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He just simply wasn’t adjusted to this new way that Lumiose city operated. Time tested routes through dependable, predictable streets had become complicated by navigating through and around ever shifting wild zones. At all other times, this was a boon! A fresh opportunity to research and study thousands of possible interactions between people and pokemon alike.
The beginning of such prospects were stacked cozily in Professor Sycamore’s briefcase. He had spent the afternoon observing young trainers enter and exit the wild zone. Casually logging information and writing ideas for studies until the sun began to dip behind the tall buildings, and street lamps began to lazily flick on. Beside the notes for a promising new future of research, old files from a bittersweet past he had been wanting to re-examine waited for him.
Which led him to the situation he was in now- walking just a little bit too rushed down a busy avenue and just a little bit too turned around.
A chipper tone rang out from his phone, pulsing and floating out of his pocket to display the night’s battle zone. He frowned when the happy little blue dot showing his current location was within the red holographic boundaries. He had a few minutes to clear out, or risk being delayed by the same eager youth he spent the day watching challenging him to battles. Worse still, he hadn’t exactly been participating- goaded into signing up by assistants before getting pretty thoroughly trounced on his first night of competing. He was not planning on doing more with it, feeling it just wasn’t the hobby for him. But, because he had registered, it meant he did in fact have a rank, low as it may be. And because of that, it meant if he didn’t hustle, he would have quite literally a big neon sign above his head advertising “bother me for easy points!” In no uncertain terms.
He hurriedly checked his watch, looked up at the sun, looked to the side to his rotom, down to the red holographic lines begin to be drawn, and then finally decided to actually watch where he was going. He had scampered successfully outside of the battle zone.
As if on cue, the sounds of battle and commotion picked up immediately behind him, and Sycamore took a moment to turn and look behind him just in time to see a colorful blast of pinkish energy explode like a firework. He smiled. It made him feel a sort of pride in his city, one that had dulled in recent years. Moving past everything that had happened… it hadn’t been easy on him. It made these small moments matter all that much more. It made him yearn for a simpler time, when his introductions weren’t paired with questions about “the incident” five years ago. It wasn’t their fault when they asked, and it wasn’t his fault how it wore him down.
The months following what Team Flare tried to do were some of the hardest Sycamore had to endure. It destroyed him, emotionally, to know what his students had to do- had to suffer- to save the world. Making choices no children should. Having to see a man consumed by a madness of hate and destruction.
He sat awake at his desk for countless long nights, drinking and watching old videos on his Holo-caster. The infamous video of Lysandre declaring his plan (why? Why announce his plans? Just to frighten and terrify the public before their deaths? Or did he want to be stopped? Was it a cry for help?). Mundane check in videos sent regarding research projects, where they talked excitedly about mega evolution. Personal, affectionate videos sent during their courting of each other. Quiet wishes of love sent when they traveled apart. Stilted, scripted announcement videos for his company. A warm and sincere birthday song.
Trying to parse where the Lysandre that captivated his heart ended and the Lysandre that tried to kill everyone began was impossible. In the end, Sycamore was left with the conclusion that if he ever wanted closure, he had to try to understand Lysandre, and empathize. It led him to stay determined not to let despair crush him, as it so terribly did his lover. He had to hold on to his hope for a better tomorrow. He had to find joy in the little things, and not be blinded by an impossibly big picture.
Like watching the youth battle in a tournament. Though, as much as staying to watch tempted him, he had to drop off his research, and he would rather get home before it got too late. Nothing good came from being up late.
Before him, the street was illuminated by warm street lamps and the soft glow of windows of people settling in after a long day. The air carried the scent of well cooked food and savory flavors for dinner. Grass a little too overgrown swayed gently, and the city seemed to calm and still outside of where excitement was politely cordoned off.
It was easy to be lulled into a false sense of security by how warm Lumiose could be. And certainly it did, because Professor Augustine Sycamore was so occupied with avoiding pokemon trainers and the battle zone, that he didn’t notice he had crossed one threshold into another. He traded Red hologram borders for Green, but made a critical mistake in judging just which side of the green borders he found himself on.
Augustine Sycamore had always been teased for his lack of observational skills. Things that read obvious to others seemed to fly right over his head and out the window. He’d been told it was one of his most endearing qualities. He had also been told it would get him into deep trouble if he wasn’t careful.
So it was, he didn’t notice that the shadows cast by the lamps and trees concealed a sleeping pokemon. If he did, he would have taken care to walk quickly and quietly around it and not dare disturb the sleeping pup. If he had noticed, he most certainly wouldn’t have stepped with full confidence directly on that houndour’s little nubby tail, resulting in the most unhappy, shrill yelp the puppy could produce. In that same ill-placed step, Augustine Sycamore in all of his professorly dignity, also yelped in surprise in response. Trying to regain balance, he over-corrected, flailing a bit with an awkward stumble, nearly tripping on his own shoes before almost tripping over the dog.
Houndoom’s head shot up. Her senses fine tuned to the sounds of her pups, and most certainly the sound of them in danger. When she looked where the sounds of her baby in distress came, she saw her puppy scamper away in fear of a tall figure, swinging wildly with its limbs. Burning, protective rage brewed. Instincts lit ablaze, as she rushed to punish who would dare harm her child.
“Ah! Sorry, sorry!” Augustine said. He had only just a moment to regain his balance when pain- terrible, blunt pain- impacted his side. Houndoom’s curled horns thankfully did not poke forward like a Tauros, the only mercy afforded the poor man. The force sent him off his feet and his suitcase ripped out of his grasp from the headbutt. He yelled out just from the sheer force of it.
If he was lucky he would have landed in the grass, but instead he felt his body impact and skid on the concrete sidewalk with a pained grunt. He clutched his side, trying to catch the breath knocked out of him. His rotom beeped a warning sound, as if it wasn’t obvious he was hurt. He coughed, trying to get his breath, his voice back.
Across from him, the Houndoom roared, steam fuming out of her mouth. Righteous rage radiated off of her in hot waves. She charged him again, just as he was trying in vain to move and get up. This impact sent him right into a wall, sending him dizzy and disoriented, with the corners of his vision beginning to redden.
Sycamore was in a predicament. His suitcase was out of reach with Garchomp’s pokeball somewhere inside it. He was prone on the ground, hurt. He knew what was coming next, and he was out of time. The Houndoom mother’s mouth glowed a deep orange.
———
Another solitary night awaited L, who sat quietly and tucked away, out of sight on a milk crate left out in an alleyway. The wild patrats and trubbish hardly noticed his coming and going anymore, accepting him as a welcome neighbor on this block.
Lumiose was a warm city that he had come to appreciate more and more as time passed. There was a peaceful air about it, and the kindness strangers extended to him, it made him think deeply most nights.
The silhouette of his shadow retained the shape of a man who no longer was. That man… hated the city. Hated the world. Hated the people, the buildings, the trees, and himself.
But truly… why? It eluded him. Without the memories that took him to that point of no return the Lysandre of the past was a mystery to even himself. The man he once was burned bright and hot and vicious with anger. Ego. Pain. And now? He felt more like warm, sleepy embers of a campfire left to rest. A coal bed. Warm.
Stripped of expectation, away from the day to day rush of corporate meetings, Lysandre now found peace in the small things. Take nothing for granted. Be thankful for what you have. Try to make tomorrow better than the day it was before.
Hear the sound of commotion down the street, and dare to do something about it.
He knew the streets of Lumiose well, and how she operated. A fanfare of battle sounds from the battle zones had a playful sound to them. This sound was the distinctive roar of an angry Pokemon with a vendetta. And with how many children participated in the ZA Royale…he worried.
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d step in to help an ill equipped trainer out of a wild zone, knocked out by a raging alpha. Most pokemon didn’t attack to kill, but the danger and injury risk was very real. Coupled with how controversial wild zones were already, it was in everyone’s best interest to avoid the worst outcomes.
So he moved through the alleyway, flicking his hood up and leaving the cover of the buildings in a low crouch to investigate. He slipped unseen into the wild zone through the barrier to come upon unrest with the Houndoom family. He was surprised that the person caught up in it was in fact not a child, but what appeared to be a businessman, or maybe a tourist. It would explain why the man would make the mistake of coming too close to her pups.
A very bad mistake, indeed. The dark haired man on the ground looked like he already had experienced her wrath. He must have really upset her. Collapsed on the ground, and holding his side, it was clear she’d already given him a beating. Still, he saw her hate, and her rage burn. Punishment has been given, and L wasn’t going to let the Houndoom go any further than that.
———
Professor Sycamore could do little else to protect himself than cover his face, and hope the nearest pokemon center had plenty of burn heals. With one arm holding his side, and the other covering his face, he winced hearing the deathly howl that preceded a Houndoom’s flamethrower. He felt the air ignite, and bright yellows and oranges engulphed the air. But the searing pain didn’t come. It was unbearably hot, yes, but he was distinctly not on fire.
A grunt of pain that wasn’t his own made him look up in surprise. A tall man stood a few feet in front of him, blocking and averting the fire, taking a hit that was meant for him. A thick jacket flapped in the flames, his arms crossed and his legs stanced to endure. He stood and took the hit, sparing the Professor serious harm. The flames wrapped around the stranger, casting him in a stark black shadow.
The smell of burned fabric carried when the Houndoom ran out of breath. Without missing a moment, the stranger moved forward with an impressive confidence for someone who had just endured a direct blast of flames. The action even seemed to catch the Houndoom off guard as he entered her space.
L grabbed onto her horns, and cradled her head into his chest and stomach, forcing her head down and into a submissive position that her flames would not reach him. She snarled and thrashed trying to break free, but his hold remained.
“Enough. Enough. Enough.” He said firmly, but calm as she tried to attack in vain. “Shhh. Enough now.”
Slowly, barks gave way to growls, and thrashing gave way to exhaustion. He held his stance firmly, using her own strength against her. In a battle of wills, L knew had the upperhand when she stopped moving at the sound of her pups calling for her.
“They’re safe. You’re safe .” L said gently, taking a hand off one of her horns, and touching her neck. She made a low whine. He was in control now, and the pokemon twitched at him petting her neck. He then used that hand to guide her head out from his chest, and turned her head, to face her pups, and simply let her go.
She side eyed him, hesitant, but with tail low, ran quickly out of sight to her hidden den.
Augustine Sycamore watched it all play out from the ground. The stranger stood tall until the Houndoom was out of sight, to which his posture slumped and that commanding aura was gone. He also then brought a hand to his hooded head and coughed from the lingering smoke coming off his own body.
“Are you alright?”
Augustine blinked absently. It took a second to realize the stranger was talking to him. “I… Yes. Yes, I think…rgh.” He winced.
“Hmm. It doesn't sound like it.” The stranger spoke matter of factly. He then turned and faced the professor. The light of the lamps continued to cast him in shadow, the hood over his head obscuring all but a piercing blue eye looking down. Slouched as he was, he was still terribly intimidating. That single eye squinted slightly.
“Can you stand?” He asked.
“I….yes. Just give me-“ He grunted and winced trying to right himself. He was greeted by a hand extended down to him. Black fingerless gloves. Reddened fingertips from the fire. A badly damaged jacket sleeve.
“Let me help you.” A soft voice. A kind voice.
Sycamore took the offered help, swearing then and there he would repay this man for all he was doing for him. The stranger hoisted him up with ease.
“Th-thank you.” Sycamore said as the stranger was basically now holding him up, one arm bracing Sycamore’s own, the other carefully ready to catch a fall. “I’m sorry to ask, but could you help me out of this wild zone?”
“Of course.” L carefully took the Professor’s arm onto his shoulder. They began the slow walk, with Sycamore setting the pace. They both were looking rough: A crumpled, limping professor being helped by a man who looked like he had just crawled out of a campfire. Sycamore couldn’t help but be amused by how absurd it must look. Both of them sounded like wounded dogs themselves from their respective injuries.They took just a second to stop and pick up Sycamore’s briefcase before their hobbling march continued.
“I didn’t realize I stumbled into a wild zone.” Sycamore started. “I really wasn’t watching where I was going. There was a houndour hidden up in a shadow, I didn’t see him at all.”
“I see.”
“Big mistake. I gave gave the poor pokemon a fright, and he called his mother, and. Well. If you hadn’t helped me, I would be having a very different evening right now. Thank you, really…” Sycamore’s brows furrowed. “…But that was very dangerous! Are… are you ok?”
L pondered his answer. He was definitely not ok, and now that the adrenaline was waning, the burning stinging was starting. There was something about that particular question, said in that particular tone, that seemed to tease some fragments of his mind. What memory was trying to return?
“I am… fine.” He said, but felt that wasn’t quite a good enough answer. “… I will be fine. I’ve been through worse.”
“That’s not exactly encouraging.” Sycamore said as they made it to a bench, a few paces outside of the wild zone. L helped drop him off and then just… stood there. Awkwardly hovering, unsure quite what to do next.
The professor took his suitcase into his lap and leaned over it, taking a few deep breaths. His side hurt terribly, bruised for sure. He gingerly put pressure on his ribs and concluded that nothing seemed broken or critical. Since neither of them quite knew how to approach taking the next step, they both hung in the impasse for an uncomfortable few minutes.
———
“We should go to a pokemon center.” Sycamore said, finally. “They can help with those burns, and I could use something for this terrible crick in my side.” Sycamore laughed dryly. A quick search on his rotom phone (after brushing away some pop up) was less than encouraging, as the closest pokemon center that did not involve going back through the wild zone was several blocks away.
“Hmm. Well, this isn’t good. We’re a bit far away, and I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I don’t want you to have to carry my dead weight... I can give you the money for a few things, if you don’t mind walking there and back?”
The stranger tensed. He tried to avoid interacting with people directly, in particular those who were likely to recognize him, like Kalos natives. Every time he had to go to a pokemon center for his team, it was incredibly awkward and stilted. Lysandre funded and made himself very well known to Lumiose’s medics. He couldn’t help but make himself even more suspicious than he already was by trying to not look guilty or conspicuous. Sycamore noticed the hesitation in his new friend, so he attempted to sweeten the deal.
“I know I’m asking a lot, and I really appreciate your kindness. I fully, really intend to pay you back. I feel terrible, your coat is… well. I would be happy to replace it. I insist! It really, really is the least I could do.” He held a wad of cash forward.
“Please, professor, I would really rather not-“ L started, before he was interrupted by the shrill “fweeeeet!” Of a whistle, and a flashlight shone at him. The bright light blinded him briefly, and he recoiled, turning away and putting his hand up to shield his face.
Sycamore saw just a quick trace and glimpse of the man, just the quick flicker of a stark white beard and pale skin. To the left of both of them, approached a Lumiose police officer.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” She began. “… Everything… ok?”
Now, there certainly wasn’t anything suspicious about this situation. Just a man clutching his designer suitcase close to his chest sitting on a bench, looking battered and beaten. Holding out a thick wad of cash to a clearly homeless man looming over him.
“Ooh! Oh gosh, haha. Yes! Yes, everything is ok.” Sycamore fumbled.
“Uh…huh.” The Police officer said. “I’m responding to a distress alert… from a rotom mobile?” she said, flickering the flashlight between the two men. On cue, Sycamore’s phone beeped a playful tune, floating forward with a cartoon animation of a stick figure being zapped by a pikachu reading ‘S.O.S ! Pokemon attack !’.
“Ah, so that was what that pop up was…” Sycamore said. “Oh! Actually! This is perfect. Do you have an aid kit on you? Some of the pokemon in the wild zone attacked me and my friend here. We’re both quite worse for wear so it's a good thing you came!”
“Your… friend?” The Officer said. L had already taken a few hesitant steps away from the officer and away from Sycamore, trying to disappear from the conversation entirely.
Sycamore immediately took the lead, turning on that charm he was so well known for.
“Oh yes, yes. Uhm… We’ve known each other for years! We’re very, very good friends. If we weren't working together, I don’t think anything would ever get done!” Sycamore spoke, lying through his teeth. He made it look easy.
L meanwhile had to bring a hand up to his aching head, pushing a fist to his forehead. The more and more this person talked, the more it hurt. It hurt because it felt so, so familiar. Down to the playful praise, it felt like an echo. Vouching for his character to someone skeptical with complete sincerity.
…He had called him ‘professor’. The title had just slipped out with such ease just as the police officer came, that it almost went unnoticed. But as soon as he said it, it made complete sense. Like it was absurd that he had forgotten. This man is a professor. No. THE professor. The pokemon professor of Kalos.
He knew this man.
Of course he knew this man. Lysandre was a researcher and knew dozens of scholars in various fields of pokemon study. A handful of faces came to him. They were… friends? No… not all of them. Just a few. Maybe just one. Yes. A dozen acquaintances but only one he would call his friend. Professor Sycamore. Even if the Professor was saving face right now, his words were not inaccurate. He just had no idea who he truly was.
The professor’s voice, and his face, flashes like cells in a film reel before him accelerating faster and faster, blurring in shades of white, blue, black.
L was quickly losing his grip on the here and now, chasing the memory deeper and deeper into its burrow. All memories that returned to him came with strings attached to more memories, and more memories, which threatened to tangle and strangle if not carefully metered. He had to leave this spiral, now, no matter how much it enticed him.
It was about then that he tuned back into the conversation that Professor was having with the Officer. L was thankful; the professor’s natural charisma kept attention honed on himself, chatting it up so casually. One aid kit and rotom phone reset later, the Police Officer left almost as abruptly as she came, following a new alert calling her away.
L sighed deeply with relief, and Sycamore turned his head and smiled, holding up the little first aid kit.
———
“Alright. Be honest. How bad is it?”
“Hmm. The bruises, or your patch up?”
“Both, if you please.”
“Bad.”
Sycamore chuckled. “I guess I did ask you to be honest, aha.” He settled his shirt back down over his poorly bandaged bruises, and put his coat back on. “I’ll do better on your burns.”
L shifted his weight from one foot to his other. “Excuse me?”
“Your burns. I know how hot Houndoom flames burn. You don’t just shrug it off.”
L hesitated.
“Please… let me help you.” Sycamore said softly, in the present. He held his hand out as a kind invitation.
“Please L… let me help you.” Augustine said desperately, five years in the past. His hand reaching out in vain to one who refused to take it.
Suddenly, the small gesture felt infinitely important. The memory made his chest feel tight with guilt; of course that’s where the name “L” came from. How dare he ever forget. Sycamore always said his little pet names for Lysandre with such sincerity. It was what he was called. He was called “L.”
How Lysandre had been such a fool. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He swallowed his pride, and walked over to the bench and took a seat beside the professor, offering up his hands.
His gloves could barely be called that anymore. They weren’t very good quality to begin with, so it wasn’t a big loss to discard them. He rest his hands on the metal bar segmenting the bench into separate seats as the Professor got to work.
He was very delicate and careful, taking L’s first hand in his own, turning it over and pushing L’s charred sleeve up a few inches to see how bad the damage was. With his kit ready, he dabbed a damp cotton ball to skin to clean away soot, pulling a sharp inhale and a hiss from L.
“This must hurt terribly… I’m sorry. Just hang in there, ok?” Sycamore said. “I promise this will be worth it. Burn heal innovation for pokemon battles have come far in the past ten years, for pokemon and trainer alike.” He held onto L’s hand as it twitched in pain.
He continued. “You know, as a professor, we study a lot of history, to help advance the future. Like this situation. Did you know that the Houndoom species has a very old legend about itself?”
“Do tell.”
“Yes, yes. You see, in old times, thousands of years ago, there wasn’t a whole lot we could do about pokemon inflicted injuries. Common medical practices didn't always work. It was said that if you received a burn from a Houndoom, the pain would never go away, and it would always hurt, forever.”
“Is that true?”
“Somewhat, yes. In the past, we didn’t know that a Houndoom's flames were unique to their species. You see, they burn a toxin in their body, secreted from a specialized gland. The burning you feel isn’t from the fire, it’s actually from a poison!” Sycamore spoke with a sort of glee.
“So, the people then, they just didn’t know. Of course, when the burn healed naturally, the poison remained. Hence, a persistent sting. However-“ Sycamore then held up a small antidote spray, and then spritzed it a few times on L’s hand. The relief was immediate. “If we apply the correct solution, then we solve the problem, and the burning stops.”
“…incredible.” L said, turning his hand over a few times, before Sycamore took it again and began wrapping it in cloth.
“It’s helped a lot of people be less afraid of them, now that we know. Still a lot more work for the reputation but it’s progress.” Sycamore spoke again. L looked up at Sycamore’s face. There was a distance now, in the professor’s eyes.
“Houndoom… they're a scary looking pokemon. To most people at least, the fear remains. What with all the sharp edges, the fire. Always associated with death. A permanent scowl. Blacks and whites and reds. But they are also very passionate and protective of their pack. They form deep bonds with their trainers, and even have a playful side with the ones they trust.”
“We should have tried harder to understand them sooner, I think. Maybe then… it wouldn’t be like this now.” The watery look in his eyes made it clear to L they weren’t talking about Houndooms anymore.
Five years had passed. Five years, and Sycamore still somehow managed to have kindness in his heart for the memory of Lysandre. Still dared to speak without contempt for a man who tried to incinerate the world for an impossible ideal. And in those five years, Lysandre’s mark on Sycamore’s life remained, ever present.
And it never stopped hurting.
L felt his eyes sting. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Guilt that made him want to push away, to run, and leave, and never blight the professor with his memory ever again. To crawl back into the grave of his own making that Zygarde had dug him out of.
Something had to give. Something had to change. Why was it so easy to help a stranger, but so difficult to console your dearest friend?
Enough of this. Enough of all of this needless suffering. He couldn’t bear taking any more from Sycamore. Guilt churned into something stronger; resolve. Conviction.
He grabbed onto Sycamore’s wrist with his newly bandaged hand, startling the Professor and causing half the kit to spill on the sidewalk. The professor yelped in surprise, leaning away.
“Professor.” L spoke. He felt that fire burn brightly again in himself again. Sycamore made a weak attempt to pull his arm free, which made L hold it all the more firm.
At a loss for words, without any way to really, truly say everything he had meant to say, L did only when he felt he could do. He reached up to his hood and pulled it back, to show his face, and the tears that ran down it. To show the professor the price he had paid and the remorse he felt for his mistakes. Whether or not he could be forgiven didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was giving the professor some whisper of closure he had been denied for five long years.
—-
The nighttime air blew a cold breeze past the two of them, whispering the pulse of the city’s passive watch. Lumiose held their reunion in quiet council, and as she willed it, the world began and ended at that bench.
Sycamore breathed fast, and shallow, trying to fathom and under the information presented to him, clear and obvious and yet impossible by any leap of logic the scientific mind should humor.
Lysandre breathed deep and slowly, heavy with regret, trying to hold himself truly accountable for his betrayals and whatever price must be paid to make things right. No matter what was to happen, now, he could spend eternity knowing he didn’t waste another’s life suffering from his regrets.
No matter how badly he wanted to dig his claws back into Augustine Sycamore’s darling, precious heart, he steeled himself, and let him go. L’s grip let Sycamore’s wrist slip out of his hand with no fight.
Sycamore took his hand and brought it to his chest, cradling it with his other as he stared, wide eyed and agape. Touching where L’s hand touched, the fleeting pressure and feeling being too solid to be a cruel illusion. A hundred times Sycamore thought what he would do, what he would say, if he had one more chance to change the past. Now given the opportunity, words failed him.
His nose crinkled, and his eyebrows furrowed, and the tears came ugly and wheezing with nothing holding them back. Grief insurmountable hidden from the world for five long years ripped an inhuman whine of catharsis from the professor, as he sobbed. He cried. Raw, terrible emotions. Wonderful, beautiful emotions. He reached forward and laughed and smiled and grabbed the sides of L’s face and gripped into his hair as he continued to blubber uncontrollably.
Sycamore’s grip actually hurt, he squeezed clumps of L’s hair and beard so hard. It broke L’s facade of quiet acceptance, and he too lost his composure. He fully expected the worst. That what he had done would be beyond repair. Unforgivable. That no good would ever be seen in him from those he hurt at his worst moment of despair.
He could never dream that Sycamore would want to see him, let alone be happy to see him. Let alone hold him again. He wept all the same with him. Sycamore leaned forward and so did he. Their foreheads touched, and they cried, and they laughed.
If Augustine was willing to give him another chance, then L was willing to take it.