He was tired. So, so tired.

Whatever adrenaline or spark of infinite energy that had pushed him through his earlier actions had long since run its course. Elisabeth Fiorelli's sharpness and indignation were met with hollow, extinguished eyes. Gone was the puckish friend who so loved to tease and skirt her boundaries. BARNABY FINCH was a man undone.

It was not something he could hide any longer. Not in this situation where they'd both clawed at the other's iron exterior and laid bare the vulnerability within. There was no point in playing coy anymore. Barnaby was too tired to muster the wit. So what came from his lips were words stripped of his usual deflection - they were raw and unsettlingly honest.

"To distract myself."

It had only been a few days since the events at Sootopolis, where NECROZMA had wreaked so much havoc. Could she see those haunting memories reflected in his haggard stare?

"... I've had difficulty sleeping lately." He added on a shaky breath.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

He noticed her change in demeanor, but did not comment on it. Elisabeth Fiorelli appeared as a wildcat momentarily pacified after a fright from a scarecrow; hackles flattened, eyes unsure. An olive branch was extended, though, and Barnaby accepted without hesitation.

There was no point in deceiving her any longer, after all. His front was gone; what remained was purely BARNABY FINCH, not Bee, as she knew him. Here he spoke with an honesty and openness that she hadn't ever been privy to in the past.

"Perhaps we have more in common than I thought, Elisa." He observed softly. What sorts of monstrous specters haunted her dreams? Were they the same as his?

"The world has turned upside-down, hasn't it?"

"That it has." A dry laugh escaped, dark and cynical.

He knew exactly what she was referencing, but had no desire to discuss it. Barnaby had come here for a distraction, and a distraction is what he still wanted. To that end...

"... How did it happen?" He asked, his stony gaze falling to her scarred thigh.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

His gaze remained steady on her, even as she swept the fabric of her skirt over her scarred thigh. It was a pointless act; Barnaby was now already aware of this particular vulnerability. The question was - would she delve into the intricacies of its origin? How much of herself would she reveal to him?

Slowly, the curtain began to rise.

BARNABY FINCH remembered well the emblem of Édouard Bortiforte’s company: a golden EMBOAR whose gilded flames spilled over a circular border. It came as no surprise that the man had one of his own. But to use it against his wife…

Fire was a weapon Barnaby was intimately familiar with. A tool he’d used many times in service to ROCKET - to scare, to intimidate, to torture. He was known for it, even, especially back in Kalos. The searing, iron-hot pain of an untempered flame was an effective means to an end.

… but not something he would use to scar a loved one. Not his wife, his partner in life. Elisabeth Fiorelli’s admission painted a gruesome picture of a marriage marred by abuse. It explained her reaction in the woods all those months ago, too. In the flickering firelight the pale lines on Barnaby’s arms glistened like the fine filaments of a spiderweb; remnants of a deep-seated yet valid terror.

“No amount of pride is deserving of such a despicable act.” Not towards one’s spouse, of all things.

Where to go from here? What to say? Barnaby parsed through typical apologetic statements in his mind.

I’m sorry that happened to you.

How dare he do that to you.

You deserved better than that vile bastard.

Eventually, he settled on a more decisive opinion.

“I’m glad he’s dead.”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

Contempt was a monster that ate away at Elisabeth Fiorelli. Contempt for herself, for her circumstances. It was not something she could keep hidden any longer; it’s feral eyes shone behind her downcast stare, it’s claws dug deep into her psyche, forcing self-deprecation out with every word.

“You knew who I was…”

“I did. But the Lisa Bortiforte of the Kalosian tabloids is only a skewed caricature of the Elisabeth Fiorelli I now know.”

Perhaps his time in Hoenn had softened Barnaby. He found time and again, when faced with the struggles of those he cared for, an uncharacteristic shift. A deviance; a turn away from his selfish heart. He wanted to comfort, to console.

Or, more likely, wanted to correct a grave underestimation on Elisabeth Fiorelli’s part.

“You are shackled no longer, mon fleur. You’ve bloomed beyond the confines of that man’s estate. From grunt to admin, you’ve shown more growth in a year than most do in a lifetime of service.”

His hand lifted, forefinger extended, to tuck wayward strands of blonde hair behind her ear. Barnaby wanted to see her, to pry for eye contact, before he continued.

“Whether you acknowledge that newfound strength is up to you. But it is there for all to see. You’ve harnessed that pain into something he can never take away from you now.”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

“Why?” He echoed hollowly.

A great question. Barnaby wasn’t completely sure himself, so… he didn’t answer right away. His cobalt gaze fell away to stare at his lap, where his hands hung in the space between his thighs.

Eventually, an even response fell from his lips.

“Just because I don’t want to fuck you doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, Elisabeth.”

It was a statement of contradictions. He could have let her wallow in her self-loathing; let her drown in those contemptuous tears of hers - and the BARNABY FINCH fresh off the boat from Kalos likely would have. He still felt this selfish inclination even now, pulling him toward the cottage’s exit.

But what good would that do? As a friend and as a ROCKET admin she was best suited as the cunning poisoner, the calculating leader.

As far as BARNABY FINCH was concerned, Lisa Bortiforte died the day her husband did. Elisabeth Fiorelli was who mattered now.

“I hate seeing you like this,” He admitted, looking back over to where she sat on the sofa, hands wiping tears from her cheeks. With a sigh Barnaby withdrew a forgotten white napkin from his pocket and offered it to her. “Because I know the confidence and fire that make you so special. I’ve seen it firsthand… more than you might think.”

It was time. They’d reached a precipice in their relationship - if he didn’t admit this now, there would be no going back. So, Barnaby released the following Pokémon into the open living space:

A pale pink NINETALES - his companion during the speed dating event.

An off-blue HOUNDOOM - who accompanied him on one fateful walk through Petalburg Woods.

A KIRLIA - a helpful cleaner of one particularly sticky shoe.

Barnaby didn’t say anything at first. He wanted to see if she could connect the dots herself.

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

Splash!

Lukewarm and sticky, their celebratory drink drenched Barnaby’s hair, face, and upper chest. He did not react, however; did not try and retaliate.

This was her time to cleave apart and burst open years of anger, frustration, and pain.

Fur bristled, teeth were bared, but a wave of Barnaby’s hand bade his Pokémon to still. They did so, begrudgingly, and watched as their master withstood blow after blow.

Barnaby was unmoving yet unyielding. He did not cower away from her touch, did not beg for lenience. In fact… the pain of each welting blow was superseded by the immense pleasure of seeing Elisabeth Fiorelli light up in this way.

Every hurled insult was like birdsong in his ear. Angelic, divine, telling of the building, burning passion Barnaby was longing for. And when she finally stopped, her chest heaving with the effort of it all, his lips creased into a painful, taunting smile. Blood trickled down from his left nostril as he spoke.

“It is a secret reserved for the higher brass. So, not many.”

His next words were chosen carefully, although it might not seem so to Elisabeth Fiorelli.

“Est-ce que c'est ça, mon fleur? Je sais que tu peux faire mieux que ça.”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

There was a ringing in his ears that persisted even as her blows subsided. A dryness in his mouth, a wetness on his brow. Already Barnaby could feel his face begin to swell.

The pain barely registered, though. His focus was on drawing out the fiery wolf from the tepid lamb.

“Not exactly. I do apologize for fooling you…” He admitted, his eyes trained on Elisabeth Fiorelli and her every reaction. “…but I can’t deny it wasn’t fun at times. Barnaby Finch is quite a smug bastard, isn’t he?”

The words had barely passed through his lips before Elisa took this dance a step further than he ever expected her to.

Barnaby’s smile fell. In it’s stead rose an expression of cold severity the likes of which Elisa had never witnessed before from him. Gone was the puckish lilt to his voice, the teasing tenor. For once, BARNABY FINCH was as serious as the grave.

“Choose wisely, Elisa, if you wish to keep that friendship you promised me. Have I truly been that bad to you?”

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉