Work Text:
maelstrom
/ˈmeɪlstrəm/
noun
noun: maelstrom ; plural noun: maelstroms
- a powerful whirlpool in the sea or a river.
- a situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.
~
It's a rare moment of quiet and softness that happens at the end of a very long day. Maelstrom allowing Fusinal to share his bed, to lay alongside him, to have arms curled around torsos, just for one short night. Just like it had been so many years ago.
He lays on his back, scowling lightly at some imperceptible spot on the ceiling, just to avoid eye contact. His hands are folded over his stomach, pretending to not be playing with a ruffle in his t-shirt in an attempt to stay so calm and collected. This feeling is awful and alien, and something he had tried to drown out in favour of burning, blistering hatred.
Fusinal, meanwhile, is on his side, resting his head on his hand, laying almost flush to Maelstrom if it wasn’t for the blanket bunched up between them. His free hand carefully holds the side of his - partner? rival? ex? whatever they were now - ‘s face that’s furthest away from him. His thumb gently, so gently, runs across the raised edges of the scar he made, studying it, the old scorched patches, branching paths where electricity ran through. He can remember it like it was just yesterday, and he doubts that his old flame has forgotten either.
~
“What the hell do you mean you’re leaving?” Maelstrom’s brow furrows, his eyes darting around and following Fusinal as he walks around his lab, collecting papers and journals together.
“I need to focus on my research, airheart. If I could find more legendary pokemon in my home universe I could unlock the secrets of triple fusion, and that will further our plans here.” He’s completely unbothered, frustratingly so. “I’ll be back soon enough, and you can come see me anytime you like.”
“You didn’t tell me beforehand. What, if I hadn’t walked in today, you could be just gone? Would you have even said goodbye?” It burns at his very core, striking a deep chord that he thought he had buried. Fusinal is leaving, just like his brother did, just like his parents did. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
And then he pauses, turns, and laughs softly. Has the gall to laugh. “I’m going to come back!”
“ Will you? ” It leaves his mouth in more of a growl than he intended, and it startles the scientist. “Would you come back? Or have you just been looking for an opportunity to leave the whole time?”
“Strom, that’s not-”
“I know you’ve been talking with those Resistance goons. Falkner saw you and told me. Are you going to double cross me?!” Maelstrom takes steps across the room, and Fusinal takes equal steps back.
“Stop, just listen to yourself! Why would I do that to you? I was trying to put false ideas into their heads, to get them to back down for a while!” The stack of papers and folders in his hands hit the nearest desk with a thump . “You’ve been stressed, I was trying to take some of the pressure off of your back before I leave. That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it?!”
“You’re supposed to tell me before you leave! ” The hot, burning feeling has been making its way up his throat, and now it’s pin-pricking in the corners of his eyes, and he’d rather chew his own hand off than cry right now. It’s a vulnerability he’s not supposed to have outside of the bedroom, their bedroom, where it’s safe and quiet and protected and no one else can see him. “You’re supposed to tell me everything. What if the Resistance captured you and took away your Pokemon, or worse, what then? No one would know where you were! What if something happened with one of the machines, or- or the Paradox Pokemon weren’t behaving correctly, and you were gone, what then? What if I need you?”
Unfortunately, Fusinal has always been very good at calculating the most likely outcome of every situation. He evaluates the risks, reduces them as much as possible, then carries out the task and goes about his day. It’s completely unnecessary to worry about things that would have never happened, and he doesn’t understand why Maelstrom is so upset about it. So, with his brow furrowed, he picks his papers and folders back up and places them into a case alongside other papers, then shuts and locks the case. “Everything I’ve done was to help you. I didn’t think I needed to tell you about every single little thing I do for you, for all of this! For your dream! Can’t I pursue my own for a brief moment?”
Maelstrom can’t come up with an argument. If he says no, then he’s forcing the person he loves to do something he doesn’t want to do. If he says yes, it’ll demean his whole argument, that he should have been told about everything that happened, that he should have been allowed to worry for Fusinal’s safety and be glad that he’s okay, not so long after the fact that it might not even matter anymore.
With a sigh, Fusinal picks up his briefcases and checks his belt for all six pokeballs. “I see how it is. Come and see me when you’ve come to your senses.” He turns to leave, and almost reaches the door to the lab, when his blood runs cold.
“No! No, no nonono! IRON JUGULIS! STOP HIM!” Maelstrom yells, the floodgates breaking. Tears stream down his face as he flings the pokeball at Fusinal, watching it burst open in bright light that forms into his robotic Hydreigon. It hisses loudly, darting after the doctor with jaws wide, latching down onto his arm.
He barely sees dark red staining his lab coat before he watches a blue-and-black blur zoom past his head, his fingers having barely left Luxflame’s pokeball. There’s a split second where he sees Maelstrom’s wide eyes, staring not at the creature in front of him, electricity arcing between its feathers, but at his own Pokemon harming his partner. The quirks and machine learning of the Paradox Pokemon still hadn’t been ironed out yet, after all, and the nuance of directions other than attack, stay, or follow was easily missed. The familiar sound of bones snapping under a Pokemon’s jaws fills the almost silent air.
Maelstrom’s arm raises, reaching out to Fusinal, and that’s the final sign Luxflame needs that this person is dangerous, and it needs to protect its trainer. Its taloned paws latch tight onto Maelstrom, sinking past clothing into flesh, and a ball of electricity forms directly between the avian and Maelstrom’s face.
Screaming is what comes next. Fusinal doesn’t know when he hit the floor, but he’s staring past his own legs, watching bright electric light course in and out of the man across from him. Someone is screaming, and he can’t tell if it’s just Maelstrom, or if he’s screaming too. There isn’t even blood, the wounds cauterising the moment they’re created. Electricity weaves through and splits his skin, and Fusinal can’t force himself to look away. His hands can barely move, inching through molasses to grab Luxflame’s pokeball, to hold it up, to press the button, to force it back into its pokeball.
But it happens. And the screaming doesn’t stop. Maelstrom’s body twitches, barely being able to hold his hands up to his face where a single bloodshot eye stares at Fusinal, full of horror, hurt, anger, betrayal. Iron Jugulis’ protection protocol kicks in, unlatching itself from the doctor’s arm and returning to Maelstrom’s side, sending an alert to the medical team on-base. Staring between its heads, he can only watch as Fusinal slowly picks himself up, grabs his cases, and backs out of the lab to break into a full sprint.
By the time Maelstrom is in the infirmary and someone goes searching for Fusinal’s whereabouts, the Ultrawormhole controls have been completely vandalised and refuse to connect to the doctor’s home universe. He’s gone. He’s gone for good. His heart, his soul, has been shattered once more, except this time there’s no one to pick up his broken pieces and put him back together.
~
"... When did you change your name?" Fusinal asks softly, distracting them both from the thoughts of the past.
"...What?"
"I know that Maelstrom isn't your real name. You're not stupid, and I met your younger self a while back."
His expression darkens, remembering the complete humiliation of several defeats and all the months of work it took to return to his own time. Reaching up, he moves Fusinal’s hand from his face, and turns over to stare at the wall. “I assume you know what it is.” He keeps his voice calm and level, not to betray any emotion at all. It’s not a name he’s called himself in over 20 years.
Fusinal almost reaches out again, but he stops himself. Pissing him off right now wouldn’t get either of them anywhere. "... I do. But I'm curious. From what I understand, you already had an alias. Zephyr. Why Maelstrom?"
It takes a long while for him to answer, but the doctor is patient. Maelstrom doesn't want to trust him with the answer, but who else would he possibly tell? "It's a vicious cycle. Your future self visits you, and you know you must visit your past self when you grow up just like him. When I was broken and beaten down enough to give up hope, he passed down the mantle of Maelstrom to me. A gentle breeze turning into a swirling vortex of violence." It’s a story he’s told before, just longer, and with more grace and tact to glaze over the complete reformation of his entire being.
For once, Fusinal listens. And he gently, gently, reaches for Maelstrom. His elbow first, to let him know he’s there. Then moving up to his shoulder, pulling him, and letting him choose to roll over and face him again. Reluctantly, Maelstrom does, and returns to his previous position on his back, staring away. Fusinal replaces his hand on his lover’s cheek. He doesn't expect him to want to look him in the face, and he won't demand it. "Can I call you by your name?"
Maelstrom does not answer. Maelstrom refuses to look at him. How dare he ask that now when he had never cared to ask before? Or maybe he never wanted to know in the first place, and that idiot younger self of his ended up revealing it anyway. It could be any number of things, and Maelstrom doesn’t exactly care to find out which. Slowly, his hand clasps over Fusinal's, and pulls his hand away from his face. The doctor starts to pull away, a rare apologetic look on his face, but he’s stopped by a hand caressing his own face. It slips down to hold the back of his neck, fingers running across the still fresh shaved soft fuzz on the back of his head. He’s pulled closer, and a chaste kiss is shared between them.
"Go to sleep, Fusinal." Maverick says quietly, avoiding eye contact. He turns back over, sinking down properly into his pillow before pulling the blanket over himself. When Fusinal’s arm slips around his stomach and his head settles just behind his own, and his warmer body shuffles flush to his, he doesn't protest. He sighs softly, placing a hand on his arm to gently trace the little gnarled gouges in his skin.