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The other Ranger had, in fact, decided to come - despite his better judgement.[break][break]
"Come on," Caleb grumbled to Nox. The Lokix was barely discernible as it flitted from snowbank to snowbank, keeping to the shadows as he liked to do. The wind picked up, and Caleb pulled his scarf up around his face, shivering against the biting chill. Since when did it snow so much in Slateport?[break][break]
As they approached the station, Caleb thought he saw a figure by the entrance. The thick snowfall was obscuring his vision, but he trudged onwards until he was right next to the other man. Only from such a close distance was he able to make out his features.[break][break]
"Hey, sorry I'm late," he greeted. "It's getting pretty bad out there."[break][break]
Nox scurried up, clicking with displeasure and shaking the snow from his wings.[break][break]
Something about the tall, lanky, brown-haired main was familiar. Caleb's brow furrowed as he tried to recall where he'd seen him before. A Ranger meeting...? No, wait - [break][break]
"You're Jack," Caleb realized. "From the uh, fishing." He smiled a little despite the miserable conditions. "It's good to see you again."
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Glad that you've made it through all the shit that's been going on![break][break]
Caleb's expression darkened, despite knowing, logically, that there was no way Jack understood just how wrong he happened to be. Technically, Caleb had survived the ordeal at the Ancient Tomb. Technically, Caleb had survived Rocket capture. All it had cost was his trust in the League.[break][break]
"There should be something around," he muttered, joining Jack in rummaging around the station. He lead the other man into the break room, opening the fridge to find a six pack of leftover beer and a half-eaten veggie platter from the recent holiday party. "Bingo," he grinned, pulling out the beer.[break][break]
Nox hopped up onto the counter, peering out the small window above the sink. He clicked in alarm. When Caleb followed his gaze, he could see that the window's exterior was...entirely white. The blizzard was so thick now, it was impossible to see anything outside of the station.[break][break]
"Yeah, I think we're...going to have to hang out here for a bit."[break][break]
Caleb's apartment was in Slateport, but even he didn't want to brave the awful weather to trudge back to the other side of town. Pulling out a chair from the folding table, he sat down with a sigh and cracked one of the beers.[break][break]
"So how've you been?" He asked, remembering his manners.
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Caleb settled back in his chair, sipped his beer - which was decent - and listened to Jack. At the mention of the other man's advancement, he held up the beer can as if in salute. "Cheers to the promotion," he declared.[break][break]
His own elevation to Elite felt like a lifetime ago now. He'd stopped caring about ranking up, but he supposed it did mean something. At the very least, it gave recruits a goal to work towards. Caleb had once had actual career aspirations, but then he'd met angelo vestri and had nearly left the Rangers to run off with Nautica. And now...[break][break]
"I..."[break][break]
He almost lied. It would have been easy enough: make small talk over a six pack of beer, wait for the blizzard to blow over, and wish Jack well. Maybe they'd hang out again, maybe not.[break][break]
But the words died in his throat. As he crunched the empty beer can and tossed it in the direction of the trash bin (he missed, and it clattered to the floor), Caleb felt a sudden compulsion to be candid. As if doing so was the first step in achieving real retribution.[break][break]
"Different world, for sure." He forced himself not to break eye contact with Jack. "To be honest, I've been through hell recently. I was captured by Rocket, tortured, and abandoned by the League."
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Caleb had expected pity; he had even expected a defense of the League by a fellow Ranger. What he hadn't expected was empathy.[break][break]
"Jack - " Caleb started, sitting up slightly, feeling suddenly humbled by the understanding that flashed across the other man's face. He had some experience with capture and torture? Caleb wasn't the only one the League had failed to protect, it seemed.[break][break]
An unseen barrier crumbled, then; what had begun as a guarded indifference melted into a feeling of shared misery. The sort of camaraderie that can only manifest in the trenches. For all the denial, all the ignorance, all the hand-waving by League officials, here, finally, was someone who was willing to just listen.[break][break]
"Thank you," Caleb managed, absently running a hand through his hair. Outside, the wind howled like a lonely wolf. They sat in awkward silence, then Caleb cleared his throat.[break][break]
"Venting is all well and good, but I want action, Jack. The League seems scattered these days - unfocused, disorganized, irresponsible. Some new tragedy occurs on what feels like a daily basis. I was left to rot in a Rocket prison for nearly three months, and when I asked for an explanation, I was told - in so many words - that the League simply did not have enough resources to waste on me."[break][break]
He shook his head, appalled. Tired.[break][break]
"My guess is that, because I'm a Rocket defector, my rescue was deprioritized. I don't have proof of this, but I know enough about the League's divided sentiments regarding former Rockets to know there's likely at least some truth to it." Hands balled into fists, beer momentarily forgotten. "They say we have an Amnesty Program, but who's it actually for?"[break][break]
He sighed, flashing Jack an apologetic smile. "Sorry. This isn't your burden to bear. You've been dealing with your own bullshit, too, from the sounds of it."
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The tension broke. Caleb's entire body relaxed, uncoiling from the unconscious apprehension that always filled him when he admitted to his Rocket past. Recent arguments with Greyson Connors had put him on edge; memories of Orion Lykos's initial hatred a permanent stain. But jack wainwright only reflected back the same exact exhaustion Caleb felt: disappointment in a system that should have been helping rather than hurting.[break][break]
Caleb appreciated the support more than Jack could ever know.[break][break]
Backed by gratitude, he weighed Jack's question with the serious consideration it - and his support - deserved. What could they do, exactly?[break][break]
The sentiments of ollie morales and his insistence that the Amnesty Program was worth backing came to mind, then. Caleb grit his teeth, feeling conflicted, a mess of complicated emotions always rising when he thought of Ollie these days. Sometimes, optimism wasn't enough. Sometimes, compassion wasn't enough.[break][break]
Was it really so hard to do as Jack had done, and simply understand?[break][break]
"The Amnesty Program needs to be run by someone who gets it," Caleb decided. "One of the main people in charge is a good man, but he has no...perspective on what it's like to survive the Kanto regime. To be a Rocket defector in any capacity." Isaac Merlo had a story worth telling, for example. "Maybe I should get more involved in it. I've been...stubbornly resistant."[break][break]
A sheepish grin flashed across his face, then.
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Caleb took the offered beer, cracked it open, but did not drink - not yet. The storm seemed to be intensifying, building shuddering, but Caleb barely paid it much attention. Instead, he was focused entirely on the man sitting across from him. The man who had just offered, without a single breath of hesitation, to back Caleb up if he needed it. When the time came, he'd be there. He'd help.[break][break]
"Yes," he replied with a sudden conviction. "That is what I want to do."[break][break]
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