Late evening, Barnaby's golden hour. A time when he was most productive. He'd planned to spend the next long while cozied up on his couch with a manuscript and red-ink pen, burning the midnight oil with a cup of fresh-brewed cranberry-orange tea in hand. A few candles had even been lit to complete the mellow ambiance.

It was a peaceful moment, which were few and far between as of late.

Just as the rim of his mug pressed against his lips, however, a mechanical beeping announced an... anomaly to his night. Barnaby set his tea down on the coffee table and rose from his seat, his expression confused more so than concerned.

The sound was coming from his elevator - a private, exclusive one allocated to only those residents within Mauville Hills who owned the most high-end penthouses. Rarely, if ever, did uninvited guests find their way to his home.

And yet, here he was, standing at his elevator door. With a short click of a button the doors slid open, revealing... something truly horrible.

"What—" At first he didn't recognize, or willed himself not to. His mind refused, instead providing alternative scenarios to soften the blow. This was just a drunk. Lost on his way home. A common occurrence, nothing to worry about.

But then Barnaby noticed the blood. The man was soaked in it. His clothes, streaks along exposed skin, even specks around those hollow, honey-colored eyes.

Wait, no—

"Martín—!" Barnaby's body moved without him even thinking; the way he rushed forward was instinctual, primal, panicked. Sirens roared inside his head, yet he did his best to keep intrusive thoughts at bay.

Kneeling beside Martín del Mar , one hand went to grasp his shoulder, the other to cup his cheek. Cobalt eyes frantically scanned every part of Mars that he could see.

Was he conscious? Was his body warm, cold? Was there any active bleeding? Was he still alive?

Martín del Mar

☉

THE FALL OF ICARUS

There was still color to those cheeks despite his obvious pallor, a dull spark to those amber eyes. He'd spoken in the softest voice that Barnaby had ever heard, but he'd spoken. He squeezed his hand, however lightly, yet it was as if Apollo had passed sunshine through that meager touch.

He's still alive. He's still alive.

"Martín? What happened?" More of a rhetorical question at the moment, as Barnaby's hand slipped from his face and down to his chest. The feel of dried blood on fabric came as both a relief and a shock. No active bleeding, then, but what the hell had caused this?

"Merde! Let's get you inside." An arm was wrapped around the body of Martín del Mar, hoisting him to his feet. Even now the admin felt cold to the touch, though, and so Barnaby removed his signature checkered coat and draped it around the shoulders of his injured friend.

"Come, chéri. It's not over. I'm going to help you. You'll be alright." Barnaby's voice had mellowed to a soothing lull, all fear tampered down for now. He had to be strong for Mars.

He guided them to his couch, the manuscript cast aside to make room for Mars to sit, and squeezed the admin's hand before instructing softly, "Wait a moment, love. I'll go fetch the first aid kit."

Martín del Mar

☉

A million terrible thoughts were swirling around Barnaby's mind, threatening to suffocate him under the emotional weight of it all. He tried to compartmentalize: assess Mars' wounds first, apply the necessary first aid, then ascertain the larger meaning behind this situation.

But just as he rose to begin his internal checklist, an unyielding hand pulled him back to the couch. Cobalt eyes searched Mars' vacant amber, probing for answers.

"You're not...?"Then whose blood is that? This wasn't okay and, even as Barnaby prepared to express this sentiment, the admin's next question served to confirm it.

Meaningless? Martín del Mar ?

"Martín, what are you saying?" This was so beyond the self-assured man that Barnaby knew, liked, trusted. The man before him was broken in a way that he couldn't even fathom.

"What happened?"

Martín del Mar

☉

"The Lake Guardians..." Ancient writings and carved stone hieroglyphs printed on glossy textbook pages came to mind. Admittedly, Barnaby hadn't thought much about legendary Pokémon since his college history classes.

Yet here was Martín del Mar, confessing that he saw one. A legendary Pokémon. Azelf.

It was as if he'd admitted to meeting God himself. Barnaby knew of the legends, the stories, the existence of Avatars. But to be approached by one, especially more than once, seemed so beyond belief.

"The... blue one, yes?" It was obvious that the journalist was no historian by any means. A vague image of a small, imp-like creature blossomed in his mind. But the edges were frayed, the picture hazy.

"What did it want from you?" Barnaby questioned earnestly, worriedly. He felt the soothing circles on the back of his hand and, on instinct, squeezed a little tighter.

"Did it do this to you...?" He asked more softly, a hand rising to gently wipe away a small smear of blood on Mars' cheek. Even when the blood was removed, however, Barnaby's palm remained there, a tender display of sympathy and concern.

Martín del Mar

☉

"A... prophecy?" This was becoming more outlandish by the second. Barnaby was supposed to believe that a supernatural being had descended from on high and bestowed upon Mars a glimpse into the future?

He would have laughed in disbelief if the thought wasn't so heartbreaking.

Because it was true, wasn't it? Martín del Mar wouldn't joke at a time like this. He wouldn't have stumbled here, broken, defeated, to tell lies in blood-stained clothing.

God, the pressure of it all. How has he managed all this time?

The crushing reality of their situation was beginning to press on Barnaby's willpower. His mind was reeling, trying to process the gravity of what was happening.

There were others there, he'd said. Something about charms... what could that mean? Were ALL three Lake Guardians present as well? Were these Guardians portents of things to come?

What did this mean for Martín del Mar' own future...?

The softest kiss from lips so gentle snapped Barnaby back to the moment. Mars' gaze met his and, with just one look, he could feel his roiling thoughts begin to quell.

That was, until, Mars' cracked façade finally splintered and shattered. An expression that Barnaby had never seen before morphed the admin's pristine face into a haunting shadow of his usual self. Myriad emotions bubbled to the surface, fear and pain being the most jarring to Barnaby.

Again, his body acted without forethought. His hand slid from Mars' cheek to the back of his head, while the other relinquished its hold and wrapped around his waist.

Barnaby pulled Mars in, embracing the other man tightly, unwilling to let him spiral into thoughts of death.

"But you you didn't." Barnaby whispered against the nape of his neck. "You're still here, Martín." With me.

He's still alive. He's still alive.

With every inhale came the faint scent of orange and cedarwood intermixed with the metallic tang of blood. His familiar, comforting fragrance distorted by the pain of a God's whimsey.

"Ssh. I've got you, mon trésor."

Martín del Mar

☉

Barnaby allowed their embrace to linger for awhile in companionable silence. Mars' fingers dug into his back, fervent for reassurance, and he returned the gesture in kind. Steadfast arms pulled the other man in close, relishing the contact.

They had never held one another like this before. Not with this sort of emotional gravity, anyway.

A thumb softly stroked the hair at the base of Mars' neck; fingers balled around loose shirt fabric. With a shaky breath he spoke quietly, "No need to thank me."

Holding Martín del Mar in this way... comforting him in his time of need...

BARNABY FINCH's heart ached in an all too unfamiliar, terrifying way.

Logic and responsibility pushed this wayward feeling down, though, and with a shaky sigh Barnaby pulled away from their embrace. His hands relinquished their hold on Mars' waist and neck and instead traveled to both of his shoulders.

"You know I'm here when you need me, hm?" He said in a voice laced with heady emotion: relief, appreciation, encouragement.

In the dim candlelight Mars might have even noticed the glossy sheen in Barnaby's eyes, although it was quickly blinked away as he stood up from the couch.

"Here, let's get you freshened up." Again, a hand reached for Mars' own, fingers intertwining. "I'll get a shower running and fetch a change of clothes."

Barnaby led them to his main bedroom, a grand space accented with modern embellishments. Moonlight streamed in from floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating everything in the room, including the king-sized bed at its center. This is where he guided Mars, gesturing for the admin to sit at the edge of the mattress.

"One moment, chéri. Let me get the shower started." He said gently with a small, reassuring smile. His grip loosened, preparing to move to the bathroom.

Martín del Mar

☉

Greed.

A vice that was all too familiar to most ROCKET operatives. Usually their sin lied in the pursuit of wealth or power, but tonight, Barnaby's sin was the illusive taste of being truly wanted. Needed, even.

The way Martín del Mar whispered his name, refusing to be apart for even a moment... it stirred a devilish desire within him.

"...Alright." Barnaby conceded softly, with barely a second thought. "I'll stay with you, Martín." The admin's hand was squeezed reassuringly, although it was released seconds later.

"...But we can't have you sitting in these clothes."

Barnaby's movements were purposefully slow and deliberate, giving Martín del Mar the opportunity to stop him if he felt a line had been crossed. Accessories were removed first; both bloodied cufflinks and Mars' tie pin were carefully released and set on a nearby dresser.

Next, the tie. An exquisite silk piece that was now doomed for the waste bin. Barnaby gently grasped the knot at the base of Mars' throat, pulling side to side until it was satisfactorily loosened. A thumb was then slid under the long end of the tie, tugging lightly until the knot came undone. It slipped silently to the floor.

Finally, Mars' other garments. For a moment, Barnaby's hands hesitated around the buttons of the admin's stained shirt. Why? He'd seen him undressed before.

The pause lasted only seconds; soon enough, his fingers went to work, deftly undoing the buttons one by one until Mars' chest was laid bare before him. Gently, he'd help remove the shirt and let it, too, fall to the floor.

"Let's get you clean, love." He said quietly, fondly, encouragingly.

Ever a guiding force tonight, again Mars' had was taken and the man led to Barnaby's bathroom suite. The shower was spacious, tiled off-white with double showerheads and a bench seat. The handle was turned and the water allowed to come to temperature.

Martín del Mar

☉