[attr="class","spiral"]It takes everything she has to remain composed as she steps off the boat. She wants to start looking around, she wants to start shouting. But she doesn't. That's not her. That's not who Lillian was, that's not who the President of Silph is. If she was vulnerable to such fits of fancy she wouldn't do. There'd be no use for her.

So, instead, she walks down the ramp to the pier one step at a time. Click. Click. Click. Stilettos keep time where her heart fails to as she sticks trembling hands into the pockets of her pressed pants. She tells herself she's shivering from the wind as her open suit jacket flaps in the wind and her eyes peer through tinted lenses for a sign of the man she's waited to see for time too agonizing to count. And then she finds it. The sign.

President Glass

She's read those words on hundreds if not thousands of documents. Heard them in meetings too long and dull to remember every day since her appointment. But she finds her eyes stinging at the sight of them. The meeting they promise her this time. She sucks on her teeth, blinks her eyes, and walks towards them with determination evident more in her veiled eyes than her steady gait.

"Thank you for coming to meet me," she says in the cool, impassive tone that's become her trademark as she enters earshot of what she can only assume is her chauffer (her excitement, ironically, too strong to see through the ruse in front of her), "I don't mean to rush you, but I'd rather not keep him waiting."

[attr="class","spiral"]"Of course, Miss President."

In some ways, this is nothing more than a game of chicken. Who can hold onto their mask the longest? Time and duty may have divided them across the Seafoam Ocean but their dynamic never changes. He finds strength in knowing that his only objective is to outlast her. As long as he can hold strong until she falters his own burden will slacken due to her lack of scrutiny. As for her, he's always surmised that her power came from their mutual reliance on each other.

She looks up to him as an aspiration. That responsibility alone is enough to keep him in check — always perform in the face of adversity. Without her, the challenge is gone and he becomes complacent. Left unchanged, complacency becomes weakness and Fernando's had to catch himself twice over due to his own inadequacies. It's both humbling and disappointing. Such failures weigh heavy on his heart, anchored in the same way his voice finds an uncharacteristic gruffness.

Another charade that delves deeper into their roleplaying. It's such a shame that Fernando's oblivious to her own faults.

"The car is waiting."

Heavy steps cause the aged planks to creak as they descend from the pier and onto arrivals. Their car remains unmanned, engine purring on idle as her handler opens the door to the backseat. Inside is a manilla folder neatly tucked into the farthest seat, filled with a brief overview of the region at large. "Madam." A secure thud seals her protection as the driver weaves his way onto the opposite side of the car. After a brief delay, the car starts up again, roaring with a newfound confidence as the dashboard switches to GPS. Fernando's Porygon sits nestled along the menu bar, blinking back at the two of them as the putter off into Slateport.

Only when he's behind the wheel does he take off the hat and glasses. His skin tone may have grown more vivid under the summer sun but his face remains the same. The baggage he's sworn off has come back with a vengeance, droopy in several layers of purple, all resting beneath tired eyes.

"A lot has happened since the last time you were in Hoenn."

[attr="class","spiral"]She is familiar with Fernando's voice like no other in her life. From the moment they met she began to carve its every feature into her heart and mind. She knows the softness it held as a child, the poorly covered cracks in adolescence, and the strength and sensuality it's held since entering adult. Through it all it's been her one guiding light in this life. All that to say, it's impossible for her to miss it when it's right in front of her.

"Of course," she represses a wave of giddiness and bites back a smile, "Lead the way."

There's no telling what game he's getting at here, but Lillian is skilled at nothing if not going along with his whims. She lets him lead her without comment to the parking lot, and ducks into the car politely when he holds the door for her.

It brings her an odd pleasure to get to act in this particular skit. The longer it goes on the more her anticipation grows. As she begins to thumb through the file that had previously warmed her seat she wonders how much longer it can continue. She imagines what it would be like to go on like this for a whole day, a week, but then reminds herself there's work to be done. Everything will be back to business soon enough, and so she lets herself bask in this moment of playful levity as she turns her attention to the documents presented to her.

It's mostly summaries of national news. Incursions by creatures from beyond this realm, the damage they've done, and the opportunities that were found. There's more detail than other sources might offer, but not by much. Beyond that there's bits on some of the confidential projects she's been okaying from abroad. As she goes deeper, though, more unfamiliar bits of information begin to crop up. She bites at the inside of her cheek.

He pulls her from her reading with his voice. This time it's heavier, weighty. Before she even looks up she's sure the game is done. Once she sees his eyes (sharp as ever, but worn down by struggle) she knows. She tries to steel her gaze and swallow the sudden spike of adrenaline she gets at the sight of them, but to her surprise can't quite manage it. Her hands are still trembling as she smooths a bit of paper, and her voice is ever so slightly tighter than intended when she speaks.

"I see," she momentarily places the open folder flat over her lap, "And what should our response be, sir."

She gently sets her sunglasses aside and locks eyes with the pair looking back at her through the rear view.

[attr="class","spiral"]“The situation has escalated beyond our usual approach. Observing until it’s time to capitalize may prove detrimental this time around.”

Despite the Porygon’s automation, Fernando opts to manually drive the car. His recent incident has festered a deep seated paranoia reminiscent of his Team Rocket mindset. Being able to regain any semblance of control in his life, no matter how little, proves therapeutic. It extends beyond just running his fingers against the cush leather of the steering wheel — breaking good habits, disregarding conveniences, even calling the ‘one’ person that Fernando genuinely trusts to make things happen.

“I want to put an active hand into making sure this matter is handled cleanly.” Which explains his sudden call to arms. His eyes never remain on the road too long, always flirting between the empty road and making sure he catches her every reaction. As intimate as they are, time changes people. Fernando knows this, self-aware of his own behavior, and looks to understand how it may have infected her as well. On paper, Lillian has done everything right, which is saying more than he can.

“The League’s incompetency isn’t our biggest issue. I believe another force remains underlying, working as we do. I know nothing about them but they’ve approached me with a show of force. Considering the opportunity that comes during war, there’s a very real chance our backs will be exposed now more than ever.”

[attr="class","spiral"]Lillian would be lying if she said the first words of his response didn't put her on edge. When she had left for Kanto to keep his company seat warm things had been well in hand in the region. Silph was rising quietly, he'd ascended to a seat on the council, and the Rocket threat was growing less and less substantial by the day. All of this had been possible through their usual methods. Watch, analyze, respond. It's what got them through childhood.

As he watches her so does she watch him. She thinks she can see the barest hints, pointing towards a shift from the man she'd known before. A tenseness less like a liepard preparing to pounce and more like a sawsbuck cornered in the woods. There is still pride and strength in his eyes, but he seems more like a man hunted than she's seen in a while. Maybe she's reading too deeply, but his "I believe" hits her ears in such a way he could just have easily said "I fear".

It does little and less to shake any certainty she has in him, though. Quite the opposite. She can't help but worry if she's really up for a task great enough to shake him so. But she can't start to crack. Fernando functions well even with a few chips in his armor, Lillian can't always say the same of herself.

"I'm at your disposal, as always," she wills her voice into certainty, hopeful that with a little time her confidence will return in full, "The situation in the region is . . . much different than I anticipated, I'm not sure about what needs to be done to change it, but in the meantime you can trust me to watch your back as closely as ever."

[attr="class","spiral"]“And for that I am grateful. As always. However, this time we are not enough.”

The smoothness of their ride conflicts with the way Fernando finds it hard to justify what he’s about to say next. The night life outside is a mere shadow of its former self, even compared to the days leading up to Slateport. With evacuation orders in full effect, those who would otherwise make the port city their getaway from life’s anguishes are now northbound under orders they can’t quite comprehend.

“We’ll have to work in conjunction with the League. They’re stupid, stubborn, and a headache all on their own, but they have several powerhouses we can’t afford to pass up.” It goes without saying that he’s referencing their avatars. The details of his own Legendary Pokemon, now several in number, are compiled among the papers given in her impromptu debriefing. “At worse even that may not be enough.”

Despite not being there, Fernando understands the depth of the Ultra Beast’s depravity. Just the property damage alone retells a tale of a titan that can’t be stopped by traditional tactics. What use is a PROTECT that shatters like glass when confronted by a light that evaporates a city block? He has no answer for that and that’s why he’s willing to fall back on old principles in order to maximize their chance at success.

“And at best this’ll be the worst vacation I’ve ever had you log.”

[attr="class","spiral"]Again his words feel strange as they hit her ear. Like she's somehow shifted into a different world. They scaled Mt. Silver as children (though with that woman in tow, wherever she may be now) and took over the Silph Corporation together. To think they'd so quickly rely on an entire organization for backing; It shouldn't be ridiculous. Lillian knows there's no way they could do everything in the world on their own, but there's a childish part of her that had always hoped.

Again she has to shake herself out of this sentimental place in her head. She blinks twice, hard, and does her best to just listen and follow. What's happened to her that she can be so distracted when he's speaking right in front of her? She's not here for a pleasure visit (not just a pleasure visit).

"Ah, uh, understood," she wants to bite her tongue out for the way it trips over itself, "Sorry, I just . . . Are things really this serious?" She really almost does bite her tongue out at this. The edges of it bleed as her molars catch and grind them. What has gotten into her? Intending to stop him before he can respond she takes a quick breath and speaks again.

"No, I'm sure they are. You've been here the whole time," for the first time she feels like her composure is truly crumbling, "Anything you need -- eyes to watch your back, cooperation with the League, anything. I understand."

"For what it's worth, no vacation logged with you has ever ended too poorly," she tries to pull herself together by playing off of his banter, but it comes out at once too genuine and too forced. Her hands twitch in her lap, desperate to cover her face. Her eyes flit away from the rear view mirror for the first time.

[attr="class","spiral"]“…”

Absolute obedience is something Hoenn lacks. Lillian’s disposition, no matter how distorted, reaffirms his choice in pulling her back into the fray. There is a comfort in being able to trust someone — not the fake emotional garbage spewed by those that don’t know better but the actual ability to lay down a belief in someone’s faith and actions. True trust requires the other party to have the ability and skill to carry out their promise.

Funny to think how he tried to avoid her like the plague as children.

“Thank you.”

Fernando make a conscious decision to adjust the review mirror, jiggling it higher to get a better view of the empty road behind them. It’s a small way of letting her know that he knows while saving her the shame of addressing it aloud.

The rest of the ride is riddled with business — domestic issues, a personal retelling of several events and incidents, along with his opinions on the people who call this region home. Fernando spares no expense in ironing out a clear picture but he does so as he always does, in pieces, through questions, like a layered puzzle that only paints a clear picture once it’s put together.

When their ride comes to an end, Fernando exits first, staring at the top floor of their hotel.

“You must be tired.”

[attr="class","spiral"]Out of the corner of her eye she watches Fernando's reflection disappear from the rear-view mirror and the slightest of grateful grins tugs at the corners of her lips. Over the rest of the car ride Lillian works to turn by turn get her head on straight while listening to the stories he tells her of recent events.

The rest of the car ride is easy. For the first time they're taking part in a dance she knows the steps to. She can feel a question coming before it arrives and lets him bait her in and lead her about the way she knows he likes. It's almost nostalgic. It takes her back to their teens, when he would in this same way teach her about everything from pokemon rearing to regional dishes. She'd go so far as to call it fun; but when the car stops she's still more than ready to get out.

"It's been a long day," Lillian agrees graciously as she steps out of the backseat and gently shuts the car door behind her. The click of her heels picks up again as she takes the few steps necessary to come up on Fernando's left. Not quite beside him, she intentionally puts herself a half-step behind. She, casually but thoroughly, sweeps their surroundings with an easy look over one shoulder and then the other.

"But, if there's anything else you were hoping to take care of or discuss I could survive a few more hours of your company," she says with just enough humor to mark it a joke, and something else underneath it buzzing with implication. She looks back at him to gauge his response. From this angle she can't make out his eyes or mouth, but she's had years to learn how to read his mood without them.

[attr="class","spiral"]"Indeed."

The sound of the door shutting is accompanied with the familiar beeping of the car alarm. What throws of his routine is the way the sound dies off underneath the trampling staccato of her every step. Her constant pace is the metronome of safety that allows his shoulders to roll into place, rigid with a poise fit for someone too proper to know better. No more bending on the off-chance he needs to take off in one direction or another. Not when he's around his right hand.

"I would like that," he murmurs under his breath. It lacks the same playful nature of her own proposition, heavy with the baggage of a wistfulness that eclipses their time apart. More evidences mounts toward a certain suspicions when he disregards the reception desk entirely. In any other circumstance, Fernando would've layered the fake pleasantries common place in small talk and necessary courtesies. Today is an exception and it's not a hard guess as to why.

An oath to silence is held as the elevator doors shut in front of them. Despite the beige jazzy ambiance of their surrounding music, Fernando finds solace in what needs to be done. Like still-water, he continues to withhold his own heat until it's time to boil over. However, that all changes in the comfort of his own room, in a place he can be his own.

The moment the doors close Lillian is subjected to his most uncouth demands. Heavy hands and even her own back find their place on the wall as he start to trace along their history. He used to know her body more intimately than his own. It's about time he tests his memory, probing for discoveries both new and old.

[attr="class","spiral"]For what feels like the millionth time today Lillian is caught off guard by Fernando. There is a game they usually play in moments like this, a dance of give and take, but he responds to her bit of teasing so genuinely. It's touching, and it hits her in a way their game rarely does. Her skin heats up and her heart beats a little faster and she has to swallow to keep her face neutral.

"I am forever eager to please," she isn't capable of identically expressing the same open sentiment so quickly, but she softens her voice when she replies in a way that makes it clear she feels the same. The words are hot and leave her throat and mouth warm almost to the point of dryness. The implication from before takes precedence over the sarcasm they might have otherwise carried.

And they're the last words she says. It is a silent, grueling march to their destination after that. Every second she feels more restless. Her fingers fiddle with the edge of the manila folder in her hands as they cross the lobby, a hand absentmindedly undoes the top button of her blouse (teases at the buttons of her jack) as they ride the elevator, and then finally they arrive and both are forgotten in favor of throwing herself into every idea that finds its way to Fernando's lips. They are discarded.

The folder to some random table, her jacket to the welcome mat, her blouse to the floor.

She makes herself an open map to him, with new discoveries clearly marked with trails to follow. When she wakes the next morning she wants nothing of her hidden from his sight. She never wants to be unknown to him.

[attr="class","spiral"]When morning comes so does he. The amount of effort it takes to get her up to speed leaves him heaving in frustration but it’s an obligation he owes her for roping her into all of this. Only from a distance can he admire his handiwork, smiling to himself as the rising sun brings to life the distinct lines he’s painted on his canvas. This time, he takes a careful effort to wash away his painting with a moist towel.

The sink water runs cold; experience reminds him that warm water is a messy solvent.

“War is inevitable. Lilycove is the obvious battleground.”

He cranes his neck against his pillow. Laying on it for too long makes it no longer comfortable so he leans into her more to readjust his ears onto a colder, untouched spot. “But there will undoubtedly be another attack. Their influence has spread too far not to.”

The only questions is where.

"I want you with me when that happens."