Hateful Ressurection

      “I-I understand you’re angry, but there’s no need for any of that. I’m going to go talk to Petrel right now and figure this out.” He doesn’t want to be broken any more than he already is. Alex can’t possibly realize what a broken thing he already is, how far from his usual self he truly is and how hard it is to hold onto what he once was. It’s even worse that Alex expects him to take the TM and Mathew hardly expects that that will make him feel any better. 

      So he refuses to take it, instead calculates just what it’s going to take to get past this man to get to where he needs to get going. He’s good at running, far better than anyone expects and he aims to reach for the TM but instead takes Alex’s wrist, yanks firmly forward and uses the momentum to get him going. He rushes past him, let’s his wrist go and hurries towards the door, out it, slams it behind him and collides with the wall. He pushes from it, scrambles down the hallway and nearly knocks his neighbor over in the process. There’s no time to explain where he’s off to in such a hurry or why but he gives her a fleeting apologetic look as he rushes towards Petrel’s office. 

“You don’t understand,” Alex spat, “you couldn’t possibly understand, you ugly bitch, so take it. Take the damn TM, and stay the hell away from what’s mine.” And then for a moment it seems like Mathew gives in. It’s the smart move—of course he would give him. Alex begins to feel the heated anger die down, to calm. This is better. Just a little closer and—

Instead of taking the TM, accepting defeat, Mathew does the unthinkable and grabs him by the wrist, yanks him forward, and runs out the door while Alex is busy trying to regain his footing. A frustrated yell tears from Alex’s throat as he stares at the empty space Mathew had been a minute ago—there was no way he could go chasing him through the halls. Not without someone catching wind of what was going on and getting Alex in trouble. With a snarl, he shattered the TM disk on the ground and spun on his heel, seething as he eyed the office. This was fine. This was okay. He would just leave them a message. They would know not to fuck him—Mathew would know not to fuck with him.

       “I’m sorry?” He blurts out, rising from his seat and refusing to take the TM from Alex. He’s on high alert now, every nerve in his body alight with fear and he pushes his chair back to take a step or two away from Alex. He doesn’t like where this is going at all but there is sudden understanding in his eyes. Petrel is Lambda. Petrel… had a different name? He feels a pang in his chest but hardly has time to worry about it as he looks down at Alex. 

Alex watches as he gets up, tries to move away from him, watches like an ursaring ready to maul as he starts to talk, starts to say Lambda had never mentioned him. Him! His fiance! It was blasphemous, is what is was, and this beanpole devil was the root of the sin. He takes a step forward as Mathew moves towards the door.

      “W-well it’s an idea, but I’m more for just talking to them about it. You’ve been away for awhile, maybe they don’t know about your relationship with this Lambda and maybe it can be resolved between the three of you?” He knows that’s very much not the Rocket way, but it’s how he would handle it as he unhooks the TM and starts to hand it back to Alex. He can’t say whether this is a good idea or not, but it’s his TM and he can’t bring himself to keep it. “I know you’re frustrated, but maybe it can all work out, right?” He tries to smile again but its nervous at best. 

      He settles back into his seat, watches Alex carefully and hopes his words will reach him. He has hope even now that they will, even if a part of him dreads the answer. He fears for what will happen to the one ‘fucking’ Lambda, but he hopes his words can help in some way, shape, or form. 

“Hmm,” he replies, “I don’t know. The situation is a little more drastic than that, you know? Lambda is mine. He belongs to me. So no, I don’t think talking is an option.” Mathew tries to hand the TM  back to him, talks more, and as he settles back into his chair, Alex turns the TM over in his hands, eyes narrowed.

“No,” he continues, “no, I’m not going to be ok. I’m not going to be ok until this is resolved.  So you know what? I’m going to give this to the slut my Lamba is wearing like a cock sleeve.” The smile returned to his face, sharp, pointed, devious, and he held the disk firmly out to Mathew.

      “I’m sorry that’s happening to you, Mister Alex but that doesn’t answer my question. Do you want me to fix this TM for you so you can use it for one of your Pokemon?” He tries to keep his voice steady but now he’s definitely not looking away from Alex. There’s suspicion behind his gaze, his mouth runs dry and he finds he wants to be as far away from Alex as possible. 

Mathew tries to avoid the subject though, tries to bring the concentration back onto the TM, and Alex idly wonders if he’s so stupid he can’t realize it was a fucking segway, that it was just there for Alex to have an easy way to bring up the subject, and he grips onto the edges of the desk, knuckles white. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, maybe it will. Aha. Sorry. I can be a little overzealous sometimes. I’m not sure. I don’t think it would be a good fit for my pokemon, you know? I don’t know what I could do with it....”

      He reaches for it, takes it gently in hand and looks it over. Tampered with. Comes to mind, though he hardly suspects it’s the man before him. “It’s nice to meet you, Alex. I’m sure I can find a way to help you.” He says with kind intention, turning away from him to hook the TM up to his computer. He began diagnostics on it, making sure no virus’ were on it before he delved further into it. 

      “It looks like this TM has been tampered with,” he begins after scrolling through some of the code, his eyes narrowing as he began to delete lines of code and replace it with his own. He works swiftly, his fingers tapping in tandem with the keys of his keyboard. He can’t believe someone would go to this much effort to ruin a TM, or why a grunt would hold onto it upon discovering it was useless, especially if they just picked it up and couldn’t use it. He wonders where Alex even heard of him if he just got back and he feels his neck burning with heat. Had he been doing good work to achieve such a feat or was it something else? He worries he’s being too critical over the situation, and takes a long moment fussing over the code and his thoughts. 

Of course, Mathew is smart, to some degree; he can tell which TM Alex has brought to him fairly quickly and soon enough looks up to ask if Alex wants him to work on it, as well as—oh, that whore, that smug-ass bitch, wishing them ‘the best’ on their engagement, how dare he––

Alex could feel his smile becoming strained and unnatural, the urge to grab Mathew by the neck and choke him blue blossoming in his chest, but instead he let out another laugh and leaned forward. “Oh my gosh,” he said, “that is such a coincidence!! Isn’t it funny? I’ve been so frustrated lately, and here I am walking around with Frustration in my pocket!” Again he laughed, hysterics tinging the edges and his smile grew to be humorless and all teeth to the point where it as almost as though he were bearing a snarl if one were to look too long directly at it.

      He’s in the middle of work when he approaches him, his back to him as he works at his computer and when he hears a voice he gives a start. He usually doesn’t have visitors unless its Shugo or Petrel and they aren’t so quiet in their approach. He looks as startled as he feels, but it soon fades. A smile slips up along his lips, features softening as he takes in the stranger before him. How did they know who he was? What did they need? He wonders this as he nods. 

There’s a healthy dose of suspicion behind his eyes, Alex notes, and idly he makes a mental note to go poking around to see if there were any causes for that, but for now, the war had yet to start, and so instead when Mathew asked for his name, Alex laughed and sauntered up to his desk, leaning onto it as he lifted the brim of his standard-issue cap to get a better look at him.