.

They were very quiet by nature, skittish when they weren’t overtly terrified, so getting them to talk was a challenge. They took to learning English readily enough, using the tablet Willow had presented them as a welcoming present to study and practice the language, though he was unsure if they genuinely wanted to learn or if they had taken it as a challenge (or, more likely, an order) when he had first suggested it. Their reading comprehension developed at a rate that was both impressive and concerning, though their speaking unsurprisingly lagged behind.

There were some highlights, though. They seemed to enjoy being outside the most out of everything, and any excuse they were given was taken with extreme enthusiasm. In fact, the moment he’d told them they didn’t have to wear shoes in the backyard, their eyes had widened and they’d hurriedly asked if they could go outside. He’d watched with amused delight as they’d tugged off their footwear – still taking the time to line them up at the entryway – and bounded out the door only to immediately flop onto the grass.

It was humbling, to say the least, to see someone take such pleasure in things one normally took for granted.

Willow sighed, done collecting himself, then smiled at his guest. “So,” he said, setting his mug down on the coffee table, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Sabrina?”

The psychic merely inclined her head, taking a sip of her own coffee before replying, “Was your offer for me to swing by any time so conditional, Willow?” Her tone was flat, as it normally was, though she hid what may very well have been a smile when she took a drink from her own cup.

He snorted, shaking his head. “That offer was made years ago, you realize,” he said wryly, unable to hide his amusement, “But, no, it still stands. You are always welcome here.” They eyed each other for a moment, a familiar, comfortable silence resonating with decades of conversations that need not be revisited. Time had been unkind to them in many regards, and each of their pasts was riddled with mistakes and losses that had helped shape them passed the youths they once were when they had first met.

At least they still could count on each other, in some form or fashion – never enough, mind you, but still all they had.

Sabrina hummed noncommittally, glancing around the room as she likely sensed his mood and waited for it to pass. It was early, weak, grey light painting his living room in dull, washed-out hues. Willow stifled a yawn with his hand as her eyes finished their circuit and landed back on him with a small smile on her lips.

“I see things are going well,” she said.

“As well as can be expected,” he replied, brushing off the intended half-compliment, “It’s been a lot of trial-by-error for the two of us.”

“Must be nice to have an excuse to leave work early, though.”

The look he sent her way was dry. “Oh, don’t even pretend to think I’ve had the chance to go in. We both know that hasn’t been the case.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sabrina hid another smile in her cup when Willow snorted. It had been a small miracle that his three wonderful assistants hadn’t blown anything up in the time he’d taken off, of course, but perhaps they were behaving themselves so he could focus on helping his new charge settle in.

They both turned slightly when his hallway creaked, catching sight of a small figure peering around the corner, their green eyes widening before they ducked back out of sight. Willow huffed, calling out soothingly in French, “Oh, good morning. Would you like to join us?”

The child slowly emerged from the hallway, head bowed with their eyes on the floor as they shuffled out. They wore simple dark green pajama pants and a cream-colored long-sleeved shirt, silvery white hair brushed but still slightly fluffier than usual from sleep. Their hands were clasped in front of them, fingers clenched, their toes digging into the carpet.

“Did you sleep okay?” Willow asked, torn between going over to them (his knee-jerk reaction) and staying put. He’d learned the hard way that approaching them when they were uncomfortable was not a good plan. “We didn’t wake you, did we?”

“I heard voices,” they explained softly, “And it was light out.” A pause occurred when they braced themselves expectantly, almost ashamed when they asked, “Did I miss the wakeup call?”

“No, there was no wakeup call today,” Willow replied, inclining his head toward them slightly. Could it really still be considered a ‘wakeup call’ when they were normally already up, dressed, and sitting on the edge of their perfectly made bed when he knocked on their door in the mornings? “It’s the weekend. If we don’t have anything planned then you are free to sleep in, remember?”

The child nodded, shifting slightly in their spot, glancing shyly at his companion before looking back down.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself to my friend here, huh?” Willow offered, gesturing toward Sabrina, “You could practice your English!”

“That’s not necessary,” she said drily, “I’m perfectly capable of conversing in French.”

“Ah, but practice makes perfect, right?” he argued, leaning forward to smile encouragingly at the child, “If you’re feeling up to the task, we’d both love to hear it.” He ignored the look Sabrina sent his way, tilting his head. He didn’t want to force them to speak if they didn’t wish to (getting them to speak at all took persuasion) but some subjects of learning required repetition – language being the foremost example.

They let out a little sigh, barely a huff, then squared their shoulders and said softly in English with a thick accent, “Hello. My name is Grisaille.” They glanced at her, meeting her eyes briefly, then looked down. “What may I call you, madam?”

“Hello, little Grisaille. It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Sabrina,” the Rocket Executive replied, offering them a small smile when they looked up at her in surprised recognition. She sensed a quick series of thoughts flicker through their mind, basic data being pulled up from a conversation they’d had with the twins a week or so ago.

(Sabrina was going to smack Noire on the head when she saw them next. ‘Crazy old bat with spooky eyes’, was she? Oh, she’d give them a fright alright! On the other hand, Blanche describing her as a ‘powerful oracle’ was as flattering as it was suspicious. The echo in their voice gave her pause, but Grisaille’s view had been of the ground so she wasn’t able to see the younger twin’s eyes to check their color.)

“She helped raise Blanche and Noire,” Willow explained, unaware that the child had already made the connection. They nodded regardless, fingers twitching as both adults studied them.

“Would you like to sit down and join us?” the professor asked after it had become apparent they had no intention of responding, slipping back into French readily, “We could tell her about the daffodils you helped me plant in the garden a few days ago.”

Grisaille hesitated then nodded and made their way over to the couch, taking a seat on the opposite side so as to be as far away from the other two as possible. They sat daintily on the edge of the cushion, hands clasped on their lap with their eyes staring at the floor. Their posture was stiff, shoulders hunched, bracing for an interrogation or any other form of assessment with which they were more familiar. It didn’t take a psychic to know they were unaccustomed to speaking – generally, they had been ranted at or talked over in the past.

“Daffodils?” Sabrina asked, raising a brow.

“Daffodils,” Willow repeated, nodding firmly. He met her eyes and thought very slowly and clearly, ‘They represent new beginnings, right? I thought it would be fitting.’

‘Sentimental old man,’ Sabrina replied, sending the thought his way with an appropriate amount of teasing. As per usual, Willow gave no indication he’d heard a thought other than his own, though his lips did twitch into an amused smile. His lack of response was almost disappointing – though, in all fairness, Sabrina had yet to meet anyone whose reactions to her psychic abilities were have as dramatic (or entertaining) as Lt. Surge’s.

The three of them chatted for a while about innocuous things. Willow and Sabrina led much of the discussion, naturally, as Grisaille only spoke when one of the others drew them into the conversation. They seemed to relax slightly as time went on, though, and the topic of the garden they and the professor were planting seemed to spark some genuine interest.

“There will be flowers of many different types,” they informed her, something not quite pride and just shy of excitement coloring their tone, “The Professor believes they will bloom soon.” They turned slightly toward him for confirmation, tense until he smiled and nodded at them.

“If the weather holds, they might even start showing in a week or so,” he said, taking a drink from his mug. He and Sabrina had refilled their coffees, though Grisaille seemed content with their glass of water.

“Really?” she said, humming thoughtfully, “Then I’ll need to visit again when they do.”

“Sure, feel free!” Willow said, waving a hand, “We could get all the kids together, too – well, if they agree not to wreck the place with their squabbling, that is. Noire and Blanche still owe me a vase a piece from the last time they got into it in my living room. Which reminds me-- uh, is everything alright?”

The professor looked between the other two, noting how they both had shifted while he’d been rambling. Grisaille’s head was uncharacteristically lifted, blatantly staring at Sabrina, their eyes flickering magenta with a wild look of terror before they seemed to remember themselves and redirected their gaze back to the floor. Their shoulders rose up to their ears, trembling slightly as they wrung their hands fretfully. More startling, however, was the fact that Sabrina looked horribly chastened when their eyes met.

‘What happened?’ he thought, scowling when she shook her head.

‘Give them permission to go back to their room,’ Sabrina replied carefully, her words echoing in his head, disjointed fragments of emotions she would normally filter out accompanying the sentiment, ‘They’re too distraught to ask for it right now but physically can’t bring themselves leave until they receive it.’

Willow did as she advised, watching as the child stood and bowed sharply to the two of them before all but sprinting from the room, footsteps light and quick as they darted back around the corner of the hallways and out of sight. He blinked, turning back to stare at his companion, frowning when he saw she’d propped up her elbows on her thighs and was pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed with a strained expression.

“Sabrina?” he said, switching back to English, “Seriously, what happened?”

“They sensed me.”

“They-- What?!”

Sabrina sighed, sitting up to pin him with a flat stare. “They recoiled internally when you said the twins’ names. Terror, desperation, anxiety - a whole cocktail of emotions I didn’t expect them to feel about those two. I was curious as to why and followed the reaction without thinking. Stupid of me, I know. They felt me in their head and responded accordingly.”

“Grisaille felt you?” Willow echoed, eyes wide.

“Yes, and they slammed down a mental barrier hard enough to give me a migraine.” Sabrina picked up her purse and rummaged around inside it, pulling out an unmarked bottle and shaking out two pills.

He winced in sympathy, handing her his mug so she could wash the medication down. “Even still, that’s really unexpected. I mean, not many people could pick up on someone rummaging around in their mind in the first place, much less defend themselves from it. Unless...” Willow paused, brows furrowing as he leaned forward, “Wait, do they have abilities? Neither of the twins-”

“Neither of the twins were tortured by psychics, Willow.”

“Tortured by psychics?!” The professor sat back, paling as a realization dawned on him. “The other children,” he rasped, rubbing a hand down his face, “Of course. Blanche said most if not all of the non-clone children in Phase IV were recorded as kidnapped offspring from notable psychic couples.”

“It is very likely Cipher forced them to test their fledgling abilities on the non-psychic children,” Sabrina continued for him, “Grisaille and the others who did not get their brains scrambled likely were trained to defend against such attacks after a time. Or worse: left to figure it out on their own. The process would be… tricky, at best, though not entirely impossible if they’ve gone through half of what the reports detail. Trauma is the second leading cause for psychic awareness, you know, though it often doesn’t result in active abilities. Lucky for us.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Willow replied vaguely, expression grim.

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “On that note, I highly doubt Grisaille will be comfortable in my presence for some time after this. If ever.” Sabrina ran a hand through her hair, fingers pressing firmly against one temple and rubbing briefly as she sighed. “After everything they’ve been through, it is little wonder they are so damaged – perhaps even more so than the twins.”

Willow leaned toward her, alarmed and concerned, his brows drawn. “More than the twins? What do you mean?”

The psychic considered him, her expression neutral despite the way her eyes glittered in the brightening light of morning. He met her gaze earnestly, silently pleading, and she closed her eyes briefly in resignation.

“When we retrieved Blanche and Noire from Orre, I could already tell they were messed up. Cracked, if you will,” she said slowly, eyes reopening so as to make her point more poignant, “Grisaille is more than cracked, Willow. They have been shattered.” There was a moment of pause, her words almost reverberating in the shocked silence that followed.

The professor uttered a small curse, sitting back against the couch cushions and rubbing a hand down his face as the full weight of her words settled on his shoulders like a cement blanket.

“They have no concept of self,” Sabrina continued, choosing her words carefully, “Many emotional reactions have been beaten out of them, and they were taught to think for themselves only when thoughts were allowed. Every comment, every inquiry, every observation is systematic, and every day they struggle to reorient themselves. Their only solace is that they recognize you as a scientist, Willow, and believe you to be their new handler rather than a guardian and are awaiting the day you choose the next test or experiment for them.”

“What?” he said, “Surely they know that I have no intention of doing anything of the sort! My research is regional distribution, for Arceus’ sake!”

The Rocket Executive shrugged. “How could they possibly know? The fact that Blanche was partially raised by you and now works for your program has only cemented the idea in their mind that they belong to you as a project. Even their new name gives away their desperate attempt to reorient themselves in this new ‘system’, though the fact they’ve settled for one that places them directly between the twins seems a little heavy-handed.”

Willow grit his teeth, horrified, but quickly decided to jump to a slightly less nauseating subject. “Getting back to that,” he said, waving a hand, “You mentioned earlier that Grisaille had a negative reaction to the twins’ names. What did you learn from your digging? You know, before they locked you out.”

She lifted her chin challengingly. “Who says I learned anything?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Sabrina,” Willow growled, “Not when a child’s safety and wellbeing is on the line.”

“They’re no more a child than Noire was, Willow,” Sabrina reminded him, her tone flinty, “You’d best remember that. Grisaille and all the other orphans of Cipher were being trained as soldiers, as weapons.”

“That doesn’t excuse-”

“Furthermore, this only proves that I should’ve been the one to take major custody of Grisaille. I can easily read their moods and avoid their triggers, help mold them into something of a normal person in half the time it will take you.”

“Oh, yeah, that method really paid off last time, didn’t it? I mean, Noire’s the model of a totally well-adjusted citizen!”

Sabrina scowled at him, her brow twitching as she picked up on a stray thought of his she’d seen enough of in the past to irk her. She tried to ignore it, but the current topic brought it back to the forefront of both of their minds and it aggravated her enough to throw tact to the wind. “If you honestly thought you could’ve done a better job raising the twins, then you should’ve been the one to take care of them.”

“You know I couldn’t have!” Willow exploded, spine stiffening, “I was traveling all over the region for my dissertation at the time and wouldn’t have been able to stay in one place for more than a month. The road is no place to raise a child, much less twins!”

“Then why does it continue to bother you?” Sabrina spat in annoyance.

“Many reasons, really.”

“Name one.”

“Fine! I know for a fact I was only brought in for the recovery incentive because my graduate research helped us pinpoint Cipher’s headquarters. That you signed me up as your ‘husband’ when you could’ve easily used Surge or Koga for your scapegoat was only so you could get to the twins quicker.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I mean, who was least likely to cause a stir in getting legally saddled with surprise children he couldn’t even care for – the grad student with the crazy dream or either of the two new gym leaders?”

“Is that what you think? Truly?”

“You would know.”

“Would I?”

He paused at her suddenly quiet tone, glaring at her sullenly, a twinge of shame cooling his temper. An age-old hurt stood gaping between them, a painful, twisted thing that had never truly been brought out in full – for if they put it to words, if they both acknowledged its existence, then the secret unrequited regret would truly become a mutual tragedy.

There was no reclaiming lost time, and the situation was doomed to remain forever stagnant.

Sabrina sighed, looking away from him in an attempt to dispel the sudden melancholy that had settled over the room like a malcontented fog. Willow sat back and studied her profile, shoving away the ache in his chest as he let out a slow breath of his own. He almost wanted to ask if half their conversations went according to plan, if she went into them with full knowledge of how they’d turn out but pressed through it, regardless, for some sort of intense emotional masochism. Or sadism.

“Sabrina,” he said slowly, hollowly, feeling like he had aged 10 years in the span of 2 minutes, “Why is Grisaille so scared of the twins?”

“Because,” she replied just as wearily, “Among other things, every person who has shared their face has tried to kill them.”

Willow let out a soft, emotionless huff. “Well, they obviously failed.”

“Yes. Because Grisaille killed them instead.” She turned back to him, her expression grave. “Cipher duels are to the death, if you remember.”

Sabrina met his eyes, and he saw a creeping, helpless sadness he identified with on a spiritual level. Many thought the Rocket Executive to be a cold, unfeeling person. Few people had been granted the honor of knowing her long enough to discern that was the farthest from the truth. Well, for the plights of children, at least. Perhaps it was the lack of her own childhood that made her resonate so readily with the suffering of the Cipher rescues?

Willow jumped in his seat when Sabrina checked her watch and suddenly stood, grabbing her purse from the floor and looping her arm through the strap as she strode out of the room. “You’re leaving?” he asked as he followed, perturbed. She wasn’t the type to run away from a difficult discussion, but he’d always had a knack for finding just the right combination of sentiment and statements to make the psychic trip up.

“I have a flight to catch,” she replied, looking over her shoulder at him as they approached the entryway, “I told you about it when I arrived.”

“Ah, I see.” Even with all the turbulent emotions still simmering within him, he felt the pang of disappointment most keenly. “Have a nice trip, I suppose. Tell Giovanni he’s a right bastard and that I want Team Rocket out of my city as of yesterday – you know, the usual sentiments. You can kick him in the shin, too, if you’d like.”

Sabrina hummed, slipping on her shoes quickly. She paused, turning back to look at him with gleaming eyes. “Take care of them, Willow, but don’t forget to take care of yourself,” she said, “Never forget that they are dangerous, even if they don’t seem to be at first.”

“They can’t possibly be any more dangerous than a fully successful transfer or a titan bonded.”

The Rocket Executive didn’t reply, but her expression darkened briefly. She opened her mouth then seemed to think better of it, sighing and shaking her head. “You are kind and always try to see the best in everything,” she murmured, giving him an almost pitying look, “It’s going to get you killed one day.”

“You’ve been saying that since the day we met and yet I’m still here,” Willow replied, his smile wry when she scoffed, “Compassion is the only thing separating people from beasts, you know. The day we forget that is the day we are all doomed.”

Sabrina scoffed, shaking her head, then left out the door. It closed softly behind her, and Willow realized just how quiet his home was after the final click. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he slowly walked back to the living room, ruminating briefly over the fact he may very well be in over his head… again.

“Right,” he said, glancing down the hall where his charge had disappeared, “Food generally makes a long discussion more digestible.”

Chapter Text

A bell chimed and it did not wait for the rough hands of the white-coated scientists to push it out of the holding area to take off running. It stumbled, losing its footing only briefly, but caught itself before it could faceplant into the barbed sides of the maze. The experiment had been going on for several hours now and it was beginning to feel the fatigue – starving, light-headed, and aching – yet still the scientists made it and all the others in the testing group run.

The maze was never the same, all the twists and turns recalibrated every time the test cycle began anew. If the subject slowed down even a fraction below its highest recorded speed, it received a shock from the incentive ring around its neck so strong it often left the examinee with weak knees and glazed eyes. The subjects were meant to run through the maze, avoiding the many traps and dead-ends, and find the randomly-located exit, after which they were permitted a drink of water and five to ten minutes (depending on the length of the maze) of rest before they were to warm up for the next run.

480227YD000 did not care for the maze trials. Obstacle courses were much easier by far.

It knew it was not allowed the luxury of having a preference, of course, but some things could not be helped.

It sprinted into the exit area and, after its time and various other statistics had been recorded, was allowed to collapse on the floor. Chest heaving, it stared at the ceiling as its vision flickered and swam.

This maze had been more difficult than the last, for the scientists had stocked it with Punishers to defend all the dead ends. It had heard the doctors and scientists refer to them by another title once or twice – ‘Pokemon’ – but it mattered little. What good was there in knowing the actual name of such creatures? It made no difference when they seemed to only exist in order to issue punishments and various other tortures.

Willing its heart and breath to return to somewhat normal levels, it sat up stiffly and looked around. A few of the other subjects sat against the wall, others pacing as they stretched in order to keep their limbs warm. All were flushed, sweat dripping from trembling limbs, eyes dull and expressions blank.

There had been sixteen in total at the start of the testing, though twelve currently loitered in the room. One of them ran the maze and another waited in the wings. Two had not passed the trials and were culled for their weakness, judging by the streaks of red that left the room through the true exit door.

There were a few of its same-faced subjects in the test group this time, six in total not including itself. Three were Claires and they all stalked aggressively around the area with too much energy, with too much to prove. It could not fault them for being anxious. Of all their lives, a Claire’s was the most tenuous, as failure for a one with that designation often meant harsher punishments or, more likely, death. 

The other three were like it – partial successes. One, a Vert, sat with its legs crossed and arms in its lap, palms up. It stared at the ceiling unseeingly, a calm mask on its face. The other two were one of the Rouges and the Bleu. They sat together, uncaring for the excess body heat that no doubt sweltered the air around them, pressing against one another as much as possible.

The two were cellmates. The scientists and doctors watched them closely, for they did not want a repeat of—

The Rouge caught its eye and glared at it, tugging the Bleu closer and lifting its chin in a silent challenge. 480227YD000 did not care for a battle of wills over something so trivial and dropped its gaze, tilting its head slightly in submission, though it did sneak a few quick glances at the pair. The Bleu seemed dazed, pale with skin drawn taunt over its cheeks. There was a smear of blood on the corner of its mouth, one that the Rouge seemed to notice as well and rubbed at absently.

One of the scientists approached and handed it a cup, half of the precious water sloshing to the floor from the rough hand-off. She did not seem to care, an almost cruel smile on her lips as she told it to be careful. It took a sip as she moved back to her station, relief washing over it as the cool liquid washed away the froth on its tongue and soothed the rawness of its throat.

It shuffled off to a corner of the room, watching as the next two runners came through the door and collapsed. One, an Orange, clutched a badly burned arm to its chest. The other, an Indigo, had a long gash on its leg and a bad limp, stone-faced as it requested to continue running. The cruel-smile-water-handler shook her head and barked at the guards standing by the true exit door to escort it to the medical bay.

It tried not to wince, stuffing down what little sympathy the ruling caused to swell within its chest. Still, it flinched when the door slid shut, taking another sip of its water to dispel the heavy form that had sunk into its belly at the finality of the sound. Powering through badly damaged limbs was often preferable to being sent to medical for all the pain one had to endure.

And thus their group was down to thirteen.

The announcer proclaimed the next maze ready for testing, calling out the code and designation of the new first runner. The same-face Vert shifted, eyes refocusing with what seemed like a great effort, then stood and made for the doorway.

The same-face Rouge was called immediately after as the waiting runner, and it stood with reluctance. The Bleu offered it a small nod, which its companion returned before it turned and headed for the door. It was only after the door had swung shut that it doubled over and let out a series of deep coughs, red splattering onto its hand and on the floor.

Most of the others ignored its suffering. It was to be expected – though on the higher end of the spectrum, Bleus tended to suffer more than the rest. This Bleu in particular had decently strong abilities, though its body was notoriously weak.

That it had not been culled yet was a mystery to all.

480227YD000 stared down at its cup and saw some water remained. It looked over at the wheezing subject and suddenly it was beside it, handing it what remained of its precious drink. The Bleu looked as startled as it was, glancing between it and the cup with wide eyes. Then a stranger expression took over its face, eyes soft with an up-curled lip.

Unlike the cruel smile of the scientist, this one looked nice.

Then it was dark, the sickeningly sweet smell of dead flora clogging its nose with the buzzing of helicopter blades and shouting voices in the distance— heart hammering between its lungs, rattling its ribcage as it leveled the gun at a chest, green eyes identical to its own weeping, the same pathetic smile on its lips— running out of time as the search lights grazed through the trees and filled the clearing with dappled lighting— a soft, startled gasp of ‘merci’ (or had it been ‘mercy’?) as two shots rang out, one after the other—

4802- it- They awoke with a start, swatting at the hands that touched their shoulders, kicking at the blankets that ensnared their legs. A dark ooze filled them, humming and slithering through their veins, and they belatedly realized they had reached for their abilities without thinking. They released it just as quickly, queasy just from the slightest use.

Two faces, identical, older than their own, peered down at them in concern from the lingering gloom of night. The moonlight lit their long hair, illuminating the strands so they shone like starlight, and cast strange shadows on each of their faces.

“Mon chouchou,” said one, brows furrowed, “It’s alright. Take it easy.”

“You are safe here,” said the other, voice still rough from sleep, “Take a breath. You’re okay.”

Heart hammering in their chest, they reached for some sort of clarity, reviewing what their hazy, unfocused mind could pull up on the two.

Codes: 390216XD000 and 390217.

Designations: … Unnecessary.

Reformatting parameters.

Names: Blanche and Noire.

Relationship: Siblings.

Threat Status: Suspended until further notice.

Memories came back in a rush as they recalled the events that had somehow led them to sharing a bed with the other two.

The gala for a charity they had been allowed to attend with the Go Program leaders.

The tux they had worn, shoes shiny and black.

(Leader Candela had been pleased.)

The lights, the sounds, the smells.

The way the others had danced and swayed to the music, dresses fluttering and shoes tapping against cold, polished marble.

The offer of a choice – which twin did they wish to go home with? – and their decision – both? – that had resulted in a hushed conversation done through hissed whispers and broad gestures until a consensus had been reached and the trio made for one of Noire’s safe houses.

Grisaille took a deep breath as they had been instructed, letting it out slowly as the twins settled back slightly.

Blanche reached over to their side table and grabbed their customary glass of water, helping them sit up and handing the glass to them. They stared down at the clear liquid dully for a moment, stomach churning from the memories that swirled years old but moments fresh in their mind, an action that prompted the younger twin to helpfully guide the glass to their lips.

Noire gently pressed their palm between their shoulder blades, rubbing their back in soothing circles.

They drank as much as they dared, a tight throat making the act alone that much more difficult. Eventually they handed the half-full glass back to their sibling, who frowned at how much water still remained. Grisaille blinked at them tiredly, weary in body with an electrified mind. Tired, but unable to find enough peace on their own to chase sleep.

Noire flopped back against the pillows and tugged the other two down soon after, pulling Grisaille against their side. They tangled their fingers in their short hair, stroking through it in a way that was distinctly soothing. Blanche settled along their back, a cool, comforting presence.

They exhaled slowly, listening to Noire’s heartbeat and feeling the echo of Blanche’s against their back. A thoughtful silence descended, each of the three content to listen to the others breathe. Then they reached back and caught one of Blanche’s hands, threading their fingers, pulling it forward to rest on Noire’s chest only to have the eldest place their own hand on top of the other two to form a stack.

Blanche let out a huff, breath tickling the back of Grisaille’s neck, but did not pull away. They felt more than saw the small, wry smirk on Noire’s lips through the gloom.

Another precious smile. Perhaps this one they could protect – they did not think they could pull the trigger a third time, no matter how much these two might beg for the release of death. Cipher always came to collect what belonged to it, always, no matter how cold the trail may be.

They must’ve reacted physically to their own thoughts for Blanche pressed closer to them, whispering some muffled, sleepy words into their shoulder. Noire also attempted to comfort them, lips pressing lightly against their bangs before they settled once more into the pillows. They began humming a soft, lilting melody, making Grisaille’s fingertips tingle where they rested against their chest.

Blanche slid back into slumber easily, though that was likely due in part to the dark circles that had smudged the skin under their eyes for many days. Noire’s song went on, uninterrupted, until it too faded.

Grisaille sighed and let sleep claim them, cocooned in the warmth of the Beast and its Claire.

Chapter Text

Team Cipher was a blight on the world.

A common sentiment, to be sure, but Syric believed he had more reason to ascribe to it than most. Especially since it had caused the people he cared about a lot of pain and anguish over the years – mentally and physically. Due to the organization’s meddling in human physiology, the twins required more monitoring than most people, and that, unfortunately, necessitated more blood work and testing than either was happy about. He tried to make the process less painful for the two, a practice he was now faced with repeating for their new little sibling.

Noire, of course, had insisted that he take them on as their physician, and Blanche had surprisingly agreed. There was a not-too-small swell of pride he felt at their trust.

Grisaille sat perfectly still on the examination table, hands folded on their lap. They didn’t seem overly terrified to be in the medical ward, as he’d been worried they would be, but there was a quiet air of expectant submission about them that he didn’t much care to see. He’d tried to soothe them by explaining exactly what he needed to do and why he needed to do it, and they had listened with picture perfect attentiveness.

Still, their eyes seemed distant as they rolled up their sleeve, the motion completely robotic and efficient. He frowned slightly, catching sight of all the scars that marred their arm, eye twitching at the overlapping set that covered the inside of their elbow.

Drawing blood would be tricky, but not impossible… he hoped.

“If you feel uncomfortable or want me to stop, just tell me, okay?” he said, speaking slowly in English at their request. Practice made perfect, after all. They’d also requested no one else be present in the room, which was a bit odd, but he was surprised to learn it was because they’d thought he would appreciate being able to work in peace. Perceptive little thing, and incredibly considerate. His affection for them grew with every passing encounter.

There was a common sentiment among the adults in their life that they were precious and had to be protected. In all honesty, he pitied any poor bastards that ever tried to hurt them – they’d be faced with the full might of four influential teams and their equally powerful leaders.

And that was only if he didn’t get to them first.

“It does not matter how I feel or what I desire,” Grisaille said softly, offering him their arm, “You will be able to take what you want regardless.”

Syric paused, frowning slightly as he carefully set the tourniquet back on the tray. “Why do you say that?”

The child shrugged. “You are a doctor,” they said as though that explained it all.

“Ah, but I’m nice!” he said, offering them a smile, “You even called me ‘good doctor’ before, remember? In the hospital?” Their silence spoke volumes. He sat back slightly, brows knitted as he studied them. A thought occurred and he continued slowly, dread making the blood in his veins chill, “Being ‘good’ doesn’t mean what it usually does, does it?”

Grisaille shook their head, arm dropping so their hands could fold over their lap once more.

Syric sighed, rubbing a hand down his face and stroking his beard, his eyes closing briefly. If ever another Cipher location was discovered in the region, he was going to throttle every operative he could get his hands on. Still, he was curious just what ‘good’ could mean, and not just so he could appreciate how they viewed him.

“If you don’t mind explaining it to me, I’d love to know what it does mean,” he said finally, tilting his head, “Will you help me understand?”

If there was anything the child shared with their siblings, it was a love of spreading knowledge. “Are you sure?” they asked politely.

“Yes,” he replied readily, “If you feel up to it?”

They nodded, but shifted uncomfortably. “May I have permission to speak in French? I am… not sure how to say some things in English.”

“Sure!”

Grisaille inhaled deeply and let the breath go slowly, eyes on the floor as they spoke. “There is a system to identify the type of scientists and doctors in the facility. It is not officially recognized, but every subject learns it from the others regardless. It is likely the true meanings have never been revealed, and that the scientists and doctors take them at face value as you do.” They paused, glancing up at him shyly. “Labels ‘good’, ‘kind’, and ‘honored’ indicate the different categories of the handlers.”

“Okay,” Syric said, nodding, also using French, “I’m with you so far.”                     

“The first label, ‘good’, means the handler acts according to their duty. They are efficient and take only what they need. It is rare that a ‘good’ handler doles out punishments, and when they do it is not out of malice but out of compliance with orders.” They inclined their head. “I believe the phrase is ‘nothing personal’.”

Syric shifted in his seat, crossing his legs so one of his calves was balanced on the other leg’s knee. He tried to keep his face open and accepting, but it was difficult with how tonelessly they had begun to speak.

Well, there was his answer. That they had given him such a label caused him a bit of discontent, but he couldn’t exactly hold it against them. He was still something of a stranger to them, after all, and they had very little reason to trust any of the adults in their life.

At least they didn’t think he’d hurt them… without orders.

“The second label, ‘kind’, means the handler displays certain weaknesses of character,” they continued, “These handlers attempt to console subjects when they are injured or have performed poorly and will be punished. Some even act beyond the limits of their station and will attempt to bond with the subjects.” Grisaille’s lips turned down slightly, eyes going dark.

“You don’t like ‘kind’ people?” Syric asked, unable to stop himself.

The reply came quickly. “They make promises they cannot keep and often attempt to offer some sort of solace or ‘hope’ to the subjects they come in contact with. But what is the point of offering such things to a subject when it only exists to serve? When its purpose is to be used?” They shook their head, voice trembling but flat. “Empty words hold no value to subjects. Only orders can be counted on to give direction, to give worth.”

“Grisaille-” he rasped, heart in his throat. It physically pained him to hear them speak so readily, with such conviction, about a value system that disregarded human life and autonomy.

The child started at his voice, shoulders raising to their ears as they cowered instinctively, and he silently cursed himself for asking about the subject in the first place. It was obviously effecting their psyche - they hadn’t flinched that badly around him in weeks.

“Doctor Syric?” they asked, unsure.

“You’re fine,” he assured them quickly, “Everything’s fine, just- Do you want to stop? You can, if you want. You have my permission to do so.”

Grisaille frowned again, a tiny crinkle appearing between their brows. “Am I explaining it poorly?”

“No, no, you’re doing great!” Syric paused to clear his throat, selfishly unwilling to admit his own unease. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with, you know, talking about it. It seems like a difficult topic.”

They were silent for a moment, considering his words. “It is difficult to speak about it,” they admitted finally, “But, if it would please you, I believe I can fulfill the entirety of your request for clarification. Is it not better to engage a difficult task once, than to return to it at a later point?”

“Not necessarily,” he replied, frowning when they seemed to shrink away from him.

“Oh,” they said simply, almost disheartened, and Syric resisted the urge to sigh. It was jarring to realize that someone so waifish and insecure could be connected (in the realest sense) to his bossy superior or their equally overbearing twin. One negative comment, even just a perceived one, was all it took to clam them up.

“It is okay, Gris, you can continue if you think you can. I don’t mind listening,” he said, offering them an encouraging smile when they chanced a glance at him, “All that’s left is ‘honored’, right?”

“Yes,” they said, shifting to sit straighter on the table, “The third and final label, ‘honored’, means the handler is very…” They paused, eyes flicking magenta so quickly he almost missed it. “I do not know how to describe it. They relish the pain and suffering they create. If there is a way to keep punishing or experimenting on a subject beyond the normal limit, they will find it. They will use whatever they can – a Punisher or knife or anything in between – to get what they want.”

Grisaille looked down at their hands and Syric followed their gaze, now familiar with all the small scars that littered the skin there, their knuckles pale and white from how fiercely they were clenching. They consciously relaxed their fists, the silver and pale pink marks continuing to stand out against their tan skin.

“Yes,” they continued softly, “They will use any means necessary. And every time, if you come back, something is missing, something is replaced with more… cold.” They fell silent after that and it took all of Syric’s willpower not to immediately tug them against him.

“Oh, little Gris,” he said, voice strained, “Can I touch you? Can I give you a hug?”

They nodded once and he reached out slowly, telegraphing each movement. The child leaned forward slightly, letting him pull them against his chest. He tucked their head under his chin, wrapping only one arm around them so as to not give the impression of trapping them.

After studying their charts for what seemed like ages, he was more than aware of all their scars, the sheer number of them giving him fits. Their torso was covered in several, from both precise instruments and Pokemon attacks, but there was a small section in between their shoulder blades that was mostly untouched. He rested his palm there, fingers splayed wide but relaxed against their back, offering what he hoped was comforting warmth and support.

The two of them stayed like that for a while, quiet and attempting to find some measure of peace.

Not for the first time Syric found he was absolutely livid at the Cipher operatives, the ones that had taken on the mantle of ‘doctor’ and proceeded to run the profession through the mud. Never mind that they worked for a criminal organization – he and his staff were living proof that one could do so and still maintain the statutes of preserving human life.

(There was no doubt in his mind the other children they’d rescued from that place bore similar attitudes, and he made a mental note to get in contact with some of the medical staff in he’d placed charge of the rest.)

He was conflicted as to how to proceed, as well, in helping them become more comfortable around him. How can you assure a child, whose outlook on life fluctuated between infantile and nihilistic, that you truly cared about them and wished them no harm? That you were there to support and care for them?

The task was made even harder now that he knew saying such things aloud would earn him a ‘kind’ label.

Grisaille shifted in his arms and he took that as his sign to let them go, sitting back on his stool and studying their face. They did not meet his eye and his heart sank slightly. “Are you alright?” he asked them softly, concerned.

They turned and reached suddenly at his tray, and he almost swatted at their hand only to be saved at the last minute by his own self-control. It wouldn’t be the first time a patient tried to stab him with a needle, after all, and his reflexes remembered the lesson well. “Ah, no, no! Don’t-” he cut himself off when they simply plucked up the tourniquet and turned back toward him, holding it out expectantly.

“You are a kind man, Doctor Syric, but you are also a good one,” they said, switching back to English, “Just like Professor Willow. I am sure you will take only what you need.”

Syric took the band from them, feeling sick when they smiled at him.

Chapter Text

The meeting had started off as planned.

They and Noire both had been strictly professional, much to their assistants’ surprise and relief. Mystic Labs and Rocket Industries had signed on as sponsors for a charity and thus had to meet and agree on how the finances were to be handled. Blanche doubted heavily that the heads of Team Rocket actually cared one way or the other – it was likely just another gambit to keep up the appearances of their ‘totally legitimate’ corporation in Opal City. Though, to be fair, the charity was to find homes for disabled, homeless Pokemon and they knew their twin would have a personal investment in that regard, at least.

Regardless, somehow the conversation had turned from costs to fund a program that dealt with rehabilitating injured Pokemon and finding them homes… to their new little ‘sibling’.

“I still can’t fucking believe Willow is just taking off and leaving Grisaille behind like this,” Noire snorted, leaning back into their seat, “What a shitty-ass guardian.” They squawked when Amelie swatted their legs and halted their attempt to prop them up on the table.

Blanche’s hand tightened around the stack of papers they were sorting, their lips pressing into a thin line as they stubbornly resisted the urge to glare at their twin. “It cannot be helped. The Council of Pokemon Professors only meets once every five years, and he missed the last one due to Candela being, well, Candela.” They paused to shuffle a few pages around. “Besides, it’s not as though he’s leaving forever - the meeting will only last one weekend.”

“A long weekend,” Noire argued, “Today’s Thursday and he’ll be gone through Sunday.”

“I don’t see how that matters.”

“Of course you don’t.” They waved off Blanche’s offended huff. “Couldn’t he have taken them with him?”

The stare they gave their twin was a flat one. “You would put Grisaille, the deeply traumatized child, in a room with scientists and professors from around the world that will undoubtedly have their most rare and powerful Pokemon on display for the majority of the time? Not to mention the event is highly publicized and crawling with enough scandal-hungry journalists to make Opal City’s news team look like a flock of tame Mareeps.”

“Oh, right. Guess taking them would be kind of out of the question,” they replied, sheepish for a moment before they sat up and leaned closer, “But still – what the fuck is up with you getting to take care of them, huh? I’m the eldest! I should get custody next!”

Blanche didn’t respond right away, the corners of their mouth tilting downward. Truthfully, they’d thought the same thing, but it wasn’t like they were going to let Noire of all people know that. Besides, the Professor had been insistent they were to take care of Grisaille in his absence and they hadn’t been able to think up a good enough excuse not to.

‘He likely wishes for you to bond with the fledgling,’ came a cool voice in their head, their shoulders tensing instinctively. As always, the Titan’s consciousness coming to the fore brought with it a sensation not unlike sticking one’s face into a snowbank, and they had to resist the urge to shiver. It was truly not something they could ever see themselves getting used to, and that alone continued to irk them more than anything.

‘That is likely his reason, yes,’ they acquiesced stiffly.

‘And your response?’ There was a noise in their head, something shifting, feathers sliding together and chiming like ice. ‘Will you bond with your new little sibling?’ It purred the last word, amused and intrigued by the swirl of emotions it forced out of its normally placid host.

After the shock had worn down at the child’s existence, Blanche found themselves increasingly preoccupied with what Grisaille was meant to be. ‘Sibling’ was the term Noire and everyone else used, but the word and all the associations surrounding it made something dark and ugly coil up in their chest, poison sliding through their veins that made them choke, rendering them unable to use it themselves in regards to the child.

Articuno proved to be no help, either, though the relationship it had with its own kin was hardly kosher.

‘Well?’

‘That is… none of your concern.’

There was another sound, two icicles clacking against one another, but Articuno did not reply and simply retreated to the back of their mind. They got the distinct impression that the ice bird disagreed with their sentiment but, unlike its siblings, it didn’t find their life or the intricacies of their social circles all that intriguing. Well, that, or it genuinely didn’t care.

They shook themselves out of their reprieve, both grateful and unsurprised to find that their twin had taken their silence in stride and filled the awkward lull with their own rambling white noise.

“-I mean, of all the people that asshole could’ve picked to take care of them, he chose you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Blanche snapped, scowling.

Noire waved a hand. “It means you can barely take care of yourself, you idiot! Even that Valor bitch can-”

“I can take care of myself perfectly fine, thank you,” they snapped, bristling further when the other simply scoffed. They ignored the look Amelie sent their assistant. “I’m am fully capable of looking after a small child for a few days, in addition to keeping on top of my work schedule.”

“Wait a minute,” Noire said, brows furrowed, “You’re planning on fucking working?!” They also glanced at Annie in disbelief, who shrugged helplessly and shook her head.

“I see no reason why their presence should impede my research,” Blanche said, shifting in their seat. It irritated them that Noire’s point so perfectly mirrored the comment their assistant had tossed at them earlier when she, too, had found out they planned on coming to the labs. “If they do not wish to join me, they are free to remain in my quarters.”

“Oh, fuck that!” Everyone jerked when the Rocket Executive jumped to their feet, arms crossed as they glared down at the Mystic Leader. “Grisaille is coming home with me!”

“I should think not,” Blanche replied, “The Professor planned-”

“To hell with that guy and all his fucking ‘plans’,” Noire gestured angrily, leaning forward and placing both hands on the table as though they might crawl upon it to make their case. “Why do you even care, huh? Just let them come home with me if you're going to be too busy for them!”

“No.”

“Yes, Blanche. It’s what’s best for our little sibling!”

There was that word again, used so earnestly. A shadowy, awful emotion speared their chest and they found their hands clenching on the documents they were holding.

Noire might avoid their past, glancing at the hurt that spanned between them only periodically, but Blanche stared into the rift and relived every single agonizing moment of it. There wasn’t a day that went by that their mind ceased in struggling to come to terms with the lost affection and closeness, the bond between them grown so tenuous over the years Blanche feared one day they would look and see nothing but severed strings.

They were a glutton for punishment, after all, and the pain they felt only served to remind them of the joy they had once had. The sweeter the height, the sourer the fall.

And now, there was a child between them – not able to bridge the gap, not quite, but bringing them closer than they had been in years. Yet often they were naught but an unwelcome distraction, a blight on the view that allowed Blanche to wallow in their agony. Sometimes they were grateful for them, for the reprieve, but mostly they fought not to indulge in the bitter annoyance that swelled every time Grisaille took over their thoughts of Noire. They wondered often if it was the same for their twin, one ‘sibling’ eclipsing the other, and the darkness settling between their ribs twisted every time they considered being supplanted by the child – even briefly.

“No.” The word was soft but filled with a quiet surety. “I will not suffer you to make the same mistake twice, Noire.”

“Huh? What the hell are you talking about?”

They rose to their feet, slamming their hands and the papers down on the table, expression twisting as they matched Noire’s hostile posture. “I won’t let you get close to someone only to watch you throw them away,” they spat, words harsh even to their own ears, gratified when their twin recoiled, “Nor will I allow myself to be replaced by something as cheap as a-”

“Blanche!” Annie exclaimed urgently, grabbing their arm. They jerked and glared over their shoulder at her, minutely aware that Noire’s assistant had gotten their twin’s attention in a similar manner, only to find her looking elsewhere. They followed her gaze and froze.

“Uh,” the Mystic Trainer said intelligently when he realized he’d been spotted, hovering in the doorway to the meeting room with large eyes.

“What?” Blanche snapped, “This is a private meeting.”

“Ah, right! S-Sorry. There’s, uh, a visitor for you, L-Leader Blanche.” He shifted slightly, obviously uncomfortable, and revealed the ‘visitor’ to be the child the two of them had been arguing over. They stood with their hands clasped in front of them and their head bowed, perfectly still save the slight trembling of their frame. A gray bag was slung over one shoulder, hanging awkwardly at their side.

“Grisaille,” Noire said, voice dropping into a soft, if a bit strained purr, “Hey there, kiddo.”

“Hello, Noire,” the child replied, giving a small nod. They paused, wringing their hands once or twice, before they continued uncertainly, “Hello, Blanche.”

“Hello,” Blanche replied automatically, wincing at the rigidity of their own voice. Their earlier ire had quickly fizzled out at the appearance of the child in question, though they had no doubt it would rear its ugly head again soon enough. They gestured for the young trainer to leave, fairly certain he wobbled in place before darting away.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room, spanning several seconds as everyone scrambled to find something fix the mood.

Annie, their naturally vivacious second-in-command, was predictably the first to recover. “So, Grisaille!” she said brightly, smiling at the child, her voice sounding unnaturally loud after the extended quiet. “Is that your overnight bag I see? Ready for an awesome weekend sleep-over?”

Grisaille tensed at being addressed before nodding sharply. “Yes, Assistant Annie, I am prepared.”

“Hey, Gris,” Noire said, walking over to them and dropping to a knee, their voice remaining softer than usual so as to not spook the child, a note of genuine affection slipping in, “I know you’re supposed to hang with Blanche, but do you wanna come spend the weekend with me and Amelie instead? We’ll have a hell of a lot more fun than you would here!”

“Language!” Blanche hissed reflexively.

“‘A hell of a lot more fun’?” The words were repeated slowly, confusion flickering across their face. They briefly looked up, glancing between the twins before returning their gaze to the ground. “Professor Willow said I am meant to be here.”

“Ah, but the Professor’s not in the city right now!” Noire said, grinning as they lifted a finger to tap the side of their own nose mischievously, “What that old coot doesn’t know won’t hurt him!”

Grisaille shifted again, lips pulling down slightly as they shook their head. “My orders are to spend the weekend in Blanche’s care.”

“Yeah, well, they’re stupid orders, so feel free to ignore them.”

“If you continue to pester my charge,” Blanche broke in, glaring at their twin, “I’ll have no choice but to call security on you.”

“Your ‘charge’? Don’t you mean your sibling?” Noire said incredulously, sneering when Blanche lifted their chin defiantly at them.

“I mean what I say – unlike some people.”

Disbelief flickered across Noire’s expression before they scowled. “And they call me the asshole!”

“Annie,” they snapped, not even bother to look at the woman, “Please call security to come escort Chief Noire and their assistant off the premises.”

“I can find the door on my own, thanks,” Noire replied, turning back to look at Grisaille, their voice smoothing once more as they addressed the child, “Hey. Your phone should have my number, right? Call me if you change your mind and want to come hang out. Or if you need anything. Or if you’re feeling lonely and just want to talk. Fuck it, I’ll call you periodically to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Boss,” Amelie huffed, “Please remember that you also have work to do this weekend.”

“But, Amelie!”

“Understood. I shall await your correspondence,” Grisaille said, regardless, meeting Noire’s eyes for a small moment before returning their gaze to the floor. As such, they didn’t see the victorious grin that appeared on Noire’s lips, nor the pained scowl that twitched on Blanche’s.

The two Rockets left after that, footsteps fading quickly and leaving the remaining trio in yet another awkward silence.

Blanche shook themselves and brushed past the child as they, too, exited, making a beeline for the next meeting room. Annie followed quickly on their heels after gathering the documents up from the table, her cheerful commentary at Grisaille making something between their shoulder blades itch.

A cold fury banked within them, rising up from the disgust and betrayal they’d felt at Noire’s blatant assurances. How much had been for the child’s benefit? How much had been a jab at the old wound between the two of them?

Even still, they beat back their anger, remaining cool, calm, and collected enough to make it through the rest of the next meeting without any problems. Well, no problems beyond the fact Grisaille’s very presence was enough to knock them off-kilter, even though they remained out in the hallway with Annie and all the other assistants.

They knew they should feel shame for the child having heard the earlier discussion, yet, in the same breath, they rationalized that if they’d been bothered by it, surely they would’ve made it known when they were arguably safest in Noire’s presence.

After a significantly less dramatic meeting with their department heads, Blanche worked in their office the rest of the day, giving Annie strict orders to not allow anyone to intrude upon their work. They’d originally wanted to run down to the pool level for a quick swim to clear their head, but Annie had reminded them that there were many Pokemon currently being trained in the pools. That point had been made with a very meaningful glance at the child that remained in their presence, and any argument Blanche had had died on their tongue.

Regardless, Grisaille worked quietly on one of the couches in their office, their fingers tapping and swiping across the screen of their tablet with impressive speed.

Apparently their ‘homework’ from the Professor was to try out a few math and science aptitude tests. It made sense, of course, as attempting to gauge their academic level had proven difficult. It was unlikely they would ever attend a school, but getting a diploma (or the equally-prestigious equivalent) was a rite of passage in the world. Willow had already informed the twins that their little sibling seemed to excel at math and science – a point of intrigue for at least one of the two – though their grasp of literature and the arts was predictably subpar.

The two worked in complete silence the entire afternoon, to the point Blanche had almost forgotten they were there when Annie knocked on the door and brought the two of them some dinner. They glanced at the small child, watching them nibble on a few steamed carrots.

Perhaps Grisaille realized Blanche’s anger was not meant to be taken personally? Or, did they dare to dream the child could find their betrayal justified? It was only logical, after all – why on earth should they be forced to care about a person they only just recently discovered to exist at the same level as the twin they’d known their entire life? Certainly, they still felt empathy for the child and all their suffering, but the desire to take all that pain unto themselves as they did with Noire was notably absent.

Annie fluttered around the room after dinner, reminding Blanche of the various reports that needed reviewing and giving a status update on important projects that were underway in the facility, as well as periodically fussing over Grisaille. It was obvious that she remained the most torn up over the argument between the twins, perhaps even more so than the two themselves.

“Okay!” Annie said, clapping her hands loud enough to make both Blanche and Grisaille jump, “I think it’s time we call it a day and start winding down.”

Blanche squinted at the clock on their monitor and frowned. “It’s not that late and I still have-” They cut themselves off when Annie suddenly leaned into their space, her pleasant smile promising nothing but death as she shut their laptop forcefully.

“You might be able to keep going,” she pointed out quietly, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “But some of us are about to drop.” She jerked her head in the direction of the couches meaningfully and Blanche reluctantly followed the motion to find the child staring at them, head drooping slightly despite their startled appearance.

“Oh,” they said simply, “I see.”

“I’m so glad you do!” she enthused, standing back at her full height, “We’ll make a proper big sibling out of you yet!”

Blanche wrinkled their nose at the title but rose from their chair regardless. They crossed the room to stand in front of the child, taking in their haggard appearance with a pang of guilt. Grisaille did not look them in the eye, having flinched when they approached and relocated their gaze to the floor, but they had no doubt they were aware of their presence.

“Let’s get ready for bed,” they said stiffly, bending to pick up their grey bag. It was lighter than they had estimated, though why they expected it to weigh more was beyond them. (No it wasn’t. They remembered how heavy their own bag used to be – stuffed with both their clothes and Noire’s.)

Annie shooed the two of them on their way, promising to check on them later.

Grisaille trotted after them, quiet even in the elevator up to Blanche’s quarters. They did look up when the elevator doors opened to reveal the large suite, lips parting and eyes widening in surprise. Blanche allowed themselves to feel a small amount of pleasure at the child’s stunned reaction. Their living quarters were nowhere near the level of opulence of Candela’s, but they were still rather impressive.

They allowed the child a few moments to gawk before gently nudging them forward. “It’s not going to swallow you, you know. All of my Pokemon know to stay in their balls, too, so you have nothing to fear in that regard.”

“Permission for an inane question?” they asked softly, eyes wide even as they stepped into the space. That quirk had yet to be smoothed out, though the Professor had apparently found it to only appear when they were confronted with particularly confounding or intriguing situations. What the child considered such things seemed random, however, so it was anyone’s guess.

“Granted,” Blanche replied.

“Why do you like blue?”

That question had not been one of the ones Blanche had prepared for. ‘Why do you have so much art of aquatic Pokemon?’ or ‘Why is there a giant beanbag in the corner covered in what looks like a mixture of scales and fur?’ or even ‘Why did you even think you could predict what I’d ask in the first place?’

“Oh, um,” they said, floundering for a moment before offering hesitantly, “It’s a nice color?”

Grisaille tilted their head, considering, before they nodded. “Understood,” they said simply, and Blanche had to resist the urge to sigh in relief.

“Come, the bedroom is this way,” they said, motioning with their bag toward one of the closed doors. Without the press of deadlines or projects to distract them, or even their neurotic self-reflection, their inherent social awkwardness was finally bubbling to the surface. What was the etiquette for new guests, again? “You, ah, may bathe first. If you’d like.”

They’d barely made it three steps before Grisaille once more asked, “Permission for another inane question?”

“Granted.”

“Does… Does the water run out?”

Blanche paused and blinked down at the child. “Pardon?”

“Does the water for the shower run out?” Grisaille fiddled with their right pointer finger awkwardly, not meeting Blanche’s eyes. “If so, I shall make sure to bathe quickly so you may enjoy the-”

“Ah, no!” they broke in, wincing when the child shied away from them. “I-I mean, that water doesn’t really run out. I mean, theoretically it could, but that would take filling the tub several thousands of times and even then the pumps would—Er, what I mean is, you can take as long as you like and I’ll still have enough. I was just offering you the chance to get clean first to, um, be polite?” Their fumbling explanation seemed to soothe them somewhat because they nodded and quit fiddling with their finger.

“Understood. I… will likely still bathe quickly. Is that acceptable?” Their insecure honesty was admittedly pretty precious.

Blanche nodded. “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

The two finally managed to make it to Blanche’s room without further odd questions or awkward excuses. Blanche showed the child how to use the shower and sink then returned to their room and flopped bonelessly on the bed. They rolled over after a minute to stare at the ceiling, sighing softly. “What have I gotten myself into?” they asked drily, answering themselves a beat later, “A mess, it seems.”

‘This is all because you cannot say ‘no’ to the old one, nor say ‘yes’ to your twin,’ Articuno supplied helpfully.

They grunted at that and pulled a pillow over their head, vainly attempting to squish the bird back into the depths of their mind. Part of being bound to an immortal elemental Legendary was expecting said Legendary to rise at any given moment and gleefully tell you some variation of ‘I told you so’.

Pointing out human flaws was apparently a favorite pastime when one lived arguably for forever.

A soft chime caught Blanche’s attention and drew from their ruminating, forcing them to lift their foam suppression and peer out into the darkness of their room. The chiming continued, now accompanied by a buzzing that reminded them of a remarkably small Beedrill they’d once encountered. Grumbling, they reached over and pawed at the sound, snatching the source from what apparently had been Grisaille’s bag.

They fumbled with what turned out to be the child’s phone and stared dumbfounded at the caller ID, old bitterness returning as they stared at their twin’s face. Were they actually keeping their promise to call? Tears stung Blanche’s eyes the longer they glared at the screen, fingers itching to deny the call. Instead, they let it continue to ring, breathing out a trembling breath when it finally stopped. They ached to hear what sort of message the other would leave for the child, but registered the water shutting off and tossed the phone back into their bag on reflex.

They checked the time. Huh, that was pretty fast.

Blanche took a long shower after Grisaille got out of the bathroom, luxuriating in the warmth. Articuno was, as always, incredibly pleased with the heat, which only intensified their own enjoyment of it. However, their thoughts tended to wander when in the shower, and that evening they chose to fixate on the child currently sitting in their bedroom – in particular, their mind struggled to comprehend the task that now lay before them for the next few days, bouncing around ways that everything could go wrong.

Perhaps they were fussier than the Professor had lead them to believe? Would the child require constant monitoring? What sort of entertainment were they meant to provide? Would Grisaille expect them to read a book for them before bed? Did they even own a book suitable for children?!

Needless to say, the shower turned out to far less soothing than they had hoped, their shoulders tense as they turned off the light and reentered their room.

Grisaille sat with their back to them, phone held up to their ear. “Mm, oui,” they murmured softly, “Bonne nuit, Noire.”

The sound of their twin’s name caught their heart in a vice, making them swallow harshly. “Time for bed,” they said simply, pulling back the covers and crawling under them. They felt a small bit guilty when the child started, but they ended the call and set their phone on the bedside table. Grisaille bid them good night quietly, a sentiment they returned, then curled up into a small ball at the edge of their side of the bed. They stared at the child for a few moments, perplexed and almost concerned, then mentally shrugged and moved on.

Blanche snagged their own phone off the charger and opened their email. A few of their interns had submitted a new experiment application and they were intrigued by the premise alone. Unfortunately, the handling of the actual proposal had been sloppily done and they clicked their tongue in annoyance. Honestly, they were tempted to put all of their staff through an intensive, mandatory seminar on how to properly cite datasheets.

Then came checking some of their personal messages. A few from the Professor – things were going well at the conference, it seemed. The time difference meant the first day was already underway and they had to fight the urge to request a constant update. Not that the man would have the time to indulge their request, of course, but they couldn’t help but want to know.

A few other messages had come from Spark and Candela. Spark, naturally, offered his services if they needed a babysitter for Grisaille, which would’ve been offensive if his message hadn’t read as being completely sincere. Candela, in the same vein, all but demanded to see the child at some point that weekend. They didn’t deign either leader’s correspondence worthy of a reply.

No messages from Noire. They tried to ignore the sting by opening their internet browser.

Time passed quickly while they pursued various points of interest on the web, and it was only after they received a ‘low battery’ warning that they realized how late the night had become. At least they were finally tired, to the point their eyes felt a bit like sandpaper. They yawned, barely remembering to reach over and set their phone back on its charger.

Grisaille had remained on their side of the bed, tucked up along the edge and only noticeable by the blanket rising and falling slightly from their quiet breaths. Blanche peered at them through the darkness for a few moments, fingers itching to tug them closer. They eventually huffed and turned over, facing away from their young charge.

The two slept awkwardly – not touching and on opposite sides – though perhaps it was Blanche’s inclination for nesting that made the distinct lack of it so jarring.

-/-

Blanche awoke to Annie gently shaking them.

“Come on,” she said, tugging on their blankets, “I know cuddling’s nice and all but we have a lot to get done today!”

“Wut?” they groaned, fighting consciousness, “No.” They spit out a few strands of short hair that had somehow ended up in their mouth, attempting to shake her hand off and coil around whatever the warm thing they were currently clinging to was. It wasn’t hot enough to be Candela, nor large enough to be Spark, and it smelled distinctly of their own shampoo-

Blanche’s eyes flew open and they stared down into the quietly startled eyes of their charge. “Oh.”

“Good morning, Blanche,” they said demurely, dropping their gaze.

“Good morning,” they replied, immediately removing themselves from around the child. They frowned when they realized they had been the one to roll over in the night, tucking themselves against Grisaille like some sort of heat-leech. They felt the need to apologize, given the child’s understandable aversion to touch, but Grisaille simply sat up and ran their fingers through their short hair, attempting to smooth out the fluffiness sleeping had granted their locks.

That… was admittedly very cute and Blanche found themselves staring, face still pressed into the pillow, memories tickling the back of their mind.

“Up!” Annie said, shaking their shoulder again and disrupting their somber recollection, “Up up up! Big day! Many things to do!” She half-dragged, half-carried Blanche out of bed and shoved them into their bathroom, their uniform being tossed in almost as an afterthought.

Blanche grumbled bitterly under their breath about over-eager assistants and the unfortunate decline of respect for superiors in the modern workforce. They began their morning routine on habit alone, barely conscious and wishing they were anything but. The cold water they splashed on their face perked them up somewhat, but not so much as the cup of coffee Annie held out for them the moment they exited the bathroom.

They normally preferred an energy drink, of course, but coffee served its purpose just as well. The caffeine helped jumpstart their brain enough to catch back up with their plans for the day, a fluttery sort of can-do energy seeping into their bloodstream that gave their outlook a brighter hue than the coveted backs of their eyelids.

That didn’t mean, however, that they’d finished processing how that day would be different than their previous week until Annie held open the elevator door long enough for Grisaille to slip in with them.

“Ah, right,” Blanche managed, swallowing the last of their coffee with a suddenly tight throat, “You’ll be shadowing us today, I take it?” They sighed when the child nodded meekly, eyeing the tablet clutched against their chest with a vague sort of interest. Seems they’d need to dip into their Crimson Tauros reserves early today, with how leaden their bones suddenly felt.

The first hour of work was far from difficult, but the task of paperwork suddenly had become a momentous undertaking that had them grumbling under their breath in mere minutes. Where had their focus from the previous day gone? They would ask Annie for assistance, but she was busy overseeing some new aquatic battling platforms being constructed in the pool area so they themselves could assess them in the afternoon. Not to mention their pride would hardly allow them to pull her away for something as menial as paperwork.

After about thirty minutes of futile struggling they glanced up to discover the thing that been distracting them. Their charge sat perfectly still on the couch, staring at nothing but the wall in front of them, their tablet resting on the cushion beside them. “Grisaille?” Blanche asked, slightly concerned, a frown tugging at the corners of their mouth, “Is everything alright?”

“I am unharmed,” was the automatic reply, the child turning toward them slightly but ducking their head. They reached over to lightly tap their tablet. The motion was jittery and almost self-conscious, and only served to make Blanche’s frown deepen. “I have finished my tests.”

“Ah,” they said, brows rising in surprise, “Very good. What were your scores?”

“I do not know,” Grisaille admitted, “There was a written portion that is still being reviewed.”

Blanche hummed, fumbling for something to say. Well, at least they knew that had been distracting them. They’d never been one to handle having nothing to do, and thus could not tolerate idleness in anyone else. “Did the Professor give you anything else to work on?” they asked, their small hope dashed against the rocks when the child shook their head.

“Professor Willow assigned only the tests,” they replied, shifting slightly in their seat, “The rest of my time is meant to be spent familiarizing myself with you and your work.”

“Me and my work, huh?” Blanche murmured, glancing down at the stack of paperwork that had been foiling their productivity all morning. No, no, they would not Grisaille help them with such a thing. Despite the child’s apparently high reading level, reports on Pokemon evolution and attack strength would bore them at best and terrify them at worst.

They sighed, running a hand through their bangs and undoubtedly messing them up. In truth, they were at a loss as to what could entertain the child yet not require too much attention or focus from themselves. The work to be done this weekend was not the kind that could be shoved off on someone else. (Well, it could, but once again their pride would not allow them to even entertain the thought.)

Guilt that had been eating at them since the meeting the day before suddenly came to the fore.

Blanche tried to ignore the sickening feeling by returning to their paperwork, attempting to bury it and possibly themselves so as to not have to dwell on the unpleasant emotion. But no solace could be found in the seemingly endless contracts and project proposals, and the tedium only offered their mind the freedom to wander.

Grisaille was just a child. No matter what conflicting opinions they had toward them, that was undeniable. As such, it was reprehensible that Blanche had not sought to comfort them more after overhearing their and Noire’s argument, nor had they attempted to engage them beyond the bare minimum required by two individuals occupying the same space.

Granted, they were very busy, and the child could likely see that they were very busy – but perhaps they thought Blanche was jumping into their work to avoid them? To ignore them? That was admittedly partially true, but they didn’t want them to know that. Or maybe they did? It was obvious they wouldn’t be fawning over the child any time soon, so perhaps it would be better to be direct about their more stoic personality traits.

No, no, that wasn’t right at all.

If anything, they wanted Grisaille to respect them and possibly even come to enjoy their company, and maybe one day Blanche would be able to return the sentiment. But how did one go about getting a child to favor you?

They suddenly recalled with perfect clarity the way their twin had interacted with them – the gentler tone, the offer of comfort, the soft expression. Jealously bubbled up, as well as a surprising amount of spite. Perhaps if they got the child to like them, to prefer them over Noire, then their twin would finally understand their struggle to adjust.

At present, however, the child sitting in their office doing nothing but turning oxygen into carbon dioxide was immensely irksome. Children often had an excess of energy, right? Perhaps the offer of some exercise could prove to be sufficient. Not that they would be able to supervise them themselves, of course, but Mystic Labs was sure to hold some form of entertainment.

They found themselves halting their paperwork to ponder the question, thinking of various activities only to have to shoot them down one by one. The practice did nothing but give them a headache. Wonderful. Perhaps the child would have a better time just figuring something out themselves.

Now that was an idea.

‘A bad idea,’ a cold voice chimed in, one that they immediately ignored. Their headache spiked from the bird’s annoyance, the subtle thrum of Articuno’s power rushing through their veins. They barely had enough time to release the paper they were holding before their palms were coated in a thin layer of frost. They grumbled under their breath, shaking their now numb hands as the Titan retreated once more.

“Grisaille,” Blanche said, quirking a brow when they jumped in their seat, “You seem disengaged. Why don’t you go find something to do?”

“Something to do?” they asked hesitantly, tilting their head.

“Yes,” Blanche replied, already looking back at their charts with a dismissive wave of their hand, “Something you could learn from and find enjoyable doing.”

Grisaille’s lips pulled down into a small frown and they worried their bottom lip with their teeth for a moment. “What,” they asked softly, “Would you recommend?”

“Ah,” Blanche said, mentally kicking themselves for assuming their charge – who was well known for their indecision – would be in any way able to come up with something themselves. “Preferably something you can do in the facility that won’t put yourself or others in danger. Go for a walk and explore or something?”

“Understood,” the child replied immediately, standing and making for the door.

Blanche made a small noise, somewhat pleased, as they glanced up to watch Grisaille exit their office. “Have fun,” they murmured, adjusting their glasses and squinting at what could possibly be the world’s smallest and least helpful legend ever used to chart the effects of water of varied salinity for aquatic evolution.

With the child’s entertainment now fully in their own hands, Blanche found they finally had the energy and focus necessary to complete their own assignment. And people said child rearing was difficult! It wasn’t until Annie arrived with their lunches that they realized they hadn’t seen their charge in hours. Well, after some rather pointed questions, that is.

“Where’s Grisaille?” she asked, looking around the room.

“Who?” Blanche mumbled, distracted, hand reaching out to grab a handful of whatever snack their assistant had put on their desk and direct it into their mouth. It was one of their favorites, bless her.

Tomatoes had always been a weakness for them and their twin; thus, cherry tomatoes were predictably one of the few healthy snacks they regularly found themselves craving. The sharp, zesty taste was addictive, the crisp crunch indicating their freshness, and they couldn’t help the happy hum they let out as a result.

“Grisaille,” she repeated impatiently, “Your little sibling? The one you’re supposed to be looking after?”

“Oh,” they said simply, waving her off dismissively before stealing another three tomatoes and popping them in their mouth, “They’re taking a walk around the facility.”

“Really? Unsupervised?” she pressed, nudging the small bowl of tomatoes away from their wandering hand and scooting their actual meal (a sandwich with a matching small bowl of soup) closer.

Blanche grunted and leaned toward her with an outstretched hand, following their treat over the sandwich and soup, eyes not even bothering to stray from the report they were reviewing. “They have plenty of supervision. Interns and trainers and such. If there was trouble, we’d know.”

“Blanche,” Annie said, voice strained as she picked up the bowl fully.

They blinked and finally looked up at her, perplexed for a brief moment before their mind managed to wrangle itself away from hypothetical evolution schematics and focus fully on the current conversation.

It took them exactly two seconds to realize what was causing her distress, and half that amount for their own panic to rise.

“Annie,” they said, standing swiftly with a sudden burst of anxious energy, proud of how steady their voice sounded despite the fact they were internally screaming bloody murder, “Please locate my charge.”

“Right away, Chief,” she said briskly, dropping the bowl on the desk and bringing her phone out of her pocket. A few little tomatoes bounced out and rolled around, but they could barely bring themselves to care. Horror and concern continued to build with the belated realization that they had, in fact, let a deeply traumatized child with unmeasured corruption abilities wander around their labs.

(The irony of them having scolded Noire the day before for assuming the Professor would be so reckless with the child was not lost on them.)

Memories of Noire’s own fledgling abilities when they had first been freed from Cipher swam in their mind and they had to swallow back an undignified noise of panic. Grisaille was unlikely to be as strong as their twin, given that they were only on the prismatic spectrum, but that also meant they had less control. Factoring in their general terror when it came to Pokemon and the fact such creatures often wandered the halls of their lab freely…

After a few tense minutes of listening to Annie’s side of a conversation, she sighed and sent them a relieved look. “They’re in the temperature-controlled holding areas on the 15^th floor-” She cut herself off when they immediately brushed passed her and headed for the door, their ‘Thank you’ barely audible. Despite scrambling to follow, they’d disappeared by the time she managed to make it to the door.

(It took Annie exactly 0.3 seconds to realize Blanche had escaped without eating more than a handful of tomatoes and she swore that she was going to strangle them with their own ponytail.)

The elevator ride was the longest in Blanche’s life, panicky visions of the potential chaos that awaited them dancing in their mind. When the doors finally opened, however, they found the floor to be… completely normal. No fire, no blaring alarms, no magenta-eyed Pokemon banging down doors and chasing screaming interns.

Said interns were working quietly at their stations, though a few did look up as they entered and jump in surprise. One approached them, a large smile on his face.

“Leader Blanche!” he exclaimed, “To what do we owe the honor of your visit? Come to inspect our progress?”

“No, not today,” they replied, glancing at the slightly crooked nametag pinned to his lab coat, “Senior Researcher Tim.”

The man nodded amicably, glasses nearly slipping from his nose. Now that they knew his name and title, they vaguely remembered interviewing him for the position a few months prior. A bit of a dunce when it came to interactions with people, his internationally-renown research on the Oddish evolution line made him indispensable. Though why he would be stationed in the temperature controlled area gave them reason to pause.

“What was your current project, again?” they asked, unable to help their curiosity.

“Oh! Here, lemme show you!” Tim fumbled, reaching into one of his pockets for a slim notebook. Handwritten notes in this day and age? What was he, a relic? There were hundreds of terminals on every floor and twice that amount of assigned tablets that were directly linked to Mystic’s server in order to minimalize loss and enable automatic progress reports. Even still, they found themselves peering at the lined paper curiously, humming at the diagrams with genuine consideration.

“Interesting concept,” they mumbled, reaching out to take the notebook so they could flip through the pages, “And you intend to use—Wait. You’re distracting me.” They shut the notebook quickly and shoved it back into the hands of its owner.

“I’m… sorry?” he said, pushing up his glasses nervously as he looked between them and his research.

They waved him off, looking around the space. Some of the other interns has been peering over at them curiously and immediately ducked their heads when they noticed they were being surveyed. Not that Blanche was actively seeking to call them out for snooping, of course.

“Can I help you with something, Leader?” Tim offered hesitantly.

Blanche paused in their search, weighing their options, then huffed. “I was told my charge was here,” they informed him bluntly, words clipped, “I need to retrieve them for… lunch.”

“Your charge?” he asked, brows furrowing briefly before they lifted high on his forehead as his lips split into his (presumed) usual grin, “Ah, you mean the little youngin’ that came through a while back. I thought they looked an awful lot like you! What was their name – Griselda? Grissom?”

“Grisaille,” they said, irritated when the man simply snapped and pointed at them. The action reminded them of a certain blond, only it was 10x creepier when done by a man that could be twice their age.

“Yeah, that’s the one!” he said cheerfully, “Wondered in here a while ago, all shy and timid. Got spooked by Helen’s Marill throwing a fit, but not too bad. Kind of funny, though, considering they just about tried to climb the wall!” He chuckled in a good humored way that was directly opposite the spike of concern that shot through them.

“Where are they now?” they pressed.

Tim shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “Dunno. I think the last I saw of ‘em was when Diego and Emily offered to let them help out in Tank C. That’s the one holding the Jynxes and Smoochums we got from Instinct last week- Hey, where’re you going?”

“Thank you for your assistance,” they said primly, slipping around the corner as they left the main lab, heading swiftly for the mentioned area. Part of their haste was due to finally being able to locate the child, with the rest still being for the Pokemon that might suffer from the child’s presence.

This floor was laid out in much the same manner as the others in the building – a large main lobby of workstations where researchers could work communally on projects, some of which were clustered together behind glass and steel barriers for safety. There were also smaller, individual rooms were specific experiments could take place. What made this floor different was the fact that such rooms also had advanced temperature controls to allow for maximum cold and heat conditions. It would be too dangerous (and costly) to maintain such rooms on each of the floors, but there was hope for renovations on a few of the other levels in the future.

That said, calling them ‘tanks’ was an absurd misnomer. They would need to speak with Annie on the matter to find a more proper title for them.

Blanche scanned the hall for their target, their pace increasing when they finally spotted it. A red light near the handle meant the room was in use, but a quick swipe of their identification card undid any locks and allowed them to enter. The door opened with an audible hiss, cold air making the hair on the back of their neck stand up. They once again steeled themselves for the worst, only to have their anxious expectations be for naught for a second time.

There were two researchers, a man and woman (whose names they had already forgotten), in the room, standing at a counter with three Jynxes perched atop it. Taking measurements and assessing health, not doubt. Two other Jynxes were also present, though they stood off at a distance and swayed, snow and ice fluttering from their forms in a hypnotic display. They were dancing, Blanche realized, for the entertainment of others.

They spotted their charge sitting in front of the two dancers, perfectly still and surprisingly calm. A whole cluster of Smoochums sat around them, riveted by the Jynxes’ display. Some swayed along, using their little arms to mimic the movements with minimal success. One tried to climb into the child’s lap, Grisaille’s expression twitching slightly in discomfort, but one of the other Pokemon tugged it away and chittered at it chastisingly.

The group froze, however, when Blanche spoke up. “What is going on here?”

“L-Leader Blanche!” the woman squeaked, nearly dropping her tablet, “Oh, we were, um–” She looked at her companion for assistance, but he seemed just at a loss for words as her. He did, however, manage to give them his own tablet when they held out their hand for it.

They read the data quickly, a frown forming on their lips. “These Jynxes were meant to be transferred back to the Sanctuary two days ago. Why are they still here?”

“Ah, well, that’s because,” stammered the man, “The little ones are suffering a bit from separation anxiety. They get all panicky when they can’t see their moms for even a minute so, uh, you know. We didn’t want to stress them out too bad…” He trailed off awkwardly, unable to meet their eyes.

“We got permission to extend their housing,” his partner chimed in, shrinking back slightly when they turned their gaze back to her, “Um, the paperwork’s all there. Mr. Go signed off on it himself!”

Blanche hummed, glancing back down at the tablet. They used a finger to scroll through a few of the other documents, frown deepening as they read the study proposal. “You wish to chart the effects of trainer handling on learned movesets? That would require a control batch for observation.”

“That’s right!” the woman said, gesturing excitedly, “We have one already, so these are going to be our first test group. They’re to receive minimal interaction and-”

“‘Minimal interaction’?” they said scornfully, shaking their head, “Well, you’ve already gone and ruined that, haven’t you? Congratulations on wasting precious time and resources.”

“Sorry?” the man asked.

They gestured to where the Smoochums were clustered around Grisaille, pressing up against them in a protective, possessive huddle. The child seemed uncomfortable at the attention, shifting slightly, and Blanche could only scoff when the group shifted with them. “Baby Pokemon are extremely susceptible to bonding, even just moments after meeting. Every child in the region knows that. You two interacting with this group would be easy to write off as you are heading this project and thus would be considered a constant. The child, however, is not, and thus you have ruined your chances for uniform experiences.”

The two researched gaped at them in shock for a moment, shocked and dismayed as the realization struck them. “We, uh, could have them meet all the other groups, too?” the woman offered after a moment.

“You will do no such thing,” Blanche replied, words sharp enough to make the other two flinch, “It is absurd that you would even think that was viable option.”

“Well, what would you recommend we do, Leader Blanche?” the man tried, wincing at the look they gave him.

“If I had to solve every single idiotic failure of an experiment, I would never have any time for my own research,” they said coldly, glaring at the two. Honestly, the recruitment office would be hearing of their displeasure soon enough. It seemed more and more imbeciles were getting put on their staff recently, and Blanche didn’t much care for the downward spiral. Still, it wasn’t the Smoochums’ fault they’d been placed in the care of people so grievously incompetent.

They grunted impatiently. “Speak to your floor manager and see if these Pokemon can be used for other projects. Then put in a request for another clutch with Instinct. It’s the right season for them to breed, so you might get lucky.”

“Right away, Leader,” the two chimed, looking far too hopeful.

“You will need to file a report for misuse of funding and Pokemon,” they said sharply, “And for the reckless endangerment of a child. Jynxes can be extremely volatile even at the best of times, and a group of nesting mothers is hardly the safest group to expose them to. If anything had happened, it would’ve been on you.”

(Never mind that it was the Pokemon that had been in the most danger.)

“O-Of course, Leader,” the woman stammered, she and her partner having gone pale at the implication, “We’ll file it right away!”

“See that you do,” they said briskly, turning toward the group, “As for you-” They cut themselves off, blinking down at the child that now stood nearby. When had they moved? Their hands were clasped in front of them, head bowed to the point their chin almost touched their chest with their shoulders hunched up to their ears.

“I have… ruined something?” they asked quietly.

“You have,” they replied honestly, “This experiment is nearly beyond saving due to your presence.”

“That’s-” the woman protested, cut off almost immediately by a combination of her partner putting a hand on her shoulder and Blanche sending her a glare cold enough to freeze an active volcano.

Grisaille nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “Understood.”

Blanche opened their mouth to continue, wishing to impress upon them the fact that safety regulations were meant to keep one safe, only to pause when one of the Smoochums began chittering at them. Its voice was high and squeaky, almost annoying in pitch, but had the basic melodious quality of its species.

Though they couldn’t speak the Pokemon dialect themselves, they understood the sentiment and was almost amused by the fact that it seemed to be chewing them out. Articuno, on the other hand, was proficient in the language and was immensely annoyed. There was no doubt it was the tell-tale glint of poisonous blue that entered their eyes at the Titan’s foul mood that made the small thing squeak in fear and scramble back. One of the Jynxes danced over, cooing at the little ones and tugging them close.

‘That was unnecessary,’ Blanche thought, a small stab of guilt passing through them from how the mother Pokemon glared at them while her brood cowered behind her.

‘It was very necessary,’ the bird replied, rustling in their mind. They could sense its overall irritation running parallel to their own – this entire endeavor had done nothing but foul up their mood. Neither they nor their Titan liked having their time and energy wasted, nor did they have much patience for being lectured by their lessers.

Sniffing primly, they handed the man back his tablet. “Come, Grisaille,” they said stiffly, addressing their charge without looking at them, “It’s time for lunch.”

“Yes, Leader Blanche,” Grisaille said softly.

They frowned slightly as they turned on their heel away from the researchers, perturbed. The child had never used their title before and the sudden addition made them incredibly uneasy for some reason. They shrugged mentally and strode out of the chamber, a twinge of something running through them when they heard small footsteps trail behind them.

The elevator ride back to their office felt suffocating, but it gave them some time for their irritation to fizzle out somewhat. It also allowed for a thought to occur to them. “Grisaille,” they said, turning toward their charge, “You didn’t use your powers on those Pokemon, did you?”

“No, I did not,” they replied, staring down at the floor.

Blanche hummed, eyes narrowing as they studied them. Surely they would exhibit the same signs as Noire if they had used their abilities – and likely to a larger, more debilitating degree – but there was a niggling sense of dread that they couldn’t seem to shake. According to the Professor, the child continued to act skittish around Pokemon – to the point of terror in most cases. He’d cautioned them about not forcing them to engage with any, as they had been conditioned to respond to perceived aggression from Pokemon by using their abilities.

They actions against the Chansey in the hospital were proof enough of that. Part of their reaction could’ve been disorientation – understandable, given their situation – yet that did not explain everything and Blanche was loathe to brush aside such a detrimental question of the child’s reality.

So why hadn’t they used their abilities on the Jynxes or Smoochums? Or the Marill that had apparently spooked them to the point of trying to, as Tim had put it, ‘climb the wall’. It just wasn’t adding up. Cipher would’ve trained them to react aggressively towards ALL Pokemon, and Grisaille themselves had admitted to using their abilities almost constantly in the past. There was plenty of documentation for it, too.

The child was an interesting conundrum, to say the least, but at present they didn’t have the luxury of wondering why they acted the way they did, and could only respond based on the damage they might inflict.

Speaking of which-

“Did you use them on any Pokemon in the labs during your walk?” Blanche asked, a sharp note of worry entering their tone despite their best efforts to remain neutral.

Grisaille immediately shook their head. “I avoided the Puni- Pokemon as best I could so I would not have to,” the child responded, seeming to shrink away from them for their intense gaze.

‘They react like prey,’ Articuno thought, perturbed, ‘Not like the predator you’d expect.’

‘Dangerous prey,’ Blanche reminded it irritably, bringing up all the times it had felt Noire’s abilities.

The bird hissed and recoiled, icy anger stabbing their temple and making their head throb. ‘Do not think I am unaware of their nature,’ it snapped, its fury and indignation a frozen hurricane in their mind, ‘Forgive me for attempting to go about it the human way and not let that singular flaw color my entire judgement!'

'That is foolish and pointless,' they replied, 'People are what they are and cannot change that.'

They could feel the Titan's anger ramp up even further before it spoke, its words making their very skin crawl. 'For one who is so concerned over their own individuality, you seem keen to forget it in others.’

They couldn’t help but wince, lips twitching the only indication of the snarl they wanted to make. Leave it to Articuno to find their sore spot and press down. But the Titan retreated before they could respond, lessening the presence of its consciousness to the barest tendril of awareness. ‘Likely retreating to unruffle its feathers’, they thought spitefully, though the fitting imagery did nothing to soothe their aching head.

They realized, of course, that it had been wrong of them to bring up the situations at all. It was horrifyingly easy to recall just how it had felt – the terrible, oozing sort of feeling sliding through them, humming like an electric poison made of knives, each shard stabbing them and attempting to rip some piece of them out – and wondered, not for the first time and surely not the last, what it was like on the other side. Still, the realization left them feeling guilty and out of sorts.

Articuno would get an apology some time later, they supposed, if it even wanted one. They simply didn’t have time now to stew on the matter – not when the child standing next to them seemed so… fidgety. “What is it?” they asked, glancing over to them. Perhaps they needed to use the restroom?

They wrung their hands fretfully for a moment. “Was I… meant to engage them? The Pokemon?”

“No!” they replied quickly, scowling when Grisaille recoiled and attempting to continue in a softer tone, “No, that’s- You should continue to practice restraint.”

“Understood.”

Blanche was saved having to continue the painfully awkward conversation by the doors sliding open. That’s about when their luck ran out, however, as their assistant was waiting for them. One look at the expression on her face had them biting back a sigh.

“What?” they asked tonelessly.

“There’s been a last minute shift in your afternoon schedule,” she said, entering the elevator and handing them a wrapped package with what turned out to be the sandwich from their ignored lunch, “One of the shipments arrived sooner than expected and we’re meant to head to the docks to evaluate the stock.” She paused to hand another wrapped sandwich to their charge, smiling sweetly at them when they thanked her softly and took it, before pressing the button that would take them down to the garage level.

“Which shipment?” they mumbled around the bread and meat. The sandwich was delicious on its own, but it definitely would’ve tasted better with the intended soup. They fought back the urge to be annoyed at the missed opportunity. “The one from Hoenn?”

“Yup!” she chirped, “It’s surprising they got here so fast, given the recent rough seas in the region. Oh, and Professor Birch apparently sent one of his assistants to personally handle the move, so be prepared to play nice.”

“Wonderful,” they said, licking a smear of mayonnaise off their thumb glumly, “I don’t suppose Candela or Spark could be bothered to handle it?”

Annie made a face before shaking her head. “No, those two have their own problems, apparently.”

“Oh?”

“The herd of Tauros Carl’s cousin brought up from Kanto got spooked by something on the Sanctuary and it caused a stampede. They’re all working on calming down the Pokemon and doing damage control.” She waved a hand and they winced in sympathy. Stampedes were an awful mess. Dealing with another Professor’s uppity assistant was child’s play in comparison.

“I see,” Blanche said, balling up the wrapping from their finished sandwich. They paused, a phrase pinging around in their mind, and it took them a moment to identify what it was. “Wait, Carl has a cousin that works with Tauros?”

“Oh, shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say anything about that,” Annie exclaimed, looking sheepish, “Beauregard’s kind of the red-headed stepchild in their family. They don’t really like to acknowledge him all that much because, well, he’s opted to be a dusty rancher instead of falling into the family businesses. And you know how a family of old-money socialites can be.”

“Not personally, no. You seem to have me confused with Candela.”

Their assistant winced. “Right. Well, he’s a good guy, according to Carl – though, I’m pretty sure Carl’s the only one that still claims him as a relation.”

Blanche made a noise, entirely neutral on the subject, and held out their hand expectantly. Annie sighed and handed them a Crimson Tauros.

“Will the stampede interfere with my meeting this evening?” they inquired, opening the can.

“You mean your date?” she said slyly.

“Meeting,” they insisted.

Annie snorted, a large grin on her lips as she rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Fine, your meeting still has the green light,” she replied, “Carl’s already called to confirm the reservation Leader Candela made – Chu Warren at 8. Semi-formal dress code, so I had your suit sent off for dry cleaning.” She paused, biting her lip. “Though, um, I should probably tell you she’s made an additional request.”

“By ‘request’ you mean ‘demand’,” they said drily, sighing and taking a sip from their drink, “What is it?”

“Them,” Annie said, gesturing to their charge. The child froze, both hands holding their half-eaten sandwich to their mouth, eyes going wide when they realized both adults were staring at them. There was a small fleck of mustard on their cheek and Blanche had to resist the urge to wipe it off.

“What about them?” Blanche asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Their assistant’s eyes glittered, and they got a sinking feeling in their gut. “Leader Candela insists that you bring Grisaille along ‘as a show of good faith’ – her words, not mine.”

“Absolutely not,” they snapped, scowling when she raised a brow at them.

“And why not?” she asked, “It’ll simplify everything!” The elevator doors opened and their group shuffled out, making for the car that was already waiting for them. Blanche grunted a testy ‘Thank you’ at the attendant when he opened the door for them, ducking down and sliding in with a huff.

“How exactly does Candela making demands simplify my life, Annie?” they asked, eyeing the child as they slid in next. Grisaille gave them a wide berth, buckling their seatbelt and resting their hands on their lap. There was still a smear of mustard on their cheek and Blanche finally broke and wiped it off. They jumped at their touch, glancing over at them with wide eyes before returning their gaze to their lap.

It was such a brief encounter, so it may have just been their imagination, but it almost seemed like the child leaned into their fingers. A strange emotion welled within them but they said nothing.

“Well,” Annie said as she slid in and motioned toward the front for the driver to move out, “What exactly had you had in mind for Grisaille to eat tonight? And who was going to watch them?”

“I-” they began, frowning slightly, “I had thought you were available.”

(No, they hadn’t. They hadn’t thought anything.)

“I am decidedly not,” she replied primly, “I told you three weeks ago that Go was taking me out tonight to celebrate the end of this quarter. It’s been in the drive’s calendar for at least a week.” She exhaled noisily at their blank expression, rolling her eyes. “Honestly, why do I even bother putting things on there? Do you even check it?”

“That’s what I pay you for,” they grumbled. They vaguely remembered Spark’s babysitting offer from the night before, but immediately shook their head. Blanche barely trusted themselves to take care of the child and while the blonde was notoriously good with hatchlings, they could only imagine the trauma his natural enthusiasm and lack of tact would cause the child in question.

“Fine, I’ll take Grisaille to the meeting. Candela will be thrilled, I’m sure.”

Annie looked equally thrilled, and they tried not to let that bother them.

They took back their earlier sentiments about the ease of childrearing – there was an annoying amount of scheduling and planning involved. And compromises, apparently. They bit back a groan at the realization that they would need to make similar revisions to their schedule for at least the next two days and attempt to make some sort of effort to account for Grisaille’s attendance.

Blanche glanced at the child sitting beside them, saying drily, “I don’t suppose the Professor thought to tell you to pack a suit, did he?” The startled, Rowletish expression they received in reply spoke volumes and they finally allowed themselves the luxury to sigh.

Truly, this endeavor was looking to be more cumbersome by the minute.

-/-

Several hours, one consultation with a really, really obnoxious regional counterpart, and quick trip to the nearest fashionable boutique later saw the two of them sitting across from the vivacious Valor leader.

Candela always dressed to impress, but that evening she’d apparently gone one step further. Her hair was swept to one side, pinned with a gold rose that was covered in red stones (rubies or garnets – they could never really be sure with her and the dim lighting wasn’t helping matters) with a matching necklace and bracelet. Her dress was definitely from her own collection: a dark crimson affair with a plunging neckline with gold and orange panels sewn into the skirt that made the silk shimmer like dancing flames with every step.

Blanche and Grisaille, both wearing suits (the child’s being a slate grey with a matching bowtie while theirs was their customary blue set), seemed entirely underwhelming by comparison. Not that Blanche ever really cared to try and match her in terms of fashion. It was a silly, subjective waste of time and resources in their mind.

Even still, they didn’t enjoy the thought of being outclassed one bit.

“So,” Candela cooed, her smile showing too many teeth, one hand swirling her wine as she studied the duo, “How have things been?”

“Fine,” they replied, the word clipped.

Candela pouted at them but, when she realized her looks continued to be ineffective against them, turned her attention to their young charge. “Grisaille, you look fantastic!” she enthused, voice sweetening, “That bowtie is just adorable.”

“Thank you, Leader Candela,” they replied demurely, glancing up at her from the tablecloth in front of them as they obviously fumbled for a return compliment, “Your dress is… very shiny.” They immediately directed their gaze back down, shifting uncomfortably.

“Aw, thank you darling. It’s one of my favorites,” she replied, obviously pleased with their attempt at good manners. She leaned forward, using the fingers of one hand to lightly tap the table in the child’s direction to get their attention. “Do you enjoy wearing suits? I know a few local designers – we could see about getting a couple tailored for you, if you’d like?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Blanche replied, not even bothering to look up from the menu, “Grisaille is a growing child. Getting a suit tailored that they will grow out of in a matter of months would be foolish.”

“Yes, but they could be much more stylish now if-”

“Candela,” they said, glaring at her, “Fashion is hardly the reason why we’re meeting. Nor is my young charge. If those two things continue to distract you, I see no reason for my continued presence.” She returned their glare, and the tension of the room ranked up by several degrees. There was a brief lull in the general chatter as a few of the other patrons sitting nearby paused in their conversing, some of them glancing over at the trio’s table before returning to their own meals.

“It’s alright, Leader Candela,” Grisaille said suddenly, “Leader Blanche is just thinking logically.”

The Valor Leader studied the child for a moment, face uncharacteristically blank. “Just thinking logically, huh?” she murmured, closing her eyes briefly with a scoff before turning her gaze back to the other silver-hair person at her table, “Alright, darling. We’ll play it your way – strictly business.”

“Thank you,” they said primly.

“-to start.”

Blanche scowled at her, but just as her pouting was unsuccessful against them, their annoyance was equally useless against her. If anything, she seemed to find the expression amusing.

Regardless, they were able to get through their actual meeting without much fuss after that. They discussed recent gym takeovers and other teams’ standings, as well as dealing with the activities of certain other organizations with a penchant for stealing Pokemon and uttering annoying mottos.

In truth, this ‘meeting’ was more a chance to catch up on how the other person and their team was doing in a less formal setting. It was a ritual they’d established long ago, back when they were both simple assistants with no teams to speak of. Fashion just so happened to be one of the few topics that had been banned due to Candela’s notorious ability to chatter on about it for literal hours if given the chance – a censorship she gleefully tested whenever given the chance.

Dinner was served as they conversed, and by the time they’d taken their last bites, the official business had been taken care of and all that was left was smalltalk. Blanche disliked smalltalk on the principle that they had never been very good at it, but as with many things, Candela took that in stride.

She even went so far as to start drawing their young charge into the discussion.

Grisaille seemed startled by her attention, shy and mostly monosyllabic with their replies. Time and gentle coaxing, however, saw them answering Candela’s questions earnestly. They remained demure and only spoke when spoken to (as was their way) but there was almost a sparkle to their eyes that Blanche had not seen the entire time they had been in their presence.

Blanche watched the two interacting, Candela smiling affectionately at the child as they attempted to cut up the last of their small steak, and something in their chest twisted.

She was just practicing good etiquette, they knew, and it was a fantastic opportunity for the child to work on their socialization. But something about having the woman they grudgingly considered their best friend split her attention irked them. They hadn’t been aware how accustomed they’d become to having her full consideration until she diverted some of it away from them.

Their discomfort skyrocketed, however, at the discussion that was had over desert.

“Oh, darling,” Candela said, smiling at the child fondly, “This cake is divine. You have good taste!”

“Thank you, Leader Candela, but I just looked at the pictures,” Grisaille replied, ducking their head shyly, “And this one looked like something you would enjoy.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Um…”

Blanche studied the thick slice in front of them, snorting derisively. “It’s a dark chocolate cake with cherry drizzle and gold flake garnish – the most extravagant and expensive desert on the menu,” they intoned drily, “Of course it looks like something you’d enjoy.” She stuck her tongue out at them for their sass, a childish reaction they refused to dignify with a response.

They nodded to the child regardless, pleased with their observational skills even if they did not admit it.

Candela huffed, taking another bite of her treat before turning her attention back to their silent charge. “Are there any deserts or treats you like, Grisaille? I know this quaint little bakery on 5^th Street that makes the best macarons.”

“Macarons?” they echoed, glancing up at her, “I have heard of those. They are the, um, colorful little sweet sandwiches, yes?”

“That is the most precious way I’ve ever heard someone describe them,” she cooed, propping her chin up with a hand as she grinned at them. Blanche secretly agreed with the statement, lips twitching slightly in a half-smile that they hid behind their glass as they took a drink. “But, yes. Have you had any?”

“No, Leader Candela, I have not,” Grisaille replied, fiddling with their fork, “Noire has indicated they wish to make some when I am allowed to visit.”

“When did they tell you this?” Blanche asked, frowning as they lowered their glass. The child hadn’t been out of their sight - barring the incident this morning, of course. When could their twin have contacted them?

“This morning,” they said, shifting slightly in their seat, “It was one of the 17 text messages they sent me during the night. I did my best to respond to each before we left your living quarters, but have not had the chance to check and see if they have replied.”

“That matters little.” They huffed out a dispassionate breath, something bitter twisting in their chest. “I assume they mean for it to be a teaching moment?”

The scenario rose to their mind easily: Noire fluttering around the kitchen and barking out quick orders, hovering over the child as they attempted to meet the older twin’s expectations. There wouldn’t be any customary bickering (or burning, for that matter) and the pastries would likely come out just fine. The two would exchange a smile, Noire’s large and obnoxiously proud while Grisaille’s was small and hesitant, a bit of batter smudged on their cheek like the mustard from their lunch. They’d eat the treats together and then-

Then Noire would laugh, putting a gentle hand on the child’s head and ruffling their hair affectionately. “Wow, Grisaille!” they’d say, a fond twinkle in their eye, lips pulled back to reveal a grin that was a tad too toothy, “You’re so much better at this than-”

“I do not know,” was the actual reply, jerking Blanche from their sulking. It did nothing to loosen the knot in their throat, however.

Candela had watched the exchange with gleaming eyes, her gaze resting heavily on her friend for a moment before she turned her attention back to the child. “That’s very…” she inhaled deeply and it took all of Blanche’s willpower not to snort at the look of obvious distaste the crossed her expression, “Sweet of Noire to offer. Do you know what kind of macarons they’ll try and make? I can get you some from the bakery so you can compare the two.”

Grisaille’s brow furrowed, a tiny frown appearing on their face. “I’m sorry, Leader Candela, I do not remember the name.” They paused, obviously uneasy. “I believe it will contain a nut of some sort. A green one?”

Blanche went very still.

“A green nut? Oh, pistachio!” she said, nodding to them, “A good choice. I think that’s one of you favorites, right Blanche?”

“Yes, it is,” their words were clipped, cold, and they took a drink to try and clear the tightness that continued to persist in their throat. Betrayal made their beverage taste bitter.

“It is your favorite?” Grisaille asked, looking over at them. They bit their lip, then offered, “I could ask if Noire would let me save some for you? They would be special, I assume, coming from-” They flinched badly when Blanche suddenly set their glass down harder than necessary, the sound of china clacking on polished wood ringing out.

“That is unnecessary. I can get my own.” They stood, unable to remain seated for a moment longer. “If you’re quite finished, I believe we can consider this meeting adjourned. I have work to do and Grisaille needs to get ready for bed.”

“But you haven’t even touched your desert!” Candela protested.

The look they gave the cake still sitting on their plate should’ve spoiled it instantly. “I’m not hungry,” they replied simply, turning on their heel. They were unsurprised that the child had jumped up the moment they had stood, though Grisaille paused long enough to thank Candela for the meal before scurrying after them. Something about that irritated them, but they couldn’t be sure what.

A car was already waiting for them by the time they made it outside the restaurant, but Blanche couldn’t even bring themselves to be grateful to the Valor leader for undoubtedly calling to request it for them.

The ride home was quiet, though they hadn’t expected much else. In fact, they were almost grateful for it – the silence allowed them to stew. Their actions that evening perturbed them just as much as anyone else. They prided themselves on having a decent amount of patience and a notoriously cool head. So why had they been so tense even before the last discussion?

Blanche sucked in a quick breath and let it out slowly, glaring out the window and attempting to calm themselves. Getting distance from emotions gave clarity, gave enough space for reason to return.

Annie fussing over Grisaille was natural. She was a maternal person and often fussed over them as well, so her apparent inclination to take care of someone that was truly a child made a fair bit of sense. Their assistant had a bleeding heart, and there was no changing it.

The same could be said for Candela’s own actions. Much as the Valor strove to appear independent, there was no doubt she was painfully family-oriented. It was only a matter of time before she chose a mate and had a brood of her own, after all, given her family’s history and how her Titan preferred to pass on its mark to those within the same bloodline.

They watched the cityscape slide past them in a dark blur, struggling to return to their usual level of logical apathy that so often eluded them where their twin was concerned.

So what if Noire wanted to spend time with the child? So what if they were going to teach them to cook? So what if they planned on making the same macarons that the two of them had made when they first tried baking together, resulting in nothing but a messy kitchen and disks so blackened they were basically charcoal?

So what if the mere thought of their twin recreating such a precious memory with their clone was enough to make them want to-

They were out of the car before it had finished pulling up to the curb of the laboratories.

The elevator came so slowly they considered taking the stairs, especially once Grisaille had managed to catch up to them from the car. No words were exchanged while they waited, yet the silence was not a comfortable one. That ride was even more agonizing than the one before.

Blanche entered their quarters and immediately shrugged off their suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the couch. They moved toward the kitchen, opening the fridge and ignoring all the other snacks and beverages to pull out one of their energy drinks. Perhaps if they flooded their system with enough caffeine, the funk they were in would dissipate.

“Um,” said a small voice, and they turned to see the child hovering in the entryway. They looked terribly unsure and Blanche’s mood was just sour enough to find it pathetic instead of charming.

“What?” they snapped.

Grisaille jumped slightly at their sharp tone, fiddling with one of their jacket cuffs with their head bowed. “I am, um, wondering what I am supposed to do now?”

Blanche stared at them, wanting to bark out a reproach of how one could not live their life waiting on the orders of others. But, no, that would not solve anything. It was how they’d been conditioned after all. Remembering their breathing exercises, they simply bit out a gruff, “Go take your bath.”

The child nodded sharply and hurried out of the room, leaving them to stew in their irritable temper.

They took a deep breath, chugged the energy drink, got a second one from the fridge, and then finally made for their study. After all the chaos of the last 24 hours, they wanted nothing more than to change back into their lab coat and head to their office, throwing themselves in to this, that, and the other for the foreseeable future, but knew it would be futile. They’d checked the progress of each of their own experiments just that afternoon, and all of them had been doing fine. If there had been any notable change, they would’ve known it by now.

Still, an evening spent reading scientific journals and catching up on global evolution reports sounded relaxing and exactly like what they needed.

They started in on a new article from one of their correspondents in Alola. Apparently they’d managed to make some headway on their theory pertaining to the extreme local stimuli of the island region being what caused such great shifts in not only appearance and typing.

Of course, there were regional variants for just about every type of Pokemon Opal had to offer, but it was the change in typing and physiology in the Alola region that had scientists and researchers around the world stumped. While the theory itself was rather bland and had been explored before, the scientist’s new testing method was what fascinated them, and thus Blanche devoured every update that got posted.

Blanched hummed upon completing the article, sitting back and giving it a fair amount of appreciation. (That meant, of course, that they stared at their screen over steepled fingers and rocked their chair back and forth with one foot - but no one needed to know that.) They then sat forward once more and pulled their tablet out of its case, writing a few notes with one hand while the other scrolled back through the document.

There were several places they had to reread – a few more than once – but the practice was soothing and the odd tension they’d been hold onto all day slowly began to relax, relief coursing through them as an undercurrent to their scientific curiosity.

“Fascinating,” they murmured, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of their mouth, “Simply extraordinary findings! I wonder if-” They nearly jumped in their seat when they caught sight of movement out of the corner of their eye, a few vertebra cracking painfully from the speed at which they turned their head.

Their charge stood shyly in the doorway to their study, dressed for bed with their gaze to the floor. Judging from the total dryness of their short bob, it had been quite a while since their shower. Blanche glanced at their monitor and grunted, unimpressed with the hour. There was still time for more work to be done, and thanks to the two energy drinks they’d had, they weren’t in the least bit tired. Fatigued, yes, but they had yet to reach their limit.

“What do you need?” they asked, tone less sharp than it had been in the evening, and remarkably less so than it was when others had been subjected to in the past upon trying to interrupt the Mystic Leader’s research.

“I have taken my bath,” they said demurely, toes digging into the carpet uncomfortably.

“Yes, I can see that.”

The child winced, biting their bottom lip. “Um, will you be taking yours soon? I could leave the light on for you, if that is the case.”

Blanche stared at them, resisting the urge to scold them for asking such a pointless question. “No, I won’t be bathing soon. You can turn off the light.”

“Understood.” Grisaille hesitated, glancing up at them and wringing their hands.

“What is it now?” they asked impatiently.

“If you are not bathing, um, then will you be sleeping soon?” they asked.

“No.” The word was clipped. Blanche turned back to their monitor and away from the child. “I have work to do. Thanks to all the distractions of today, I have fallen behind and need this time to catch up in preparation of tomorrow’s schedule-” They groaned suddenly and ran a hand down their face before continuing, “Which I am just now remembering needs to be shifted due to your… well, everything, really.”

Annoyed as they were, they did not wish to cause such an introverted and traumatized child anymore anguish by forcing them to tag along to meet members of their PR team, and most especially didn’t want them anywhere near Pokemon that they themselves could not account for. There went the television interview and trainer consultation at the local aquarium, they supposed, though Blanche couldn’t exactly say they were sad to see it go. Such things boosted Team Mystic’s ‘public image’ but often ended up being more of a hassle than anything else. The masses would have to be satisfied with Mystic Three appearing in their stead, which was just as well.

Perks of having a charismatic extrovert with a penchant for showy ice-types on their staff.

“Oh,” the child said simply, “Understood.”

There was a lull in the conversation, the child not speaking while Blanche pretended that the atmosphere in their study hadn’t suddenly dropped from ‘relaxing’ to ‘incredibly awkward’. “Do you have any further questions or concerns?” they asked after a moment, glancing over at them.

“No, Leader Blanche.”

The Team Mystic Leader let out a small huff (almost a grunt), their lips tugging down into a slight frown. While it was certainly their right to toss the child out of their study, even their poor social awareness told them they were already reaching the threshold of poor hospitality. They had assumed that Grisaille would simply leave once their questions had been answered, yet they lingered in the doorway expectantly, almost as if they were waiting for something-

Blanche struggled not to groan again as the reason became clear.

“Grisaille,” they said, “You can go to bed without me. You have my permission.”

The relief that flickered across the child’s face was telling. Still, they hesitated, and Blanche couldn’t be sure what the emotion that flickered across their face was meant to be before it was gone. “Thank you. I hope… you are successful in completing your work, Leader Blanche,” they said softly, head bowed as they turned to leave.

“That makes two of us,” they commented, shifting focus now that their charge was on their way out, barely registering Grisaille’s polite ‘good night’ beyond a cursory grunt.

Yet even as they threw themselves into their work, there was the sense they were missing something that persisted even as the night wore on. Time and again, the day rolled through their head, instances where they had engaged the child highlighted in great relief to the over encounters. Why? What purpose did it serve to review such things?

Blanche let out a frustrated sigh at the whims of their subconscious, running a hand through their hair. Yes, they’d been a bit brisk with them a few times, but that was par the course. Grisaille wouldn’t be subject to any sort of special treatment in their care, and any guilt they felt over being a little gruff was secondary to assuring their continued survival. It’s not as though the world would be any kinder to them just because they were fragile – a lesson they’d been forced to learn on their own.

They were just trying to prepare them, to make them see the world as it was, so why did they feel so out of sorts? Honestly, this child was throwing them for a loop and they did not much care for the ride.

‘I could help,’ offered a cool voice, their shoulders tensing as the Ice Titan came to the fore.

‘How so?’ they asked, letting a pleased hum when they felt an icy coolness spread through their aching head, soothing the throbbing of their temples that they hadn’t even bothered to register. Their appreciation pleased Articuno, it seemed, and a quick, nonverbal assessment found the other to calm and collected.

It seemed they had been forgiven for their earlier slight without even having to extend an apology after all. Wonderful. That was one less thing to occupy their time.

‘Freezing the young one would be a sure way to make them less troublesome in the future.’

‘No, that’s too much,’ they replied, shifting in their seat, ‘Plus, the Professor would be disappointed.’ They left out considering how their twin would feel at the disappearance of the child, but the lack of thought just made it seem to grow more weighty in the back of their mind.

‘Ah, but you considered it, even for just a moment,’ countered the bird. It seemed to find their indignant refusal to reply entertaining, its mirth tainting their attempt to remain stubbornly stoic to the point they felt their lips twitch and try to form a smile.

To combat the unpleasant sensation, they forced themselves to stare at their screen so intensely that their eyes began to water. Or perhaps it was the hour finally catching up with them that was making their vision blur? At any rate, it was better than acknowledging the darker sides of themselves, and far greater than letting Articuno win them over without a fight.

There was a sound in their head, ringing, and soft, icy sigh. The Ice Titan actually sounded dejected, a tiny bit of moroseness filtering into their mood despite their best efforts, though for what reason they could not say. ‘Why do you insist on playing the fool, Little Mystic?’ it offered at length, sensing their curiosity, ‘All these thoughts running around in your head, cluttering and confusing your brilliant ideas. We both know the real reason for your distress.’

‘And that would be?’

‘Ah, but you came up with it yourself already! And would’ve said it so prettily, too, if not for your ill-timed interruption,’ it jeered, ‘‘I will not allow myself to be replaced by something as cheap as a clone.’’

Their throat tightened at the memory, and they had to swallow back down their own bitterness. That had not been one of their best moments.

Articuno made a noise, a cross between clucking and chiming, and their furious mortification rose when they realized it was laughing at them. ‘You really do have a terrible opinion of the fledging. And all they had to do to get on your bad side was be born!’ It made the noise again, and the arm of their desk chair began to form frost from the force of their hand clenching it. ‘Truly, your pettiness knows no bounds.’

‘You’re one to talk!’ they spat, their ire making them behave uncordially.

The words came quickly, soothing in tone but malicious in intent. ‘Have I struck a nerve, Little Mystic? You seem to forget that I see all sides of you – even the ones you like to hide, the ones you will never admit to having.’

The bird went so far as to turn their own memories against them, bringing up every single moment they had shown weakness, pathetic and crying out until they learned to hold it in and let the hurt fester. Next were all the instances where their anxiety and paranoia had reared its ugly little head, thrown directly back into their face. The Titan even included some of their encounters with their young charge, colored in a way that let them see the depths of their own cruelty.

It seemed Articuno had not, in fact, forgiven them for their earlier slight.

They choked on the memories, struggling even to breathe under the enormous weight of their past mistakes. It was their body, their mind! But no matter what they tried, it was futile. They were trapped, forced to feel the Titan riffle through their past, clawing and slithering and freezing, and toss up all the instances they themselves were too ashamed to remember.

None of those were their fault! Other people needed- It was- There could only be-

As always, their thoughts turned to the only thing that had ever succeeded in offering them comfort: their twin.

Noire had always assured them they were fine, that they were safe, that they were steady and proud and perfect-

But 'perfect' people didn't take their aggression out on others, didn't lose their cool. They didn't feel a sharp sting of anguished jealousy every time someone in their social circle acted friendly with a child, and most certainly didn't blame the child of all people for the actions of well-meaning individuals.

Yet Noire was their world - the very reason they were alive! If they hadn't shielded them, hadn't passed every test and followed every order, Blanche would be dead. They owed their twin their life, had looked up to them so much. They only had each other in this huge, uncaring world, and Blanche feared that if Noire truly abandoned them, there would be nothing left to protect them. That they would be truly alone, unmatched and unwanted and unable to function - broken in the truest sense despite all their years of hard work and the monumentous effort they had made to move on.

But one question continued to persist, clawing and tearing at their insides until they bled, raw and aching, until it calcified into a wall of horrible scars around their heart that they refused to let anyone know about (never mind those who were close to them often could tell without being told): how could someone who had fought so hard to keep you alive suddenly up and toss you away? Were they truly so replaceable?

(The Ice Titan had actually stopped playing with their mind, watching them unravel with wry amusement.)

Had... Had Noire known about the clones? About Grisaille? Was that it? The timing would make sense. It had been ten years ago that they first left with the Professor. Maybe Sabrina found out? Maybe she told them they had someone else waiting for them, someone better, someone not a total failure.

Not a Clai-

No, no, that couldn't be right. Noire would've told them! Wouldn't they?

If they had planned to replace them all along, then why bother playing the part? Just take the child! Take back the life Blanche had been given! They were on borrowed time, anyway, as Cipher would put it!

Why did Cipher matter?! Because Cipher was always there, waiting, watching, preparing itself to pounce, to strike, to take back what was theirs-

Would the Titans even be strong enough to protect them? To save them? Could they save Noire?

And where would Noire's clone fall? Who truly held their allegiance?

As always, whenever their recent thoughts fell back to the child, they were filled with an unbearable, acidic rage. And they hated it!  They hated feeling this way!

Even more than that, they hated Gri-

“Stop,” they managed, breathing coming out like a ragged burst of fog as they uttered the words aloud, curling in on themselves in an attempt to find some sort of solace from the pain, “Please. Just- Be silent.” They couldn't help the way their shoulders shook, heart beating hard and fast in their chest as they struggled not to cry out.

At that moment, paralyzed by their own fear and horror, they weren't even sure they could.

‘Very well, I shall leave you be,’ the Ice Titan replied snidely, its smug amusement at their childish recoiling seeming to irritate even as it began to descend into slumber once more, ‘But keep my council in mind. I do not enjoy harming fledglings, but I will do what it takes to ease your suffering. Remember – you belong to me. All others, especially that blighted twin of yours, come second.’

The silence after Articuno retreated seemed to ring with discordant noise, the hum just barely loud enough to hear, and was almost too much for them to bear. Blanche's entire body quivered, shivering from both the cold and emotional turmoil. The space of their study was all at once too much, too vast and perilous, and they had to swallow back a scared little whimper and fight the urge to call their twin out of instinct, knowing full-well that they would get no answer.

They were, in a word, terrified - terrified of being replaced, terrified of being left alone, and terrified of what they would do to keep the first two things from happening. 

It took several long moments for their breath to return to normal, and even longer for them to realize their tears had frozen to their cheeks. Letting out a quick, harsh breath, they scrubbed at the frosty streaks, hands shaking as they touched the too-cool skin of their face. They tried to breath out slowly, attempting to find some measure of control, and stood, their chair nearly falling over in their haste. They were out of the room before they even realized they had moved, heading straight for the kitchen.

Another energy drink would help chase away the bad memories and even worse thoughts, would keep them alert enough to avoid sinking into the depressive, downward spiral that threatened to pull them under.

They paused in the hall, staring at their own bedroom, noting how the door had been left open. Peering in, they could just make out the vague shape of some small lump curled up on the far side of their bed. It felt like this was a test, and for once they couldn't be quite sure what the right answer was.

Something in their chest ached the longer they stared at the dark form in the sea of blackness, but they blamed it on an overdose of caffeine.

Blanche huffed and moved on, closing the door and heading to the kitchen for another Crimson Tauros.

Chapter Text

Blanche shivered and held their arms closer to themselves, breath coming out in a thick fog. They looked up when they heard the whistle of icy wind on soft feathers, the secondary consciousness blossoming in their mind telling them more about the new arrival than they ever wanted to know. The gust of cold air from the large blue bird’s wings buffeted them a tad, making their long ponytail flutter and sway.

“I know you are excited to finally meet them in avatar,” they said, huffing, “but could you have at least allowed it to be slightly above freezing?”

They themselves were equally eager to see their younger sibling, but that was partially due to the fact the Professor was personally bringing them new data files from the latest conference. And hot drinks, too, if his text message was to be believed. They hoped the child would be suitably warm for the venture, given the cold snap their bonded had predictably caused by entering the city.

‘No,’ the Ice Titan replied primly, using its beak to rearrange some of its feathers into a more presentable arrangement, ‘I must, as you humans say, put my best feather forward.’ The statement was punctuated with a fervent full-body fluffing, followed immediately by more cosmetic fussing.

They resisted the urge to roll their eyes. “Foot.”

‘What?’ Articuno said, pausing in its preening to blink over at them.

“The phrase is ‘put my best FOOT forward’.”

‘Ah, I see,’ it said, ‘I can never seem to remember your human sayin- What. Is. That?!’

“What is what?” Blanche asked, glancing off in the direction the large blue bird was now furiously staring at. They blinked, tilting their head for a moment before letting out an amused huff. “Ah, it seems the neighborhood children tried to make snow sculptures of you and the other Titans-” They didn’t get the chance to finish their statement as Articuno let out a shrill, chilling caw and swooped over to the malformed creations, where it immediately set about bouncing on top of them.

“Blanche!” said a voice, and they turned away from the carnage to see the Professor and Grisaille heading toward them. The child let go of the older man’s hand and darted forward, snow boots crunching the fresh powder lightly. They skidded to a stop a few inches from the Mystic leader.

“Hello, Blanche,” they said, and Blanche couldn’t help but smile at their flushed face and bright eyes, short hair tucked into their large, coiled scarf. It would almost be a touching moment if not for the soundtrack of Articuno enacting its revenge against children with lacking artistic abilities.

“Hello,” they replied, inclining their head.

“May I have a hug?” Grisaille asked, shifting slightly in the snow.

“You may,” Blanche said, grunting at the force of the embrace. They weren't overly affectionate by nature, but they managed to offer the child a few, awkward pats before they were released.

“Afternoon, Blanche,” Professor Willow greeted, holding up a drink carried that held three cups, “Sorry we took so long. The line was crazy thanks to our frosty friend’s appearance.” He looked over at where Articuno continued to flutter about, snow crunching under its talons. “Um, speaking of which… do I even want to know?”

“What is Titan Articuno doing?” Grisaille asked before they could reply, tilting their head as they also peered around their sibling at the blue bird, “Making a show of dominance?”

Blanche snorted at the swell of vicious affection Articuno felt toward the child, the bird letting out a coo of triumph as it continued to smash the little sculptures back into the snow from whence they came. “More like a temper tantrum, actually.”

Chapter Text

His human is small.

Thinking back, this has always been so, even back when they had not officially met. That was when he and his father and all the others were told to stay outside or at least in a different room. He was not allowed to interact with them so all he could do was smelling the carpet where their feet had walked and the couch cushions where they had sat when they had already left. He wondered often then when they could meet and why they smelled so much like fear even when there was no danger.

They were not his human then so he did not understand.

He does now, though.

He understands a lot of things about his human.

They are still small, even more so now that they’ve come to stay at the house with him and his father and the large human that protects and provides.

He likes the large human because he is big and strong. He had a deep, low voice and warm hands and always talks kindly when giving good scratches in places he can’t reach. He is his father’s human, too, and they have been together since they were just kits themselves. His father has evolved to an electric-type now and the large human grew larger and became a healing-type but they are still together which is a good thing.

There are many good things in the world and in the house – like food, and belly rubs, and now his human.

He hopes they will discover that soon. They smell so sad and afraid all the time. Maybe he can show them the good things in the world, and then they will not smell like that? He does not know how they smell when they are happy, but he knows it would be a good smell.

They do not like to be near him, though. No, that is not right. They smell afraid to be near him, but a different afraid than he knows. They are not afraid of him hurting them, are they? Surely not! They are his human! Hurting his human would be considered a bad thing and he does not like bad things - only good ones – so he does not understand.

Father tries to help and says his human has the fear of hurting others. He does not understand that, either.

Father says his human has been made to hurt others before, even if they did not want to, and now they are stuck with it. Father smells sad, too, when he says this and he does not like that smell even more now.

So he grooms his father’s ear and his father smooshes him to the floor and he forgets for a moment about feeling sad. He is still young and lingering sadness has not touched him yet so he cannot hope to understand.

His human has the lingering sadness, though, so he tries.

His human is small and very, very quiet. They can move with such soundlessness that even he has a hard time tracking them. This is good, he thinks, because that means they will be a good hunter. He learns to think differently when he realizes they move silently so they can suffer in silence.

He discovers this one night when he is awake and the large human and all the others in the house are not. He sees his human creep down the hall, so very quiet, flinching at all the other sounds the world makes. He sees them reach the kitchen and settles, thinking surely they mean to get something to eat like the large human does sometimes when they arrive at the cold food holder. Perhaps they will share their late night snack? That would be very good.

Instead, his human sits down with their back to the cold food holder, knees to their chest, and does not move. No, that is not right, they are moving – tiny quivers all along their body, their breathing pitched low but stuttering, uneven.

He does not like them doing this and churrs as he jumps down from his soft, padded perch. His human flinches at the sound, head snapping up as they look in his direction, their eyes flashing in a way that startles him. Had their eyes been a different color? He could not recall.

The two of them stare at one another for some time, neither moving. His human does not want him near them now, he is sure, but he does not want to leave them alone in their distress. So he hunkers down there on the tile, letting his feet curl under his body to keep them warm, and purred for them. He realizes that was what they had been trying to do - to purr and feel better.

His human is wise in ways that other humans are not.

His human is small but steady. They do not move but they are moved only by others, which is apparently their normal. He does not like their normal because his normal says he’s supposed to protect them, but he has a lot to learn about his human and humans in general so he relents for now.

They exist to protect, he discovers, and to fight. He knows how to fight, but not like them.

Then he fights, he is victorious or learns to be. His father is his favorite partner, though sometimes the larger ones with poofy fur and breath like gasoline, Hogan or Foozball, will fight with him, and he learns how to take defeat gracefully.

His human has never known defeat. They are scared of it - of failure, and all the punishment it entails for them. They do not know to learn from it beyond knowing failure is not an option. He does not understand but learns to help them cope with living and all the losses it brings. They hold him, crying sometimes into his ruff, and he rumbles out his soothing purr all the same. He knows that he loves them and they love him and that the two of them will always be together. He will protect them. He will help them learn to grow. And they will grow together.

There is no shame in not knowing and also no shame in learning to grow.

His human continues to be small, but he grows.

They grow too, but not much.

They do not eat more than what is given to them, he realizes, and tries to encourage them to snack and nibble as much as possible. Which isn’t enough, granted, but he tries. His father says sometimes appetite happens or does not happen because humans feel a certain way and he wants to help. He really, truly does. But he sometimes cannot do anything except to drag the large human away from the forest or his study or anywhere else the large human feels like being and make sure he pays attention to his human and their needs.

They are still so small and full of scars, both outside and inside, even if the outside ones fade or are covered by human-made fur.

There are bad days for his human and worse nights, waking up with silent screams that are not heard but felt. Most of the time it is a rare mood and does not linger, which he is happy about, and others it is not. Entire seasons can go by with this cloud of badness around his human and their scent becomes dull and grey for lack of sleep and eating and not being or at least feeling human enough to care.

Worse are the outbursts of anger, of the rage coiled so tightly around their heart and lungs he can smell it on their breath. They always cry into his fur afterwards, always, with startled huffing sobs that rack them both and all he can do is purr as the burning feeling of helpless concern settles in his own heart.

He manages to get his human on a system, some of the time, during these bad times. They feed him and then themselves. And sometimes the small tree on their windowsill too. Everyone grows. He thinks this is a good routine to get into because food is important and so are scritches, which happen often around meal time – to him, of course, not the little tree in the pot.

He wonders, sometimes, if the old, weird tree in the center of that one meadow has any meaning to his human. He does not think so, but can’t rule out that tree on a hill that overlooks everything.

The two older ones come to visit and his human is happy and anxious and exasperated all in one. They smell like love and devotion and other such complicated things, but they smile brighter the whole time and that is good. The one that smells cold is nice enough, rubbing his belly with distracted hands, but the one that smells like metal and smoke is even better because they laugh loudly and ruffle his fur all over with both of their hands. They are like his human, he thinks, as he tries not to act too smug when he gets pets first and Miss Petit gets pets second. They are her human, after all, so she gets pets from them all the time! Mister Sushi doesn’t care one way or another and spends most of his time in the Pond Of Do Not Swim, which is simply not fair.

Sometimes, the forest person with the long red head fur comes. She is wild, smelling of woods and fires and atmosphere, sunlight cracking everywhere she walks and with every breath the wild things draw nearer. She is lightning both in life and in laughter, but manages to make his human smile, so she is good. He likes humans that are good.

He does not like her longer visits very much, though, because she smells like dangerous unknowns and he’s gotten more cautious with age and with caring for his human, but allows her to pet him from time to time. She is understanding. He likes that. Maybe he would like her better if her metal box was not so loud or that her many-tailed-ones did not try to nest on him so much.

The cold one grooms him too much, even when he is grown!

Another good human is the one that brings the others of his kind. They are also a soft human, damaged in ways he does not know and does not particularly care about because they are not his human. Still, they bring little ones, and he must teach them all he knows because it is obvious the two other lightning-types are not even half as capable as his father. They are not much larger than himself, really!

The little dark-type lady, Miss Nova, tries to help but she is so little the kits don’t listen to her very well. Her human has better luck - which is not much, even if they can talk with their mouth and mind.

His human loves to play with the others of his kind, too, in their own way. He tries not to get jealous because the others are small and off-colored, and would not get such treatment normally. He tries to be big and grown up and patient with the little ones, but sometimes they are just too fun to tease when they trip over themselves trying to bat at his tail!

Little off-colors of all types tend to flock to his human, which is a curious thing. The other humans notice this, of course, and make jokes and exclamations of disbelief. His human just smiles a small smile, a sad smile, and says that “like attracts like” as they hold the little ones closer.

His human is kind in ways other humans don’t understand.

A female human with short, fluffy head fur comes, awkward and disjointed in a way that he recognizes from how his human acts sometimes, and she stays with them for a long time. Her eyes dart around too quickly, taking in everything, her scent weird and ephemeral and wrong in a way that makes his hackles rise at first and his heart ache later. 

The figures with her, deepest shadow and haziest light, make him feel something his Father once called ‘melancholy’. He can sometimes sense their presence without seeing them, can make out the tiniest whisper of what they might be trying to say to him, but he cannot fully comprehend the words and has to guess at the meaning more times than not. The two try to interact with his human, but their hand passes through them and they often look so sad the three give up trying to connect after a while. His human is too clever for their illusions, it seems.

He wants to help them, but he cannot.

He does not know how to help their human, either, but his human does.

Well, his human and the large human, he supposes. Though he’s not entirely sure how the large human putting his mouth on her mouth helps. It does make her smile a happy smile and that makes his human smile more times than not and that is a good thing.

They still have nightmares and wake up shaking, often breathless from holding back screams, and crying silent tears. He knows now to gently nudge himself into their arms, letting their tears soak his ruff as he feels around in a way without words for the hazy light or deepest shadow that are always there, somehow. He is not the type to do such things on his own but being so long around such unique beings makes him special - special enough to help his human, which is all he needs to be.

And then come large and the pink humans, no matter what time of day or night. They come with keen eyes and open hearts and console his human with him, sometimes for hours, until the sad smell is gone from all of them. The three usually end up dozing, his human tucked between them with their hands held tight with love.

His human is small but they are growing.

And he will be with them every step of the way.

Chapter Text

“Squad 6, what’s your ETA?”

“Rocket roadblocks were in place. Had to take a secondary route up R17-North. 15 minute delay.”

“Acknowledged. Squads 3 and 5 will rendezvous with you prior to engagement.”

“Understood, Mystic 2. Squad 6, out.”

There was a bit of static as the line was dropped, Annie sighing into her mic as she transferred them both back to a private call. “All the squads are mobilized, Chief.” She paused to groan, a muffled sound following indicating she had run a hand down her face. “Ugh! Of all the times for Pat to be out of town – we really could’ve used them to head Squad 2. Randal’s still out for the count after the last skirmish and-”

“It can’t be helped,” Blanche intoned, cutting off her fretting. Riding their motorcycle at such unsafe speeds usually was an empowering sensation, but when their temples were already violently throbbing from a combination of a lack of sleep and one hell of a caffeine withdrawal, the vigorous rumble served only to make their headache worse.

They let out a gruff sigh, shifting gears to slow slightly around one of the many loops Opal City’s main highway had to offer. At least the road was clear on their route – traffic having been rerouted for the sake of their arrival. Thank Arceus for subordinates that could actually do their jobs. They had begun to think such people were beings of myth given their recent interactions with their underlings.

Speaking of which.

After the… events that transpired the night before, they had predictably been unable to sleep and instead spent an unfortunate amount of time camped out in front of their computer. Their eyes had been heavy but their mind had been reeling, chaotic and disorganized, and it had taken all of their might to force the fractals of their panic to finally settle.

They had been just about to nod off on their keyboard when they were suddenly alerted that there was a Code: R assault happening at one of their gyms. They normally would’ve brushed it off and let their trainers handle it, if not for two very important factors:

1.) The gym was the current housing location for all the rare Pokemon they had received from Hoenn less than 24 hours ago.

And 2.) The alert gave a detailed description of the opposing forces, and highlighted that it was headed by a short asshole with white hair and a penchant for crop-tops.

(There was also the fact that Annie personally burst into their quarters, her bright, shrill voice shattering any lethargy that might’ve been tempted to linger in their system, but that was deemed Less Important than the other two.)

So, here they were: riding their motorcycle on a deserted highway before dawn with a pounding headache and eyes that felt like sandpaper, all because their stupid twin decided to be a prick at the unholy hour of 5 AM. They hadn’t even been able to say two words to Grisaille before they’d stumbled out of their quarters, half dressed in their gear and struggling to get their earpiece to stay in their ear.

If they were lucky and all things went according to plan, perhaps the two of them could find the time to sit down together and have a frank discussion that was long overdue. After Articuno’s illuminating exhibition the night before, it occurred to them that they might owe the child an apology for their mood as of late, or, at the very least, an explanation.

As it was, Grisaille was meant to stay in their assistant’s care during the fight. Annie would only move out from her position as Communication Director if the situation grew truly dire, and even then Grisaille would still be kept far enough away so as not to see a single moment of the battle. There was no sense in putting them through more trauma than they'd already experienced, after all, and there was no telling how they’d react to a true firefight – what with all the trainers running about with their Pokemon loose and battling.

“Oh, wait a second,” Annie said suddenly, breaking them out of their reprieve, “You’ve got a call coming in from-”

A burst of white noise exploded in their ears, making them jump and curse, their motorcycle twitching on the road as a voice said into their headset, “Y’ello? Is this thing on?”

“Spark,” Blanche replied, equal parts sighing and growling, “What are you doing on my private line?”

“Team Leader, remember?” he chirped smugly, chuckling when they audibly clicked their tongue in aggravation, “We all can override admin locks and stuff like that. For coordinating counterattacks and, as Candela has magnificently proven several times in the past, bootyc-”

“Kindly get to the point, Spark. I’m very busy at the moment.”

“Oh, yeah! Right,” he said, cheerful despite a second burst of static that made them cringe and wobble, “Heard about your gym and its Rocket infestation. Do ya need a hand? Go and me are in the city today and-”

“No,” they snapped, finally getting their bike back under control with practiced ease, “I can handle this on my own. See that Candela gets the message, too.”

“Oh, c’mon, Blanche,” Spark complained, “Don’t be like that! We can-”

“End call,” they spat, a little more pleased than they should’ve been when the line cut out immediately.

“You know,” Annie said, her tone alone indicating she was about to say something she knew they wouldn’t like, “We probably could’ve used the support. This is Noire, after all. Who know what they’ll have up their sleeve? Plus, their entire fighting team has been strategically formulated to take yours down – and has proven it time and again-”

“That’s enough, Annie.”

“But-”

“I said enough!”

“… Yes, Chief.”

There was a long beat of silence between the two, broken only by the sound of muffled voices on Annie’s end and their own bike’s motor. Blanche took a deep breath through their nose, letting it out slowly through their mouth as they saw a road sign that indicated their exit was still a few miles away. “Read off the squad formations again. I don’t want there to be any chance of escape.”

“You got it!” Annie replied, already back to her bubbly self.

They relaxed slightly as their assistant began chattering once more, her bright voice somehow soothing despite the pounding of their temples, a mental map of their forces appearing in their mind. Maybe if they strategized hard enough, if they came out one step ahead of their twin just once, they’d be able to fill the void in their chest.

Of course, that had never been how their life worked.

They should’ve known the moment they found out who was heading the operation that nothing would go according to plan. It was almost as if Noire thrived off of guessing what they would do and doing the most outlandish, over-the-top thing to foil them. That had been one of the most frustrating things about their relationship since Noire had reappeared in their life, as well as one of their favorites.

The remote explosions wrecking the surrounding area had been anticipated. The giant man-made whirlpool in the bay had not been.

Blanche would almost be impressed with the phenomenon if they weren’t as equally annoyed with it.

That cut off a least two of their squads from their main forces and meant there was severe congestion in several areas. At least half a dozen battles overlapped, and one could only cringe as Pokemon and people alike ended up caught in the crossfire of more than one attack. Their only solace was that the Rockets seemed to have just as much difficulty coordinating as their own trainers, judging by the fact a stray hyperbeam took out quite a few of them.

As their squad members squared off against the attacking Rockets, they found themselves facing their favorite enemy. Their fighting team was one of the strongest in the region, but that mattered little when up against one that had been, as Annie has put it, ‘strategically formulated’ to tear through it.

Blanche’s blood sang as they recalled the last of their team, squaring their shoulders as they glared down the ruined parking lot at their twin. They had been so tense, so troubled, these last few days that it felt absolutely blissful to sink into the dark, cutting hyperfocus that battling produced.

Articuno, too, seemed pleased at the chance to release some tension - that it would be able to vicariously kick the blasted Rocket Executive around was a bonus for it as well. Though their feelings toward each other had ironically chilled, Blanche was pleased that the two of them could feel the same even in this.

Noire made it easy, of course.

“Seems I win again,” their twin taunted, hands on their hips as they smirked.

“This fight is far from over,” they replied. They shivered a little, aware of Noire’s eyes on them, trailing fire with even just an unsubtle glance. It was a relief to know that, even after everything, they could still grab their full attention whenever they wished. That rush of assurance was heady thing, and they felt their lips quirk even as they watched Noire call back their own Pokemon and lower themselves into a readied stance.

It seemed their twin was going to indulge their unspoken request, which was just as well. Grass-type Pokemon rarely fared well against the might of a blizzard personified. Neither did people, honestly, but Noire had always lived to spite the world around them.

“Bring it, mon chou,” the Rocket Executive sneered.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Blanche muttered, breathing out a breath that was several degrees colder, frost climbing up their left sleeve even as they lifted their chin and raised their voice, “I look forward to finally wiping that smug look of your face.”

Noire’s reply was to rush them and they felt their calm mask crack into a feral, pleased grin when they managed to block the blow the other had aimed for their face.

‘Yes, good,’ they thought, grunting as a well-timed kick managed to connect with their side, reveling in the startled, almost frustrated look that crossed Noire’s face when they summoned an ice spear and chunked it at them in retaliation, ‘Look nowhere else but at me, Noire, just as you have always done. Prove to everyone that nothing has changed.’

‘You should be paying attention to who else is watching,’ Articuno cooed. The Titan had not spoken to them all morning, not even when they had begun to use its powers, and its sudden comment caught them off-guard.

They stiffened and reacted too slowly to catch the next kick Noire sent at them, stumbling back a few paces, their body curling around the hurt, only to receive another blow to the temple that sent them to the ground. Their head hit the pavement with a sickening ‘thwack’ and Blanche couldn’t help the tiny whimper that escaped them. The world spun, blood coating their tongue, as they coughed and struggled to rise even into a pitiful crouch. That had been a dirty move and they both knew it, but neither had ever expected Noire to fight fair.

Still, head wounds were awful. They never had been able to decide if they hated the free-bleeding tendency or sheer discombobulation more.

Blanche waited for the next move – would Noire kick them while they were down or haul them up to punch them some more? – but none came. They became aware of footsteps, fast and light, coming toward the duo only to skid to a stop somewhere in front of them.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” they heard Noire cry in disbelief, blinking up with swimming vision to see a shadowed figure standing in front of them, small and panting, but obviously defensive in nature.

“No,” they croaked out in a disbelieving breath, echoing their twin, “Why are you here?”

“The battle fares badly,” Grisaille responded, not moving from their position, “Assistant Annie moved out to intercept a-”

“I don’t give a shit what she’s doing,” Noire snapped, giving voice to Blanche’s own, slightly less offensively formulated thoughts, “You aren’t supposed to be here! It’s too dangerous.” The Rocket Executive had been pushed back a few steps, either by an attack or their own stupor at the child’s sudden appearance, and stood far enough away that their pain-blurred vision couldn’t quite make out their expression.

What was taking Articuno so long to heal them?

Grisaille tilted their head, saying simply, “You are here.”

Noire scoffed, a dismissive sound. “Yeah, because it’s my job to steal shit and kick ass,” they said, tone almost proud as they gestured to the carnage around them, “As you can see, it’s going quite well.”

“Yes, you are causing much property damage,” their charge agreed, nodding, “Though I am uncertain how you are faring in term of stolen property.”

Blanche would’ve loved to dispute their twin’s claim, citing the track record between them, but found their mouth sealed against their words. No amount of struggling allowed them to make even the smallest noise, frustration and panic rising at the thought of being a prisoner in their own body once more, their head throbbing from it (and what was likely a nasty concussion). ‘What-’

‘Listen and learn,’ cooed a cool voice, soothing their racing heart against their will, ‘The time for words will come later.’

They balked. ‘No, that is ridiculous! I will not-’

‘Silence, fledgling, or I will bind your thoughts as well.’

Their spine stiffened at the threat, unsure if it was made idly or not, and checking Articuno’s emotions proved to be of no help. It was like running one’s hand against a glacier, smooth and cold. After last night, they couldn’t be certain just how much sway the Titan had over their thoughts. They would need to speak to Spark or Candela on the matter.

At present, however, they had no choice but to watch their twin speak to the child, incensed and indignant but also terrified beyond belief.

“Ah, well, that’s probably almost done at this point.” Noire raised a shoulder in a shrug, the battered red leather creaking with the motion. “One of the perks of being at the top is deciding who gets the fun job of playing decoy.”

Blanche stiffened at that, eyes wide as they realized they had been played. Noire noticed their shock and lifted their chin smugly.

“Playing decoy? What is that?” Grisaille asked.

The eldest sibling just grinned wide enough for Blanche to see. “It’s one of my specialties.” They made a shooing motion at the child. “Now get the hell out of here so I can get back to pounding Blanche into the pavement, okay? I can tell you more about it later – unless, of course, you wanted to be one of the things I steal today?”

Blanche had heard the hopeful lilt to their twin’s voice and immediately hated it. They closed their eyes briefly, head swimming, struggling against the dark, creeping emotion that sullied their chest. Their eyes opened in time to see Grisaille waiver for a briefly moment, shifting slightly, before they shook their head.

“No thank you. Professor Willow has indicated that I am meant to stay at Team Mystic Headquarters this weekend.”

“Of course not,” Noire grumbled, almost bitter, “Now, seriously, get out of my way-”

“I cannot comply with that directive,” replied Grisaille. Though Blanche’s head was still swimming, they could see their charge had an arm thrown out, blocking Noire from getting to them. Most concerning, however, was the calm, determined expression on their face as they stared across the space at Noire, their head held high. They seemed completely at ease despite the large amount of actively-battling Pokemon around, and Blanche realized with a pang that it made a sickening amount of sense.

A child raised to fight would naturally feel most at home on a battlefield.

‘Good observation,’ Articuno said, shifting in their mind, ‘What else?’

‘How can I listen if you are speaking?’ they shot back tartly, wincing at the spike of annoyance they felt from the Titan. Honestly, having Articuno in their head likely wasn’t helping the concussion they very likely had.

“Oh ho? What’s this?” Noire taunted, raising at a brow at Grisaille, “Do you want to fight, too?”

“No,” they replied, both twins blinking, dumbfounded at their blunt honesty even as the child continued on, “But I cannot allow any further harm to come to Leader Blanche.”

The Rocket Executive scowled, brows furrowing. “Leader Blanche?” They cast a glance toward their twin, humming in a way that rankled, then turned their attention back to Grisaille. Of course Noire would pick up on that. It felt awful, watching helplessly as those familiar green eyes lifted away from them and stared at another. The expression they wore was calculating but curious and Blanche got a bad feeling from it.

“Are you sure you want to fight me, brat?” Noire asked coldly, eyes glinting magenta even as they shifted into a more active stance, “I won’t go easy on you if you do.”

“Quit goading them on, Noire! Your battle is with me!” Blanche protested, stunned for a brief moment that the bird had finally let them speak. They finally managed to rise from their knees despite the bile that rose their throat. They sagged slightly upon achieving even that much, however, frame trembling in a mixture of nausea and horror, as they were completely ignored by the other two.

‘Fix this!’ they demanded.

‘Why should I?’

‘What? Are you not paying attention?!’ they asked in disbelief.

Articuno stilled, its mind holding their own captive, and seemed to study their very core. ‘What is your motive, fledgling?’

‘I need to fight-’

‘No,’ the Titan replied, unfeeling even in the face of their desperation and they winced internally at the sense they had somehow failed to meet the icy bird’s standards, ‘You need to listen.’

Grisaille tensed, paling slightly at the challenge. They glanced over their shoulder (peeked, really) then drew in a deep breath as their hand curl into a fist. “If I must,” they said flatly, raising their other arm to hold it parallel to their chest, hand level with their heart.

The pose teased Blanche’s memory, their blood turning to ice in their veins when the recollection connected and they recalled, vividly, the times that a much younger Noire had activated their abilities in such a way. Worse still were the tell-tale markings that engulfed their left hand and crawled up their arm, the tell-tale glow of magenta gleaming through their sleeve, wider and more gruesome than the ones Noire often sported for their lack of control.

It was not an idle threat that their charge made, and both sides of the conflict seemed to recognize that.

“No!” Blanche growled, glaring at Grisaille’s back, at their twin beyond, voice cracking, “This is our fight!”

Noire had likewise stiffened, lips parting slightly in surprise. They didn’t get a chance to react – to attack or deescalate – as a large hand suddenly clasped them on the shoulder. Syric stood behind them, an impressive shadow decked out in all black, the medical sigil on his shoulder and back the only way to tell he was a healer and not a reaper. He seemed the latter, however, as he looked between the three of them with a dark expression before pinning his superior with a glare that could’ve peeled paint.

The Rocket Executive glanced at him, their eyes meeting his for a brief moment before they brought a hand up to activate their comm. They murmured something, pausing briefly, then nodded.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Noire said breezily, “Looks like we got what we came for already.” They gave a two-fingered salute before turning to leave, red coat swirling around them like a bloody banner of victory. Apparently a signal had been put out along Team Rocket’s comm channels because all the agents began to fall back, their Pokemon letting out final attacks in seemingly random directions that had Team Mystic trainers scrambling back for cover.

“Noire!” Blanche called, staggering passed Grisaille, grimacing as their head positively throbbed with every step. Definitely a concussion. Syric at least had the decency to watch them with increasing concern, his eyes dark and assessing and judging. “Your fight with me is not over!”

‘Please,’ they mentally begged, desperation making their fragile grasp on their emotions shatter. ‘Don’t let this be the end. I’m not- I don’t- You can’t go and leave me alone with this burden of a child again!’

Their twin paused, glancing over their shoulder with a sneer. “Better get Grisaille home, Leader Blanche.” A jet black van drove up, tires screeching and grating over the rubble as it pulled up alongside Noire and Syric, cutting off whatever else they’ve might’ve had to say.

Blanche recoiled as if stung, reeling for the solid rebuff and taking a few steps back. A small hand on their back steadied them and they flinched from the feeling, teeth clenching in horror and visceral rage as Noire got into their getaway vehicle and drove off, dust and gravel flinging up from the rapid rollout. They brought a hand up and wiped at their face, smearing the sweat and grime and newfound tears of pain – physical or emotional, they couldn’t say.

‘So,’ an icy voice echoed in their mind, ‘Did you hear what you were meant to, my dear fledgling?’

There were many responses to that. Yes, they had confirmed that Noire’s investment in them still remained as strong ever. Yes, they had confirmed that Noire also was heavily invested in Grisaille, much to their charge’s apparent appreciation. And, yes, they had learned that they themselves were pathetic enough to begrudge an innocent child Noire’s attention.

They didn’t bother answering in the end, merely sighing into their palm as they felt the Titan finally begin to heal their wounds. The ache in their head remained, but there was only so much that Articuno could do for sleep deprivation.

A group of footsteps approached and Blanche felt the mantel of Team Leader weigh heavily on their shoulders once more as they saw who approached.

“Chief!” Annie exclaimed, huffing and puffing as she normally did after a series of intense battles, her face holding a flush and a few minor scrapes, “Team Rocket has-”

“I know. Let them leave.”

One of the squad leaders made a noise of protest. Jorge, perhaps? “But they took-”

Blanche waved him off dismissively. “Whatever they took, we can surely recover or recreate.”

Their Assistant put a hand on Jorge’s shoulder and he glared at her but stayed silent as she took up the argument on his behalf. “Well, yes, but-” Annie suddenly stopped, her eyes going wide as she looked at something to their right. “Grisaille! There you are! I was so worried when we got separated by the- Oh, my Arceus, you’re bleeding!”

Blanche followed her gaze and flinched away in surprise from the child that had somehow appeared at their elbow. Grisaille, for their part, simply looked up at them with bloodshot eyes, the delicate veins having burst from the strain of their little power measuring contest with Noire. They held their left arm carefully with their right hand, splotches of red dotting their pale green button up in sickeningly telling lines from their hand up to around their elbow.

“Are you hurt?” Blanche asked immediately, panic making their throat close up. “We need to get you to the hospital. Syric shouldn’t have left you in such a state but he- never mind. It cannot be helped. Who was your secondary practitioner?” They should’ve known that but didn’t. They were failing again. Professor Willow was going to be so disappointed.

“Honored Doctor Emil,” Grisaille responded immediately.

“Annie, call for Doctor Emil to meet us at-”

“No!” Grisaille squeaked out.

They blinked. “No?”

Their charge grit their teeth and bowed their head, hand clenching on their bloody sleeve. “This subject- I am not harmed enough to prevent me from fulfilling my duty.” Even as they spoke, a thin tendril of blood had begun to trickle from their nose, droplets hitting the ground and shocking the two siblings into silence for a moment. They brought a hand up cautiously and closed their nose, tilting their head back with a practiced ease that made Blanche’s stomach turn.

Their panic slowly faded, instead beginning to into acidic rage as everything from the past few minutes finally started falling into place. “What did you even think you were doing?” they asked, their voice deceptively calm, “Using your powers like that?”

Grisaille flinched badly at their tone, removing their hand from their nose. “I-”

Their tiny objection just set Blanche off.

“That was incredibly dangerous – not only for yourself, but for everyone here! What if you had been hurt further? Or worse, what if you had lost control?” They threw up a hand, adrenaline making them incredibly twitchy and impatient. “A child such as yourself has no business going against Noire. I can’t even begin to fathom what damage you could have done!” They began pacing, unable to stand still despite the various aches and pains that were beginning to let themselves be known. Articuno had apparently not bothered to soothe the bruises and minor scrapes.

Fair enough.

There were more pressing matters they had to ponder now that their mind was their own again.

A Vert? Against a Blanche? Grisaille wouldn’t have stood a chance if Noire had actually tried to rise to their challenge. Besides, as a Vert they shouldn’t have been able to what they did. Perhaps the parameters of the Prismatic coding had shifted with the new generation? There had been no mention of it in the recovered notes, but much of the data had been corrupted due to Cipher’s hardcoded failsafe protections.

But, even then, Grisaille had been able to control that Chansey with eerie accuracy when they first awoke in the hospital…

Blanche felt they were on the verge of something, some epiphany that would shake them to the very core, but they were hesitant to take hold of it because the evidence could only mean that–

“Chief-” Annie tried, her hands held up placatingly. But even she took a step back with the other trainers at the force of the glare her Team Leader tossed her way.

The sky rumbled, tiny flakes of snow beginning to tumble down from the suddenly forming clouds.

“Well?” Blanche barked, their attention snapping back onto the child that was the source of much of their frustration and ire, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I was attempting to fulfill my duty,” Grisaille offered somberly, blood dripping down their lips as they directed their gaze immediately to the ground.

Blanche stopped pacing, their heart in their throat.

There was that word again: duty.

They whirled around to face Grisaille, eyes wild. “Your what?”

Naturally, they shied away from them, fists clenching into tiny fists even as they took a deep, calming breath before speaking. “It is a subject’s duty to protect the scientists and doctors in the event of a confrontation.” Their tone became emotionless, robotic, and even without the slip back into their native language Blanche would’ve recognized the phrase to be a memorized rote. Still, the acknowledgement that the child had been reacting almost instinctively did nothing to dull the equally automatic rise of rage and indignation on their part.

It also begged the question: which was worse in the child’s mind – Leader Blanche or Scientist Blanche? Worse, still, was there even a distinction?

“I don’t need protection,” Blanche hissed, lips pulled back into a snarl, “Especially not from you!”

“Chief, that’s enough!” Annie broke in, stepping between her Leader and the child. Blanche hadn’t even realized that they’d been looming over Grisaille until they were forced to step back and look at their Assistant in the eye. “I get it – you’re frustrated. We all are! But don’t take it out on them.”

First their twin, then their Professor, now their Assistant.

Was there nothing the little clone wouldn’t take from them?

Blanche sneered at her, the expression usually more at home on their twin’s face finding purchase on their own. “Get that thing to a hospital and clean up the area. We will be discussing your failure to keep one child under your thumb on Monday.”

“Blanche,” Annie gasped, stricken and horrified, but they were already walking away from her and toward where they’d parked.

Thankfully, their motorcycle hadn’t been damaged in the duel explosion that had erupted all around it which was probably for the best. They were feeling particularly murder-y at the moment. Their ears were ringing with fury, limbs almost trembling with it as they climbed back onto their bike, shoved their helmet on with perhaps a little too much force, and drove off. They caught a glimpse of Annie helping Grisaille into one of Team Mystic’s evacuation cars, the child’s head bowed pathetically, and they felt their lips pull back into a snarl.

They wanted to punch something so badly-

“Call Instinct One,” they snapped into their helmet, turning onto the main loop with a bit more force than necessary.

He answered after the first ring.

“Y’ello?” he said, almost lazy, “Change your mind about needing a hand?”

“Meet me in the northern meadow,” they said, words clipped. Articuno’s ire swirled with in them, battering at all their defenses, and took all of their control not to let the Titan take over – only because the blasted bird didn’t know how to ride a motorcycle and they’d rather die than let anything happen to it. Still, there was no doubt that their trail would be obvious to anyone looking for a streak of frozen tar and a small flurry of snow.

Spark didn’t respond right away, but they felt the tension within them spike when he finally chose to, words rumbling through their helmet’s speakers like a thunderstorm on the horizon. They could almost feel his smile when he said simply, “Can do.”

---

The third evening of Grisaille being in their care was not… good in the traditional sense.

After the whole Team Rocket fiasco in the wee hours of the morning, most of their daily plans had gone out the window. For one thing, they were in no state physically or mentally to deal with the myriad of meetings they had on their roster and for another, well, Articuno wasn’t particularly keen on being cooped up and playing nice with a ‘twittering bunch of featherless idiots’.

Thankfully, Annie had seen fit to clear their schedule for the day – a fact they discovered thanks to a particularly terse email informing them of said schedule clearing. They’d need to find a way to make it up to her. Perhaps a few more succulents to decorate her office with would suffice?

Regardless, Blanche stumbled back into their apartments long after the sun had set. The hours-long sparring match with their counterpart had left them with more bruises than they could count, but their mind was clearer and their emotions more steady. It hadn’t been particularly good to get beaten twice in one day, but the multiple losses and victories against Spark had acted like a balm upon their defeat against their twin. Spark also had the good grace to try and teach them how to take him down after several failed attempts – though, that might’ve been his version of taunting.

His good humor lasted about as long as it took for Go to receive a multi-paragraph text from Annie and relay it to his Team Leader during a break in the match. To say Spark was not capable of scathing lectures would be a disservice, much to Blanche’s newfound chagrin.

The northern meadow was going to need several weeks to recover from the lightning scorched everything.

All this to say that after the events of the day they hadn’t expected to find Grisaille still up, much less waiting for their arrival. They wore the same pajamas they had the night before, the short sleeves revealing the swath of gauze that now wrapped around their left arm all the way up to their elbow.

The Team Leader had tersely told them to go to sleep and observed with annoyed fascination as they nodded and simply curled up on the cushions, breathing leveling out even as they watched. Should they carry them to the bed? After a moment of deliberation, Blanche had found one of the numerous blankets in their closet and carefully tossed it over their slumbering form, not bothering to smother the snort of amusement when Grisaille squeaked in surprise at being ‘attacked’ by the simple afghan.

“Thank you,” Grisaille said softly, hair mussed from the blanket, and it was all Blanche could do to just nod.

“Of course,” was their sharp reply, and they had to wince when the child flinched at their harsh tone.

A long shower helped soothe the aches in their body but did nothing to help the gaping hole in their chest. Just looking at their charge had brought their shame and guilt to the fore and now it seemed it would not be content be silenced any further.

“They’re a kid, Blanche,” Spark had snarled into their ear as he pressed them into the dirt, the air around them swirling with frost and ozone, “You’re blaming a fucking kid for your own issues! Get it together!”

“I get why you acted like that,” Annie had sighed, voice difficult out make out over the roar of their motorcycle, “I do! I just wish you hadn’t said those things in front of them. What if they think you hate them now? You know how much regard they have for you and Noire. W-What? Yes, I’ll take care of the press release.”

“Darling, why are you calling me about this?” Candela had asked, “I was the youngest, yes, but I was always taught family, no matter where they come from, is was matters most – and look how that turned out for me. Is this about Grisaille? Aw, you really do care about them! I was starting to worry tha- Did you just try to hang up on me?! Rude!”

‘dont text me unless its to tell me to come pick grisaille up. youre fucking lucky i deleted willows number’

Naturally, Blanche slept fitfully and woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, pillows askew and limbs sprawled out, fully tangled in their covers. They were confused for a moment upon waking so unceremoniously, so much so that they stared at their ceiling and wondering blearily if they'd made the whole 'little sibling' thing up as some sort of twisted scenario from their subconscious. The very thought filled them with a very real, incredibly selfish sense of hope. Perhaps, if Grisaille didn’t exist, they wouldn’t have to confront the uncomfortable feelings they’d carefully locked away for decades.

The delusion was shattered when they made out the sounds of a one-sided conversation coming from their kitchen and sighed as they got up to investigate. They nearly tripped over their previously discarded clothing, Pokeballs rolling under their bed, which made their eye twitch. First they were a bad sibling and Team Leader, and now they were a bad Pokemon trainer. Wonderful.

Opening their door quietly, they crept out of their bedroom and down the hall as quietly as they could. The voice was soft and feminine, familiar even though it was muffled by distance which made them relax minutely. Peering around the corner, Blanche took in the late night scene unfolding in their kitchen.

The first thing they noticed was two figures in front of their fridge. Grisaille had tucked themselves into a tiny ball next to the large appliance, knees up to their chest and back against the cool steel surface, eyes blown wide and chest heaving as they trembled like a leaf caught in a vortex. Annie was crouched in front of them but a comfortable distance back, speaking softly and soothingly but making no moves to approach despite looking like she very much wanted to.

Well. It wasn’t like they could just ignore the fact the child supposedly in their care was so obviously distressed.

(‘Haven’t you been doing that all along?’ asked a sly, icy voice.

‘Hush,’ was their incredibly succinct reply.)

The two looked up as one when Blanche decided to fully enter the scene. And all it took was a single glance at the child for Blanche's heart to seize in their chest because they KNEW that look - they'd seen it countless times on Noire's face, many years ago, when they'd only had each other to chase the nightmares away.

"Go back to bed, Annie," they told her, "I'll handle it."

"It?" Annie asked, voice poisonous, and Blanche balked at her before frowning. Ah, yes, they’d referred to Grisaille as a ‘thing’ today. How horrifically dehumanizing. They’d already gotten a lecture about it, but apparently Annie wasn’t above holding a grudge on someone else’s behalf.

Articuno, stirring in their mind, seemed pleased by that for some reason.

"The situation," they clarified and Annie huffed dispassionately before standing. She did not leave, however, but grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it in the sink, adding a few ice cubes from the dispenser for good measure. She carefully approached Grisaille and knelt down again to hand it to them – who, of course, took it and held it in the curl of their body, almost protectively. It shook in their grasp, splashing a little onto them.

Blanche huffed and took a seat on the ground opposite Annie's spot, wincing as the cold of the tile seeping into their sleeping pants. This was going to an uncomfortable process in more ways than one. They didn’t look directly at Grisaille – couldn’t really bring themselves to, at any rate, thanks to the memories their current state brought up – but stared off into the near distance. This was familiar and it made the hole in their chest, punched out sometime over the course of ten years without their twin, positively ache.

“Grisaille,” they began, clearing their throat when the child seemed to flinch at their voice, “I’m going to start counting to ten. I need you to try and repeat after me. Can you do that?”

Grisaille took a few gasping breaths but nodded at them, not looking in their direction but obviously keyed into their presence.

“One.”

“O-o-one.”

“Good. Two.”

“Tw-two.”

“Three.”

“Thr-” Their breathing hitched here, and they curled in tighter in shame, head bowed low and toes flexing in their socks.

“Try again,” Blanche encouraged, “Three.”

“Thr-thre-ee.”

They continued through the numbers, Blanche doing their best to keep their voice level and patient as their charge struggled on each of them. English was their second language, after all. Perhaps counting French would’ve been better? No, that likely would’ve brought up memories of Cipher and that was the last thing that needed to happen.

“Alright, very good,” Blanche said after a moment of tense silence, punctuated only by everyone’s various breathing patterns, “Can you name me five things you can see?”

“You,” was the child’s immediate response, “Assistant Annie. T-Tile floor. Pants.”

“That’s only four,” Annie said gently, “Can you tell us one more thing you can see?”

“I cannot re-remember the word for the last one,” Grisaille murmured, uncurling both their pointer fingers from around their glass of water and nodding their head to indicate the cabinets under the kitchen island directly in front of them.

“Those are cabinets,” Blanche informed them, watching out the corner of their eye as the child mouthed the word, “Can you list four things you can touch?”

“Glass of water. Shirt. Bout- buttons. Socks.”

“Great job!” Annie said, smiling at them and catching on to the pattern, “Now, three things you can hear, please.”

“The fridge. The air, um, room air? Cars.”

Even Blanche had to blink at that, sharing a confused glance with their Assistant. “Cars?”

Grisaille just nodded at them, eyes downcast. Their breathing was evening out remarkably well, their form only jittering with the occasional tremors now. They even managed to bring the glass to their lips and take a tiny sip of the water.

“Okay,” Blanche said slowly, “Now, two things you can smell.”

“Shampoo and metal.”

“Good. Last item: one thing you can taste.”

“Macarons.”

“Macarons?” Blanche looked over at Annie at that.

“They were so good for Doctor Emil,” she offered by way of explanation, rising slowly and stretching now that it seemed like Grisaille had mostly calmed down. “We got them as a treat after dinner today. They had a pistachio one while I wanted to try the new seasonal flavor.”

A pang shot through Blanche’s chest as they recalled their spiral from the night before.

Annie caught the shift of their mood, pursing her lips and breathing out loudly. “Oh, um, do you mind if I run to the bathroom real quick? I was on my way there when I thought to check on you two and, well, you know.”

Blanche nodded to her, huffing as she skipped away. “Wait,” they called after a moment, curious for the sake of curiosity, “What was the seasonal flavor macaron you had?”

“Oh!” came the reply, followed by a light laugh, “Vanilla bean and violets!”

There was a sudden cracking, shattering sound that made Blanche jump and look wildly toward the source. The glass in Grisaille’s grasp had shattered, water splashing on them and the floor, glass shards and ice cubes clattering on the tile and landing in a rapidly pinking puddle. Even Grisaille seemed a little stunned at the carnage, staring at their bleeding hands and the roughly half of a glass that remained clutched between them in mute shock.

“Well, shit,” Blanche muttered, glaring at the mess with a weary sense of malaise. Cleaning up after a mess had never been one of their strong suits. Cleaning in general was soothing, yes, but something about having to take care of a mess they themselves hadn’t made always seemed to take a little more effort than they wished to expend on such a mundane task.

“I-I’m sorry!” Grisaille stammered, small hands reaching in to pluck the shards of glass out from among the ice cubes, “I’m s-so sorry, Leader Blanche. I’ll clean it up- I-”

“Grisaille, no,” they said, alarmed, moving to kneel next to them and grabbing their hands, “Don’t touch that! You’ll hurt yourself.”

The child flinched at their touch and ducked their head, hands clenching around the shards they’d already managed to pick up. Blanche clucked their tongue and had to gently pry their fists open to dump the glass back down into the rest of the debris, frowning at how many were stained pink.

“Hey, I heard something break!” Annie said, darting back into the kitchen, her eyes wide with concern, “Are you both okay? What happened?”

“We’re fine, Annie,” they assured her coolly, “It was just a glass.”

“I’m sorry,” Grisaille repeated, voice soft, slipping into French in their distress, “I’m so sorry.”

Their concern rose further as they watched the child’s form begin to tremble once more, feeling the small tremors in the hands they still held in their own. "It's just a glass," Blanche argued, sliding into the language in kind, "It's really not that big a loss."

But Grisaille kept repeating it, little variations that become more and more pitiful when their nose began to run from their tears.

Blanche didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to respond, but Annie came over and carefully helped maneuver the child out of the bloody puddle and up to the sink. She washed their hands, gently consoling them through their tears as she ducked to snag the medkit out from under the sink. The pair moved over the kitchen island, Annie carefully beginning to dry and wrap the various small cuts on their already scarred hands as the child struggled not to fall to pieces.

The Mystic Team Leader looked down at their own hands and cringed as they took in the blood smearing their palms and fingers, rising from the floor and running their hands in the water before turning off the tap. They went through the motions of cleaning up the puddle and the shards of glass left behind, all the while Grisaille’s quiet, restrained sobs echoed in their apartment and mind.

Annie took Grisaille over to the living room and draped the blanket from the couch around their shoulders, not touching them directly but soothing nevertheless as the child’s breathing hitched again.

“You’re okay,” she cooed, making quiet shushing noises, “Hey, hey, it was just a glass.”

“I didn’t even like that one,” Blanche said, reaching for humor as they cautiously approached the two. Annie smiled at them but Grisaille just flinched.

They looked to Annie helplessly, lips thinning when she just gestured to them and quickly pantomimed hugging and patting someone on the back. They were not sure that would work. For one, they themselves were not overly affectionate and for another, the child had already shown to be quite skittish of physical contact.

Still, it was something and they honestly didn’t have any better ideas.

Blanche sighed and carefully sat down on the couch, tentatively pulling Grisaille closer to them. Their charge stiffened briefly before following, allowing themselves to be maneuvered into a loose embrace, their head resting against the Mystic Leader’s collarbone. They sat like that for several moments – Blanche trying to exude quiet compassion, Annie vibrating with concern, and Grisaille trembling from emotions that were so much bigger than they were.

At some point, the child started to apologize for seemingly random things.

“I’m sorry for taking up so much space in the bed.”

“It’s fine,” they muttered on reflex, rubbing idle circles on their charge’s back, chin resting on the top of their head. This felt… almost nice. “Candela is always complaining I need to get a bigger one, anyway.”

“I’m so sorry for talking too much to Leader Candela.”

“Candela would be positively thrilled if you deigned to speak to her even more.”

"I’m sorry for coming here," they continued, voice hitching, “I'm sorry for disrupting your work, your life.”

“What?” Blanche murmured, slipping back into English, eyes wide and chest feeling rather like someone had punched them in a lung. They’d wanted that sort of apology, they supposed, but not from a sobbing child of all things. Their hold on Grisaille loosened, going limp in their shock, and they watched as their charge bring their palms up to their face to scrub at their tears.

“I’m sorry,” they hiccupped, shoulders shaking, “I’m sorry for existing.”

And it was at that exact moment that Blanche felt something spear their heart. They had always been remarkably good at connecting the dots, in seeing the way, but it sometimes comes at the price of being blinded by the brilliance of their own deductions. Guilt and shame nearly drowned them for a moment and they sat staring wide-eyed at Grisaille's tearstained face, remembering vaguely when they had been the one to apologize for such things. How Noire, often so broken and beaten back then, would smile and say that getting to live beside them, to love them, was worth every moment of pain Cipher put them through.

“Oh,” was all they could say, the word all at once too small and just right for the sudden wave of deja-vu they were experiencing.

“What?” Annie pressed, hovering nearby, “What did they say?”

Blanche just shook their head helplessly, swallowing through a suddenly tight throat.

‘Now you have listened,’ Articuno crooned in their mind, ‘To what had remained unsaid. The time for words is now, fledging. I wonder if you’ve learned what to say.’

They did not, in fact, know what to say.

(Would Noire have known?)

It would be insincere to imply they didn’t resent Grisaille’s relatively sudden presence in their life. They did not enjoy much of their social interactions revolving around where their younger ‘sibling’ was and when the next time the other person could see them. Spark was insufferable at base level – dealing with him now that he had a “mini-Noire” to pester was just obnoxious. And the less said about Candela’s constant cooing and gushing over how cute Grisaille was the better.

And yet, it was because if their existence that they and Noire had reconciled enough to be on speaking terms again. It was also because they had entered Blanche’s life so suddenly that they got to learn what it meant to be responsible for another person – a skill they didn’t know they lacked until they were forced to confront it.

“You are not at fault for your own existence. The blame for that lies with those who decided to create you,” they finally managed, reaching out and carefully taking Grisaille’s much smaller hands in their own. The size difference made something in their chest twist violently and they had to take a moment to find their voice before continuing, “Still, while unasked for, I find your company to not be without merit. Perhaps in the future I may even come to rely on you.”

‘Well done,’ was all the icy voice in their mind had to say, slithering smooth as silk along their consciousness.

Grisaille stared at them with a conflicted expression, tears continuing to make their sad trek down a young face that was still far too careworn. Slowly, as though it was taking the maximum amount of effort, they lifted the carefully clasped hands to their forehead, eyes sliding shut as they bit their lip and uttered a choked, “Merci.”

(Or had it been ‘mercy’?)

“I’ll see myself out,” Annie said suddenly, the pair on the couch jolting at the sound of her bright voice, “Seems to me like you two might need to have a conversation that doesn’t require an audience.”

“Alright,” Blanche said after a moment, nodding to her, “Thank you, Annie, and good night.”

“Almost ‘good morning’,” she muttered, yawning, before hurrying to add, “But I’ll take it! I already cleared today for you since the Professor’s due to be back mid-afternoon so feel free to sleep in a little. I know I will.” She gently reached out and brushed aside Grisaille’s bangs, her expression unbearably kind as she continued, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Grisaille nodded to her, their face still tearstained but their eyes were bright. “Good night, Assistant Annie.”

The two siblings watched as young woman left then sat in silence for several moments.

Which was a bad thing for the Team Mystic Leader because it allowed their mind to conjure up just how badly the proposed continuation of their discussion could go. But not speaking about the things that were bothering them would be a great disservice to the young child in their care and would likely result in on further miscommunications in the future.

“Do you,” Blanche began hesitantly, clearing their throat when a pair of green eyes identical to their own turned their stoic gaze upon them, “Do you wish to talk further? I know that is what is expected of us but, well, I do not wish to presume– that is to say, I wouldn’t wish to force you to hold a conversation if you’d much rather be doing something else.”

Grisaille studied them for a moment, expression impassive, and Blanche tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. Is this what it felt like to be on the receiving end of one of their stares? One would assume they would be immune after growing up with Noire but there was a difference between Noire’s inherent expressiveness and Grisaille’s apparent knack for stoicism.

No wonder their interns often went pale and began to babble.

“What other activities are there to perform?” their charge asked at length.

“Paperwork, probably,” Blanche answered on reflex, wincing immediately, “Ah, but don’t concern yourself. I can handle it on my own. The other activities at this hour would traditionally be, well, sleeping. I don’t suppose that would interest you?” They sighed when the child simply shook their head, the hands still in Blanche’s grasp clenching in distress. Noire had never been able to get back to sleep after a nightmare, either.

“May we, um, perhaps,” Grisaille began hesitantly, suddenly unable to meet Blanche’s eyes.

“Yes?” they prompted, raising a brow as their charge began to fidget.

“If it is not objectionable,” they said, “May we attempt the ‘cuddling’?”

“The… cuddling?”

“Touch is apparently therapeutic for humans,” the child continued in a rush, an over-eager explanation tumbling passed their lips, “It releases the hormones oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin. Once the hormones are released into the body, one is said to experience feelings of happiness, relaxation, improved mood, and lower levels of depression. It can also help forge bonds and reinforce feelings of safety and belonging-”

“Yes, yes, I know the importance of touch,” Blanche said, huffing out a fond sigh.

Candela had once used those facts in a teenaged attempt at seducing them. Appealing to their logic, she had said with her signature grin. It hadn’t worked.

“Very well. If that is what you would prefer, I see no reason why we can’t, um, cuddle. For a short time.”

Their charge looked at them expectantly.

“Cuddling is best done when reclined,” they offered, doing their best to sound sincere, “We should adjourn to the bedroom.” Their lips twitched when Grisaille jumped up from the couch, waiting with politely veiled impatience for Blanche to also stand before heading to the indicated room.

The bedding was still in chaotic disarray when the pair entered.

The child paused at the pile of dirty clothing the floor and Blanche struggled not to flush in embarrassment as they stooped to clean up their mess. They had to fully lower themselves to floor to snatch one of their wayward Pokeballs out from under their bed – apologies, Dratini – before dropping the bundle of discarded clothing on the reading chair on the far side of the room. “I’ll have a cleaning service fetch those with the rest of the laundry tomorrow morning,” they said, answering the unspoken question (and judgement) in Grisaille’s eyes.

The Pokeballs they set carefully in the adjacent charging and healing station before turning fully to take in the scene of the child carefully and quietly rearranging the bedding into a more presentable form. They had to smother a smile that threatened to form.

Being a ‘fussy nester’ ran genetics-deep it seemed.

There was a bit of fumbling awkwardness as the two of them climbed into bed and turned toward each other, equally expectant for the other initiate the ‘activity’. It was only after an uncomfortably long staring contest that Blanche realized that, as the adult, they were most likely to be considered the expert between the two of them. They bit back a sigh and held open their arms, looking everywhere but Grisaille as they muttered, “Well? Scoot a little closer.”

Grisaille hesitated for a moment. “We do not have to do the cuddling if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” Blanche replied, embarrassment making the words come out harsher than they intended. They swallowed thickly before continuing in what they hoped was a gentler tone, “Truly. The concept of- of cuddling with you does not offend me.”

No, indeed, it did not. But the Team Mystic Leader, while adverse to most forms of casual contact, was what most people would consider to be a ‘cuddle fiend’ once prompted. They simply didn’t wish to smoother the poor child after everything they’d been through the past few days. It might give them the wrong impression. And yet, something deeply instinctual that they couldn’t fully blame on their Titan was undoubtedly pleased with this turn of events. The idea of finally getting over their needless paranoia and holding Grisaille in their arms was tantalizingly close to fruition.

What rankled them slightly was the thought they were undeserving of such an honor. After all, it was their own fault that their charge now held them at a metaphorical arm’s length. Perhaps, if they were extremely lucky, the two of them could come an understanding, if not a reconciliation, without the need for a utterly overwhelming conversation?

They didn’t get to stew on that particular thought process for very long because Grisaille took the opportunity to finally worm their way close enough to enter their grasp. There was a bit of fumbling, knees not quite knowing where to go and all that, but eventually the pair settled into a comfortable configuration.

Blanche ran careful fingers through the child’s short hair, chin resting on the top of their head with their other arm pressing into the mattress from Grisaille’s worryingly-light weight, their hand curling upward slightly to rest in the small of their back. Grisaille’s hands were both hesitantly clutching at the front of Blanche’s shirt, their soft breaths fanning across Blanche’s collarbones as they automatically tried to matching breathing patterns with their current guardian.

The relative dark coupled with the soft warmth suffusing the blankets around them made Blanche’s eyes begin to feel heavy. By the way Grisaille was relaxing in measurable increments, they knew the same could be said for them. They hoped so – sleep would allow them both some much needed respite.

It had been a long few days, after all.

“It appears I might be more tired than I thought,” they murmured into the night air with a sigh, “Forgive me if I fall asleep.”

“Understood,” was the soft reply, “Sleep well, Blanche.”

Ah, well, that made their heart hurt for a different reason.

There were a few moments of tender, serene silence as Blanche sank slowly into blissful oblivion. Just one thought kept niggling in the back of their mind and they gave it voice without truly meaning to. “What was your nightmare about? Can you tell me?”

The moment stretched, their question unanswered, and Blanche began to suspect their charge had actually fallen asleep. They drowsily pressed their lips to the top of their head, inhaling deeply to take in the scent of shampoo and warm skin as they sank deeper into unconsciousness.

“No,” came an eventual reply, Grisaille nuzzling closer as sleep finally overtook their icy older sibling, “For I fear it will come true one day.”

---

“Do you have everything? Your tablet? The new suit?”

Grisaille simply nodded to each of their inquiries, shifting the strap on their shoulder self-consciously as Blanche continued to pace around their office. They were chewing on a thumbnail anxiously. It was a disgusting habit from their childhood they’d never really grown out of that only reared its ugly head when they were under extreme duress.

Which, at the present moment, they were.

Professor Willow was on his way and they had no way of knowing if their previous selfish, outlandish actions had already reached his ears. Annie had promised to let them be the one to inform him of all that transpired, but it was unlikely that Spark or Candela had remained silent about their cruelty toward their charge. There was also Noire to consider, but just the thought of the twin weaponizing their incompetence as a means to provoke the Professor made their stomach turn.

Which was just as well. There was no way for them to subvert the truth when Grisaille themselves were a living fact-only reporter and Blanche wasn’t so cruel as to request they doctor the past for their own benefit. Especially when they were so obviously deserving of the coming tongue lashing.

Speaking of which-

“Sorry I’m late – traffic was crazy on the way from the airport!” Professor Willow announced as he entered their office, Annie peeking in after him with a quick but solemn thumbs up before closing the door. He smiled at the child in the room before turning his gaze on the Team Mystic Leader. “Good morning to you both. Glad to see you’re both in one piece.”

“Good morning, Professor,” Blanche said, swallowing thickly when one of his brows rose, “I trust the conference was a success? I haven’t been able to keep up with the reports you sent over.”

He waved them off before tucking his hands into his pants pockets. The Professor was dressed down today: casual slacks and a comfortable sweater taking the place of his normal gear and signature jacket. It was a good look.

“It went about as well as could be expected. A couple of people brought their latest discoveries which was great to see. Heh, a lot of us had more grey hairs than last time we saw each other in person.” He paused to glance over at Grisaille, studying closely for a moment before he continued. “There were a couple of kids there that I wish Grisaille had been able to meet – it would be nice for them to start having peers their own age instead of hanging out with us old fuddy-duddies, right?”

“Right,” Blanche agreed easily, crossing their arms out of habit, “It would likely help expedite their mental and emotional growth.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Willow said slowly, pausing for a moment. When neither sibling spoke he pursed his lips and turned to Grisaille. “Hey there. You enjoy this weekend?”

“Permission to give my report?” Grisaille asked, lowering their gaze to floor when the Professor hummed agreeably. They dropped their hand from the bag strap on the shoulder, both hands coming to clasp in front of them in their standard pose.

“Ah, wait, Professor-” Blanche stammered, taking a step forward and reaching out toward him a little, “Perhaps I should be the one to-”

“Blanche and Noire were both displeased at my stationing at Mystic Headquarters,” the child began and Blanche felt their heart drop to their stomach. They were starting all the way back at the meeting? “I was able to finish three of the five exams assigned to me the first day. Blanche’s room is very blue because they prefer that color and their shower does not run out of hot water. The second day I completed the remaining two assessments and was tasked with ‘finding something to do’. This resulted in a walk to the temperature-controlled holding areas on the 15th floor of Mystic Headquarters.”

The child paused to catch their breath and Willow cast an alarmed look in Blanche’s direction, to which they could only shrug helplessly.

“There was a trainer-bound Marill that was ‘throwing a fit’ on this floor that I avoided. That was the correct course of action. Researcher Diego and Assistant Researcher Emily brought me to help oversee an experiment using small Pokemon called Smoochums. They come from eggs. My-” Their hands clenched and a small, ashamed frown twisted onto their lips. “My very presence, however, ruined the experiment and Researcher Diego and Assistant Researcher Emily were reprimanded by Blanche for their lack of foresight.”

“That was not your fault,” Blanche said, frowning when Grisaille would not meet their eyes. “Those two should’ve paid more attention to their own proposed premise.”

“That is not what you expressed at the time.”

They winced, biting their lip. “Yes, well, but you see…”

“Go on, Grisaille,” Willow pressed, his expression hardening as he glanced over at Blanche with a meaningful look, “Continue your report. We’re both listening carefully.”

“We had lunch in the elevator. It was sandwiches.” Grisaille continued dutifully, “We then went to the docks to assess the stock of new Pokemon from the region Hoenn. I was made to stay in the main office to be out of the way. Office Manager Cheryl has many posters of Skitties hanging off of tree limbs with various motivational quotes. After that, Assistant Annie took me to Furfrou Boutique and I received a grey wool suit with matching silver silk bowtie for the dinner meeting with Leader Candela. The reservation was with Chu Warren at 8pm.”

“Dinner meeting?” the Professor cut in, his tone mirthful, “You two are still calling your dates that?”

“They are not dates,” Blanche protested, flushing despite their disbelief, “They are meetings set in a more casual atmosphere to promote inter-team communication and facilitate-”

He laughed and waved them off.

“Relax, I’m happy you’re both getting along outside of work,” he said, a smile gracing his lips once more, “You used to fight like a Meowth and Growlithe. Well, you still do, but it’s more bickering for the sake of bickering than the full-on arguments you used to have. The property damage has escalated as you’ve gotten older, though.”

“This is true,” Blanche allowed, sniffing primly, “Though I maintain that most of our altercations are because Candela simply refuses to agree with me out of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness. That, or she’s simply too stubborn to back down when she knows I’ve beaten her.”

“I’m sure she’d say something similar about you,” Willow chuckled before looking back down at Grisaille sheepishly, “Ah, sorry Grisaille. We got distracted reminiscing. Continue your report again, please.”

The child simply nodded, fingers twitching before they took a deep breath and continued. “We ate steak, mushrooms, and asparagus in a thick butter sauce. Dessert was ordered – three pieces of a dark chocolate cake with cherry drizzle and gold flake garnish – but Blanche and I left before it could be consumed. Blanche had work to do that night so I slept alone. Yesterday morning, um, well.”

“What happened yesterday morning?” the Professor asked, frowning when Grisaille glanced at Blanche briefly and shifted in place. “Grisaille, what happened?”

“There was a Team Rocket attack,” Blanche explained, wincing when he looked over at them with wide eyes. “A case of our new lures was stolen as were some of the Pokemon we received from Hoenn. Annie is already working with the lead technicians to recover what we can and boost our security so this won’t be repeated any time soon.”

“Right, okay,” Professor Willow said, running a distressed hand through his hair, “Anything else I should know about?”

“Blanche and Noire battled each other alongside members of their respective teams.” Grisaille offered and Blanche felt a stab in their chest at their resolute expression. Here it came. “Assistant Annie and I moved out to intervene, but we got separated on the battlefield. I found Blanche and Noire first and, I-I challenged Noire to prevent them from attacking Blanche further as they were already unable to continue fighting. Noire would not back down so I activated my abilities in preparation to take them on-”

“You did what?!” Willow exploded, staring at Grisaille with a horrified expression. He quickly looked them over and seemed to finally take in the gauze that just barley peaked out from under their long sleeved t-shirt. He rubbed at his face with a hand before sputtering, “Grisaille, I can’t- That was incredibly dangerous! Noire doesn’t pull their punches when they’re on a mission and- and using your abilities should never be done so openly! Do you have any idea how much effort has gone into preventing other Teams from finding out about you and the other Cipher children?”

“I know,” the child replied, lowering their head further, “Blanche scolded me after Noire and the rest of the Team Rocket members fled the area.”

“Professor, I feel you should know that I- I was not in my right mind when I was reprimanding them,” Blanche said, their gut twisting uncomfortably when he whirled around to face them fully, “I said some rather unkind- I mean, this whole weekend I was not the most suitable guardian for them. They were my responsibility and I failed to keep them safe enough that day they felt they had no other option but to-”

“I can see that,” the Professor bit out, his lips pressed into a thin line as he slowly shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Blanche. I thought I could trust you more than this.”

Blanche tried not to flinch at the flinty expression his face, heart feeling like it was being ripped out from their chest all over again at his words. They’d been afraid of this, had been dreading it all morning, but to hear it in reality from someone whose opinion ranked so highly to them was a new level of pain. They ducked their head, struggling to fight back the childish tears that threatened to well up in their eyes.

“Professor Willow,” Grisaille said softly, breaking the oppressive silence, “May I finish my report?”

“There’s more?” Professor Willow groaned, kneading the bridge of his nose with an impatient hand, “Go on, then. Better to rip the bandaid off in one stroke.”

“After Blanche also left the scene, Assistant Annie took me St. Hudson’s Hospital and placed me in the care of honored Doctor Emil. Several hours passed before Assistant Annie was able to pick me up and we returned Mystic Headquarters where I got ready for bed and waited for Blanche to return. They eventually did and ordered me to sleep. I awoke from a nightmare several hours later and-” they paused, looking over to Blanche, “Assistant Annie and Blanche helped me calm down. I broke a glass that Blanche didn’t even like and they are a very good cuddler. This… concludes my report.”

Blanche blinked in shock at the abrupt ending, glancing over to see the Professor was equally dumbfounded.

“Blanche cuddled you?” was all he said.

His astonishment made Blanche huff out a quick breath. “I am capable of physical affection, Professor. Grisaille specifically asked for it and I, well, it seemed like the least I could do to comfort them at the time.” That wasn’t entirely true but what the Professor didn’t know wouldn’t be a detriment in this case.

Willow hummed in consideration, looking between them and the child with deep eyes. “You asked for it, Grisaille? Really? You will barely hold my hand when we’re crossing the street.”

Grisaille nodded, hands twisting in front of them from the scrutiny. “Cuddling is a sign of trust. It can help forge bonds and reinforce feelings of safety and belonging. I wanted to experience such things with Blanche. They were willing to oblige and seemed to enjoy it as they fell asleep soon after the cuddling activity was initiated.”

“I take it that I shouldn’t hold my breath for a cuddle request myself, then?” the Professor asked, chuckling in surprise when Grisaille frowned so fiercely their nose wrinkled.

“Professor, please,” Blanche hissed, “Even I know it’s inappropriate for an adult man to cuddle with a child.”

“That wasn’t the point I was trying to make and you know it,” he retorted, a modicum of his usual cool, calm demeanor returning as he sighed deeply. “Thanks for letting me know that I’m in for a media circus for the next few weeks. Grisaille, you’ll likely need to stay at my home for the foreseeable future which means no outings. Blanche - no unsupervised visits for a while, okay? I should be restricting your rights further for this but Grisaille’s report made me think about the situation in a different light.”

“Understood, Professor Willow,” Grisaille said, nodding curtly once.

“I understand,” the Team Mystic Leader replied, “Thank you, Professor. This won’t happen again.”

“Arceus, I hope not!” he exclaimed, shaking his head before motioning to the child. “You ready to go? I’d like to get home before the jetlag truly starts to set in. I’ve missed my bed – the hotel was fancy, but my back can’t handle those super soft mattresses anymore.” He paused shake his head. “Anyway. Say goodbye to Blanche, okay? I gotta ask Annie something real quick so I’ll be waiting outside.”

Grisaille nodded once more and waited until the door to the office closed behind him before turning to look Blanche in the eye. “Goodbye, Blanche. Thank you for taking care of me this weekend.”

The sincere statement coupled with the surprisingly willing eye contact made something in their chest twist in a different way than they were used to, and shock went straight to their core when they realized why. Something had shifted between the two of them this weekend, something so incredible and fundamental that they weren’t sure how they’d missed until this very moment. It was as though someone had flipped a switch inside them and they felt buzzed from the rush of newfound knowledge.

Blanche reached out and quickly snagged one of their ch- their little sibling’s hands. “I’ll call you tomorrow if you should wish?” they said, helpless, grasping at the faintest of hopes, “Or text you if that is easier?”

“Understood,” Grisaille replied, nodding to them. “I shall await your correspondence.” They offered the Team Mystic Leader the smallest, shyest smile, squeezing their linked hands before letting go to follow Professor Willow out of Blanche’s office.

Blanche let out a shaky breath they hadn’t realized they had been holding. They staggered over their desk and sat down heavily, spinning slightly in their chair so they could look out the window. Fat flurries rained down from the clouds smearing the sky all the way to the horizon, the people far below racing about like an over-turned nest of Bug Pokemon. They scowled after a moment, fishing out their phone and opening their weather app.

Ah, they were right. Snow hadn’t been in the forecast.

‘What are you doing?’ they asked their Titan, folding their arms as they continued to watch the world begin to be painted in shades of grey and icy white. They hoped the city was on top of their annual road salting or there would be hell to pay. They shuddered to imagine how Candela and Spark were reacting to the impromptu snow squall.

‘Celebrating!’ was the reply, and a cautious brush along their connection found Articuno to be in a particularly jovial mood.

‘Celebrating what exactly?’

‘That you have come to care for someone other than that blighted twin of yours,’ the bird crooned, its satisfaction cloying upon closer inspection, ‘Now I won’t have to kill the little one to ease your emotional constipation.’

Blanche clicked their tongue in annoyance but was unable to reply as Annie chose that moment to come into their office with a pile of paperwork the size of an Eevee. A large one. “There’s three more stacks just as big as this one,” she said, huffing as she slammed it on their desk, “Seriously, why does everyone wait until the last minute to submit their budget revisions!? I send so many reminders but no one in this dang organization seems to have any concept of planning beyond Pokemon experiments!”

“What happened to my clear schedule?” they asked, most certainly not whining as they mentally calculated the amount of Crimson Tauros they’d need to consume in order to finish just one stack alone. They’d have to skip dinner to finish all of them before tomorrow, though they doubted their Assistant would like that plan fly.

Annie rolled her eyes and gestured out their window. “Much like the sky, it’s not so clear anymore.”

Chapter Text

DEFINITION DISCOVERY

“I fucked up.”

“Good morning to you as well, Go,” Carl said, not bothering to look up from his phone as the other man flopped into the chair next to him, “And do keep your voice down.” The café the three Assistants were meeting in wasn’t particularly crowded this time of day, but it wouldn’t do to have rumors circulating that there was something wrong with the upper echelon of the three most powerful Teams in the region.

“What happened this time?” asked Annie, pursing her lips when Go groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’d gather from the sudden and explicable drizzle we’re currently experiencing it has something to do with his Team Leader,” Carl replied, deadpan. On his shoulder, a Dave watched all with its standard impassive gaze.

“No, it wasn’t Spark,” Go protested, hesitating before he continued, “Well, maybe it has to do with him. But, well, no- I mean-”

“Full sentences, if you please,” Valor Two said blithely, ignoring the glare he received in reply.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning of where things went wrong?” Annie offered, stirring the straw in her fruity drink with a nervous hand. Carl couldn’t blame her – trouble for one Leader tended bleed into problems for the other two.

“Okay, so,” Go managed around a sigh, elbows braced on the table in front of him as he rubbed at his face with both hands, “Spark had a meeting with Professor Willow this morning, right? Something to do with a batch of regional variant eggs coming to Instinct pretty soon that would need special attention. Since the parent Pokemon were also going to be in the room with the eggs, I got put on Grisaille Duty.”

“Don’t tell me you scared them!” Annie exclaimed, “Go-”

“No, I didn’t scare them!” Go protested, “C’mon, give me a little credit!”

“Annie, let him finish,” Carl said, eyeing how the rain outside had picked up, “We’ll never get to the end of this if you keep interrupting him.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, taking a surly sip.

Go had the decency to look a little chagrinned at that but cleared his throat and continued anyway. “You ever notice how Grisaille’s actually pretty curious once you give them permission to ask questions? It’s really cute. They asked me a couple about a few things they’d seen in this little mom and pop gift shop the Professor took them to the other day – about stuffed Pokemon and cards and stationary, you know, stuff like that.”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this,” Carl said, “But if you could kindly find the point I’m sure we’d both appreciate it.”

“What was that about not interrupting him?” Annie asked slyly.

“Hush.”

“Anyway,” Go sad through gritted teeth, glaring at both of his counterparts, “It’s about that time of year when Mother’s Day stuff is out right now and they were confused about it. So confused, in fact, they… asked me what a ‘mother’ was.”

“Oh?” Annie asked, right before her eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth, “Oh!”

“Yeah,” Go replied, sharing a commiserating look with the Team Mystic Assistant.

Carl let out a slow breath, slightly pained on the child’s behalf but obviously not as invested as the other two in Grisaille’s apparent lack of a nuclear family experience. After all, it wasn’t as though he and his parents were particularly close and he’d turned out fine. Mostly. His issues were the tragic products of his life falling apart on his own terms and had nothing to do with the fact his parents hadn’t bothered to put their professional lives on hold for him during his formative years.

Ahem.

Moving on.

“How, exactly, did you reply?”

“Uh, well, see that’s kinda where I fucked up,” Go admitted sheepishly.

“How do you mess up explaining what a ‘mother’ is?” Annie asked, frowning at him.

“Uh, you know how they’re all nonbinary and kinda meant to be exploring pronouns and gender and stuff like that?” He waited for both of them to nod at him before continuing. “I didn’t wanna say that only women that have babies are moms! Because, you know, sometimes women can’t have biological kids but still end up being moms. Also sometimes there are mothers that don’t deserve to be called that because they’re shitty parents. A-And then there’s the whole concept of ‘mom friends’ which transcends all genders. And, I mean, what is gender anyway but a social norm that is constantly changing and evolving with each generation-”

“Go?” Annie broke in, “Breathe.”

Go did as he was told, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“You were definitely over thinking how to answer that question,” Carl observed, snorting when Go could only pout in his direction. “I take it you didn’t ramble quite so much in the moment?”

“I mean, I thought all that stuff. Kinda froze up if I’m being honest. They got concerned and asked me if ‘mothers’ are bad things and, uh, well…”

Carl resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Barely. “You panicked.”

Go nodded sharply. “I panicked. Blurted out the first thing I thought could work.”

“What on earth did you tell them?” Annie asked.

“I said a ‘mother’ was a person who helped look after the kids in their care and was especially nurturing and affectionate.”

“That-” Annie began, her face screwed up in thought, “That’s not totally wrong? I mean, you could argue that teachers are like that, too, but mothers are known for being, well, motherly!”

“Indeed.” Carl took a pensive sip of his own drink – a coffee that may or may not be spiked with something a little stronger. “I’d say it’s close enough to the actual definition to work. I’m still waiting for how this ties into your Leader affecting the weather today.”

“Well…”

Carl’s eyes snapped to Go’s and the two men shared a look – Go’s being sheepishly contrite whereas his slowly morphed into one of subtle horror – that only those that had dealt with Spark long enough could possibly hope to understand. The Dave on his shoulder shifted and gave him an incredulous side-eye from how tense he’d become.

Suddenly, he wished his coffee had been spiked with something even stronger than it already was.

“What?” Annie asked, having the luxury of not knowing what realization had just been shared.

Go cleared his throat and sat back, giving her a pained look. “Well, that’s about when Spark and the Professor arrived. Grisaille went over them and when Spark gave them a hug they got this weird look on their face. Like they licked a lemon and couldn’t decide if they liked it or not. It was also strangely a little pleased? I don’t know, like I said it was weird.”

“I know that look,” Annie said, narrowing her eyes, “Blanche gets it when they find an answer too fast to the question they just hypothesized.”

“Huh. You think it’s genetic?”

“Not the point, Go.”

He winced at the iciness of her tone. “Right. Well, uh, after the hug, Grisaille asked Spark if it would be okay for them to send him a card next Monday. He was a bit taken aback but agreed to it.”

“Aw, that’s sweet!” Annie said, smiling, “Why next Monday, though?”

“Er, that’s when-” Go cut himself off, looking over at Carl for assistance.

“Next Monday is Mother’s Day, Annie.”

“What? Then why would they…” She trailed off, comprehension dawning on her face as she stared at the two men across from her in shock and dismay. “Oh sweet merciful Arceus. Are you kidding me? Please tell me you’re joking!”

“He’s not,” Carl intoned, jerking his chin toward the rain outside, “This is a storm of gleeful proportions.”

“Spark would’ve at least known to correct them, right?” Annie pressed. “They can’t possibly go through life thinking a man is the best fit for a mother figure! I mean, I get that Spark is really fussy and careful about his eggs and hatchlings, but is he really-”

“He’s had a giant murder taser roosting in his melon for two decades who’s idea of gender roles is null and void,” Go replied, deadpan, “What do you think?”

“I think,” Carl intoned, breaking out his extra stash of alcohol a little early, “We should all get prepared to hear Instinct One start every conversation with ‘As a single mother’ for the foreseeable future.”

“He’s so happy, guys,” Go whined, “Like, insufferably so. Grisaille was told to go to the bathroom before they and the Professor headed home and once they were out of the room both of them wanted to know why the kid wanted to give Spark a Mother’s Day card. When I explained what had happened, well, that’s about when the rain started.”

“How did the Professor take it?” Annie asked.

“Before or after he peeled himself off the floor?” Go replied, rolling his eyes, “He was laughing too hard to do much more than tell me it was fine and he’d handle it.”

---

QUALITY QUIRKS

“I think Grisaille hates me.”

“What makes you say that?” Spark asked, making grabby hands at her as she flopped down next to him onto his incredibly shitty couch. Well, more accurately, at the bag of takeout she’d brought with her.

“Well,” she said, handing his prize to him and watching him take out and divvy up all the greasy boxes with the glee of someone who hadn’t eaten in hours, “They apparently see you as a mother figure instead of me.”

“Noht meh phault!” Spark said around a soup dumpling, handing her a pair of chopsticks, “You’re too busy being all powerful and aloof to hang out with them a lot. Plus, Instinct’s a lot more out of the public eye so they can relax when they’re hanging out with me and Go.”

“Well, yes, but they also are so stiff whenever I try to hug them! And they shy away whenever I try to give them a kiss on the cheek – something they’re perfectly fine with Noire doing!” she complained, snatching the box of orange chicken out of his hands before he could eat it all. “What does that insufferable Rocket have that I don’t?!”

Spark snorted as he reached for the box of beef tips and started dumping them into his chow mein. “It’s probably the things you do have that they don’t that makes Grisaille not like you as much.”

“Explain,” she snapped, poking him in the ribs as she reached around him for the container of sweet and sour sauce to drizzle on her crab rangoons.

“Well, for one, Noire’s their sibling. They’re naturally gonna be closer to them than anybody,” Spark said, stealing the sauce back from her and licking the remnants straight off the plastic. “They’d probably let Blanche give them cheek and forehead smooches, too, if that frosty recluse was into that sort of thing. Grisaille gets positively giddy – for them, mind you – whenever Blanche so much as gives them a positive comment.”

“Still not hearing what’s apparently so wrong with me, Spark,” Candela reminded him, digging into her own meal with her standard voracity. Orange chicken and fried rice were some of her favorite things to eat – sadly, these days she didn’t often have time to indulge in them.

“It’s ‘cause you have boobs, Candy.”

“Don’t call me that!” She paused, staring at him in confusion. “Wait, what does me having incredible breasts have to do with anything?”

The Instinct Leader just shrugged and slurped up some of his beefy noodles. “They apparently told Cyan who told Pat who told Mae who told Ren who told Go and me that they don’t trust people with boobs. The bigger the chest, the less trust they have. Well, er, I think it was more that they don’t trust the boobs themselves – not so much the person attached to them.”

Candela blinked at him dumbly for a few moments. “That… That’s completely ridiculous! What about boobs makes them untrustworthy?”

“Dunno!” Spark said brightly, “Grisaille might’ve overheard someone saying their boobs have a mind of their own and decided they don’t like how suspiciously they jiggle. Kids are weird like that.” He waved his chopsticks through the air for emphasis before striking quickly to steal a bite of her orange chicken.

“Well that’s just absurd,” she said, trying and failing not to pout. She bit into one of her rangoons with a little more force than was necessary. “It’s not like I can suddenly stop having breasts.”

“Please don’t. I, for one, enjoy you having magnificent flesh pillows!’

She smacked him upside the head. “Never call them that.”

Now it was Spark’s turn to pout, rubbing the back of his head with a surly hand.

---

HANDS-ON HARMONY

Zapdos was perturbed.

This was a feeling it had come to be familiar with over its tenure with Spark, but it was still surprising how often the blond was able to illicit such an emotion from it after so long. The child sitting next to Spark on the couch was carefully holding one of his hands, small fingers tracing the air over the decades-old scar that marred his palm and spread down his wrist. It and Spark both appreciated their caution – the scars were normally insensate, but with it taking mental and physical precedence in the moment they’d be disastrously sensitive.

“You have sharp nails,” the child observed in their soft voice, eyes not meeting Spark’s even as it lowered his head. Good. They were not trying to challenge it.

“I do,” it allowed magnanimously, “They allow me to defend myself. And cut apples into shapes for my siblings – though I do so only rarely and when I feel like it. Despite what the others might say.”

The child nodded once, allowing their fingers to brush Spark’s a few times. “They are very useful.”

“They are.” It blinked slowly, flexing Spark’s fingers just to watch them flinch in surprise.

‘Don’t scare them!’ Spark protested.

‘I’m merely testing them,’ it assured him, ‘I still don’t understand your attachment to this little nestling. They smell too much like that accursed blight you’re obsessed with – blight included, unfortunately.’

‘They see me as a mom,’ he replied, and it sensed the swell of genuine giddy joy the sentiment brought, ‘They could’ve chosen anyone. Candy might’ve been the more logical choice but they saw me and thought I was the best fit!’

‘A misunderstanding – one brought about by your Assistant trying to be inclusive.’

It felt the pout Spark sent its way and resisted the urge to sigh. It instead yawned, Spark’s mouth widening with the action with a taunt tongue and curled lips. It noted how the child’s green eyes immediately snapped up, watching with a guarded but obviously intrigued expression. They noticed it noticing them and immediately lowered their gaze, shoulders tense as they went back to fiddling with Spark’s fingers.

So, this is what Articuno’s Bonded would’ve looked like some years ago. Interesting.

‘I always wanted to be a dad, you know,’ Spark offered suddenly.

‘I know,’ it replied somberly, knowing what remained unsaid. It closed Spark’s eyes in a vain attempt to stem the pain that filled their joint veins.

Bondeds rarely lived full lifespans, and theirs was a Bond that had begun to splinter and fray despite both of their best efforts. Spark’s deteriorating motor skills with his hands and feet were a testament to the fact they were running out of time. Zapdos’s chest felt tight at the thought of losing this fledgling, its friend, after so long spent together. Perhaps, if the Wish Maker could be found…

It felt Spark rally suddenly, a rising sense of confidence swelling in their shared chest. ‘That’s why I wanna be the best mom I can for them. Even if I don’t get to be a dad, I can still be a mom!’

‘A noble sentiment. I wish you luck.’

‘You’re not gonna help?’

‘As if you would require my assistance.’

‘Oh, c’mon! I can tell you like them so don’t even pretend you’re not interested.’

‘… Very well,’ it said primly, ‘My first act as co-parent is to inform you they’ve stuck their fingers in our mouth.’

‘They’ve done what now?!’

Spark opened his eyes, golden glow fading back to brilliant blue as he stared up at the kid that now sat on their knees beside him, one finger pushing up his top lip as another finger on their opposite hand  poking his teeth curiously.

‘Wah yoh douin’?” he asked, feeling Zapdos’s amusement swell.

“You have fangs,” Grisaille informed him, ducking closer to peer into his mouth with a frown, “Had them. Where did they go?”

Spark just laughed, reaching up and tugging them closer to hug them. They let out the most adorable squeak and he had to hide his bright grin into their chest. They smelled of shampoo (his) and warmth. He’d never been so glad to get to babysit for the Professor before. Sure, it had been a pain to round up all his Pokemon and put them in their Pokeballs at the last minute – but it was totally worth it to have this child (his!) come to trust and rely on him even more.

Yeah, he was gonna be the best mom ever!

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful day for a walk through the park. At least, that’s how Candela felt. She was certain that Carl couldn’t care less from how he was rolling beside her at a leisurely pace. Grisaille, the utter sweetheart, was marching dutifully ahead of the pair with bright, determined eyes. She hadn’t meant her suggestion for them to find something interesting on their route to turn into an assignment, but she supposed that’s how the child was conditioned to view the world.

To be fair, this impromptu outing was mostly because the Professor had asked her to find something for the child to do that didn’t involve too many Pokemon. They’d apparently had a relapse some days ago and he was working hard to help them recover in a healthy manner – an endeavor she was more than happy to assist with.

So, here the three of them were: strolling through one of the few people-only parks in Opal City on a fine, sunny day.

Grisaille stopped suddenly, tilting their head at a meticulously maintained garden bed filled with seasonally appropriate flowers. They glanced over their shoulder at the two adults, obviously unsure as they shyly gestured at it.

“Oh, that’s pretty,” Candela said in what she hoped was an appropriately positive tone as the pair came a stop beside the child, “Good find, darling!”

“Indeed, this is lovely,” Carl agreed readily, taking a sip of something clear that she was 99% certain wasn’t water, “You have a good eye. These flowers were imported some years ago – see, look at the Galarian roses climbing the wall. You can only expect that sort of growth pattern after several seasons. That they paired it with some Kalosian lavender shows whoever designed this bed prefers their works to be both beautiful and aromatic.”

Candela blinked in surprise at her Assistant. “I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about flora, Charles.”

“I believe you’ll find me to be a wealth of knowledge on a wide range of topics, Miss Candela,” he replied tonelessly, taking another drink as his red eyes twinkled merrily in the sunlight. He was so handsome when he was smug – it wasn’t fair!

“Will it suffice?” Grisaille asked, “Have I completed the mission correctly?”

“Certainly,” Carl said, overlapping with Candela’s “Of course, darling!”

This seemed to please the child as they nodded and blew out a soft sigh. The sunlight caught on their pale hair and lit it up, drawing unfortunate attention to the dark circles under their eyes. Candela’s heart twisted in her chest at the sight, remembering another person who struggled with nightmares in the not-to-distant past. She opened her mouth, to offer comfort or compliments, only to be halted when something incredibly strange and alarming happened.

A blur of green and brown flew up from the nearby garden bed and slammed into the child. Grisaille had flinched, throwing up an arm and trying to move away instinctively, so the bundle of what apparently was leaves and dirt smashed into their shoulder and arm instead of the side of their head.

“What the-?!” Candela exclaimed, moving towards the poor dirty thing with hands outstretched. “Grisaille, darling, are you okay?”

Grisaille’s head whipped up from its ducked position and they glared at her warningly which halted her advance. No, wait, their gaze was on something passed her – and she suddenly became aware of the twittering of girlish giggles. Turning around, she stared down the path they’d just come and spotted a hastily retreating edge of a frilled skirt peeking out from behind one of the trees.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Carl had wheeled closer to the now-dirty child and had handed them one of his insufferably fancy handkerchiefs. Aw, she was so going to tease him about that later. Grisaille took it with a sincere murmur of thanks but kept their gaze trained on the tree where the other person – a child, based on their guesstimated height – was hiding.

“Alright,” she called, hands on her hips, “You’d better come out on your own because me coming to get you won’t be any better.”

The frills shifted but made no attempt to reveal their owner.

Candela sighed, preparing herself to fuss at a kid she didn’t know, when Grisaille suddenly spoke up. Their toneless voice cracked like a whip, something she’d never heard from them before, and their intense gaze turned into a glare when the frills shifted again but once more didn’t move out from behind the tree.

The owner of the skirt did utter a reply in a sulky yet sweet voice, answering in what Candela could only assume as French since that’s all the child in her care knew beyond English. She exchanged a glance with Carl who was watching the whole thing with a deceptively impassive expression – those who knew him well would be able to spot the minute wrinkles between his brows and around his eyes that belayed his concern.

Grisaille replied in the same snappish tone as before, small, scarred hands balling into fists at their sides.

Damnit, she should’ve asked Blanche to teach her French when they’d offered all those years ago.

‘I can help with that, if you’ll let me,’ came a voice like smoke from the back of her mind. Moltres, drawn to the fore by her confusion, expanded its awareness fully and let her feel the sincerity of its offer.

‘Since when do you know French?’ she asked.

The Titan did the equivalent of a mental shrug. ‘I’ve had more Bonds than you’ve had years on this earth. Some proved to be quite proficient linguists when it suited their needs for gaining and maintaining power.’

‘Fine,’ she thought, ‘If you could translate for me I’d greatly appreciate it.’

‘Of course,’ Moltres cooed, its awareness overlapping with hers, ‘All you ever have to do is ask.’

It appeared that a terse conversation had been going on between the two children while she’d been distracted.

“-orders not to engage,” Grisaille was saying, “You are not one to forget such things so why have you chosen to throw dirt on me?”

(The other child hadn’t been anywhere near them so how would they have- Ah, right, psychics were a thing.)

“You may have received such orders,” came the prim reply, “But I did not.”

“That is a lie. We were all present at the time of the-”

“It is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is not!”

Candela had heard all that she needed to. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said, her voice echoing just a tad from how close Moltres was to the surface. She ignored the distinctly uneasy look that both Carl and Grisaille gave her for it. “You’d better come out and introduce yourself.”

The skirt twitched as the owner obviously jumped in surprise. “Is the Madame angry?” came a contrite reply, voice sweet but tone thickly French as Grisaille’s had been when they’d first been learning English.

“Not yet,” Candela replied truthfully, sighing after a moment, “Come out and I’ll be less angry.”

There was a pause, then the other child finally chose to reveal themselves.

‘They look like a doll,’ she thought in surprise, blinking, ‘Like one of those old porcelain ones in antique shops.’

And it was true. The outfit the child was wearing as an explosion of soft pink and white frills. Lace striped up and down the dress in key places with ribbons tied into fluffy bows tacked onto parts of the pink overskirt to reveal a pleated white petticoat that hit just blow their knees. They had on white stockings and dark pink Mary Janes that matched the ribbons in their hair – hair that was such a pale gold it seemed like physical sunlight, tied up into two high pigtails whose curls bounced and swayed with every motion.

“Bonjour, kindly Madame and Monsieur,” said the child, bowing into a perfect curtsey, “How can I help you this fine day?”

“Well, you can start by telling us your name,” Carl piped up, eyeing them with carefully veiled suspicion, “Then you can explain why you’re here without your parents or guardian.”

“It is 540629NP000,” Grisaille offered instead, voice worryingly flat and eyes dull.

‘That’s a Cipher code!’ Candela realized, pursing her lips. That was… distressing. Was this child one of the ones that Blanche and Noire had help extract from the same location as Grisaille? That would explain a few things – there had been an incredibly powerful psychic child amongst the rescues. But the kids should have been placed far enough apart in the city that they weren’t supposed to be able to meet like this-

“I am not an ‘it’!” squealed the other child, stopping their foot harshly on the path with balled fists, “You might be but I am a precious little girl! A perfect doll!”

“My apologies,” Grisaille replied, seemingly unfazed by the tantrum they were witnessing, “I had not been informed of your new pronouns. Mine are currently they/them.”

“I did not ask,” the little girl snapped, sniffing primly as she glared at them. “But I at least will be smart enough to remember it.”

“Hey, now,” Candela said, scowling at the exchange she’d just witnessed, “There’s no need to be so rude. They’ve apologized for misgendering you. Now, we still need to know your name and why you’re here.”

The little girl pouted at her, dark purple eyes glittering in a way that sent a shiver up Valor One’s spine. Suddenly the pout transformed into a gentle and warm smile and she stepped toward the group.

“But of course,” she said, inclining her head, “And you are? Please tell me! You’re so beautiful, Madame, I hope to grow up to be like you one day. Can you teach me?” She seemed so hopeful, so sincere, reaching out her small, pale hand to Candela in a way that made her want to take it and pull her into a warm hug. She was so small and cute and helpless, such a perfectly sweet little doll-

‘Oh no you don’t,’ hissed Moltres suddenly, a swell of heat and ire raising in her mind that had her blinking around the haze that had crept into her thoughts.

There was a blur and a sharp sting in her forearm – when had she raised it toward the little girl? – that made Candela recoil and take a few steps back. She felt a broad, cool hand touch the small of her back and looked down to see Carl had wheeled up beside her and had steadied her so she wouldn’t land on her ass. She looked back at the other child and was surprised to find Grisaille standing between her and them, one arm thrown out in a defensive manner.

“My name is Grisaille,” they said tersely, a fierce scowl marring their otherwise expressionless face, “I am tasked with escorting Leader Candela and Assistant Carl through this park. State your name and mission.”

The little girl’s face had gone pale in shock for a few moments but was starting to flush in her annoyance. “Grisaille?” she asked, all but spitting the name, “I will remember that. My name is Viola.”

Candela watched as Grisaille seemed to flinch with their whole body as the little girl, Viola, named herself. They seemed to pale a little as well, their outstretched arm wavering slightly in the air. “Viola,” they echoed thickly, “I, too, will remember that.”

Viola scowled at them. “You may address me as Demoiselle Viola!”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Carl broke in, frowning at Viola in a way that would make most people quake in their shoes, “I believe you still need to tell us why you are here. I know that you were the one who threw dirt at Grisaille, as well, so don’t try to deny it. Psychic energy has a particular feeling about it that I am quite accustomed to.”

The little girl at least had the decency to look chastised as Carl spoke, her mouth forming a small pout. “Monsieur Carl, was it?” she asked, reaching up to twirl a finger through the curls of one of her pigtails, “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you. I cannot help it – it is how we say ‘hello’!”

“Could you not have used your words?” Grisaille muttered, “My clothes are now dirty.”

“I think your outfit suits you,” Viola replied, smiling widely, “Just as mine suits me!” She twirled on the spot, skirt and all its various ribbons and lace fluttering with the motion. She was beaming when she turned back to face the group, almost as though she expected them to burst into cheers and clapping.

Grisaille glanced at the smudge of dirt that remained on their shoulder and arm then sent her an unimpressed look.

Candela had to struggle not to snort.

“Viola!” came a voice further back along the path, and all four of them turned to stare as an older woman in a similarly frilly dress – hers being a deep purple and falling almost to the ground – rounded the corner, huffing and puffing despite how her concerned expression suddenly brightened when she caught sight of them. Her pace quickened and she held out her arms beckoningly. “There you are, ma chérie!”

“Maman!” Viola cried, skipping over to the woman and embracing her around the middle.

“Ah, don’t run off like that again, please? You scared your maman so badly!” the woman cooed, patting the little girl on the back and running a gentle hand over the top of her head. The motion shifted the carefully crafted hairstyle, something circular and metallic glinting on the side of Viola’s head before she made a noise of protest and jerked away.

“I’m sorry, maman,” Viola replied, blinking up at her with large eyes, “I was just so excited to see the flower!”

“Flowers, ma chérie. The ‘s’ at the end make it plural – just like in French!”

The little girl just giggled in response, something that made the older woman melt with obvious delight and affection.

“Is- Is that you, Lorraine?” Candela asked, breaking out of her stupor.

The woman looked up, seeming to notice the three of them for the first time as she blinked at them in surprise. “Oh, hello Candela! You look radiant as always. And Carl, how is your mother? She and I speak so rarely these days. Such a shame!” She blinked down at Grisaille for a moment, her hands tightening around her apparent foster daughter protectively. “Ah, you must be Noire and Blanche’s little sibling. Grisaille, was it?”

Grisaille bowed low to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Former Beauty World Champion Mrs. Lorraine.”

“Oh my,” Lorraine said, raising a hand to cover a smile as Viola glared at them over her shoulder, “I have not been addressed as such in quite a while. I’m afraid my Beauty days are long passed, dear, so just ‘Mrs. Lorraine’ is fine.”

“I almost didn’t recognize you!” Candela said with a laugh, “Your outfit is quite, um, unique.”

“And frankly, out of character,” Carl chimed in, looking at her with barely concealed mirth.

“Ah, well, Viola insisted that we match today for our outing,” Lorraine replied, tucking a lock of silver-touched dark brown hair behind her ear. She moved closer and lowered her voice as she continued. “You know Thomas and I always wanted a daughter to spoil. Our sons were never quite so indulgent as to let me dress them up once they reached a certain age.”

“Of course,” Carl agreed readily, “Though all three of them obviously benefited from your teachings every time gala season rolls around.”

Lorraine laughed and swatted at the air between them playfully. It was easy to see how she’d won her title in her youth – and despite her assertions otherwise, her graceful demeanor hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. “You mean Luke and Henry, of course. Dear William hardly has time to make an appearance – he’s too busy working with the Council to test new little psychics for the coming year’s training program. You know how vulnerable they can be at such a young age!” She punctuated that statement with a gentle smile at Viola, who blinked up at her serenely.

“Maman,” Viola said plaintively, tugging at her foster mother’s skirt, “Can we go? There’s better flowers elsewhere.”

“Not before you apologize for throwing dirt on Grisaille,” Candela said before Lorraine could reply, “Don’t think we’ve forgotten about that.”

“What?” Lorraine gasped, looking horrified as she took in the dirty smudge on Grisaille’s shirt, “Viola, you know better! Apologize to them.”

“But maman!” Viola whined, scowling when the older woman stepped back and put her hands on her hips.

“No, Viola,” she said sternly, “This is no way to make friends! Now, come on. Apologize to the poor dear.”

Viola sulked for a moment, obviously weighing her options before she huffed and span on her heel, stomping petulantly over to Grisaille. Grisaille, for their part, took a step back as she approached, looking incredibly unsure. The little girl stopped right in front of them and took one of their hands in both of hers. “I’m so sorry,” she said loudly, leaning close and pressing her lips to their cheek quickly before letting them go.

She then skipped back over to her foster mother and tugged on her hand. “Can we go now? I want to see more of the city before we meet Papa!”

Lorraine gave the other two adults an apologetic look as Viola started pulling her back along the path. “We’ll have to meet up later, alright? I’d love to have brunch with you both! Again, I’m so terribly sorry!”

“Of course!” Candela replied, a little stunned at the sudden turn of events, “Have your people call our people.”

“She means have Marley call me!” Carl called, waving the poor harried mother along, “Since I’ll be the one to make the reservation.”

The trio watched the mother and daughter duo disappear around the bend, the wind rustling the leaves in the trees nearby. Candela turned toward Grisaille, opening her mouth to say, well, something to them only to find the child staring at an object in their hand and trembling slightly.

“Grisaille, are you alright, darling?” she asked, alarmed when they didn’t respond right away.

“Grisaille?” Carl tried, frowning as he turned his chair and rolled closer to them, “Where did you get that flower?”

That seemed to catch their attention. They stiffened and swallowed thickly before replying, “Viola gave it to me.”

“Where did she get it?” Candela wondered, squinting at the purple little bud that cradled in their scarred little palm – the very one the little girl had taken in both of hers. “You don’t suppose she ripped it out of one of the other flower beds here, do you?”

“From what we just saw, Miss Candela, I wouldn’t put it passed her.” Carl sighed, fishing his phone out of his jacket and flicking on the screen to check the time. He winced at what he saw. “Ah, we’ll need to cut this venture short as well. Your afternoon appointment with the Mayor just got moved up by a half hour.”

“What?” Candela asked, clicking her tongue, “Well, that’s just rude!”

“Professor Willow also inquired when we’d be heading back to Headquarters.”

“Of course he did,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. She glanced over at Grisaille to see them staring at the flower bud again and scowled at the dirt that still was smeared on their shirt. “Tell the Mayor and the Professor both that we’ll be a little late. I want to get Grisaille out of those dirty clothes before they’re picked up.”

Carl also looked over at the child in question, his expression softening slightly when they sensed his gaze and looked up at him shyly. “Very good, Miss Candela,” he said, rolling passed her as he dialed a number without even looking at his phone – likely to get a car to come pick him up separately, “I’ll head back first and keep the Mayor occupied.”

“You’re a gift, Charles!” she enthused, touching his shoulder gratefully as he passed her.

“Just doing my job, Miss Candela,” he replied blithely, “And for the millionth time, my name is ‘Carl’.”

Candela just grinned and moved closer to the child she was supposed to be looking after. Her bright mood dimmed slightly at their harried appearance and she knelt in front of them. “Grisaille, darling, are you alright? I know that was quite a surprise.”

“I am unharmed,” was the automatic reply they gave, but she could see how haunted their eyes seemed when they glanced back at the flower still cradled in their palm. It was a little thing, purple petals still tightly tucked together and sheathed in green leaves – plucked by uncaring fingers before it had a chance to bloom. Still, it had the faintest sweet aroma, much like the rest of the flowers in this section of the garden.

“If you say so,” she said at length, “Did you hear that our afternoon plans got changed?”

“Assistant Carl is heading back to Valor Headquarters to keep the Mayor occupied in your absence,” they said, inclining their head, “You are going to take me somewhere to purchase clothing because I am dirty.”

“Not your fault!” Candela reassured them, smiling brightly when they glanced at her, “You’re just getting a new shirt from me – your favorite auntie! Think of it as a surprise gift, okay?”

“We are not related,” Grisaille observed, “So I am unsure how you can be an Aunt to me.”

“Figure of speech,” she replied waving a hand as she stood and wiped at her knees, trying and failing not to be hurt that they once again didn’t accept her as a family member. She held out a hand to the child and was delighted when they reached out and took it.

The walk out of the park was a quiet affair. It was still a beautiful day and finally time for other patrons to start making their appearance. She nodded to the several people that recognized her, smiling politely as they gushed about how much of an honor it was to meet her. A couple asked for pictures that she had to decline, squeezing Grisaille’s hand to silently thank them for their patience. They seemed to understand and squeezed her hand back shyly which made her heart flutter with affection.

The nearest boutique was close enough to walk, which she explained as she tugged the child gently away from the direction of the parking lot. The pair walked down the sidewalk silently, Candela placing herself between Grisaille and the road as was proper. They still held the flower bud in their free hand, something she was certain was a bit unusual but couldn’t quite put her finger on as to why she felt that way.

They passed several restaurants and cafes with outdoor seating on their way to the shop. At one such café, across the street from them, a young boy about Grisaille’s age with flaming orange hair was throwing a massive fit as a man who seemed to be his father struggled to calm him down. He even bit the man and turned to run off when he caught sight of them. His expression changed from frustration to downright fury as he suddenly sprinted across the road, heading right for Candela and Grisaille.

Candela moved Grisaille behind her, despite their quiet noise of protest, and intercepted a surprisingly strong though wildly thrown punch from the boy. She caught his fist and used his own momentum against him as she easily forced him to the ground. Forcing his arms to stay folded behind his back, she glanced up to see Grisaille staring at her in something like awe.

Well, it was certainly good to be appreciated!

“Lantan! Oh Arceus, oh no, I’m so sorry ma’am!” cried the man, also running across the road and getting an annoyed honk from several cars for his trouble. His flush of embarrassment deepened when he finally caught sight of her, recognition clear on his face as he skidded to a stop once he got to their side of the street. “Oh no, Leader Candela, I’m so, so sorry!”

“Is this your son?” she asked tersely, lips pressed in a thin line as the little boy continued to struggle in her grasp, spitting what she could only assume was incensed curses at her from where his face was still pressed to the pavement.

“Ah, yes, his name is Lantan,” the man stammered, “Oh dear, I’m so sorry for this. He’s normally much better behaved. We’ve been working with him, you see, since he has some of the worst anger management issues I’ve ever seen-”

“Martin? Lantan?” another man called, looking around the outdoor café with his arms full of drinks and food.

“Over here, Hyde!” the first man, Martin, yelled back to him.

“Oh no,” the second man, Hyde apparently, mouthed as he quickly set all of his offerings down on one of the free tables and sprinted across the road toward them. He moved much quicker than his partner and therefore only got a cursory beep from a car that was trying to parallel park.

“Get off of me!” shrieked the little boy, finally deciding to switch his protests to English, “You great ugly beast!”

“Bird, actually,” Grisaille murmured, unintentionally saying the funniest damn thing Candela and Moltres had heard in her entire life.

“Lantan, no,” Hyde reprimanded, shaking his head, “That is no way to speak to a lady! Uh, sorry, you’re Leader Candela, right? Of Team Valor?”

“That’s me!” Candela replied brightly, smiling at him with all the cheerful authority of a Team Leader despite the squirming, cussing child she still had pinned to the ground. Speaking of the kid, he was now trying to kick at her legs which was just rude. He turned his head to glare at her over his shoulder, orange eyes the same color as his hair flickering suddenly to a terrifyingly familiar shade of magenta.

No. Freaking. Way.

Her hands loosened in her shock and he managed to worm free of her grasp, launching himself at Grisaille immediately. However, Grisaille was prepared to receive him and, in a hilarious twist of supreme déjà vu, also caught his fist and propelled him into the nearby wall. He bounced off it with a pained grunt, and Grisaille was right behind him, kicking his knees out from under him and snatching his hair to keep him from whirling around on them.

“Grisaille, no!” Candela yelped, scrambling to her feet and moving toward them at the same time the two fathers ran to snag their foster son from their grasp. Grisaille let him go easily, moving to stand in front of Candela protectively.

“Hate you!” screamed Lantan, struggling against the two men that now held him back, his face mottled with an unfortunate case of pavement-burn. “I’ll hate you forever!”

“Lantan, oh Arceus, look at me!” Martin said, moving to kneel in front of him, “C’mon, now, look at me. You’re not in any danger. It’s alright, you’re fine, there’s no threat here. You need to breathe, sweetheart.” Hyde held their screaming foster son with both arms wrapped tight around his shoulders and middle, his face grim even as Lantan continued to shriek nonsensically in the face of his husband’s soothing.

It took a while, but as with all things, even a child soldier of Cipher wore himself out eventually. It was all Candela could do not to take Grisaille and walk away, but something told her to stay and witness the meltdown. It certainly made her appreciate how calm her kid was, yeesh. She’d be hearing his shrill voice ringing in her ears for some time yet.

“Hate you,” he huffed eventually, voice rough and creaky, nose dripping as he struggled weakly in Hyde’s hold and kicked at the pavement, “Hate you both. Forever and ever.”

“Aw, c’mon now, sport. You don’t mean that,” Hyde rumbled, squeezing him gently and Martin fished out a tissue from one of his various pockets.

Lantan just sniffled, surly in his silence, but eventually shook his head.

Grisaille moved cautiously and knelt to pick something up off the ground. They studied it for a moment, their hair obscuring their expression from Candela’s gaze, before they stood and approached the family trio.

Lantan growled and jerked his head at their approach, then his eyes widened at what was in their hand and his struggling began anew. “Give that back! It’s mine!”

Grisaille wordlessly held it – a purple flower of all things – out to him before stepping closer and tucking it behind his ear. “Viola met you.” It wasn’t a question.

Candela sucked in a quick breath as she realized what that could mean.

None of the children from Grisaille’s extraction would have good reactions to one another, it seemed, especially if they were met with that particular little girl.

The boy pursed his lips, face conflicted, before he nodded to them sharply.

“Viola?” asked Martin, looking between Grisaille and his foster son, “Was that the little girl you were speaking with before you started feeling your big emotions?”

“She’s another child from the same group,” Candela offered by way of explanation, wary of all the attention their group was still receiving from the general population. She watched as the cogs in both mens’ heads span and came to the same conclusion. Martin reeled back, obviously shocked, whereas Hyde simply tightened his hold on his now shockingly calm foster son.

“B-But, how?” Martin protested, running a distressed hand through his hair, “I thought all the children were supposed to be kept pretty far away from one another so this sort of thing wouldn’t ever happen. That’s what we were told!”

“Accidents happen,” Lantan said suddenly, his expression fierce but earnest, “Doesn’t mean we can’t grow from them. Right?”

“That-” Hyde began, cutting himself off when his husband sent him a warning look.

“That’s right!” Martin said with forced cheer, “I’m so proud of you for remembering that, Lantan! Do you remember what we’re supposed to do after we feel our big emotions?”

“Apologize for any bad things we did,” Lantan replied dutifully.

“I apologize for throwing you into the wall,” Grisaille said softly, ducking their head, “And for pulling your hair.”

“Sorry for trying to fight you. And cussing out your lady charge,” Lantan offered, shrugging. “Wasn’t thinking straight. You understand, right?”

“I do,” they replied, nodding to him once.

The two children shared a commiserating look before each turning back to the adults in their lives.

“We should be moving on, yes?” Grisaille asked, looking at Candela expectantly.

“Oh, uh, right,” she replied, still a bit shell shocked at the turn of events. She still had an unhealthy amount of adrenaline pumping through her veins and it was making her a little twitchy. She held out her hand on instinct and was thrilled when Grisaille took it without an ounce of hesitation. Squeezing their hand just so they would squeeze back, she nodded to the two men and their foster son before leading Grisaille toward the boutique once more.

Perhaps, under different circumstances, she would’ve stopped to make sure the little family was truly okay before leaving. But the incident had waylaid them long enough and she had the damn Mayor waiting for her to look forward to.

Oh well, at least she got to shop before her day got ruined by politics.

It wasn’t the best or most fashionable option in all of Opal City, mind you, but The Shimmering Clamperl at least had a fair number of number of on-the-rack options that would fit Grisaille’s petite size. And, thankfully, it wasn’t so popular that it would be crowded. There was even a little sitting area toward the back of the shop that Grisaille could sit and decompress!

“Why don’t you sit here while I go pick a few things for you to try on, darling?” she offered, smiling down at the child next to her.

Grisaille’s eyes were locked onto the tan, salmon pink-haired girl already sitting in the waiting area, but they nodded slowly to her and let go of her hand. They went and, surprisingly, sat near the other child and looked at her in anticipation. Did they have a little crush on that girl and wanted her gone so they could chat her up? How cute!

“I’ll just be a shout away, okay?” Candela offered, smiling when they nodded to her again.

She circled around the small shop fairly quickly, pouting when she discovered most of the selection it had to offer was just a tad too big or out of date for her precious little charge. Ah, well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Candela paused when she saw a sweater that was the exact shade of the flower from earlier, the one that Viola had slipped Grisaille that they had stared at for so long afterwards. Maybe that was their favorite color? Shrugging, she found it in their size and added it to the hand that was honestly getting a little heavy from all the options she’d managed to scrounge for.

Circling back around to the back of the shop, she found Grisaille and the little girl sitting in perfectly still, not conversing together like she’d secretly hoped. A man was kneeling in front of the little girl, speaking softly as he helped her put on different pairs of shoes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Grisaille,” he was saying, putting the little girl’s foot down and smiling up at her, an action she returned. “Linnea, have you introduced yourself?”

“No, father,” she said in a soft voice, “You didn’t tell me to.”

The man sighed, offering her a hand so she could stand. “Linn, sweetie, remember: other people will need you to respond to them even when I’m not around. We’ve been working on this.”

“Yes, father,” the little girl, Linnea, replied.

“It is not your fault, kind Doctor Terry,” Grisaille said, looking down at the floor, “It is how she has been made to be.”

“It might be how she was treated in the past, but that doesn’t dictate how she’ll be in the future,” the man, Doctor Terry apparently, said firmly, “Now, Linnea, can you walk around for me? You’ll need to tell me if the shoes don’t fit well.”

“Yes, father,” Linnea said, beginning to walk around the sitting area. She had a look of pure concentration on her face, so much so that she seemed completely shocked when she bumped into Candela – who totally hadn’t been eavesdropping. This rack of clothing had just been particularly interesting to peruse through!

“Ah, sorry, darling,” she said, steadying the little girl, “Try to watch where you’re going, okay?”

Linnea, for her part, had gone stiff as a board. She glanced back at the other two, her expression nervous beyond compare as she fiddled with the pale yellow ribbon that was tied around her neck but she didn’t say a word.

“Apologize, Linnea,” Terry said, sighing, “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Linnea echoed.

Candela waved them both off, stepping into the sitting area fully. She grandly revealed the spoils of her search, smiling at Grisaille who looked up at her again with something like awe. “Here you are, Gris, darling. Why don’t you go change into a few of these and pick the one you like the best?”

The child got up and obediently took the cluster of tops from her, barely staggering under the weight of it as they trudged toward the changing stalls and carefully the door to open and disappeared inside.

“They’re a cute kid,” said a voice beside her and it was all she could do not to jump out of her skin.

“Thank you,” she breathed, moving to sit in the chair Grisaille had vacated and frowning a little when the man sat near her.

“She’s a foster, you know, my Linn,” Terry said, chuckling and gesturing to how pasty white he was compared how tan the little girl was, “Obviously. My name’s Terry, by the way, though don’t worry about telling me yours. I’m sure there’s not a person alive today in Opal City that doesn’t know who you are, Leader Candela.”

Ah, well, a little flattery was certainly one way to make her feel more at ease.

“Is it just you two?” she asked, watching as Linnea carefully avoided one of the racks of clothes and began to make her way back toward them. “Surely her mother or her older sister would love to be the one to take her shopping like this?”

“Just me and Linn, yes,” Terry said, shrugging, “I was a proud bachelor until I was offered the chance to bring her into my home. It’s been a change, mind you, but a welcome one. I can’t believe I’ve only had her a few months – less than a year, actually.”

“You don’t say,” Candela said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, “It’s the same for me and Grisaille.”

So what if it was a little white lie? Let her have it! The events of the day had worn on her enough to have earned one.

“Of course,” he replied jovially before leaning closer to her, continuing in a hushed tone, “You don’t have to so stiff, Leader Candela. We’re in the same boat, after all.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “What boat, exactly, are we in?”

Terry just sighed and leaned back to study her. When all he was met was a fairly impressive glare, he sighed again and shook his head. “My Linnea and your Grisaille are two peas from the same corrupt pod, you know, if you catch my meaning. Grisaille told me so themselves and Linn backed them up so I’m inclined to believe them.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“You’re joking,” Candela choked, disbelieving, “You have to be.”

“I’m afraid not,” Terry said somberly, offering her a pained, apologetic smile, “Grisaille also told me about the other two children they ran into today. Guess bad things really do come in threes, huh?”

“Did either of you run into a little girl with blonde hair?” she asked, bitter that she had to, “She might’ve given Linnea a purple flower of some kind?” When Terry just shook his head, bewildered, she sighed in relief. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

“I have made my selection,” came a quiet, familiar voice.

Candela perked up immediately and looked over to see Grisaille standing awkwardly with their old, dirty shirt on the store hanger. The rest had been hung carefully on the restock bars off to the side of the changing rooms, something that made her heart swell a little in pride. Such a good and responsible little shopper they were! She pursed her lips a little at their choice – a pale grey button up that was nearly identical to the one they’d been wearing. At least this one had thin dark grey and metallic silver stripes along it to cut up the blandness.

(She supposed the purple wasn’t their favorite color after all.)

“Oh, congratulations, Grisaille! That’s a good color for you,” Terry said, smiling at them warmly before he called out, “Linnea, sweetie, come look at the nice shirt Grisaille is getting.”

The young girl’s head jerked up at the sound of his voice, salmon-colored eyes that matched her hair color perfectly widening as she hurried back to the sitting area and stared long at hard at Grisaille and their shirt.

“What do you think?” Terry asked, sitting on the edge of his seat and watching his foster daughter with bright eyes, “Would you like to try on some shirts next, too?”

Linnea hesitated, clearly unsure, before offering quietly, “Would you like me to, father?” She flinched when Terry closed his eyes briefly in a wince, fiddling once more with the ribbon around her neck before glancing in Grisaille’s direction. Well, that was surprising.

“He wants you to decide on your own,” Grisaille offered helpfully, if a bit blandly. “Those are your orders, Linnea.”

The little girl took a series of deep breaths, her fingers franticly tugging at her ribbon to reveal slivers of the same sort of electrical burn scar Grisaille also had around their neck. “I- I-” she stuttered, clearly distressed at the notion of having a single individual thought, “I like pink.”

“Pink what?” Candela asked, trying for soothing. Terry shot her a grateful glance.

“S-shoes?” Linnea tried.

“We’re already getting you some new shoes,” Terry reminded her kindly, “What else would you like that’s pink?”

“Um,” the little girl squeaked, looking around wildly before pointing at a particular rack.

“A jacket?”

She shook her head, wisps of her hair falling out of the loosely braided back hairstyle she was sporting, and she pointed with more emphasis.

“She wants the sweater on the big, um, fake person,” Grisaille translated.

The two adults shared a look of confusion before noticing the display that was perched on top of the rack Linnea had been pointing at.

“Oh! The mannequin,” Terry said, staring at it for a moment before smiling brightly at his foster daughter. He seemed like a truly caring guardian to her, which eased some of the tension in Candela’s chest. “That’s a very pretty sweater, Linn! Why don’t we ask the attendant if there’s one in your size so you can try it on?”

“A-And the skirt?” Linnea asked shyly.

“Of course, sweetie. Anything you like!” Terry replied warmly, winking at the other pair, “Thanks, you two. I think that was the easiest we’ve been able to make a decision yet!”

“Oh, it wasn’t any sort of hardship,” Candela replied, waving him off with a winning smile.

“Leader Candela?” Grisaille said, glancing up at her unsurely, “I made my selection. May we pay and leave now? You have a very important meeting soon.”

“What? Oh, shoot, you’re right!” she said, clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth as she quickly checked her Pokewatch and winced at the time. “Terry, Linnea, it’s been wonderful meeting you both but I’m afraid we have to be going.”

“Of course!” Terry replied, putting his hand out and grinning when she shook it, “Sorry to have kept you! And, well, for causing you a bit of a scare.” He added in an undertone, squeezing her hand once and nodding to her meaningfully before letting her go.

The father-daughter duo headed toward the rack where the little girl’s new outfit was displayed while Candela put a hand on Grisaille’s shoulder and quickly steered them in the direction of the register. If the child minded being maneuvered about they didn’t show it.

One flash of her black credit card and a dazzling smile later, the pair exited the shop and headed back toward where Candela had parked. The trip back was unsurprisingly much less exciting than the trip there and it wasn’t too long before Candela was sliding into the driver’s seat. She paused to watch as Grisaille strapped themselves into the back seat before starting up the engine and pulling out of her spot.

The ride was quiet despite a handful of attempts on both sides to maintain a conversation.

Candela could tell the kid was tired – had been since the start of the day, anyway, based on those dark circles under their eyes – and eventually stopped trying to start up a discussion of the day’s events.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about today, anyway.

Viola had been a little priss – both bratty and terrifyingly charming. Lantan was a destructive little boy who was trying to be better. And Linnea seemed to have even less of a sense of self than Grisaille, the poor darling. It had been a little strange and eye-opening to see just how differently the same kind of trauma could be expressed and her hatred of Cipher had only deepened by the end of it.

Glancing back in the rearview mirror, she blinked in surprise to see Grisaille staring at the little bud Viola had given them. How had they not lost in in their tussle with the little boy? Their expression was unreadable. She watched as they slowly clenched their fit around the blossom, just shy of crushing it, before they bit their bottom lip and opened their hand again.

The purple bud remained, unharmed, cradled in their palm.

Chapter Text

Entry 1

Professor Willow has issued this small ‘writing journal’ to this subject to record observational data. This subject had previously been recording such data in the tablet Professor Willow issued it upon arrival at the current location, but has received orders to discontinue that activity. Previous entries will also not be transposed to this journal. Professor Willow stated that physically writing new entries may help the subject recall the information more clearly – particularly for the use in forming ‘emotional connections’.

Subjects are not allowed such things, so it is unclear what Professor Willow truly intends with this exercise. But a subject is not required to know the reason behind its orders. It merely has to follow them.

This subject will request clarification as to how often entries are to be made.

Entry 2

Entries are meant to be written regularly. This means that they will be done every 2-3 days, with the possibility for it becoming a daily habit. It will begin writing daily as often as it is allowed.

Professor Willow has started planting a garden in his backyard. Several types of seeds were planted into the ground and will grow into different kinds of fleurs as the season changes and the daily temperature rises.

This subject has and will continue to assist Professor Willow in any and all ways. He is a kind and good scientist.

Entry 3

Executive Sabrina visited Professor Willow this morning. She is a psychic.

Entry 4

Professor Willow had ordered a change to how this subject is meant to record data in this journal after listening to an oral report of the previous entries. From now on, this subject will refer to itself with personal pronouns such as ‘I’ and ‘me’. This goes against previous conditioning. Professor Willow has issued new orders, however, and this subject I will follow them.

Entry 5

Blanche and Noire visited today. Leader Spark also visited, even though he was not invited. Blanche asked him to leave. Noire punched him. It started raining. Professor Willow asked them to take ‘it’ outside, but when this subj I went to go outside, Blanche stopped me. Spark and Noire left together soon after. They both gave me hugs, which is a grasping technique not meant to cause harm. Professor Willow made lunch alone because ‘Blanche cannot be trusted in the kitchen’. Blanche got a call and left soon after. It stopped raining and started raining but with chunks of ice. That is called hail.

Entry 6

Leader Candela came to visit. She brought Assistant Carl. He is broken and has to use a chair with wheels. His scientist or doctor must not have put him back together properly. Leader Candela smells like smoke and fleurs. Professor Willow made her stop trying to touch me all the time. He is a good and kind scientist. When I asked why Assistant Carl is allowed to live when he is broken, I was informed that having a body that works all the time is not a requirement at this location. Professor Willow brought Assistant Carl a glass of something dark red that I was not allowed to have. It is called “adult juice” according to Leader Candela.

---

Entry 28

I had an appointment with Doctor Syric today. It went much the same as all the other appointments. He asked me to tell him about the descriptors for doctors and scientists that the subjects used at Cipher. No other doctor has shown interest in knowing. I told him about “good”, “kind”, and “honorable” and he looked strangely at me. Doctor Syric then asked to hug me. Other doctors have done this before but without asking. It was warm.

Entry 29

Professor Willow took me to see a person called Therapist Lyra today. Doctor Syric recommended he take me to her. It was not a transfer or reassignment, simply an appointment. Therapist Lyra is not a doctor or scientist. She has light brown hair and purple eyes. She asked me a few questions then tasked me with looking at pictures of black ink on white paper and telling her what I saw. I saw black ink on white paper. Researching on the tablet has told me that I answered incorrectly, but Therapist Lyra just smiled at me and said we could try again later.

Entry 30

Leader Spark came to visit today. His eyes were yellow instead of blue. Professor Willow said he could not come into the house but Leader Spark demanded that he see me. It started to rain with flashes of lightning. I went outside to protect Professor Willow but was ordered back inside. Leader Spark stopped me. He sniffed my hair, nodded, then left. Professor had two glasses of “adult juice” with dinner.

---

Entry 76

Professor Willow brought me outside very early this morning. His garden has started to grow. The daffodils are beginning to show blooms. He seemed happy and wanted to know if I was also happy. I told him I did not know what that felt like. He made me an extra pancake for breakfast.

Entry 77

The tablet from Professor Willow now has tests on it for me to take. I am not meant to take them all at once. The rule is one per day, but only on week days. Weekends are for rest and relaxation and naps. The tests are in both French and English and I may choose which translation I prefer. I took a test for math today and scored high enough to gain praise.

---

Entry 92

Professor Willow will be attending a conference outside of Opal City this weekend. I am ordered to stay with Blanche at Mystic Headquarters while he is away. The Professor has expressed hope that I will learn more about Blanche and their work while I am there. My diary is to be left at his house for safe keeping, therefore I will not be taking it. My tablet is allowed to come and I have several small tests known as “quizzes” to take. I will report my findings at a later date.

Entry 95

Professor Willow has returned from the conference and we have made it back to his house. It was an eventful weekend. The following is the debriefing that I gave to Professor Willow:

Blanche and Noire were both displeased at my stationing at Mystic Headquarters. I was able to finish three of the five quizzes assigned to me the first day. Blanche’s room is very blue because they prefer that color and their shower does not run out of hot water. Blanche and I slept together in the same bed and they curled around me in the night. It was nice.

The second day I completed the remaining two assessments and was tasked with ‘finding something to do’. This resulted in a walk to the temperature-controlled holding areas on the 15th floor of Mystic Headquarters. There was a trainer-bound Marill that was ‘throwing a fit’ on this floor that I avoided. That was the correct course of action. Researcher Diego and Assistant Researcher Emily brought me to help oversee an experiment using small Punishers Pokemon called Smoochums. They come from eggs. My very presence, however, ruined the experiment and Researcher Diego and Assistant Researcher Emily were reprimanded by Blanche for their lack of foresight. Blanch has since informed me that it was not my fault. We had lunch in the elevator. It was sandwiches. We then went to the docks to assess the stock of new Pokemon from the region Hoenn. I was made to stay in the main office to be out of the way. Office Manager Cheryl has many posters of Skitties hanging off of tree limbs with various motivational quotes. After that, Assistant Annie took me to Furfrou Boutique and I received a grey wool suit with matching silver silk bowtie for the dinner meeting with Leader Candela. The reservation was with Chu Warren at 8pm. These meetings are NOT dates. We ate steak, mushrooms, and asparagus in a thick butter sauce. Dessert was ordered – three pieces of a dark chocolate cake with cherry drizzle and gold flake garnish – but Blanche and I left before it could be consumed. Blanche had work to do that night so I slept alone.

The third day, there was a Team Rocket attack on one of Team Mystic’s gyms. A case of Team Mystic’s new lures was stolen as were some of the Pokemon they received from Hoenn the day prior. Blanche and Noire battled each other alongside members of their respective Teams. Assistant Annie and I moved out to intervene, but we got separated on the battlefield. I found Blanche and Noire first and I challenged Noire to prevent them from attacking Blanche further as they were already unable to continue fighting. Noire would not back down so I activated my abilities in preparation to take them on. I did not need to because Noire and Team Rocket operatives left soon after. After Blanche also left the scene, Assistant Annie took me St. Hudson’s Hospital and placed me in the care of honored Doctor Emil. Several hours passed before Assistant Annie was able to pick me up and we returned Mystic Headquarters where I got ready for bed and waited for Blanche to return. They eventually did and ordered me to sleep. I awoke from a nightmare several hours later and Assistant Annie and Blanche helped me calm down. I broke a glass that Blanche didn’t even like and they are a very good cuddler.

My punishment is that I am to stay at Professor Willow’s house for the foreseeable future. Blanche is also punished by not being allowed to see me by themselves for the foreseeable future. I must be better.

Entry 96

Leader Candela came to visit. Professor Willow was not happy to see her but let her enter the house because she said she would burn it down otherwise. Her mouth was steaming and her eyes were red instead of gold. She smelled more like smoke than garden today when she hugged me. She took many pictures with her phone and posted them to an application called ‘Instagram’. Professor Willow said I am not allowed to have that application on my phone until I am older. She said I was so cute she wanted to eat me. Professor Willow was not pleased. He had a glass of “adult juice” even though we were not eating. Leader Candela drank the rest of the bottle.

---

Entry 124

Today was a “family dinner”. Blanche and Noire came to eat with Professor Willow and I. Executive Sabrina was not able to come. Blanche was upset that Noire had Team Rocket grunts attack one of their labs just so that they could arrive first. This is not the first time this has happened.

They argued the whole meal. This is normal for them. Noire asked if Blanche was still the weakest link and Blanche’s eyes flashed blue. It became cold. Noire flipped the table towards them and drew a gun. Three plates and two glasses were broken. “Adult juice” is called wine and stains linens and other cloth very easily and smells very strong.

Professor Willow yelled a lot. Blanche’s eyes went back to normal. Noire yelled back then tried to get me to come home with them for the weekend. I was not allowed to go so they left after hugging me very tightly. Blanche stayed long enough to help clean up then left without a goodbye. Professor Willow seemed tired so I made him a cup of coffee. He asked me where I learned how and I reported I had learned from observing him every morning. He smiled at me. My chest feels tight.

Entry 125

Noire took me shopping to get Professor Willow a new table. They do not say sorry with words but actions. Assistant Amelie was also present. She has many piercings, some of which are in places that “children” should not know about until they are older.

There were many people and Pokemon. One Pokemon apparently wanted “pets” from me and stuck its face in my face. I ascended to a higher plane to get a more tactical vantage point. This was apparently the incorrect thing to do.

Noire was not pleased to join me on the rafters of the building. Assistant Amelie had her phone out to record them helping me down. She made Noire get me ice cream after we were done shopping. They ate their very fast and had most of mine as well because they were still hungry. That is fine. Sharing is permitted here.

Entry 128

Today I went to see Therapist Lyra again for another session. She had me color a picture of various triangles using only the colors I liked. Liking things is permitted. I used the colors red, blue and various shades of grey. Therapist Lyra said I colored very well.

---

Entry 159

Today was the first day of the annual Little Instinct Camp. Professor Willow signed me up in hopes I might bond with some of the other candidates. The camp will run for 5 days and participants will be sleeping on Team Instinct grounds. There will be learning opportunities here as well as “a bunch of fun things, too” according to Leader Spark. Assistant Go has a very sour look on his face when he thinks no one can see – especially when Leader Spark’s eyes are yellow instead of blue.

I was allowed to observe the young Pokemon fresh from eggs. They are called hatchlings, though some of the scientists here call certain ones “pre-evolutions” because they are so weak and useless.

There won’t be much time for entries this week but I will give a full oral report to Professor Willow when he returns for me. If he decides to.

Entry 162

Today we met Titan Zapdos. Many other children were scared. A few even cried. I was not scared because I was not permitted to be. When I approached to give greetings, Titan Zapdos made a strange noise at me, like some of the mother Pokemon made to their babies. Then it spoke.

It is not like speaking aloud or in the mind but I felt its meaning in my chest.

Leader Spark seemed pleased.

One of the other children, Billy, who had been afraid to approach, became stupidly brave and tried to pet Titan Zapdos. You must not pet Pokemon you have not asked permission to touch. Titan Zapdos was not amused and I could see sparks fly from its feathers. I pushed Billy away and he fell badly. There was a crunch of bone. He had a limp wrist and was screaming and crying.

The other children were also screaming and crying. I knew that I was to be punished because I had engaged without having orders. Assistant Go had one of the other handlers take Billy to get his wrist checked out and then he looked at me. He was angry. He told me that I and very much stronger than the other participants and that I would need to watch my strength. I was not permitted to continue the outing for the day and was sent back to my current housing.

Leader Spark escorted me back. His eyes were very yellow.

Assistant Go did not like that.

Leader Spark hugged me very tightly and said thank you for not letting the other hatchling touch him. I did not understand. Now, I do.

When Leader Spark’s eyes are yellow, Titan Zapdos is looking through him.

Entry 164

Today was the last day of camp. I will likely not meet the other participants again. My chest feels tight for some reason even though I am unhurt.

Billy gave asked me to sign his cast today. There was not much room left on it but I did my best. He also gave me a knotted bit of string to tie around my wrist. I tied it around the same wrist I broke on him. We match now. His face got really red like he was angry and he told me I’d better not take it off. I will not do so unless ordered.

The other participants also came up to me and gave me knotted strings. Apparently making these strings was an activity that I missed the day I broke Billy’s wrist. One girl, Deena, gave me five of them and pressed her lips to my cheek and said she hopes I grow up as pretty as Noire and Blanche. I do not know how I could grow up to look any different to them. Ranger-in-Training Everdyn gave me a small book and a packet containing some strings and told me to practice on my own for next year.

Professor Willow arrived to pick me up at 4:55pm. He hugged me very tightly and asked if I had a good time. I think I did.

--

Entry 182

There was a party at Professor Willow’s house today. It was in celebration of my reassignment here. It has been six months since I arrived in Opal City. Leader Spark and Leader Candela were allowed to attend and they brought their Assistants as well. Doctor Syric was also allowed to attend. I was on my best behavior.

I received a gift from everyone. Noire and Assistant Amelie gave me a coloring book and a large set of colored pencils. Leader Spark and Assistant Go got me a hand held gaming device that he had apparently had since childhood as well as several games. Blanche and Assistant Annie got me several books about a wide array of subjects on both Pokemon and people. Leader Candela and Assistant Carl bought me several new outfits for the changing seasons, which Professor Willow was grateful for as he hadn’t been able to take me shopping for new clothes. Doctor Syric gave me a sturdy backpack to use when I am taken camping.

My eyes got wet and I made sure to give everyone very tight hugs. They are very kind people, after all.

---

Entry 203

I was tasked with escorting Leader Candela and Assistant Carl through a park today. There were no Pokemon but many small beds of plants and fleurs. I was told to find one that was interesting, a mission I accomplished.

540629NP000 was present. It now has the name Viola and the pronouns she/her. She was very happy to see me and tested me by throwing dirt on my clothes. I only engaged when she attempted to charm Leader Candela. Her mother, Mrs. Lorraine, came for her and they left to go see more of the city. Viola gave me a fleur before she left. She did not need to. I know my orders.

Leader Candela took me to get new clothes while Assistant Carl went back to Valor Headquarters to speak with the Mayor. On the way, we met 490497VT000. It is now Lantan and uses he/him pronouns. He engaged me in combat but Leader Candela was able to incapacitate him easily. She is very strong and fast. His charges, Doctor Martin and Doctor Hyde, were very upset but they helped calm Lantan down.

Viola had tested him. He failed.

We arrived at the shop and I immediately saw 470153VT000. I was told to wait in the sitting area while Leader Candela looked around. 470153VT000’s charge, Doctor Terry, said its name is now Linnea and it uses she/her pronouns. Linnea still cannot engage without a handler present. It is fortunate that Viola did not come across her.

Leader Candela found many shirts for me to try. There were 13 in all. I made a selection and she paid for it with a smile. Then we returned to Valor Headquarters where Professor Willow retrieved me and we went back to his house.

Entry 205

Titan Moltres nests on top of Valor Headquarters. This does not happen all the time, but often enough that it has a fire-proof section of the roof just in case. Leader Candela did not wish for us to meet today, or ever apparently, but Titan Moltres insisted.

I am the most wary of it, because I recall vividly how much fire burns.

Titan Moltres wanted to nest on me but Leader Candela refused. Assistant Carl took me down stairs and had Blanche come pick me up as they were nearby today. The sun was very hot. We had ice cream and I asked why Leader Candela’s eyes sometimes were red. Blanche told me the answer I already knew.

Titan Moltres is terrifying.

---

Entry 256

There are many different kinds of fruits in the world. I have been tasked with researching and understanding the ones I have tried and make a list of those I would like to try. I am allowed to assign them to people in my life for easier sorting.

Bananas = It is yellow like Maman. He also apparently likes the shape of it for some reason.

Mangoes = It has a big seed in the middle and reminds me of Assistant Go because he has a big heart.

Pomegranates = When looking up these, I saw a lot of paintings of naked ladies lounging around and eating them, and that's what Leader Candela is like.

Cherries = Assistant Carl says he can tie the stem with his tongue, but when I tried I could not get it. He refuses to give a demonstration - is it a secret skill?

Blueberries = I think Blanche likes them and is like them. The squishy ones are the sweetest and Blanche is very squishy and huggable.

Kiwi = It is small and cute - like Assistant Annie. It can also be very bitter – like Assistant Annie.

Strawberries = They're really pretty and red! Noire likes red - I think it's their favorite color? Strawberries can be really tart, too, so there's that.

Dragonfruit = I've never had this, but the name alone intimidates me. I think it is a good comparison to Assistant Amelie.

Apples = There is a saying: 'an apple a day keeps the Doctors at bay.' I wish to see what happens when a Doctor like Doctor Syric eats one of these....

Lychee = Professor Willow’s favorite fruit. It has a clean, soapy taste and he always smells clean.

Misc Fruits

Coconuts = I am uncertain why this is called a 'nut'. I asked Leader Spark if other nuts have liquid in them, but he couldn't answer me because he was laughing too hard.

Oranges = These are very tasty! Assistant Annie always gives me a little one when I come to visit Mystic Laboratories.

Grapes = They always come in groups so they are never lonely. I like that.

Peach = Peaches are fuzzy and round and soft. I've had red bean paste buns that were painted to look like them, but they do not taste the same.

Pineapples = A threatening fruit. Tastes nice, though.

Pears = Either rock hard or completely mushy. There is no in-between. Utterly unappetizing.

Plums = These are a really pretty color! Very sweet when ripe, very bitter when not. Necessary tools when teaching the important lesson of patience.

Grapefruits = Big, bitter oranges. Leader Candela sprinkles sugar on the one she eats every morning - but that's a secret so don't tell anyone.

Lemons = These are awful. I do not like them. Leader Spark can eat them whole. Leader Candela says they are better with other things and apparently people like to write stories about them on the internet.

Limes = A recolored lemon. Not very creative on nature's part.

---

Entry 282

Today I met Titan Articuno in avatar. It made it snow even though it is not the right season for it. The people of Opal City are very resilient and adapt to changes in weather very easily. Professor Willow seemed amused. I now know for sure that when Blanche’s eyes are blue, it is Titan Articuno who is speaking.

We had hot chocolate and donuts. Titan Articuno likes donuts. Blanche took a bite out of most of the donuts to make sure we would not be poisoned. Professor Willow scolded them for it but I appreciate them looking out for us. Being poisoned is not good.

---

Entry 293

Professor Willow has tasked me with writing an entry in “stream of thought”. It is meant to help me and others understand my own rationale better. I do not understand why, but I shall do my best.

The Professor is making lunch for us. It will be sandwiches. I am looking forward to them as I have gotten used to many meals in a day. This is apparently good. We will have an appointment with Doctor Syric tomorrow. He will be coming to the house instead of us going to a hospital. This is fortunate. I had a memory dream last night. That is unfortunate.

Blanche and Noire will come visit tomorrow evening. Leader Spark will likely also be present. He texts me many times a day. There are many Pokemon that he works with, including Titan Zapdos. I enjoy his texts because it makes me feel like he thinks of me. He is my Maman. This is a good thing.

There is a knocking at the door. This is unusual for a weekend. Professor Willow says he will get it. I can hear muffled voices. The door has been shut and locked. Professor Willow is calling for me to go to the kitchen and get a “vase” for him. What has been delivered? I will go assist him and return to report my findings.

O̵r̸d̴e̵r̵s̶ ̸R̷e̵c̶e̶i̸v̶e̷d̸