Chapter Text
Clay hunches over the dining table, reading glasses slipping to the end of his nose. Late into the night, he scans over reports about various mines owned by his company. Safety procedures and threats to it are always written in red, sure to catch his eye first. He's yet to have someone die in his mines and he surely ain't starting now.
Survey reports from his geology team seem to go on and on, way past what's necessary. They just can't seem to ignore any one facet of the rocks they encounter. How it looks, how it feels, plausible theories on its formation, and breakdowns of its mineral composition.
If he has to read about the difference between plagioclase feldspar and alkali feldspar one more time, his eyes might fall right out of his head.
Somewhere in the house, a door opens. Not a new building, most of the house's doors creak; some when it opens, some when it closes, and some during both.
He looks up over his low-slung glasses, a bad habit.
On light tiptoes, his youngest son pads down the hallway towards the dining room. The dining room has the only table big enough to sort all of his papers, and it doesn't have a creaky door.
The boy stands in the doorway, fidgeting with his fingers. He wrings his hands back and forth, still silent.
“What're you doin’ up?” Clay speaks first.
“Couldn't sleep.” And he leaves it at that for the moment. He crosses the room, sitting in the chair left of his father.
“Why not? Ya got school tomorrow. Need t'sleep.”
His son stays quiet for a beat. Then another. Then another.
“Y'want me to tuck ya back in?” Despite his appearance and bristly public personality, Clay tries to be gentle with his kids. He's the way he is because of his father and his father before him. He doesn't want his sons to grow up like him: a bitter old man. He wants them better than that. Better than him.
“N-no! I haven't needed that since I was a baby! I'm nine now. I-I just wanna tell you somethin'.”
“A'right. What's goin’ on?” Clay pushes his glasses into his hair, eyes straining to adjust to the lack of magnification. His chair creaks with his weight as he reclines back.
“Uhm…” His boy drills holes into the surface of the table with his eyes. He can’t seem to meet his father’s gaze. That, along with his fidgeting and slumped shoulders raises some alarms in Clay’s head. What’s his baby boy hiding? Why’s he so… scared?
“Y’alright? What’s goin’ on, buddy?”
“I dunno. I just…I think there’s something…weird about me,” he pulls his knees up into the chair and hugs them close, shrinking away from his father. Compressing himself into a tight little ball to take up the smallest airspace possible.
“Ain’t nothing weird about that, bud. Everybody’s a weirdo,” he tries to lighten the mood, but quickly corrects himself when his son’s grimace remains, “S-So unless it might hurt yourself or someone else, I wouldn’t worry 'bout it,”
“No, I don’t think it’s dangerous. But…you might get mad at me,” his little voice starts to shake.
“Well, don’ cry, now. I won’t get mad.” Clay reaches over to pat him on the shoulder, an attempt at being a comforting presence.
“P-Promise?”
“Like I said, long as nobody’s in danger, I won’ get ornery. We can deal with it, no problem.”
“Pinky promise?” He holds his hand out, smallest finger extended.
“Pinky promise.” Clay takes it, sealing the sacred deal of the mythical “promise of pinkies”. It’s like scripture for kids with grave consequences if it gets broken. Clay’s broken a lot of deals and burned a few bridges, but never with his kids. He wouldn’t survive seeing any of their sad little faces after finding out he lied. If he can help it, he ain’t nothing but truthful.
“Okay,” he takes a deep breath, “Dad, I wanna change my name.”
“...S'at it? Y’don’t like yer name?” He tries not to laugh. If it’s important to his son, it’s important to him.
“Well, it’s the reason I wanna change my name that I’m worried you’ll be mad at me for.”
“I pinky promised I won’t get mad.”
“I-I know. Dad, I want to change my name because, uh, I think I’m…supposed to be a girl.” His child finally spits out. As soon as the last word is said, hot tears begin falling all over his face. Welling up in his amber eyes and brimming up over his lashes, finally dropping down over his chubby cheeks.
For a moment, Clay says nothing. He’s too stunned to say anything that makes sense at first.
His child takes this poorly.
“You’re mad! I kn-knew it. I-I’m sorry! I didn’t wa-wanna say anything, b-but–”
“Honey, you don’t have to apologize! I ain’t mad,” he quickly fumbles out. He nearly trips over his chair trying to get to his feet, almost sending it crashing to the floor and waking everyone else up. Seeing his youngest so--daughter in tears? That just won’t do.
He swoops the shaking child up out of the chair and into a crushing embrace.
“I love you. It don't matter to me, boy, girl, or whatever. I love you,” he hides his face, his own eyes clouding up something fierce.
The pair hug in silence for a nice while, the only noise being the younger one’s sniffles and heavy breaths.
Clay is the one to break the silence.
“Whatchu wan’ me to call you now, honey?” He sets his daughter down but keeps a hold on her shoulders. He wipes away tears from her left eye with his thumb.
“L-Lacey.” She sniffs.
“Well, Lacey, let's get you back to bed, okay? It's mighty late, an’ we can talk more in the mornin’.” Immediately after hearing her true name for the first time, her little face brightens right up. She truly beams with joy, a toothy grin showing the incisor she just lost.
“T-Thanks for not being mad.” She hugs him again, nuzzling her face into his round stomach.
“I wouldn't be mad at'chu for this. Yer actually mighty brave, y'know. People lot older than you are scared to be who they are. Y'got the heart of dang Pyroar. C'mon, I'll tuck ya in.”
Lacey grimaces down at the slip of plastic in her lap.
Her school I.D…
It's got a pretty picture of her on it, though it was prior to dyeing her hair pearly pink. Dad told her she should dye it before getting her school pictures taken, but she just kept forgetting. When she actually got around to it, pictures were already sent out in the mail.
Besides that, her portrait is very cute!
That's not what she's upset about.
It's the name printed under her face that's the problem.
It's not “Lacey”.
Upon receiving her new ID in the mail, she expected to glance at it once and then slip it into her wallet, ready to show it whenever necessary. Students get new IDs every three years, so it's not that exciting.
But after pulling it from the envelope, her heart sank to the floor.
How could this happen?
Her previous ID had her proper name, her graduation year, and her field of study. For some unknown reason, this iteration has her deadname smacked on it front and centre.
The only person more upset than her was her father.
“Now what in Arceus's forsaken name is that?! We had that changed damn near eight years ago,” he ranted and raved when she showed it to him for the first time. Immediately, he grabbed his phone and called up the academy, demanding to speak to Cyrano directly.
Director Cyrano confessed he had no idea what happened as he leaves all the technical stuff to those much younger than himself. He swore to sort the issue out with the admissions team. Unfortunately, until they could find the error in the system that affected many students who'd changed their names, Lacey would need to use the ID given to her. He promised her it would only be temporary and if anyone gave her trouble about it, they could take it up with him.
Even knowing that her ID would eventually be rectified didn't dull the sting.
None of her friends and classmates know about… her. Just like her hair, she meant to come out to everyone time and time again, but just never got to it. She's been living as Lacey since she was nine years old. Being seventeen now, she's lived as a girl for nearly half her entire life. Not even the other Blueberry League members know she's transgender. They wouldn't care, obviously; She's their friend and they love her.
But deep down, she's afraid. She's afraid something will change. They say they won't treat her differently, but can she really trust that? Lacey is the cutesy, girly girl member of the group. She loves fairy ‘mons and sparkly things and pink and rainbows, that's who she is. But if they knew she wasn't always...
Her dysphoria is remarkably better than it was a couple of years ago. Even then, her brain never seems to tire of making her doubt herself. She wars with it on and off. Most days, she's pretty happy in her body and self. Being only nine when she started transitioning, she was able to start puberty blockers before the process could change her body too much. Her voice never got deeper and she rarely, if ever, has to worry about body hair. Her skin is soft and her hair is downy and pretty, and her estrogen rounded out her curves to a favourable degree.
Everyone calls her Lacey and she can't even remember the last time someone misgendered her. And boys like her! Not that their opinions matter to her too much, still, it's nice when boys like her and tell her she's pretty. And then, like a summer storm, her mood changes quickly.
If a boy likes her, what if he wants to kiss her? And then if he kisses her, what if he wants to touch her? And what if he wants to…go further?
Countless times, she's read stories online about girls like her. Closeted girls like her getting familiar with a man, only for him to freak out when he gets his hand down her pants. These stories never end well. She fears that for herself any time she has a new crush.
What if, what if, what if?
Some of her concerns, she shares with her father or her 3 brothers. For obvious reasons, she doesn't share her intimacy fears with Clay, but she's mentioned it to her older brother Jet, the one closest to her age.
“I'm just so worried about that kind of stuff. I mean, there's an actual defence used in court called the 'Trans Panic Defense' that sometimes gets a murderer off trial! They don't even care about us when we're dead, Jet,” she said once, sitting in his beanbag chair with Snubbull cuddled in her lap. Her older brother sat at his PC, absentmindedly playing some simple game while listening to his sister vent. She's most comfortable around him. He's even the first one she came out to, only a few days before she told Clay.
Back then, he was only eleven, so he didn't really understand. But now, seeing her mood drastically improve and listening to her explain how she feels, he 100% supports his baby sister. Her other brothers are the same way, but they aren't home as often, usually at college or working. Growing up, all three boys had her back.
Even before coming out, Lacey was shy and sensitive. She cried whenever someone swatted a fly and demanded they apologize. She wouldn't watch any movies with dog Pokémon in them because she knew the dog always died. She liked playing with traditional “girl toys” like dolls and stuffed animals and she hated dressing up in fancy menswear for special occasions. They all accepted that their baby sibling was different from other boys. Now as their baby sister, they fall right into the stereotypical "older brother" phenotype.
If anyone so much as looks at her weirdly, they are ready to pounce. They want to meet and “have a talk with” any boy she crushes on, though that's more embarrassing than sweet.
“That's just bullshit. If a girl I liked told me she was trans, I literally wouldn't care. What a stupid, asinine law,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.
“You say wouldn't care because you're not a transphobe. And you can say that now, but you'd probably be a little weirded out if that actually happened. Most guys would be. ” She gripped her pearlescent purple nails in Snubbull’s short fur, frustrated. Why does being her real self also have to mean knowing a man might kill her just because of it? Why does being transgender require an acceptance of death? Snubbull turns its stubby neck to lick her hand gently. It knows when she's stressed.
“Would I be a little taken aback if a girl I liked had a schlong? Yeah, at first. But if I like her, that doesn't fucking matter.” Lacey throws a pillow at him. He knows she hates that word. That word in particular just makes her tummy knot up. So vulgar!
“Ew!”
“What?! I'm just trying to help. Lace, I swear there's good guys out there who like you and don't care if you're trans. I promise.”
She wants to believe him. She wants to imagine some Prince Charming is waiting to sweep her off her feet. One who loves her and her transness, not despite it.
Lacey stuffs the stupid ID back in her wallet angrily. She snaps the pink leather shut and tucks it into the bottom of the tote bag hanging off her shoulder.
Clay notices his daughter's quick, jolted movements and sighs. He looks at her from the corner of his eye, still trying to focus on the road ahead. He likes dropping her off on her first day back, even though she could have easily just called a cab.
“I know, honey. We's gonna get this fixed right up and it'll be just fine. I’m steamin’ mad too, but Director Cyrano gave us his word.” He takes one hand off the wheel and pats her on the shoulder.
“I just don't understand…” she mumbles into her chest.
“I'm sure it wasn't on purpose. Cyrano said a buncha kids were affected. Just some high-falutin error in some system somewheres.”
“I know. It's not his fault. Just, what if someone sees it? What if someone stupid sees it and spreads it around the whole school?”
“Well if that happens, you can come to me and I'll let them have it.”
Ten years ago, if someone asked Clay his views on transgender people, he couldn't be sure he'd say the right things. He's an old fogey from a small town, he wasn't around stuff like that. Or, perhaps he was always around it, but nobody talked about it and certainly didn't talk about it in kind.
That seemed to be common where he grew up. If people were different, just didn't have much to do with them. You could be gay, just don't ever tell anyone, work hard, and keep your head down.
Moving to Unova certainly helped bring many new things to light. Not that Clay was ever ignorant of things like LGBT people, he just didn't much think about it. Work hard, act right, and keep your head down.
Seeing people, like his young colleague Burgh, be brash and bold about their queerness and not hiding like he was used to…
He changed his mind. There's nothing for him to hate; they're just people who love differently than himself. Being in the city now and seeing events like Pride Parades where everyone is smiling and joyous, just so happy to be here and be alive…
It's love, it's life, it's all just being human.
Burgh still annoys him frequently, but that's because he's a stuffy artiste, not because he's gay.
So when Lacey was younger, before she was Lacey, Clay had an idea of what he was in for. She liked “girly” things. She didn't like playing rough and tumble with her brothers. Lacey would wander off and he'd find her in the little girl's clothing section, staring starry-eyed at dresses and skirts.
He was prepared to have a gay son. Before Lacey came out, he even rehearsed what to say in response to her coming out. Something that would make her happy but let her know it wasn't exactly a surprise.
Clay was not prepared to have a daughter.
Without a mom present and an only child himself, Clay knew very little about raising girls. Everyone always said girls are much more complicated, and that scared him. He didn't even know how to put someone's hair in a ponytail for Arceus's sake!
Slowly, day by day, the pair learned together. How to be a daughter and how to raise one were their complimentary lessons.
And not to toot his own horn, but Clay can even braid Lacey’s hair when she asks now.
Clay loves his daughter dearly and any jackass that disapproves can kiss his pale white ass.
“At least my picture is pretty…” Lacey says under her breath, unheard by Clay over the sound of his truck’s AC.
After Clay drops her off, a kiss and hard hug included, Lacey makes her way back to her dorm building. Blueberry Academy has gender-inclusive dorm buildings where girls and boys can live on the same floor. Rooms are typically single-occupant with an equal number of women's and men's rooms and at least one single-stall gender-neutral bathroom on all floors.
All four of the League members live In the same section in the same hallway. At first by pure coincidence, but now on purpose. Given that most amenities are provided by the school, most students just bring decorations and clothing with them.
Lacey tasked Granbull with carrying her matching sparkly rose suitcases while Excadrill hauled her bins of decorations. All Lacey herself carries up to her room is her purse and her bedding. It's helpful having two strong helpers on her team, one with opposable thumbs.
She has to use her ID to get into her room. With a grimace and a quick peek to make sure no one's around, she pulls it out and lets the door scan it. Then she shoves it back into her bag.
After getting all settled in with her cute posters and shiny new school clothes, Lacey shoots a quick text to her father.
12:06 AM
To: Dad☆♡☆
I'm all moved back in thanks to Granny and Excadrill!
She takes a quick selfie and tacks that onto the message as well.
Clay sends a single thumbs up as a response.
Typical.
For the first week, the whole “ID Fiasco” kind of slips Lacey's mind. She gets wrapped back up in League work and classes and when she has to use it, she just does so without thinking. Until one day she goes to pull it out to get back into her room at the end of a busy day and…
It's not there.
She flips her skirt pockets inside out and dumps her purse on the floor outside her door. A girl walking by gives her a sideway glance but keeps mum.
Lacey’s frantic, spreading all of its contents around the floor.
“Hey Lacey,” someone says from behind her. With more force than necessary, she whips her head around to see who dared speak to her in this moment of weakness.
Drayton.
“O-Oh. Hi. I'm busy right now, so I can't talk.”
He sidles up closer. With the toe of his shoe, he nudges a tube of mascara that rolls away back towards the pile.
“Busy making a mess of the dorm halls?”
“No, I'm looking for–”
“Your ID?” He interrupts her smugly.
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Cause I picked it up.” He slips it out of his pocket and holds it between two of his fingers. Relief floods Lacey’s nerves, but it's short-lived. If Drayton has her ID, that means he knows. Now the most annoying, big-mouthed jerk in the league knows her secret and he'll let it slip to the whole school.
Lacey springs to her feet. She jumps at Drayton, nearly tackling him to the ground.
“Give it! Please give it to me!”
Drayton easily hands it over sensing her distress. She tries to smile but it won't come through.
“Great. Just awesome. Just the person I wanted to be outed to.” She tries to stay angry to avoid crying.
“Lace, I'm not gonna tell anyone. So, like, relax,” he says, putting his hands up in defeat. Or in defence, as Lacey could definitely kick his ass. Just because she wouldn't doesn't mean she can't.
“Sorry I'm not super chill right now, bro. It's hard to stay calm when you get, w-when y-you…” She quickly turns her back towards him, slapping the ID against the scanner. She slams the door in his stunned face.
On the other side of the door, Drayton’s brain has been properly scrambled. When he found Lacey's ID, it was nothing short of random chance. He had been sauntering around the Terrarium in between classes, looking for newbies to fight. Passing over one of the bridges into Area 2, he caught the shine off the card's plastic-y surface. Picking it up, he briefly glanced at the picture and put it into his pocket. He didn't even notice Lacey’s dead name at first. It took him a second glance to verify the picture was his League mate, and that's when he read it.
For a moment, he couldn't understand what he was seeing.
How is ‘Lacey’ a nickname for that name? Why is she called Lacey then?
Finally, a synapse made a connection and he figured it out.
Drayton kneels on the ground to gather all of Lacey’s belongings back into her handbag. She fled without even shoving her things haphazardly into her purse. A brief thought of a “Finder's Fee” crosses his mind when he picks up her wallet, but he decides against it. She's already upset, he won't exacerbate it this time.
Once everything is semi-organized, he stares at the closed door. All student dorms have their names on door labels and their pronouns. Lacey's door also has a whiteboard and pink marker hung on it.
“Lace? You left your bag and all your thingies out here,” he calls loudly, rapping at the door with his knuckles.
She doesn't respond, nor can he hear any movement inside. It's getting to that time of day when students come home and start doing homework and he doesn't want to disturb anyone (and should probably go do his own), so he resolves to leave her be. He picks the marker up and pops the cap off, scribbling a little note.
“I put your bag in the club room xoxo drayton”