Orion bites his tongue around the urge to apologize again as Tam gets up to stretch. Heat warms Orion's cheeks at the sight of the other, still unclothed, and he glances away with a sudden shyness.

Tam wasn't talking much. He never talks much.

Perhaps he was having regrets? It was a one-night stand. People have those. Don't make it weird.

A quick glance around the room reveals none of his own clothes. Ah, right. They hadn't made it to the bedroom. Tam's impatience didn't bother him, though it did reinforce a certain assumption: It's not a big deal. Don't make it into one.

He'd fucked his boss. So what, right? No one was going to know. They're definitely going to know.

"Coffee," he echoes, as the offer drags him out of an anxiety spiral. "Yeah, coffee sounds great right now."

He's exhausted. He's not a morning person. He's also not a confident person, and so the short walk from the bed to the hallway where he'd shed his uniform feels a mile long. Still, he feels a little better once he's got some pants on, even if the struggle with his shirt around the metal limb is awkward and uncomfortable around someone new. He's used to dressing in the privacy of the ranch, where no one can see him fumble at buttons and belt loops for minutes on end.

Zombies? "Yeah, I guess so." Orion, too, feels bad for the Pokémon involved. "Looks like they recovered, but still..." Who knew what lasting effects such a thing might have?

He cants his head in thought.

"Could've been a TAILWIND. You said there was an Aerodactyl?" He's not sure if Aerodactyl are capable of such a feat, not specializing in the species, but he does know it's common among fliers. "Shadow Pokémon are much stronger than normal." He grimaces under a memory he'd rather suppress. "Hailee and I fought a couple at Mt. Pyre. I made my report to the captain in Fortree, but you could probably ask for a copy." I don't want to relive it again, goes unspoken. His beloved Hydreigon had perished among the graves of countless others.

Tam's injured in the moment, though, and he shakes off regrets like cobwebs to scowl at the captain.

"Tam. Next time? You could have died." They're in agreement about the need for preparations for the future, but, "You're acting like this isn't a big deal, and it is. What would the rest of us do if he'd killed you?"

What would I do? He keeps that to himself.

A soft gasp whispers past parted lips, head jerking back to thud against the wall. A burst of pain is overwhelmed by heat and pleasure, fingers curling against Tam's back as the captain marks him for his own.

Whatever he expects, it's not Tam on his knees, blue eyes full of a selfish hunger. Orion's flush spreads lower, lip caught between teeth as he bites back the sound that bubbles in his throat. Earlier concerns of the night vanish beneath careful ministrations, Orion's fingers finding purchase in the captain's soft locks. Whatever he wants is given freely, eagerly, for a simple chance to feel human again.

A name, whispered in reverence. "Tam."


Curled in the bed they would have one point sought, the warmth and comfort of another's steady breath nearby, the sun fails to wake Orion no matter how deeply it invades the room. So, too, do the sounds of the ocean and the distant cry of gulls go unnoticed in the depths of slumber.

It's something cold and damp against his foot that rouses him, the ranger coming to consciousness with an awareness of pain in his shoulder. Wincing, he rubs at the ache. You weren't supposed to sleep with prosthetics, but his mind had been wholly occupied the night before. He opens his eyes, squinting in the sun, to an unfamiliar room.

Panic, illogical and sudden, makes him bolt up in a bed that is not his own.

Oh. It takes only a few seconds to orient himself, to remember. This was no dungeon of torture. This was a house. A house belonging to his boss, Tam Fawley. With whom he'd just spent the night.

"Sorry." His voice is hoarse as he feels the bed shift, glances over at Tam. "Did I wake you up?"

The culprit for his own rude awakening appears to be a strange Zorua.

Orion makes a face as if he's tasted something foul, though it fades under flushed cheeks as the implication settles. Sober, he's far less oblivious, especially under the intensity of the captain's gaze.

"Oh, shut up." There's no heat, and even a hint of a smile as he breaks eye contact.

"It talks about the mist here," Orion affirms, scanning the report. "Not much about what it can do, except that apparently it can revive fainted Pokémon?" That would be convenient, except, "And control them."

He expects that hadn't happened to Tam; if it had, Orion thinks even the apathetic Fawley might have mentioned.

He catches Tam staring sadly at the incident board. A sympathetic grimace pulls at his lips as the captain laments his failure.

"Not like that was your fault. We're not built to fight avatars." Or not trained to, at any rate. Perhaps the new SYGNA SUITS picking up traction in Hoenn would help level out the playing field. "Was it just the one shipment?"

It seemed like they wouldn't send a high profile target for a single crate of eggs...

Gloves brush soft against bare skin, the kiss of cool night air barely felt beyond a flush of heat that follows the path of Tam's searching fingers. Orion lets his own hands wander with more confidence, now, thumbs hooked through Tam's belt loops as he leans up to meet another kiss. Tam tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, an oasis in the desert of Orion's overbearing loneliness.

Yet the other man isn't simply any port in a storm; he's sweet, in spite of his aloof demeanour and the demanding way in which his hands seek to uncover the night's final mysteries.

Through a curtain of dark hair, Orion's emerald gaze searches for guidance, quietly inviting the more assertive Tam to take the lead.

Orre? Why, then, had he assumed Unova? Ah, right. Because he associates a brooding, smoking guy with Slateport's Ranger Captain, Tam Fawley, who hailed from somewhere in Unova.

He laughs at the expression on @arashi's face.

"You can order it straight, but I'm not drunk enough yet."

Arashi expresses his sympathies toward Orion's missed mark, and Orion only grimaces. "Fucked up my damn arm trying to stop the chase. It's been stiff since." That would explain the jerkiness and stilted movement of the metal limb.

Laid. Orion's astounded as to how someone could be so bold.

"Good luck," is laughed off a little awkwardly. "I can keep you company 'til then."

mission: sleepless in slateport

Orion nearly chokes.

"Hotter— he's a terrorist, Tam!" As if Tam Fawley needs reminding, considering their battle. "You need to re-evaluate your tastes." That Tam and the aforementioned terrorist look as if they could be cousins doesn't register, but Orion does belatedly realise he'd just insulted himself in the process. Well. Still not wrong. He could hardly be considered a catch.

Green eyes go wide with concern as Orion watches Tam strip off his dusty, tattered gloves. He could have died.

"Escavalier," Orion mumbles, desperate for any excuse to focus his attention elsewhere. He's worried for Tam, he realizes, but doesn't know how to express it. "That's not mentioned anywhere here..."

Easily intimidated though he was, the towering presence of Tam's Tyranitar only makes Orion feel sorrow.

"Is your team OK...?"

"Tying — what?" Unfamiliar as the phrase might've been, Orion's clever enough to pick up on context. "That some kind of Unovan slang?"

He tilts his chin up in appreciation of the ordered drinks — Shochu with a splash of fruit juice, because he wasn't miserable enough to want his liquor straight today. He finishes off his second glass so that the barkeep can take it away.

"Some Rocket fuck got out of an arrest," the Ranger grumbles, "fried my radio so I couldn't get back-up." He didn't actually know that Isaac Merlo was Rocket, but his anger toward the organization that'd cut off his arm leads him to paint most criminals with their same brush. "Taking the edge off."

He shakes his head when Arashi asks if he minds the smoke, considering the offered pack. Why not?

He coughs on the inhale, blinking from the intensity of it. "Arceus. Haven't had a cigarette since high school." That doesn't stop him from taking another puff. "Why're you here, then?"

mission: sleepless in slateport

Tam's smirk makes him shiver, not unpleasant.

Breath escapes him in a soft huff as he's pushed back against the wall. He doesn't question the proximity of the bedroom, of comfort — it's Tam's proximity that matters, Tam's hands roaming as they work him out of his uniform.

He's my boss is distantly registered as he shrugs the Ranger's jacket from around his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His own touch is more hesitant as he reaches to unbutton the captain's shirt, the kiss of metal fingers no doubt cool against now-exposed skin. It's been so long, who cares? The lingering boldness of alcohol spurs him onward.

Tam ignores him, which is annoying but not wholly unexpected from what he's learned of the captain. He'd think Tam wasn't listening at all until he speaks up.

"You think?" How many corrupted leviathans does Tam think there are? "Pretty sure you'd know, if you had."

Orion struggles to rectify Tam's apathy with what should be, in his opinion, an incredibly alarming situation. If he hadn't been so furious when facing off against Chu-e Choi, he's sure he'd have been terrified. But Tam seems about as scared as he does angry, which is not at all.

He brings the files out into the shadowy breakroom, nudging the light switch with his elbow. Altair brushes past them to jump up onto one of the couches, tucking his white paws underneath him and watching impassively as Orion spreads the files out on the table.

The file on Cillian Quinn isn't hard to find, as there aren't many; Orion slides it over to Tam. Pictures evidently taken from HNN and government ids supplement what information they know. Known agent of Team Rocket wanted for war crimes in Kanto and Hoenn. Highly dangerous.

Orion fingers a page headed KNOWN POKEMON. "Did you see any of these?"

AERODACTYL, CORVIKNIGHT, EELEKTROSS, ROSERADE, TYRANITAR. And, of course, the SHADOW LUGIA.

Blurry stills from what must be video footage depict approximations of those listed, difficult to pick out details in the chaos of battle but offering an approximation of dark wings and bone-white spines.

If it were anyone else, Orion might've snapped at the off-hand comment, but Tam's teasing elicits a blush as Orion ducks his head, remembering in vivid detail how that night had ended.

"True."

Hailee doesn't make the situation any easier to deal with, unfortunately, her insistence that they must be playing some kind of a joke on her only serving to aggravate Orion's feelings of shame and regret. His lips part with every intention of clarifying the situation to her, but the building rage and the tightness with which his fellow cadet clutches her broom handle telegraphs her anger enough to see those words stick in his throat.

See, Orion can handle confrontation when he's upset, or when he's triggered. He absolutely cannot handle it when he's anxious and ashamed.

"I know," he mumbles, for what feels like the millionth time. It's not like I did it on purpose. He doesn't say that, though. He doesn't say anything else, because in the next moment a broom's being hurled at him like a makeshift javelin.

He's surprised enough that he doesn't dodge.

"Fuck — ow!" His own rage blossoms beneath pain, however minor. "What the fuck?"

His muscles, both meat and metal, tense in preparation for a confrontation, and he steps back only to feel the wall against his spine. Hopefully Tam's hand on her shirt would be enough to stop Hailee from swinging on him, because there wasn't anywhere he could retreat to and his reflexes are primed.

Lips part easily to offer access, the graze of tongue and teeth a reassurance for his insecurities that words alone will never offer. He tilts his head up when Tam kisses his jaw, eyes fluttering closed.

Anxiety returns with skin-prickling insistence when the captain pauses, still so close that Orion can feel the feather-light touch of his lips. What's wrong? he wants to ask, but he's paralyzed in the moment. Blessedly, Tam doesn't make him wait long.

"Yes," he chokes out, whispered, but opens his eyes to meet that sky blue gaze with intensity. "Please."

He's so tired of feeling alone.

Lighting does not improve the situation.

"Are you?" Orion's words are perhaps a little too sharp, edged with concern. "You don't look fine."

He looks like he's been through hell, and the captain's next words don't help. Orion sputters in disbelief, words lost on him as he watches Tam retrieve a first aid kit.

"You need a file for that?" Tact is also something Orion lacks. "How many known avatars do they even have? Darkrai, Lugia — whatever the fuck that other guy is." It still infuriates him that he can't recall Chu-e Choi's name. "Did you see them use their powers? Did they look like the posters? Arceus, Tam."

Yet for all his fussing, Orion does cross the room to start looking through the files.