#unsentwrites

i. 

Goodness, Urahara realized, was something best left to those more capable of such traits. It was a revelation he’d had younger than most would suspect. Before his days as a jailer, as an assassin, or as a deeply flawed man.

In his youth Urahara had seen the way his own heart was shaped. How he guarded what was his with any means available to him. That he was all too susceptible to the taint of envy, how it bleed into his bones. That he could smile easiest when he felt no joy. 

To be fair he hardly had any appropriate role models. Soul Society was filed with heroic figures, powerful beings, and methods to achieving what seemed impossible. But there were very few truly good people.

But Kisuke did try to avoid lying to himself. He was no good and that was just a fact.

ii.

Benihime’s song was filled with bloodlust from the first instant he could hear her. A shrill sound that made Urahara shudder and his hair stand on end in wariness. 

Yet, rather than to be terrified to pull away he’d followed the sound to the source buried deep within himself. His instincts demanded no less of him.

Stranger yet as he drifted down into the darkness, beyond the carefully constructed walls that kept Urahara at bay from the world was a comforting presence. No less intimidating but oddly soothing. 

From the first hesitant touch Kisuke found he understood why something that should repulse him only drew him in.

Benihime knew each dark secret, every crack in his defenses - but she turned away from nothing. He couldn’t conceal himself from her. No fool’s smile would lead her astray; no deflection would distract her. 

Stripped bare of his defenses Kisuke found himself understanding what it meant to be accepted just as he was. 

They were a matched set.

iii.

Power seduced and knowledge made fools of men. 

Urahara had overestimated himself and let himself be consumed. Or perhaps he had only embraced himself to his flaws. 

Either way the hogyoku became itself. And only after this did Urahara see the error of his ways, saw the dangers he had unleashed. Meddling in places he had no business. 

Much like his slipping through the curtain that hid the Soul King. 

The hogyoku inspired much the same feeling their King had. His heart raced and a cold sweat beaded over his clammy skin as fear snaked through his being. Horror made his stomach roll and turn, as his eyes had seen something that should not be, being. 

Perhaps fear was to blame for his brush with madness that made him create a tool to make mere men into something more than they were meant to be. The hogyoku was brilliant but in the most terrible sense. Urahara knew this because he wanted to destroy it, bury it and never look upon it again. 

Urahara had wanted to reject the reality of the King. 

Wanted to reject the very limitations that made him powerless to accept.

But reality would not permit his ignorance in the face of fact.

Just as he could do nothing to destroy the hogyoku, Kisuke also could do nothing about the Soul King. Both held something very precious together. 

A lynchpin. 

iv.

Isolation was natural of those who were intelligent. Urahara was no stranger to the way the world seemed to be so far removed from himself. Even those that shone the brightest - like Yoruichi. 

They all failed to see the gap between his smile and he words. Missed the precise distance he held himself at. Took no notice of the hollowness of his emotions. Smiling for the sake of smiling, laughing for the sake of laughing - more routine than anything else. The output of the calculations of social equations.

When he was alone Kisuke indulged in allowing himself to be pensive. On some occasions even bitter. 

Because he had yet to meet someone how had ever truly seen him.

Yoruichi had been the closest but even she missed the way he hated her in brief moments. How his disappointment made him hardened against her in ways he had not always been. 

But he asked too much of anyone to accept him as he was. Right?

v.

Some nights sleep never came. Mind too heavy with what he had done so Kisuke laid in the dark and dwelt on his choices. 

Those nights were long and filled with shadows. Shadows they always seemed to shift whenever he looked away. Cast over his head to stay and leave him in darkness that did not always lift with the morning sun.

At first those nights had meet with fear, revulsion, and desire. But with time weariness was all that they roused in him.

The blood on his hands would not vanish or thin because he repented. He’d committed his acts already. Nothing could undo them. Dwelling on what might have been would do nothing but offer him solace where he deserved none.

So Urahara did what he could to still his mind to stillness. Letting the memories run their course. Not trying to comfort himself, reassure or reaffirm. 

Men made their own demons with their own two hands. The more talented a man was with his hands the greater his demons must likewise be. 

Reverse side to A Thief’s Honor.

It was only years of previous experience that prevented Harry from startling behind the wheel at Merlin’s sudden interjection. 

“Take a left at this next light.” Merlin’s tone was tinged with something somber.

Question on his tongue about the detour Harry held it back behind his teeth, and put on his turn signal to take the direction. If Merlin was interrupting time Harry put aside to decompress after a successful heist then it was for a good reason. The semantics of a “good” cause might have been debatable Harry was willing to take it on good faith.

“Care to explain?” Harry asked as the leather of his driving gloves creaked faints as he adjusted his grip out of nerves. He was still wound a little tightly after evading interpol, again. They tended to be the most aggravating of the law enforcement he had to deal with given his career choice. Still Harry knew very well his prize was sitting just where he left it so his nerves would settle fine. Not even Merlin knew where the rubies were hidden away. Precaution of the trade.

“Keep straight for a ways. I’ll let you know when to turn off the main road. You’re going to hit side streets well before you reach your destination.” Merlin’s voice hadn’t lost the somber note Harry had heard, but the air of business about it made Harry relax. If Merlin was in a postion to give orders nothing was beyond saving. “We’re going to get a contact.”

Years had taught Harry that Merlin was often correct in his predictions. But what he meant by his statement was far more vague. Harry had called Merlin out on his vague wording of his predictions to no end. This didn’t seem to sit quite the same on Harry’s mind.

“Contact?”

With a job just finished it would be unwise for Harry to travel more than he needed to until the buzz about the theft died down. It wasn’t an international headline as he used to pull far too often in his youth, but time had taught Harry a measure of caution. 

Merlin told him he was a lying bastard whenever he made that claim.

“The Unwin boy landed himself into a bit a trouble. Caused quite a stir across ever police radio early this morning when he stole a car that belonged to his step-father.” Merlin went on to explain, at last.

Harry hadn’t known the Michelle had ever remarried after Lee. Not that they even saw one another since Harry’s initial attempt to repay the widow for his husband’s show of loyalty all those years ago. Over fifteen Harry’s mind told him when he did the math without being positive of the year but positive of the day. It stood to reason she at some point would have remarried for any number of reasons - love, simple companionship, or financial stability. 

“A little auto-theft really put so many feathers out of place?”

“When the boy leads half a dozen cars in pursuit their honor is on the line.” Merlin’s tone was amused, the kind that Harry knew meant there was a detail he was withholding.

“Ego will do that.”

“Especially in reserve without so much as a beat of hesitation.” Merlin sounded almost proud of the boy.

And Harry could appreciate that himself. He’d have to look into some CCTV footage of the joyride in question but he’d image it was a fair show. Frankly Harry found it sounded like something he’d do, for fun or professionally. 

But why would Lee’s son need to steal his step-father’s car? There was something amiss with this picture.

Harry kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, watching a woman two cars over talking distractedly into her cell phone. Harry at least was hands free. Yet that had more to do with the necessity of needing both for maneuvers in high-speed occasions. 

“Why did he steal the car, Merlin?”

The moment of silence before the answer to his inquiry was enough to imply that Harry wouldn’t like the details. 

Sure enough when Merlin spoke that somber note in his voice was heavier. And despite the man’s fair hold of his temper Harry heard it stir, low and as mean as he could recall it being.

“Dean Baker has a record of theft, distribution of illegal narcotics, breaking and entering, and assault. Not to mention a few incidents that led to police appearances at home concerning some calls about domestic disputes.” The timber of displeasure meant none of the accusations of abuse had held any water. Merlin had no tolerance for those who abused others in positions of lesser means. Harry couldn’t argue that abuse of power was perhaps one of the most underhanded of methodologies. 

Again Harry’s gloves creaked as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. This time in a moment of distemper. 

While it all painted a teling picture Harry wasn’t quite certain why he was being rerouted.

“Where am I going exactly?”

“Holborn Police Station.” 

If Lee’s boy, Eggsy if Harry recalled right, had been so capable of leading them in a merry chase why had he not managed to escape? it didn’t hold up to Merlin’s frank impression of the boy’s skills. 

“He was caught?” Harry heard the disapproval in his own voice. It waan’t logical of him but that changed nothing.

“Something ran into the road, some rodent or other.” Merlin explained with a gusty sigh the likes Harry was all too familiar with. Merlin gave them often when Harry did something he considered foolish. “He ended up jerking the wheel to avoid hitting the damn thing. Hit a poll and got himself cornered for it. Hit the car that had him caught to let his friends escape.”

Unwins were loyal by blood it appeared.

As it was Harry certainly had no qualms with going to deal with this now. Whether Merlin had planned to wheedle him into it or not Harry would have done what he could. He still owed the Unwins a debt, after all. 

“Show me the route in the GPS if you would. I’ll handle this myself.”

A hum of approval later Merlin voiced his last thoughts. “Don’t cause too much of a spectacle I don’t want to be erasing footage for a week thanks to your sense of vanity.”

Harry smirked, aware Merlin wouldn’t see it, and glanced at the updated route on his GPS. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Why did I ever agree to help you and not lock you away I’ll never know.” It was about the usual level of drama Merlin hung up with. 

Harry just shook his head at his friends antics. They were partners for a reason and had been for a great many years now. Clash as they might it had never been enough to turn them off of one another entirely. Not to say they never fought or even went to lengths to pain or avoid one another for childishly long periods of time. But they had held up under many things and would awhile longer.

Holborn Station would take another fifteen minutes to reach leaving Harry with more than enough time to plan a way to collect his clueless ward.

A simple disguise would do. Then it was just a matter of getting to the police lockers and finding a uniform that would fit him well enough for a getaway. With years of practice of much higher risk it would be child’s play. 

Harry pulled into a small, secure car park and took the ticket to go with his fair for parking. He’d have to collect the car later or send Merlin for it. His plan wouldn’t afford him making a getaway in something nearly so flashy as his personal vehicle. 

The station was small and only manned by a single woman who appeared to also be a dispatcher. She smiled at Harry who signed in citing an appointment with one of the detective for a consultation. In his impeccable suit and easy confidence she didn’t so much as hesitate to allow him to wait for the detective to come collect him. Quite amiable when Harry asked if she might let him in to make use of the restroom, as he’d gotten a little turned around on his drive in.

The restroom was empty save for himself at this time of the morning. Harry pulled out a small set of cosmetics from his suit coat and applied it along his face. Contouring his nose to make it look longer than it was, darkening under his eyes to give the appearance of bags, and adding more winkles than he actually happened to possess. 

The wig was of the salt-and-pepper variety. Sideburns trimmed and easy to glue into place were entirely silver while further up more black appeared over the crown of his head. His temples were silvery and lines of silver cut into the black that would be suited to a man that appeared to be this age, if he was lucky. 

Going darker with the pencil on his eyebrows was easier than having to go lighter, far less time consuming. Harry blended it with ease. Then for good measure gave his jaw line a smattering of specks to look like stubble. Some of is finer white and silver.

Despite being in the same suit Harry looked like an entirely different man. It would do for him to slip into the lockers and procure a uniform. The station was small enough they wouldn’t all be jammed in or have anyone lingering most likely. And true to Harry’s estimations he found no one in the lockers. They instead were likely getting to the first details of their work day, dragging feet to avoid the dull routine of it all.

Pulling on a uniform Harry received the call Merlin anticipated it would. It was a direct line Harry had access to almost always. On rare occasions during particularly difficult heists or high points of danger Merlin monitored the line instead. But Harry answered as he redressed in the uniform with a little modification. Rolling his suit coat and wrapping it in his shirtsleeves to tie around his waist to give the impression of having more body mass than he did.

“Customer complaints, how may I help you?” Harry asked effecting a more feminine voice. 

“’m Eggsy Unwin, sorry Gary Unwin, and I’m up shits creek-” The boy sounded as if he was indeed in dire straights. There was no bluster to the words but an unmistakeable pleading instead.

Harry buttoned up the shirt he’d pilfered and was working on knotting his tie. His next statement had more to do with buying time than anything else. “I believe you have the wrong number, I’m sorry sir.” Harry had no intention of leaving him.

“Wait!...wait,” Eggsy pleaded, “that is...oxford, not brogues?” And it sounded more like a question than a statement with such a weak voice.

Harry pulled the cap snug on the top of his head before fussing about the fit a little more. A glimpse at himself meant he was passable. it was time to collect the boy.

“Your complaint has been noted. We hope that we have not lost a valuable customer.” 

Eyes tired and neck stiff Ichigo surveyed the remaining reading sitting on desk. He’d been at his last afternoon class hoping to power through them all but it was a hefty order. One he wasn't going to be able to deal with if the way the words wouldn’t stay pinned in place told him. 

Shifting his weight back in the seat her pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes lightly. Not enough to make himself bright spots of red in his vision but enough to block out the light form his office. It didn’t do much to ease the faint itching of his eyes that meant he’d been reading for much too long. The rest of the weekend would see Ichigo sorting out the last stack and recording the grades.

With the knowledge he’d get nothing else done for the night Ichigo reached for his cell to check the time. Still only eight. Not too late for a call home. He’d hit the call button before he’d even consciously made up his mind.

It rang a few times and was picked up by someone unexpected.

“Kurosaki household.” Urahara’s voice said as sedately as Ichigo had ever heard.

Ichigo pulled the phone away from his ear to be sure he had called home and not the shop. Urahara would do something goofy like answer the wrong thing to mess with him. Benign as the joke might be.

“Urahara?”

But Ichigo found he had dialed the right number. 

“Ichigo,” Kisuke didn’t sound surprised, “I imagine this is not the voice you wanted to hear. I’m afraid I sent them all to bed not that long ago.”

Urahara stopped by regularly enough and the twins were no stranger to going to the shop. Ichigo got some peace of mind knowing the shop keeper was there  to watch over his family in his absence should anything happen. As eccentric as Urahara’s personality might have been he was surprisingly loyal, Ichigo had found. It was a trait most would have doubted but Ichigo trusted in. 

But Urahara seemed to have expected needing to explain. “Accident in town. Clinic was overrun for hours. Last of the serious patients are at Karakura General. Fed them and I’m looking after the few still here for the night.”

That explained Kisuke answering the phone. Likely only delayed in having to slip into the house from the clinic. Ichigo would have asked about the accident but it didn’t much matter. Everyone was fine, Urahara would have shared if that had not been the case. The mess was cleaned as much as it could be other than the concerns he might have had about any involvement of familiar faces.

“Old habits huh getaboushi?”

Ichigo found himself smiling to hear a faint huff of amusement from the other man. Kisuke was the quiet type about anything sincere. So many years of having his sincerity doubted, possibly. 

“I didn’t hear you complain.”

“Weren’t listening. Clearly.” Ichigo had protested his stay to recover on more than one occasion. Whether or not it was in his best interest Ichigo always had had his own plans in mind. Urahara had been one of the few that could pin him into place and keep him there. He hadn’t in years, thankfully, but Ichigo had no desire to see if he could still manage to do so.

There was the faint sound of shuffling, but no familiar clack of geta. Urahara could move around in them silent as the cat but he rarely bothered. Sleeping patients would warrant the effort, however. 

“So tell me about this new batch of students of yours. Karin and Yuzu have been telling me one of them in particular seems to aggravate you.” Kisuke prodded conversationally. 

The stack of ungraded papers loomed on his desk, Ichigo thought of one in particular. One belonging to the person in question - Sato. The little shit who refused to apply himself but had written a stellar application essay. Ichigo felt himself frown just to think of the kid.

“I can hear the brooding from here.” Urahara wheedled. 

Rather than grumble at the man, Ichigo found himself giving him the request ion. Going into detail about the student’s habit of waving away assignments or Ichigo’s general warnings to his students about the weight of a particular assignment to their grades. Perhaps he’d underestimated how frustrated he was because Ichigo found he’d been talking for over twenty minutes uninterrupted with only the occasional hum or muttered reply from Urahara to show he was listening.

It was cathartic in a way to vent about it. Ichigo didn’t want to complain to his felt professors. They had a way of looking at the students like they were pests rather than people.

But Urahara had always had patience in spades. It was different talking to Urahara about it. 

Years ago Urahara had been patient with a younger, strong-willed Ichigo himself. But never enough to let him neglect what needed learning. Never slow to correct, even if by force. 

“Look at you trying to adopt a new set of young, impressionable things.” Kisuke teased from the other end of the call. His amusement clear in his words.

With a snort Ichigo only found himself easily parrying the barb, “Like you can say shit about that one.”

“True, true.” Urahara had taken on Ichigo as a student. He was just as inclined to help Karin with her slowly developing powers, though far more willing than Ichigo liked most days. “You need to set the new generation in the right direction before you can let them go full steam.”

It hadn’t been Ichigo’s intention to be on the call so long, let alone not with his sisters. Or even his father for a little while. But Urahara was the right kind of mellow for his tired nerves and worn temperament. 

Tomorrow, and likely most of Sunday, would involve being up to his eyeballs in red ink. Student papers were tough to get through sometimes. Ichigo hated the idea of handing them over to a teacher’s aid for help too. Ichigo wanted to know his students better than that.

“Enough about that. Tell me about what’s going on with everyone.” Grading could wait for now.

it had been too long since Ichigo had received any news on the shinigami front of things. He didn’t know if Hinamori had finally succumbed to Hiyori’s suggestion to set Shinji on fire, or if Renji was still making cow-eyes at Unohana of all people. Nevermind Rangiku’s claims to have been trying to find Toshirou a girlfriend - as if that wouldn’t result in a body count. Even just the general crazy or what was passing through the rumor mill.

Urahara made a contemplative sound before be started to breakdown the recent developments he’d heard of on the front of Rukia’s potential love-life. With Ishida Uryuu, as unlikely a pair they were. 

Eggsy’s only just hung up his one phone call when the door to the interrogation room opens with a uniformed officer. He’s in full uniform, including his cap which is pulled down to obscure most of his face. Eggsy can only catch the hint of a chin beginning to droop with age and gray hair along the man’s ears. Uniform even fitted, or old and undersized enough, to show a paunch.

Eggsy just assumes he’s about to be moved to general holding but instead the officer lifts his head to reveal a pair of brown eyes that don’t seem to sit quite right in the man’s face.

“Hands out.” His voice is hoarse and stern, frown deepening the lines about his mouth further. Even the faint crows feet at his eyes become more pronounced. 

With little other option Eggsy holds out his arms to be cuffed. Before the snap of the cuffs Eggsy spots the man’s badge and identification tag - Lupin, it reads. An odd name that nags at some part of Eggsy’s mind but is quickly forgotten as he’s tugged along by the arm back out into the corridor. 

Oddly enough Lupin keeps a hand on his shoulder and guides him along from behind. Not quick, jerking movements most officers provide that are mostly mean spirited more than helpful. The grip is solid but the guidance is mindfully gentle. It’s at odds with the gruff tone the man used, but how is Eggsy to know he isn’t just a soft-touch. If there was such a thing walking around in a bobby. 

No one stops them.

Which makes it awkward when Eggsy finds himself facing a fire door that clearly does not lead to any holding. Even stranger the grip on his shoulder leaves. 

Lupin comes around and is already removing the connection to the door with deft fingers. Little more than a reflex before he’s turning with key in hand and unlocked one half of Eggsy’s cuffs. All without a word one way or the other what he’s up to.

Eggsy still hasn’t made sense of it when Lupin is tucking the removed cuffs into one his pockets and offering a sly smile that doesn’t suit him. There’s a hint of shadowy stubbly alone his jaw, paler in patches by the hinge of his jaw. 

“Come along, Eggsy. We haven’t all day.” Lupin says and pushes open the fire door that doesn’t alarm to alert the rest of building to opening. He holds out a hand and pulls him, urges more than pulls, to go over the threshold out onto the  narrow alleyway. 

The sun is bright outside and Eggsy winces against it first stepping out even in the shadow of the narrow walls. Lupin is just behind him and he gives Eggsy a nudge at the shoulder to keep moving. “Keep going, out to the parked cars if you please.” Calm and polite as the man’s words are is slightly ruined by watching him jam his baton so no one can follow behind them through the first door. 

Lupin is just a step behind Eggsy’s confused giat after that. The man’s legs are unfairly long and don’t match his aged face. The muscle tone isn’t proportioned to the paunch he has.

“Fuck is goin’ on?” Eggsy hears himself ask, barely above a hissed whisper.

For a second Lupin says nothing. 

“Getting to released. Your phone call was to that effect, was it not?”

Eggsy had forgotten about the medallion around his neck. He’d only given it a try as a last ditch effort and expected nothing to come of it. This is something straight out of a Bond movie really. Strange gent turning up and leading him out without a hitch without revealing anything. Eggsy would suspect Dean’s hand at it but his type aren’t nearly so delicate about their dirty work. 

The alleyway opens out to the small rear parking lot. Patrol cars are lined up and a few of the detective’s personal vehicles are in the closest spots. Every car is empty and Lupin slips around Eggsy without so much as a glimpse back.

Without any better option Eggsy rushes after the man. Lupin goes around to the side of the car and opens the door to one of the patrol cars without even having to unlock it. 

“Passangers for you.” Lupin says and his eyes look brighter under the shadow of his cap than they did inside the station. 

Before Eggsy can make heads or tails of it all Lupin is ducking into the driver’s seat. In an effort not to be left behind Eggsy hurries into the passenger’s seat. He whacks his elbow and hisses out his discomfort. But he’s in his seat by the time Lupin is turning keys in the ignition. 

“Seatbelt.” Lupin says just before starting to reverse out of the parking spot without much notice.

Thousand questions in his head Eggsy finds the least helpful tumble out of his mouth first, “Seatbelt, are you for fuckin’ reals?”

Lupin gives him a peevish look for that and puts far more weight onto the gas than he needs to to get them out of the lot. There are no screeching tires but Eggsy jolts and nearly hits his head on the dash.

“Mind your mouth.” 

Rather than argue Eggsy pulls his seatbelt down and snaps it into place before turning a sharp look at Lupin. It’s about then the name hits the right recognition points of his memory. A famous thief has the same name or a similar one - fictional but definitely not the kind of name you find morally bound. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Eggsy asks, something a little like hysteria starting to rise in his chest.

“The man who gave you that medal. And the man who kept you out of a cell; a little gratitude would be nice.”

“That ain’t an answer.” Eggsy grumbled but took a good look at not-Lupin once more. The paunch didn’t look natural with not-Lupin sitting. 

After removing the cap and a wig to reveal a head of a much more appealing chestnut-colored hair the man answered. “Harry Hart.” 

Whether removing the wig disturbed something or being in closed quarters with the man brought it about Eggsy could smell make up. Or it reminded him of his mom’s cosmetics. The way the powders smelled or the goop that came in the tubes did. Not a thing he could put into words but something Eggsy could recognize and categorize none the less. 

“You ain’t no cop.”

The statement stuccoed Hart as funny because he laughed, soft and almost breathless by the end that did something strange to Eggsy’s stomach. 

“I am indeed no such thing.”

The wig was tossed into the back of the car behind the plexi-partrition. The cap rolled some and hit the hard plastic seat. Harry was tugging at his shit collar and the primly buttoned collar gave under a firm pull of his fingers. Tie sliding and pulled loose enough to go over his head in short order. The tie joined the cap in back.

“I operate on the other side of the law, Eggsy.”

“Know a few in there that still apply, ya know.” Eggsy shouldn’t have been pleased at the amused nod in recognition he received.

Harry glanced sideways at him when he was forced to slow at the red light. “Tell me Eggsy would you perhaps be open to a job interview?”

Thoughts not able to settle into the meaning of that Eggsy gave into the hysteria-tinged laugh bubbling up his throat. “Why not.” Because nothing about the moment could get stranger.

“Ah excellent.” Harry’s eyes were before on the traffic well in time for the light to change to green. “How do you fancy becoming an apprentice international thief?”

Eggsy could only stare. Especially when Harry put his foot to the floor and wove through the traffic just barely after he put on the lights and sirens of the patrol car. Naturally people parted for them and they sped forward leaving the station further and further behind. 

“What have I got to lose...” It wasn’t a bold or dedicated response but there was only so much Eggsy’s mind could handle within fifteen minutes. When he caught up he might sing a different tune. 

mageflower answered your question:Help I’m considering getting a DS so I can play...

Go to the GameStop, try it out, some can’t deal with the 3D. If you can’t, 2DS, it’s the cheapest. 3DS XL if you want comfort over all, regular 3DS if portability is more important. Get Pokemon X or Y, also.. shit gotta check my library

You can turn the 3D off though, right? I’m definitely going to get to a Gamestop or Best Buy to get my hands on one before I buy it (next week, because paycheck).

unsentwrites

What pokemon games or mario games were you considering playing? If I can help you out happy to do so.

Jack was a former champion challenger that everyone assumed would walk away with a victory like his father Bad Bob did. With both of his parents bend formidable trainers in their younger days most people assumed it stood to reason that Jack would be a big name in the competitive arenas. 

Except Jack completely blows a battle before his formal long awaited challenge of the elite four in Kalos. A battle against Kent who goes on and while he doesn’t make champion gets a good name for himself by making it to the champion. Kent keeps up his competitive battling and has some rematches with gym leaders before moving onto other regions to bulk up his team further. 

Which leaves poor Jack to deal with the aftermath of his loss. 

It takes time but when Jack sorts himself out he decides to pull back away from the any competitive battling. Instead Jack gives research a try. There’s a great deal of mythology in all the regions about the origins and evolution of pokemon. It’s fascinating and Jack starts to dig further into the topic before he has his breakthrough to stop being a competitive trainer. So with his parents full support Jack heads off to Hoenn to work as an intern for some of the researchers in the area, as well as to take time away from Kalos. 

And Jack finds very quickly that he sort of loves this new choice of his. His pokemon at his side crawling around through old caves and taking in some of the oldest established towns for clues about details about pokemon. It’s refreshing not to have to strategize or calculate the way he used to as a trainer. 

It’s not until he ends up meeting a group of other trainers in one of the smaller Hoenn cities that Jack realizes he might miss battling. Or more specifically it’s not until he meets Eric Bittle that Jack eventually realizes he might miss battling. 

Because Jack can’t help but to find it so amazingly endearing to see Eric who wants to get into the competitive scene but is terrified of his pokemon being hurt. And Jack remembers that fear being there for him too but also the elation of being a team. Working with his pokemon who trusted him enough to listen. Especially when Bittle can get spitting mad if anyone calls his pokemon weak or not suited for competitive fights. Bitty hasn’t let anyone tell him that his pokemon can’t beat anything they come up against despite Jack knowing logically a bunneary, no matter how cute, isn’t going to be able to take down any top-tier fighting types. Not that Jack doesn’t like Senior, he’s just worried about the little guy(s).  

Of course Jack has to offer to help Bitty train. It’s not the easiest thing to manage when Bitty is so concerned about every little bump and scratch his pokemon get. Jack feels like a stereotypical villain each time his own pokemon get a little rough, and they seem to feel guilty about it too, with every battle. But no matter what Jack sends out Bitty’s pokemon never seem inclined to back down. Especially Senior. 

And Jack encourages them along with Bitty through the fights. That aren’t really battle so much as training exercises. 

It makes Jack happier than he’s been in awhile to see Bitty as well as his pokemon working so hard. Jack doesn’t go easy on them when he can help it because Bitty let him know fast he didn’t appreciate that. And Senior might have head butted his knees too, which hurt more than it ought to have for something that fluffy. 

It doesn’t take all that long before Jack actually has to try to keep Bitty from winning their exercises. None of which go on until the pokemon faint, but Jack’s impressed and pleased with the improvement. It’s not everyday you see a bunneary fearlessly thunder punch a pyroar in the face. 

Meanwhile Bitty is getting more impressed with what Jack knows and grateful for his being so willing to help. Especially when he finds out Jack’s been traveling around doing research that he’s putting off to stay put. Bitty does try to convince him to get back to it but Jack just keeps saying it’s good for him to have a break. 

Bitty doesn’t get Jack to change his mind about leaving but he does end up asking what Jack’s been up to. Only to see a new side of Jack he hadn’t before as the man positively lights up and explains the headway he’s made into his research on pokemon origins and evolution theory. Stuff that’s been around since well before poke balls were a thing. Bitty doesn’t think he’s ever heard anyone talk about apricorns for that long but it’s sort of cute when Jack goes into the details about how they can still make them into poke balls. 

Unsurprisingly Bitty puts everything he’s got into becoming a better trainer. He reads up on what Jack suggests, goes through the drills that are exhausting, and reminds himself that Jack wouldn’t ever really hurt any pokemon for their mock battles. But it is paying off and Bitty can see that for himself. The results don’t put up to an argument. 

Still Jack has been putting off his research and he can’t exactly excuse it for good. Bitty isn’t wrong in telling him he’s put his own life on hold but Jack doesn’t mind. Instead he’s found it strangely energizing to do this. He’s missed this element of his life. Bitty requires he use strategy instead of brute force and Bitty isn’t above messing with him either. Not that it’s the suffocating feeling being at the plateau gave him. No this is just...fun.

Eventually Bitty feels confident enough that he challenges Jack to a battle. Jack says he wants to hold off just long enough to get himself a better team to be a fair match for Bitty. While Bitty wants to argue it it’s hard to deny that it’s even recognized by the regulations of competitive battle that trainers not take battles of drastically uneven leveled pokemon for safety.

Jack takes a page out of Bitty’s book and gets pokemon that he just likes instead of worrying about their strategic values alone. He doesn’t worry about their innate abilities or their natures either. 

If Jack got himself a Bunneary the look on Bitty’s face is completely worth it.

It’s not a long battle, Jack has more practical experience and he wins. Though he has to reevaluate after the first knock out. Jack had been more focused on Bitty being too upset by it he’d lost two of his own lineup. 

Bitty is anxious, more about his pokemon than the loss but while they’re waiting at the center to heal their pokemon Bitty admits he isn’t that afraid because he knows Jack wouldn’t hurt anybody. Not really. Jack is more pleased about that than he probably has any right to be that Bitty trusts him like that. And Jack thanks Bitty when they leave the center with their teams in fighting form again. Explains to Bitty some of what happened to him, glossing over some details that are just too personal still to share, and that doing this with Bitty has reminded him why he wanted to be a trainer to begin with. 

But Jack admittedly has to get back to his research and Bitty is solidly on his own feet now as a trainer. So Jack says his goodbye, and gets himself covered in static when Senior says goodbye too. 

Bitty might make Jack promise to write, and call, and visit just so he can hear updates about his research. 

Tony stared at the monitor and blinked a few times, dumbfounded. His tiny cubicle was currently overstuffed, an inbox overflowing and bits of a few of the PCs he had to repair sitting across what little desk space he had. It was the usual disaster it stayed in because Tony didn’t have time in his schedule to straighten up. 

But Tony was far more preoccupied by the contents of the e-mail he’d just gotten a response to. He’d had questions for the sales department about some repair work he had to do. It had been poorly labeled, he’d been sorting through it at the tail end of shift after a long week. So Tony wasn’t shocked he’d misread something. The passive aggressive piss fest in the e-mail was a little more surprising. Debby was normally bubbly is absent-minded and completely lacked a verbal filter. Apparently she didn’t appreciate her time being wasted but had no qualms about never giving Tony the answers he needed. Or giving their outside of office reps the appropriate directions to get their tech back sooner.

A fluttering feeling started in Tony’s neck as his pulse rose with his irritation level. Tony did his best to remember to take in slow, deep breaths to calm his raising heart rate. But there was only so much you could do against the forces of adrenaline. 

All the same Tony gritted his teeth and glowered at his monitor. It would have been easier to ignore if it had just been the one thing, but it was the one thing too many. Overworked, under rested, and sadly overwhelmed with his workload Tony just found this instance ground him down. He had a software validation to write and then review, a harddrive to replace and a PC to entirely setup again because of an outdated accountant being stupid, and a small stack of DRCNs to sign off on after overlooking. Never mind the near continuous small grade complaints that people should have been able to sort on their own with a Google search. But few people seemed motivated to sort out their own problems if they could hand it over to someone else.

There was a scream trapped somewhere in Tony’s chest that had he not been in the middle of the office during the later afternoon he might have let out. The janitors had heard him swearing a blue streak more than once on the nights he was forced to stay late because someone else hadn’t done their job. Or had kept him from doing his own.

Tony didn’t even feel the desk when he let his head drop down to it.

“Fuck, I hate my job.” As if to reply or correct him Tony’s desk phone began to ring. He was tempted to ignore it. instead he reached blindly to pull the handset off the receiver. “IT.” Tony managed to get out without bothering to liste his head still just hanging between the support his chair and the desk offered.

“Copier’s jammed again.” 

Ken was the receptionist. She wasn’t so bad and Tony didn’t mind her company. She was the type who seemed to genuinely care when she asked how you were doing. Tony wasn’t quite so happy to hear her voice just that second.

“That Toshiba needs to die in a fire.” Tony cracked an unwilling smile when Ken laughed on the other end of the line.

“Agreed. Still the managers are doing reviews,” the unspoken understanding passed between two minions, “so can you come take a look at it soon?” Ken asked, bare hint of pleading in her voice.

Tony wasn’t so unsympathetic he’d leave her hanging knowing very well how some of the managers like to bitch and moan. Especially at anyone below their station when they found blame for things completely outside of their control happened. 

“Yeah give me ten and I’ll be over. Debby isn’t around is she?”

“No...why? And does this have anything to do with why she was in a snit?”

“Probably, but you never know.” Tony bit back something far less polite sitting on the tip of his tongue. Jarvis would have given him hell if he started tossing around the kind of things he was thinking. Not to mention what Aunt Peggy would have had to say.

Ken huffed and it was slightly static, probably being just a little too close to the microphone of the receiver. “Don’t pay her any mind. She lives on her own planet.”

“Be up in a few.” Tony said as he finally straightened himself up in his seat. There was a crick in his back from sitting so long and crouching to deal with the copier wasn’t going to help that feeling. So he hung up and got an aspirin out of his desk drawer. his water bottle had gone missing over two hours ago so he swallowed the pill dry instead.

After that Tony got to his feet and took a deep breath. A mantra of “I love my job” repeating in his head as he made his way down to the front desk to let Ken know he was dealing with the copier. 

He wasn’t paid nearly enough but on the brightside he could say he wasn’t someone like Justin Hammer who owned the entire company but only breezed through to cause chaos in his wake. Hammer was due for another visit in the not too distant future and Tony was loathing that quarterly routine he had to being a pest. 

Ken was on the phone by the time Tony made the last corner after a short but stale smelling elevator ride down three floors. But she waved to him as he passed and Tony waved back. 

Sure enough in the supply room, where the copier was kept to be out of sight was one of the managers. He was red faced and muttering under his breath at the copier. Tony would bet the man was the cause of the entire debacle. But he wasn’t a face Tony was overly familiar with, not that he tended to meet with much of management. Minions were sent to deliver their burdens and jobs most frequently. 

Without bothering to make conversation Tony went to the touchpad of the copier to check on the cue status of prints to make sure they were all paused. Then he was checking over any routine relays the copier itself gave when there were paper jams or low toner levels. Sure enough there was a jam in the middle of the machine. An easy enough fix. 

“About time someone showed up to fix this.”

Rather than rise to the bait Tony only went around to the side and pulled the panel back to get a look at the working go the copier. Three pages were stuffed into a space they were meant to go one at a time. It was a bit of a squeeze but Tony managed to get his fingers on the sheets with enough of the grip to wrench them out. One of them tore on the way out which was of no surprise to Tony. But the path looked clear now so Tony straightened up and closed up the panel. 

Instead of the triumphant whine of the copier machine resuming it’s printing it beeped unpleasantly instead. 

Tony went around ignoring the huff behind him from the manager. Or maybe he was the new head of sales. 

On the touch screen Tony quickly found out it was saying the toner was empty. Another easy fix but odd it hadn’t been there before on his previous check. So Tony pulled the front panel down instead of the side to get to the toner cartridges. One of them looked like it wasn’t flush as it ought to be which could have been the issue. Tony gave it a push but it eased back out to stick out just a little too far. Thinking the cartridge might have been in backwards instead Tony pulled it out. 

“Can’t you fix it-”

Tony didn’t hear the rest of the man’s complaining as his hands, arms, and pants ended up spotted in pure magenta toner. Everything was still for a second as more of the tone seeped into the khaki of Tony’s pants and seeped between the lines of his palms. 

Grabbing one of the wastebaskets in the room Tony at least managed to save the carpet, somewhat. There were spots just as covered as Tony himself was but more toner as on Tony than staining the carpet. Once he was sure the cartridge was dripping into the trash he took a look at it. 

When cartridges were shipped they had a strip and seal over them to avoid leaking. Neither of them had been removed when the cartridge had been put into the copier. Attempting to force them, likely not but just Tony himself, had broken them and gotten the toner moving. Meaning a great big mess of a full cartridge spilling out. Turning it over to prevent more leaking Tony peeled off the seals aware of his the way his lips pressed together in a thin line. 

The urge to scream was stronger than before. 

The manager was suspiciously quiet. Enough that Tony looked over at him to see him looking everywhere but at Tony himself. 

“Get some paper towels.” Tony heard himself say with more bite than he’d normally give any of the managing staff. But today he was covered in bright pink because some moron couldn’t read the boxes before putting a toner cartridge in.

Thanks to a bad decision on my part to never update my tumblr linked e-mail account I can’t get back into my old blog, unsentpromises. So rather than get too bent out of shape about it I’m revamping. I’m back y’all! (Y’all being the four people that I ever actually talked to on this site, but hey y’all.)