If CJ had received a bit of a tongue lashing for his emergency wound treatment, Orion had been verbally dismantled by their superiors. You're reckless, you put everyone else in danger, you're lucky we're keeping you on at all. That's what stung the worst. In all his years as a Ranger, he's never been in danger of losing his job.

Without it, who was he?

It's for that reason that the Orion Lykos that CJ encounters in the infirmary is noticeably subdued, unable to meet the gaze of his caretaker until a cup of coffee is pressed into his palm. Warm, grounding.

It reminds him, bizarrely, of when he'd been on the Council, and his secretary had always brought him coffee and wished him good morning and not seemed half as intimidated by him as he was of every one of his coworkers. He hasn't reached out to her since the accident. Her calls and e-mails have gone unanswered. He doesn't know what to say.

He hopes she's OK.

Dark brown eyes flick up to meet CJ's gaze for a heartbeat before he glances away, a thanks stuck in his throat. His lips part without sound and a a slosh of liquid from beneath the lid betrays the unsteadiness of Orion's hands as much as he tries to look stable and controlled.

"I—" can barely look at you without cringing, I'm so fucking sorry you have to deal with me, I wish I wasn't like this, I wish I still had my fucking arm "— I'm fine," he lies, unconvincing.

His face hurts, unsurprisingly, but that's the least of it.

Orion's had time to reflect on the situation, on the choices he'd made weighed against those he should have. He's also spent much of that time being scolded for putting his fellow Rangers in harm's way. So when CJ apologizes, Orion lets out a startled bark of laughter. It's a clipped, awkward thing ⁠— a product of discomfort, not amusement.

"You're sorry? You saved me from being turned into mincemeat by a shadow Pokemon, CJ, I think a little salt was warranted."

There's a lump in his throat as he remembers what recklessness might've cost him. Fafnir. And Vic's Dragonite, too, had been lost in the fighting. There's no way to know if he could've prevented it if he'd made different decisions... but, if anything, that uncertainty only makes him feel worse.

I'm not fine, he wants to admit, but it lodges in his throat.

"Brave?" He echoes the word, then shakes his head. "I didn't do it out of bravery, I just ⁠— I saw that thing standing over Cass and blanked out. I should've used her fucking pokeball, that's what they're for..."

But he hadn't, and here they were.

"Thanks. By the way." He can't look at them. "For helping me out. That was brave."

It was all bad.

On that much, at least, they can agree.

That he hadn't been the only one to come out worse for wear makes him feel guilty, for the Ranger Elite were meant to lead by example. How were the cadets meant to learn if those examples were set by reckless fools like himself?

But he doesn't say that, because he gets the sense he's making CJ feel bad and doesn't want to make them feel worse.

"She will be," Orion says softly of Cass. "She'll be out of commission for a little while to make sure everything heals properly but it didn't hit anything vital and it won't affect her flight." That was the hardest part about keeping bird Pokemon used for battling, for the wrong sort of injury to a wing could cause permanent damage.

He finally looks over at CJ.

"Have you talked to Vic?" Orion hasn't been able to face any of their team since the incident, Victor Wexler least of all. "I'm worried about him, after his Dragonite..."

He knew the pain of that loss. He was sharing it.

It's not until he sees CJ take a sip of their coffee that Orion remembers his own. There's a pause between his brain catching up to the situation and his tense muscles finally unclenching, loosening the death grip on the paper cup and lifting it to his lips.

He makes a face. He'd entirely forgotten to put anything in it.

Idiot.

Turning red, hoping CJ won't notice, he removes the lid and starts to methodically pour the creamer and sugar that they'd thoughtfully provided into the cup. The sugar melts a little slower than it would have if Orion had thought to do this when the drink was still piping hot, and the creamer swirls to lighten the liquid within.

Orion is focusing much too hard on CJ's words, the subtle inflections of tone. He hears the unspoken but in the pause that follows, and thinks he understands where it's going before the other Ranger speaks.

Yep. Fafnir.

"It's part of the job," he tries to say, but his voice scrapes against his throat and breaks to betray him. Tears sting his eyes, and he looks away. He clears his throat, takes a sip of coffee. Tastes better, now. "I... I'll be all right."

But right now? His silence implies everything.

You're allowed to feel things.

It's an important message, and one Orion needs to hear. He's not used to allowing himself to feel. As a kid, he was supposed to put his family first. As a Ranger, he was meant to put the Pokemon first. And on the Council? There'd been an entire region whose problems superseded his own. But right now? No Pokemon are in danger, he hasn't spoke to his family in years, and he'd lost his position on the Council when Rocket had held him hostage.

You're allowed to feel.

His lip twitches with a bare attempt at a smile.

"Thanks, CJ. That means a lot."

His cheeks redden as he admits it, and he can't meet their eyes, but it's a start.