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Someone moves in her peripheral and she hesitates. She's since managed to call for an emergency weather change. Several Pokemon are working hard to perform a RAIN DANCE and she can feel the humidity swell before it bursts.[break][break]

"Lance?"[break][break]

Her eyes narrow at his condition. He wears his pain on his sleeve, she can see it through his fingers clutching his chest and the way he covers his cough. She shakes her head. Her Castform continues to call for rain until his cloudy body pops into a bright blue raindrop.[break][break]

Other Pokemon litter the field in much the same manner, some are even MIMICKING or COPYCATING the RAIN DANCE. [break][break]

It begins to pour warm rain when she moves closer to him.[break][break]

"You can help by going home. Have you seen a medic? There's no way I'm letting you anywhere near the fire, not in your condition."

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The rain relieves a horrible weight of heat. Steam rises and the Pokemon seem to strain, working impossibly hard to maintain the artificial storm. It's only a matter of time now, they just need to focus on evacuation and finding the source of the flames.[break][break]

His offhanded 'oh hey it's you' is dismissed because she's watching him struggle to even stay standing. As tough and macho as he makes himself out to be, she's seen his stubbornness first-hand; she's lived it.[break][break]

He is what she used to be, reckless and desperate to put himself in any situation at any cost.[break][break]

"I find that hard to believe. They'll send someone home for a twisted ankle."[break][break]

She frowns, clearly not convinced. Especially not when he insists. Insisting was always a tell, it was her tell.[break][break]

Her attention is quickly drawn away from him and back to the flames that seem to have only grown more violent despite the rain. Their efforts, while useful, aren't helping. She knew she'd have to handle it herself, but Lance would certainly follow. She could see the anticipation in his eyes.[break][break]

"We need ground-types. That means me. Unless you have something up your sleeve, you'll stay here with the rangers outside."[break][break]

She's already moving, wrapping her wet hair up into a bun on the top of her head and fully prepared to step into the danger to suffocate the flames from the inside.

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Stormy has released her Donphan and Baltoy. The psychic-type is adept in staving off crumbling foundation, protecting Stormy from anything that might fall on her physically. Donphan is able to navigate the mess. She coughs through the smoke, searching for the source.[break][break]

And when she finds it, she quashes it with Donphan's BULLDOZE.[break][break]

Baltoy searches idly for anyone trapped or nearby, but finds nothing because the building had already been evacuated. [break][break]

She brushes ash off of her clothing, keeping her arms close to her to try not to ruin her work clothes. But even still, the flames don't harm her if they do reach her. They burn away her uniform and that's it.[break][break]

Slowly but surely, it seems as though the ground-type moves from the inside are working to tame the wildfire. [break][break]

When she turns back she quite honestly expects to see Lance behind her. It had been expected, and she wasn't the type to argue - at least not when it came to personal duty. She argued everything else, always.[break][break]

But he isn't there and the fire next door is seething with rage. She can see a silhouette and she bolts from the steps to stop him. [break][break]

Because it looks like the ceiling is about to cave in from heat and pressure, and he's in the path.[break][break]

"Get out of there!"[break][break]

She reaches out and, by extension, so does Baltoy's psychic grasp. Somehow they manage to grab hold of him in some way, whether it be the back of his shirt, his hand, his elbow. [break][break]

And a burst of flame eats up where Lance had just been standing.

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Panic sends her into overdrive and she's pulling him away from the stairs before they crumble, before the building collapses. It's like someone gave her wings on her feet and she's pushing herself and Lance out of the building. They both collapse outside and she's catching her breath, wiping soot from her cheeks and sweat from her eyes and hair.[break][break]

But more than that, her heart is pounding as she watches the man stumble forward a few more paces. She scrapes her knee in her haste, scuffing skin through fabric as it tears in her haste. She's tripping over her own clumsiness, desperate to pick herself up to prevent him from falling to the ground. [break][break]

She's a second too late but she's kneeling next to him as he lays on the ground. Instinctively she's brushing soot from his own face, feeling his scalp for any bumps or cuts. Her own heart is hammering so loud with adrenaline that she can't immediately tell if he's breathing, so she pulls her hair away from her ear to press it to his chest. [break][break]

"Lance? You fucking idiot."[break][break]

She's prying the Pansage from his arms and checking it over for injury. Miraculously, it's unharmed. But Lance is coughing and she can hear the strain he's put on his lungs. She's scowling, trying to encourage him to a sitting up position, to clear his airways. [break][break]

With one hand wrapped around his armpit to lift him, she glances over her shoulder and yells for a medic.

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The process of standing is messy: a Pansage perches on her shoulders and tugs at her hair, hands clinging. The beast is needy, afraid, desperate to bury itself in her dark hair, but all he does is bring her discomfort.[break][break]

And yet she allows it because her focus is trained on the man pulling himself to his feet. She has her hand fastened to his wrist, strain leaving wrinkles in her forehead as her scalp is simultaneously tugged by Pansage and crinkled into concentration by her efforts to keep him steady on his feet. They stumble to the side, Stormy mindful of where she places her feet.[break][break]

The medic arrives, pressing an oxygen mask to his face and checking him for burns. It's at this point that she lets go and wrestles the Pansage from her head in order to prevent her going bald. The poor thing is terrified, its eyes searching the crowd for its trainer.[break][break]

But Stormy is more focused on the look in Lance's eye, the way he's drawn away to the next burning building. Frustration builds in her chest as she moves to block his view, to stare him down, to warn him.[break][break]

"Don't thank me until you're home safe. Are you trying to get yourself killed? I get it, you're a fantastic ranger, a real specimen. No one could possibly match you on the field for bravery and technique. Save it, man, I'm not letting you go back out there."

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The way he stares at her, through her, is unsettling. He's passionate about something, something she can't see when she searches his face. She isn't even sure he's looking at her at all. It makes her cold expression soften in concern, the anger keeping her composure stiff and demanding loosening to reveal worry.[break][break]

"Then it's reckless endangerment, and I'll have none of that on my squad."[break][break]

But the way he had answered her was so flat and honest, unlike anything else he'd ever said to her that she's floored. When he looks away from her she sucks in a breath, attention pulled to the medics while they speak. She's nodding along with them, agreeing to whatever they want. As long as it meant getting him out of harms way.[break][break]

"I'm coming with you. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

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