Howard had seen many angles of Grigori Sokolov. Calm and collected, in pain both physically and mentally, sad, tired. Peaceful, like the time in the wild Power Plant when he accepted death. Anger, when he threw his door off its hinges. But there was one thing he hadn’t seen yet. An even rarer emotion than rage.

Grigori greeted him with a fearful, panicked expression as he quickly tried to move past Howard. “Please, excuse me–”

“Oh, Mr. Howard, thank goodness you’re here,” he hugged the man with his classic bear hug. How oppressive it felt, how tight his arms wrapped around his body and threatened to choke the air from his lungs. He pushed his cowboy hat off his head inadvertently. “What happened? Is she fine? Has she woken up yet?”

“What floor was she on?” The grunt let go and reached for the elevator buttons. There were so many to choose from, but apprehension stopped him in his tracks. “Mr. Howard, quickly, what floor?”

His fingers hovered over the control panel, ready to slam whichever one corresponded to June’s room. A dozen thoughts raced inside his head all at once, and none of them coherent. Arceus, is this how June felt all the time? This was agony. How did he make them calm down? The answer was obvious, but it required him to get this elevator moving. 

---

howard slayte

"Stop." His voice rang with the unmistakable burr of an order. An order from admin to grunt was to be obeyed absolutely, but Howard also knew that Grigori would never listen to an order when June was on the line, especially when the one who issued the command was close to him.

They may have been different ranks, but they were equals. There was only one thing that he could tell the older man to halt his advance.

"I told her." He said as he pressed a button. The doors to the elevator slowly hissed shut with a melancholic whine. "She knows about the island. She knows that I tried to kill her."

The elevator grinded to a halt as Howard hit the emergency stop button. The two were left with silence as they were stuck between floors.

"She's pissed, I'd give her..." Howard checked his watch. "...about five minutes to cool down. I'd also cover your head when you enter, lest she throw something at you."

He smiled wryly as he imagined June throwing a motorcycle part at Grigori's head. Knowing the senior grunt, he'd probably catch it with one hand or something equally obscene. Grigori was good at fighting. Hell, it was all he knew.

"Congrats, you got what you wanted. You got your precious apology." He looked up at the grunt. "How does that make you feel? I did what you asked."

---

Grigori Sokolov

Instinct gave Grigori pause. Even if the voice felt entirely out of place, the command and authority behind it gave Howard enough time to send the elevator between the ground and second floor. What was going on with the man?

Oh. “I-I see, Mr. Howard.”

But something was off. For starters, he expected Howard to be an absolute mess. Crying, sniveling, with teary eyes and a runny nose. Instead, he looked… something else entirely. Calm? At ease? And why did he smile as he warned him of the danger that lay ahead? June wouldn’t throw something at him at this point.

But the way he looked up at him, as if he held some trump card in his hand, waiting for Grigori to foolishly blunder his curated hand. The grunt understood that their last meeting at Howard’s apartment had ended rather poorly, but… was this the type of man to hold a grudge for that long?

Of course. History was second nature.

“Well, I feel… happy for you,” he answered truthfully. It did little to calm his nerves, as he was still oblivious to June’s condition. “I apologize for how harshly I pushed you, those months ago. It’s just… it’s important to hold on to those types of relationships for as long as you can.”

If only he knew.

“But, Mr. Howard, this isn’t about me. Are… are you okay?” he said. Something was wrong-he could feel it in his bones. Maybe the archeologist was in shock, or simply too stimulated to understand how to feel. Grigori grabbed the man by the shoulders and started to massage them, "It's okay, Mr. Howard, everything will be alright."

---

howard slayte

"Why do you feel happy for me? This was all for you, wasn't it? You and her." Howard blinked slowly, his missing eye a scarred mess under his eyepatch. Within it was a Key Stone, a proof of his commitment to his craft. When he tore out that eye, he had vowed to never be brave again.

Yet here he was.

"That relationship June and I had has burned away to cinders. It's impossible to recover it now. I had to push her away from Rocket. She shouldn't interfere with us anymore."

The words taste like ash. It had been done, but the victory had been pyrrhic. He wanted to back and apologize, but... no. He had threatened her. A threat that would live with her until her final days.

But if it kept her away from Rocket, that would be enough. If that kept Matchstick from the battlefield, that would be enough.

"Remind me why I did this, Grigori." Howard's voice was a murmur. He wanted to cry and weep and scream, but he buried those emotions under a mask. He was used to wearing one of those, now. "You broke into my house and threatened me, but why? What was the reason, again?"

He had not forgotten. Howard needed to hear Grigori say it, though. He needed to hear the older man's reasoning for forcing both him and June through this debacle. 

---

Grigori Sokolov

Burned away to cinders? Grigori’s pupils dilated as Howard told him the vague, symbolic details of his encounter with June. What did he mean by impossible to recover?

What had he done?

“Mr. Howard, you’re concerning me,” The grunt let go of Howard and fell back into the elevator wall. Like a lost puppy, unsure of where it was or who this ‘stranger’ was. “I’m sorry for how I approached the subject. I wanted you to apologize to June for what you did because that’s what friends do. They’re honest about their mistakes.”

“And they forgive each other.”

Sure, not right that second. Or maybe a month, or two, or three, or seven, or years. Sometimes, some things were unforgivable. Grigori’s situation firmly fell into the last camp, but that was irrelevant. Howard’s situation might’ve led to him and June never talking again.

But to never tell her was a death sentence. Because if she ever found out, there would be no ‘maybes’ about it. It was one thing to make a mistake; it was another thing entirely to sweep it under the rug and hope they never feel it beneath their feet.

“I wanted you to do it for everyone’s sake. Mine, June’s– but your own was the most important. Otherwise, it would be an empty apology."

Desire to make amends had to come from within. Did Howard that have in mind when he told her? Why shouldn't she 'interfere' with 'us' anymore? It sounded like he did it for the sake of Team Rocket instead.

---

howard slayte

"You're wrong. It was for you. You have to know that, right?" Howard peered into Grigori's eyes, searching for something. "No. You actually believe that this was the right choice."

Not for Rocket. Never for Rocket. Grigori wouldn't understand that, though. This was for her, and for him. June would never be harmed by Rocket again, and Grigori wouldn't have to carry that burden of protecting her, anymore. He still would, but that was irrelevant. He had destroyed himself so that June would have a monster to point at.

That monster didn't have to be Grigori. It could be him.

"No, this was for you. All it did was transfer my misery onto her. Do you think she'll be happier, knowing that someone she trusted blasted her out of the sky?" Howard chuckled and shook his head. "No. She'll never look at anyone the same way again. My guilt has become fear, and it has transferred to her. That's all this was, Grigori. An emotional exchange."

The elevator beeped, reminding them that they were stuck between floors. Howard pressed a button and the elevator began to move.

"She will never forgive me. It's over, Grigori. Rocket takes everything, and leaves nothing left." Howard spread his hands. "We're even."

---

Grigori Sokolov

How could Howard be so blind? So ignorant? Grigori looked down to the floor, defeated. “Mr. Howard, Rocket only takes when you let it. It requires a failure on the part of oneself to happen.”

Some people joined willingly. Others, they would never be able to convince. It was those in the middle, on the fence, or vaguely interested, that were the prime pickings. Fulfill a specific need, or convince them that they need Rocket in some way, and they’re one step away from being recruited. They preyed on the vulnerable in droves. The needy. Money was always an easy one. From there, they kept taking whenever allowed to fully convert.

But to put the blame solely on Grigori’s shoulders? A step further. “I did not tell you to burn or ‘exchange emotions’. I told you that you need to apologize for something you were clearly bent over yourself for. Because that’s what people who are guilty do, when they want to try and fix things.”

Nothing made sense anymore, as the elevator’s drone filled the small space. The grunt racked his head, desperate for some explanation, some meaning behind all of this. There were clear leaps in logic that fell short of a proper conclusion. What part of the equation did he or Howard clearly miss?

A dangerous thought stabbed him in the brain, and his mind cracked. The dots connected, back to where it all began. There weren’t wrong, misjudged leaps: this entire journey was doomed from the start. Slowly, his wide eyes met Howard’s. Grigori’s right eye twitched.

“You’re running away,” he whispered. Of course– how could Grigori himself be so blind? Oh, he was right to be worried from the start. If it weren't for the circumstances, he'd give the man a pat on the back and a gold star. Instead, he felt sick to his stomach.

“You are running away again, but not just that– you’re burning the bridge June would use to chase after you.” Isolating himself from the problem by making sure she could never catch up. So she never had a reason to want to.

---

howard slayte

"She cannot chase after me. I won't let her die for something senseless, on another ill-gotten battlefield. Grigori, listen to me." He clasped the man's shoulder with remarkably firm strength. "You cannot protect her from every single person in Rocket. Even if I have her whitelisted from harm, that won't stop someone from crushing her. Eventually, you're going to pick a fight in her defense, and it is a fight that you will lose."

Beast Harcourt, Underboss Quinn, Underboss Fiorelli. These were all people that would sweep Grigori aside like a pile of leaves in a hurricane. It didn't matter that Grigori's history with Rocket went far beyond theirs, it didn't matter how strong of a trainer he was...

They were chosen, and Grigori was not. They would crush him and forget about it by the day after. He meant nothing to them, but he meant a lot to Howard.

"There was no apology I could give that would not result in this outcome. There was no world in which we remained friends." Howard squeezed his eye shut for a moment. There would be no more carnivals. She'd never deliver something to him again.

She was gone.

"Exchanging emotions is what an apology is. We should have let that incident be forgotten. I would've carried the guilt until it broke my back, and I would've been fine with it." The elevator went up another floor, and the doors began to rattle open.

"I'll run, and she'll never catch up. This is the best outcome for her." Howard gestured towards the open elevator door. "Go. She's at the end of the hall with Matchstick."

---

Grigori Sokolov

Grigori looked to the open door, then back to Howard. He squinted, then stepped over to the control panel and hit the button for the ground floor. The doors slid back shut and the whine of the motor once more filled the air.

“I’m not letting you run from me, Mr. Howard.”

“I don’t even know where to start with you,” a scowl emerged. He’d gone over a surprising amount of material in such a succinct amount of words. It felt like an impenetrable wall of content that was supposed to collapse in on the grunt and crush him beneath its reasoning.

“How about this,” he leaned back against the wall, “Why do you keep thinking that your relationship was best to end like this. This–this–’Scorched Earth’ approach. Even if– and that’s very big if– your relationship never recovered after you told her, then would that seriously be worse than whatever the hell you did?”

Ultimately, without knowledge of how their conversation went, this wasn’t even a guaranteed end. Knowing June, she was probably more pissed that Howard had hurt Matchstick than herself. Inseparable, they were. It’d been an especially sore point whenever he visited them in the weeks after their departure from the island.

“What, did you threaten her? That’s the only thing I can think of that’d lead to this. And I don’t know if she told you, but that’s not an issue anymore. The League barred June from pulling her little stunt again. They didn’t appreciate a civilian on the front lines.”

A relief, to be frank. It meant that the factional conflict wasn’t going to be a problem, so long as Rocket didn’t directly attack her. Less he had to worry about. Fewer chances for the grunt to act up and cause more problems. Get himself on more shit-lists.

“Rocket would have to deliberately go out of their way for some nobody-delivery girl,” he crossed his arms. “One you’ve put on the whitelist.”

---

howard slayte

"No. She would have found a way." A tone of acid dripped from his mouth, toxic and vile. Yet it was mixed with admiration and fear. The idea of June being wounded on another battlefield caused Howard's heart to skip a beat. "You underestimate her in your attempts to protect her."

From his analysis of the delivery woman, June would break a mountain in half if it were in her way. She was headstrong, and that strength was a weakness in this situation.

"She knows I'm in Rocket, so yes, I threatened her. You know I would never act on it, Grigori." At least, he hoped that Grigori knew that. Their relationship was strained, but Howard's track record for biting back was remarkably shallow. He was an admin that was remarkably easy to walk over.

That's why Grigori's reliance on whitelisting June made Howard quiver. It was a paper shield. Would it really stop any of June's prior assailants from biting back?

No.

"It's done, though. It's why you need to keep an eye on her. Direct her. My position as admin isn't as firm as you think, I can't keep her safe alone." He clenched the older man's shoulders. "Especially with my whispers of treason."

He sighed, deflating. If he had known that June's safety relied on his position as admin, he would've taken the position with far more gusto.

"We cannot control her every move. She will... he smiled without humor. "...move as she wishes. She's free-spirited that way."

---

Grigori Sokolov

“Mr. Howard, have you ever tried to herd a Skitty? As someone who had to try in the last few months, you can’t.”

Of course Grigori knew of her behavior. He’d been the one to try to talk her out of the island initially. And then, when she insisted on a repeat of the ‘work herself to death’ thing for the holidays, he advised against it. Neither time did it work.

And those were just the relevant moments.

The grunt pushed off Howard’s tight hands and paced to the other side of the cramped metallic box. Unbelievable. “So you were aware of how hard it is to direct her, you gave her an empty threat. Don’t you think she’ll catch on eventually? Hoenn isn’t as big as you think.”

“You two will run into each other again,” he said as he turned back around. “And when you fail to act on it, she’ll start to catch on. So, once again, why aim for Scorched Earth when it won’t even last the year? The simple truth would have the same outcome, but there's still a chance for your relationship to be salvaged.”

Arceus above, it was like the man threw a Molotov on the ground and started to blindly run away. For all he knew, it could’ve fallen straight into the water and fizzled out. He had guaranteed nothing– yet he spoke in nothing but. Something wasn’t adding up. How could a man be so confident in something so uncertain?

---

howard slayte

Yes, he wouldn't act on it, but the others would. A whitelisting was a paper shield, but it wouldn't stop their colleagues. This was all he could do.

"It was a mistake, but there is no good route to success here. If it lasts six months, that'll be better than zero. There will be a battle, soon."

Howard didn't know where it would be, but he knew that the League and Rocket hadn't clashed since Regice had been recovered. Even that had been a minor dispute compared to what both factions were capable of. If the target was something greater, then the intensity of the battle would vastly increase.

If Howard could keep June away from one battle, it would be enough.

"There's a chance, but we have larger issues." His tone was soothing, placating, as his brow furrowed in thought. You, for one. You butting heads with all of my colleagues, for one. "You're too invaluable, now. The situation has changed."

Grigori would be needed for this task. He knew her well. He was irreplaceable in this task, something that someone hadn't told the grunt in the thirty years he had been in Rocket.

"I'm promoting you to work in my unit." Howard blinked once, slowly. "Rocket won't accept a grunt talking to an admin in this way. I suppose you'll need a shield, too."

If he knew of Grigori's adventures with the other higher ups, he didn't show it.

---

Grigori Sokolov

He didn’t think there existed such a curveball that would get him off the original topic altogether. Yet as Howard offered– forced, rather, a rank up onto the grunt, Grigori did a double take. “Wh-what do you mean promotion?”

He’d spent the last thirty years out of the limelight. As he’d grown into Rocket, and they offered him promotion after promotion, he turned them down or literally did not do the job, if they forced it on him. Soon enough, they got the memo and stopped. He was just one man, and there were always those more willing.

Yet all it took was a step into his personal life for that work to be dashed against the rocks. By a man who knew little about his past, and probably cared even less.

“Invaluable? The situation has changed? None of this makes any sense, Mr. Howard. Not one bit,” he crossed his arms and bit his lip. How did he go from panic to worry to frustration to disbelief? The emotional whiplash hurt his figurative neck. “And it sounds like you’re pulling the rank card.”

It was only a matter of time. At least it wasn’t done out of malice or hatred. “... I’m in no position to decline, Mr. Slayte.”

Nothing personal; he called all the higher-ups by their last name. If Howard wanted to act the part, he’d be addressed as it too.

---

howard slayte