“How long until the cast can come off her wing?”

“I dunno. Couple weeks. Stupid fucking Clawitzer.”

“I take it, then, that a Clawitzer did this? How?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Miss June, I find that talking about things that bother us makes it easier to cope with the memories, the trauma. Common humanity. As much or as little as you want, but to do it at all is good for you.”

“... Got shot out of the sky. Bunch of rocks, huge explosion. This guy with a Golurk said he saw a Clawitzer with a Rocket Grunt attacked us. Dressed in full armor, some League dick head. Helped me get back to a camp, but…”

“I see... but?”

“Well… he said ‘Glory to Rocket’ and flew off. But that wasn’t the weirdest part. He… Grigori, he knew my name.”

“... You said dressed in full armor and had a Golurk?”

“Might’ve been a shiny one, I don’t know. Sound familiar to any League people you know?”

“... Miss June, I hate to cut our visit short. But I think I need to talk with someone really fast. I promise I’ll return later tonight.”

---

By the time Grigori stomped up the stairs, three at a time, he could barely contain his emotions. Mister-Howard-Fucking-Slayte. Fucker showed off his shit to him before he went to that stupid island. He’s seen the Golurk before, as well. Which apartment was his, again? No, no, no…

Here. Grigori slammed his fist into the door numerous times. There wasn’t an immediate response. He banged on the door again.

The grunt had told himself he couldn’t go after anyone else in Team Rocket for their potential actions– despite the strong urge to. Zev and the other beasts were likely keeping an eye on him, based on his fuck up with that particular one. It hurt his soul, yet the bastard's words had yet to leave his mind. Frustration that he could not help the one he cares for, all because she had to pick a side to make money.

Because he put her in the situation to begin with.

And he couldn’t even fucking guarantee her safety from monsters like him.

But Howard? Howard Slayte? His own friend? This could not stand, nor happen again. One more time. This problem would be nipped at the bud, before it could blossom into a flower much like his own.

Grigori punched the door until it threatened to come off its hinges. 

---

howard slayte

"I'm coming, I'm coming..." Howard yawned, before stopping. What if it was ■■■? Why was he coming back so soon? Howard wasn't ready to deal with him.

Shirley slept on the couch, snoring softly. Howard slipped on his pair of Aerodactyl slippers. Howard's RUSTBORO CITY UNIVERSITY sweater was rumpled, having been slept in. Despite that, Howard hadn't slept much. The events of the battlefield north of Dewford were still fresh on his mind, and his meeting with the Necrozma's Avatar had shaken him soundly.

He looked like shit, he felt like shit, and he suspected that as soon as that door opened, he'd be shit. Not the shit, though. That was Shred Zeppelin 's thing. There were a dozen people it could've been: his landlord, ■■■, Shred asking for more money, June—

June... Howard squeezed his eye shut.

Arceus above, don't let it be her. I can't face her. Not now.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!

"I'm coming! One second!"

Just as Howard reached the door, it flew off its hinges. Howard let out a scream and stumbled backwards. His eye widened as he recognized the perpetrator.

"What the fuck, Grigori? I said I was coming! You knocked down my fucking do-"

---

Grigori Sokolov

Grigori’s fury broke only for a moment as the door came off the wall. He hadn’t realized quite how hard he’d gone on the poor thing. It was almost enough to distract him from the shitty, tired looking Howard that greeted him. Yelled at him. Cursed him out.

He looked rather red, right about now. Just as red as Grigori’s own face and vision. All guilt of his action left rather fast.

The grunt barged in, picked up the door, and lifted it off the ground. Careful enough to avoid the numerous ancient artifacts, but not so much that it couldn’t give the tenet a heart attack as he moved. Howard called him whatever the hell he wanted, but he returned the broken door to its rightful position. Not at all fixed, but at least they could pretend to have a modicum of privacy.

They’d need it. Howard needed it.

“A fucking Clawitzer, Howard?” Grigori suddenly burst out. The door rattled from the sheer volume and weight of his words. Urns quivered on their shelves, and a single ancient coin on the table jumped off the edge. Grigori did not acknowledge any of this, as he took a step closer to Howard. If June's eyes struck fear into hearts, these climbed right in and killed them from the inside-out.

“For fuck's sake, are you trying to impress Shred with your inadequacy?!”

---

howard slayte

Grigori had a set of lungs on him. The entire apartment rumbled. Urns shuddered, coins clattered, and the crystal skeleton in the corner jingled so much that Howard feared it might crack.

That didn't make him fear as much as Grigori's sheer rage. Howard had never heard him scream before, and he shrank from it. It was easy to forget that Grigori was, for all intents and purposes, an enforcer who had been in Team Rocket long before Howard and Shred showed up. He was the silent mountain in the backdrop that you eventually stopped looking at.

Until the mountain revealed that it was a volcano, and wiped out several villages in the eruption.

There was a reason Grigori was still kicking around, and this was the reminder.

When Grigori finally finished yelling, Howard had visibly shrunk. His Key Stone jingled around in his skull, and the ringing in his ears was unfathomably loud. "I... I..."

A Clawitzer? Huh?

"What do you mean?" Howard whimpered, before blinking in realization. Not because of why Grigori was here, but because of something else. "I don't have a Clawitzer! You see a fish tank anywhere?"

Howard waved through his apartment, where Shirley still snoozed.

"What did I do? Use your words, instead of breaking down my fucking door! I can't afford to fix that, you bloody Bewear! You knocked it down over a Clawitzer, a Pokémon that I DON'T EVEN OWN!"

---

Grigori Sokolov

As soon as Howard finished his own little rant, Grigori acted fast. He shoved a palm into Howard’s chest. He grabbed the sweatshirt, reversed their positions, and pushed. Their short journey ended abruptly when Howard’s back hit the door propped up against the frame. It held, but did not seem to appreciate it.

Grigori got closer and closer until their faces were a foot away. “Then let me use my words to paint a very-fucking-pretty picture for you: there’s this person, who went on that island that sprouted from the sea. They own a nice disguise, a full suit of metal. They also own a shiny Golurk, very capable. Let’s say this person saw a Rocket Grunt shoot down a League courier from the sky with a Clawitzer.”

“Now, this is quite a specific scenario, I admit,” Grigori shoved his face further into the archeologist. His two good eyes against one. “But to me, something just isn’t adding up. And you claim to be a rather smart individual. So, tell me– what’s not right about this fucking scenario, Howard? Any educated guesses?”

---

howard slayte

"That you described me as capable...?" Howard asked meekly, slightly warmed by the fact that Grigori saw him as something more than a waste of space. Team Rocket called him a lot of things, but capable? That one was new.

Grigori's face was inches from his own, and Howard scooted back even further into the wall, as if hoping to melt into it to avoid the senior member's ire. Even as Grigori questioned him, Howard was begining to put two and two together. He didn't own a Clawitzer, but he had mentioned one a little while ago. Incidentally, it had been on a floating island that disappeared into the waves.

No. How did...?

"How do you know about that?" Howard whispered, shaking slightly. "There was nobody else there to see it. White hair? Forceful expression? Delivery girl?"

The guilt was crawling back. Even worse, it was in physical form. Howard hadn't seen June in a while, but how did Grigori know about her? It wasn't a logical stretch.

"How do you know her?"

---

Grigori Sokolov

“A story for another day,” Grigori let go and backed off from Howard. He still wanted to throttle the man until he begged for forgiveness, but perhaps that wouldn’t get him anywhere. Even if inadvertently, the admission of guilt would suffice for the moment. But not forever.

He knew that all too well.

“For now, let’s just say June’s the daughter of an old friend.”

Old, dead ‘friend’, killed with his own two hands. The reason she was even on the island to begin with.

“She also doesn’t know it was you,” Grigori walked over to the table. He didn’t bother with any of the chairs, but instead put his weight against the top. He pulled out a carton from his back pocket and produced a long, narrow tube. A cigarette. It’s been ages since he’s had one, but he needs to be relatively calm right now.

He lights the tube and takes a long drag from it. “A Clawitzer, Howard? Not only did you lie, you came up with a shitty one. Why?”

---

howard slayte

"A story for today!" Howard protested as Grigori used his table as support, even as the sinking feeling continued to weigh down on his chest. Great. Why did the delivery girl that delivered Howard's artifacts know the enforcer who had been with Team Rocket for years.

The same delivery girl that he struck out of the sky with a Golurk cannonball.

Howard's face paled and he squeezed his eye shut. His missing eye ached. Why was this happening now, so soon after his meeting with ■■■. He wanted to crawl under a table and hide. He wanted to forget about this. He couldn't face Grigori, and he didn't want to think about what he did June.

"I'm not good under pressure! You know I'm not." Howard wilted even further. Hadn't Ultra Plant proven that to Grigori, that Howard was unreliable? Why didn't he accept that? "It was the best lie I could think of..."

Howard swallowed, his voice becoming a whisper.

"It was a mistake, Grigori. I fucked up. I fucked up..."

---

Grigori Sokolov

“Trust me, Howard, that is not a story for today,” Grigori insisted. Even if he wanted to, it didn’t seem like Howard would be in the right headspace to know the full truth to their relationship. As much was confirmed; his complexion lost all the sunlight, and he recluded into his own mind.

But he could not relent. Tough love was what he knew best. If this did not work, then... “Admittance is the first step to fixing mistakes, so you are on the right path.”

Grigori pressed the cigarette to his lips again. Arceus, this felt so nice. He could feel all the tension get pulled in with the smoke and nicotine and tar, and get blown away. If only it would stop reproducing in his head. Each cloud of grey only served to offer more room for the red streaks in his vision to respawn. 

“But mistakes do not disappear on their own,” he said shortly after. “Sooner, rather than later, you need to make amends. Come clean. Try to right your wrong.”

Don’t be like me, he wanted to beg and scream. Do as I say, not as I do. 

"Howard, you need to tell June the truth. If not for her sake, or my sake, then for yours." Grigori pondered if Howard could even comprehend the absolute state of panic and terror he held in his face. His body. The grunt had to hold himself back from storming over, giving him a big hug, and telling him that everything would be alright.

---

howard slayte

"No! I can't do that!" Howard whispered, shaking frantically. He'd rather fight the Regice in the caves of the island than look at June's face. "The best thing for her to do is to forget it ever happened."

Let her hate the nameless person who shot her from the sky. Let her hate the person who saved her. Howard thought, remembering Matchstick's broken wings. But not me. Please not me.

It was an accident. A simple mistake. He had been doing his job. It was what was expected from him. He fought enemies to Team Rocket because he needed to do so in order to survive. Team Rocket would've never accepted his cowardice and let him onto the battlefield again. He wouldn't have gotten to see what was in the depths of that island.

But he had let Isaac go. Eris, as well. He had let that monstrous man go as well. Why them?

Because they were stronger. Because he could see their faces. Because it would've been wrong to do so. The fallacy was clear. Howard had struck at an unarmed courier because he didn't know who it was. He had been willing to harm a harmless person.

"FUCK!" Howard held his head in his hands. This wasn't his fault. It couldn't be.

He had already sold his soul to this organization. His blame was its. He wasn't to blame, because this organization had recruited him. It wasn't his fault.

Let go.

"If she was drafted, then she had to fight others. What's your plan here, Grigori?" Howard turned to the man. "Are you tormenting me because I'm the only one you can reach?"

---

Grigori Sokolov

“…” Grigori pondered the question for a few brief moments. Sure, blinded rage carried him here, but it didn’t dictate everything about him. Was this torture, purposeful or otherwise?

“No,” Grigori said. “As if that were the case, I would not have barged into Zev Harcourt ’s workout session. Bastard.” A scowl grew on his face. Damn the man to hell. If Zev couldn’t do his job proper, the least he could do is continue his mistake and ignore her for the rest of his miserable life.

“My pleas, my demands. Fell on deaf ears. Even worse, I’m sure they’ll keep an eye on me for the near future. Unfortunately, the rational side of me agrees with the idea,” Grigori looked down at the ground. All he had to do was think it through for another five minutes, and he’d be in a much better position.

“But that’s not important. I don't do this to watch you suffer. As you said, I can reach you. To me, this means you are reasonable enough—smart enough, to understand. Not that you are easy prey.” He straightened up, cigarette held upright. Ugly black ash fell on his sleeve. That wouldn’t come out. Arceus, this was going to hell rather fast. Just how deep did Howard’s guilt go?

“I know how it feels, Howard. It sucks. Yet I also know that secrets like this build up like a gas leak. The longer it goes unnoticed, the longer you pretend it's not there… the bigger the explosion."

---

howard slayte

When ■■■'s name was mentioned, Howard immediately cringed and squeezed his eye shut. Black crystals flashed in his mind's eye.

Out of sight. Out of mind. Forget him.

Yet if Grigori got in ■■■'s way, Howard knew that the grunt's life would end badly. Grigori was like a boulder, immoveable, reliable, inscrutable. Yet he was not a Rocket Beast. He was no Admin, Head Scientist, or any position of power. He was a grunt. It didn't matter how long he had been with Team Rocket, he had no power in an organization where the seats of authority changed like a game of musical chairs.

"You can't beat him. Listen to me, Grigori. Stay out of his way. He will kill you. We're nothing to him. Don't give him a reason to look at us. Let him look up, where the light shines."

Howard's voice was a whisper, but a strange expression came over his face. He listened to Grigori's plea, before letting out a strangled laugh. It was the choking laugh of a man who realized something. A gas leak building overtime?

Howard was looking at one that had yet to erupt.

"Is that why you're still a grunt? Don't you get it, Grigori?" Howard laughed again, but harder. It wasn't a mirthful laugh. It was one of defeat, of resignation. "You will never be able to protect June. Do you know why?"

---

Grigori Sokolov

Grigori knew that Howard meant well when he warned him of Zev. After all, people like him did not reach positions of power for no reason. He knew that all too well–which is why he did not think too long about the warning. Kill him? At least they would both know the terms of their survival. After all, if push came to shove…

The grunt knew he’d kill Zev without a moment’s hesitation. As he would Grigori. 

The laugh didn’t make him feel any better, though. Nor did it add to the conversation. Yet as Howard continued his slow descent into mania, Grigori knew what was coming next. He considered it shortly after meeting June, shortly after his run-in with Zev, and shortly after Howard asked if he knew why.

Why did he assume him oblivious to the circumstances? Grigori did his best to never reverse the doubts; a product of the emotional toll of this conversation, or some hidden thoughts come to light?

“Please, do enlighten me, Howard. But,” he leaned forward, eyes narrowed to slits that peeked from behind a stonewall. ”Choose your next words. Very. Carefully.”

---

howard slayte