#9:blastoise

They arrange to meet in Viridian, on his terms.

Blue sits inside the Pokemon Center lobby reading pulp fiction magazines until his eyes hurt and his legs are numb with sitting. His umbreon snores softly on his lap, its yellow rings glowing brighter as the hours tick down. The lobby, which reeks of antiseptic, houses only himself, Kuro, a pair of Ace Trainers (twins, by the look of them), and the tired-looking Joy working the night shift. He buys a burger and soda from the cafeteria when he's hungry and feeds Kuro crumbled bits of patty, picking aside lifeless pieces of lettuce and tomato.

When it's 11:00 PM, he decides that enough is enough and packs up his things to go. A whistle calls Kuro to his side, the umbreon gently illuminating their path as the two of them step outside. Viridian's nights are cold enough by the usual standards, made colder still by the oncoming winter. He wraps a scarf around his neck and ears, muttering a soft "fuck" as an errant breeze threatens to rip it from his fingers. Kuro leads him on, glancing back every now and then to make sure her trainer is following. In fifteen minutes, they're back at the Gym.

Red is inside, standing on the challenger's hill of the battlefield. Pikachu - Blue recalls the phantom yell of a "Thunderbolt!" - lies near his master's feet, barely grown larger since the last time they met. Both boy and Pokemon look the same, preserved in the clear amber of memory. Each one so utterly and perfectly still that it's chilling.

"You told me you would be at the Center," Blue says, voice flat. Kuro's ears give a twitch, and Red's electric companion turns and regards the two of them curiously. Black eyes, crimson cheek sacs, and - he hadn't noticed this before - a pink crescent running from one end of its neck to the other. The fur around the mark looks singed, dark. What the hell, he wonders, did that to one of Red's?

"I realized at the last moment that it wouldn't be a smart choice," replies his rival. "To be out there in the open like that. I was hoping you might pick up on where I was planning to go instead."

"How the fuck would I know?" he snaps. "I arranged the time and place. You agreed to it. And then a month later, I show up, but you leave me hanging for four goddamn hours and you still have the - the nerve to stand there and talk to me about hidden cues and all this shit. Mew, you bastard, don't beat around the bush with me. Don't pull this on me when you've been gone for as long as you have."

He tears off his scarf and throws it at Red with as much strength as his arm will allow. "Goddammit!"

It's childish, and he feels stupid after the fabric has settled and pooled in a sullen red heap on the ground. What was he hoping to achieve? To finally shame Red with a tantrum and some silly gesture? Red had never risen to a taunt when they were beginning their journeys, and he wouldn't have done so here - the Red who left for the mountain wouldn't have done that.

"Why did you wait so long to call? We thought you had died."

"If you wrote me off, that's your fault, not mine."

"Fuc-" Blue swallows his anger just as he feels it rising up again. That's one of the things about Red - he has the uncanny ability to hurt, terrify, or piss off almost anyone he meets, even his own mother. The last thing he wants now is to blow up at every obtuse thing Red says, even though it might be his right to.

Emotion doesn't bother Red, but strong, explosive emotion only goads him further. If he can deal with this rationally and get him out of the Gym by the end of the night, he'll call that a victory.

"Okay. Tell me what you need, and I'll do whatever's in my power to make it happen."

"Blue-"

"And don't try to talk to me like we're friends anymore." He stands his ground then, unflinching and frigid. "You gave that up a while ago."

"I'm sorry if I hurt you."

"Yeah, well, too little and too late. C'mon. Gotta wash Kuro and go to bed."

There's this strange glint in Red's eyes - he has no idea what it means, and it's gone almost as quickly as it's there. But later he'll think about it, wondering what Red was trying to say, what he was struggling to articulate; he'd never been a good talker. Not that other people tried too hard to understand him, either.

"I need to tell you something-"

Later he'll think about who was really at fault, in that whole gnarled, ugly chain of people and events, at the center of which was Red - of course, it had to be him. Who else? Who would have done it?

From cold sleep he emerges onto a harsh plain, white and blinding. Can feel the heat of it, identify a faint unsettling odor that has lingered in the rock. Stirring, muscles aching but already repairing, he turns to Child. Child is unfocused. Looks across the field, sees Challenger.

He remembers Challenger, proud, always ready to bash skulls with Child like clan's hatchlings, young and stupid with growing power. Now, Challenger is quiet. He shuffles forward, uncertain. Will they fight? Yes, he remembers this field from a distant time - he has fought here before. Wonders if he will do it again - can still recall the battle in the cave, where he and companions bled. Wonders if he will water this field with others' blood.

Feels Child's palm over his arm. Looks, and can see the unhappiness in Child's eyes like hard, gleaming pearls. Smells Challenger's fear peeling off of his body like skins. Fight, then. He would do this for Child this time, and the next. Until too weak to move. He would do this because Child asked it of him, and he was bound to Child forever.

Challenger is quiet as Child speaks into his ear and tells him what he must do. Agrees, snorting.

Child speaks to Challenger. Challenger speaks back. Lifts an arm and throws, onto the field, light-like-water that settles into the shape of the horned one, pawing lustily at the ground in expectation.

Challenger shouts.

He roars.