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[attr="class","skullbody"]How did a more well-rested Cil look more tired?[break][break]

The man's face was so pale and bony that he looked like he was being stretched to his limits. Maybe he was. He'd been one of four kings of Circhester, having all the freedom Rocket denied him with only a quarter of the crown's burden. Now, after twenty years of thriving in that life, he was ripped away from it all.[break][break]

His voice lacked the rich timbre of Circhester's king. It even lacked the unwavering authority it possessed when they'd last met days ago. The outward veneer was still there, but there was a hollowness beneath it that should have been a triumph but instead felt strangely heartbreaking.[break][break]

Isaac should have been relieved to see Cil thawing. But to see him in such pain . . .[break][break]

"Well, its probably no secret that the Galarian operation's been . . . a Lot for everyone to take in," Isaac said. "Especially those of us who were more deeply involved with it than others. There were a lot of us crowned king, some in really high positions." Such as, say, one of Rocket's most notorious underbosses.[break][break]

He sighed. Ugh. This was hard. Isaac was trying his his best to be clinical and mission-focused about this whole thing, but it wasn't easy. He was a bleeding heart, and this shake-up to countless lives meant so much more to him than as a potential obstacle to some dumb mission.[break][break]

"Are you holding up alright?"

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[attr="class","skullbody"]Memory.[break][break]

That was an interesting way of putting it. Many people in Hoenn doubted if what they'd experienced was even real or not. Even Isaac had to catch himself sometimes when he found himself referring to it as a dream.[break][break]

Yet here was Cil, even his attempt at dismissing the thought giving it the reverent title of memory.[break][break]

He tried not to let his gaze linger on the man's tightly-pinched shoulders. He knew Cil was a fortress of a man, and would not take kindly to any fallen walls or caved-in doors. The last thing Isaac wanted was to be the messenger that got shot for his observations.[break][break]

Yet here he was.[break][break]

"Things aren't always as they should be," Isaac said, instead latching onto Cil's other word choice. They both knew that well. There was a time when Cil even candidly spoke about his doubts as Rocket changed their definition of "should be."[break][break]

It was a bitter thought, knowing that if he asked those same questions now Cil would have his head.[break][break]

"And its okay if they aren't. How the hell's anyone supposed to take 20 years on the chin like that and keep going like they 'should be?' "

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[attr="class","skullbody"]"Y'know, you told me once that everyone's got a choice."[break][break]

Was Cil in the mood to have an ironic yet meaningful callback? Probably not. But Cil was circling around the topic like a vulture around the carcass that had once been his hopes and dreams. It didn't matter that he was a Rocket Underboss. It didn't matter that he was the chosen of a Legendary. It didn't matter that, if he wanted to, he could have Isaac snapped in half like a pretzel.[break][break]

If he didn't find a way to face this grief, one way or another, it'd consume him.[break][break]

"You're right. We've got a lot on our plate. Arceus knows you've got a lot more than me. But you know who else you've got a responsibility to? The guy that's key to holding all this together. The guy that's gonna have your back when nobody else does. The guy who, if he goes down, you're gonna be fucked without."[break][break]

"Yourself."[break][break]

For too long, Isaac had neglected himself. In his youth, a stifling home environment lead to him dismissing the idea that he'd ever had worth or potential. When he finally fled it, he drifted through life without a care in the world, becoming exactly the ineffectual burnout he was told he'd be. As soon as he found his worth, he tried too hard to share it with others, even if it meant throwing himself onto the pyre with reckless abandon in hopes of lighting their way.[break][break]

In a way, it was heartening to know that he wasn't alone in his mistakes.[break][break]

"I'm not telling you to say fuck it all and go crazy or anything like that. But, c'mon, man. I know that you know people." His entire room was a monument to that fact, psychological warfare in the stylings of Marie Kondo. "And I know you know what happens when they're pushed too far."[break][break]

They break. Just how Isaac refused to.[break]

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[attr="class","skullbody"]There it was.[break][break]

Some faced loss in the Hoenn. To them, Galar had been their escape, a chance to put the struggles of their lives behind them and enjoy a fresh start of 20 years. Others had faced loss in Galar. To them, Galar had been their prison, a purgatory where they didn't even have the comforts of home to spare them of their pain.[break][break]

Cil's first loss wasn't just the fact that his siblings were gone. It was that his siblings had left. If there was one thing Isaac knew, it was that you didn't just leave Team Rocket. If they could find you, they would kill you. If they couldn't, they would hurt you in any way, shape, or form possible. If Cil's sister disappeared, she may have taken the easy route and abandoned him to his fate. Or, worse still, she may have paid their brother's blood price. In either case, Cil was despondent.[break][break]

With loss fresh in his heart, Cil had been granted in escape. He'd lost everything in Galar, but just like the cities they had ruled over, he rebuilt with twice as much splendor. He'd found happiness. He'd found love. He'd found family. He'd found independence from the group whose presence now hung over him like the sword of Damocles.[break][break]

It ended in his daughter, the symbol of his future, dying on a blood-stained battlefield before he was spirited away back into Rocket's clutches.[break][break]

Cil's suffering had stretched across worlds, as if life punished him for daring to be happy.[break][break]

"I'm so sorry." Even as far as The Usual Platitudes went, genuine pain bled into Isaac's voice. It wasn't every day that someone could mean the words in two senses. "I . . ."[break][break]

What could he even say? "I didn't know?" No shit he didn't. Clearly, Cil didn't want anyone to know any of this. Isaac had only found out because he was on the target of an outburst, and there were even odds Cil would make sure he wouldn't live to tell a soul.[break][break]

"They couldn't do that to you, right?" They could. Cil may have been Rocket in Isaac's eyes, but that didn't mean he was Rocket in Walsh's. To Walsh, he was another cog in the machine, used for all he was worth and replaced when that came to an end. Even if that wasn't how things would play out, it was certainly how Cil believed it would, and that mattered just as much.[break][break]

"I understand." He didn't. "I'm here for you." He wasn't wanted. "I was trying to help." He'd done the opposite. Nope, nope, nope.[break][break]

Sighing softly, a mask of professionalism crept over Isaac's face. "Not a word of this gets out," he promised, because in this moment he knew operational security was the closest thing to tender, loving care Cil would accept. No well wishes. No cliches. No misaimed advice. Just hearing Cil's words and giving him what he wanted.[break][break]

It still didn't sit well with him. Was throwing himself into his job 100%, neglecting selfcare even more than usual, really the best option here? How long could Cil try to stand firm against the pressure before snapping? By the time he was in a position to do something about it, how much more of himself would have rotten away? How much already had?[break][break]

There was a darkly ironic humor to it. For all the tension between them, Isaac and Cil really were cut from the same mold. In their pain, they kept moving, because what else could they do? The alternative was unacceptable. Yet Cil's beacon was his duty and Isaac's was his love. When they tried to be a guiding light for the other, they only succeeded in clashing.[break][break]

How could two men be so, so similar, and yet so, so different?

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[attr="class","skullbody"]Tension rang out through the room like a gunshot, but it had not been aimed at Isaac. Instead, Cil struck his own table, its perfectly symmetrical surface caved in from the sheer strength of his grief and anger. Isaac let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. For now, he had escaped its fate.[break][break]

Thanks to popular movies, some believed a Tyrantrum could only see movement. It wasn't true, of course. However, many believed the only way to survive its hungering gaze was to stand stock still and let it stare through you for as long as it wanted.[break][break]

This was how Isaac felt under the weight of Cil's glare. Isaac started out in the man's footprints, but at every crucial juncture in life their paths diverged further and further. Now he was something unrecognizable. Something disappointing. Something potentially dangerous. Isaac knew that all Cil needed was one good excuse, or even one bad one, and he wouldn't leave this room.[break][break]

Instead, against all odds, Cil's fist untightened.[break][break]

Was his wrath tempered by the same lingering affection, in spite of everything, that lead Isaac back to this room? Was he placated by a show of loyalty even in the face of their differences? Or did he fear that, if he surrendered to this moment of weakness by taking it out on Isaac, he would let it rule him?[break][break]

Isaac didn't know. He didn't know if he cared. But he knew that he had almost made it out with his hide intact. "That's all I have to report," he said. Had he left without being dismissed, Cil would be furious. Had he lingered around like a gormless idiot, Cil would also be furious. Giving him just enough prompting for a proper discharge would be the smartest way to straddle that line.[break][break]

Isaac should know. By now, he'd done so for far too long.

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