Occupational Hazards

Chapter Six

Occupational Hazards

“LEFT!”

“I KNOW!”

“You are going right!”

“I KNOW THAT TOO!”

Gray nearly lost his footing as the tunnel floor dipped beneath him, caught himself against the wall with one hand, and kept running.

Behind them came the sound of furious excavation.

It was an extremely distinctive sound.

Gray had heard cave-ins. He had heard controlled blasting. He had heard Onix tearing through compacted soil and Graveler rolling down a mountainside.

An enraged colony of Diglett and Dugtrio chasing two men through a narrow abandoned mining tunnel somehow sounded worse than all of them.

Roark was several feet ahead, helmet lamp bouncing wildly against the walls as he ran.

“You said they were docile!”

“I said they’re usually docile!”

A Diglett burst from the ground between them.

Gray jumped over it.

The little Ground-type squealed furiously and vanished back into the soil.

“THIS DOES NOT LOOK DOCILE!”

Roark glanced over his shoulder. “Stop yelling! You’re making them mad!”

Gray stared at the back of his head while running.

“They are already mad!”

“That doesn’t mean we need to make it worse!”

A Dugtrio erupted from the wall.

Not the floor.

The wall.

Gray had approximately half a second to wonder how that worked anatomically before three furious heads started snapping at his sleeve.

He jerked away.

“Why are they in the wall?”

Roark grabbed Gray by the shoulder and hauled him around the next bend. “Not the time!”

“It is exactly the time! That raises questions!”

“Run first! Questions later!”

That was reasonable.

Gray hated that.

They ran.

The tunnel had seemed fascinating twenty minutes ago.

It remained fascinating now.

This was part of the problem.

The old branch underneath the ranch had continued farther than either of them expected. What they had initially assumed was one exploratory tunnel had turned into a mess of narrow side passages, old support timbers, collapsed sections, and at least one ventilation shaft that no longer opened anywhere useful.

Roark had returned that morning carrying three historical survey maps, two thermoses, and a bag of pastries.

Gray had decided this was an acceptable way for another person to arrive at eight in the morning.

Lyra had been less impressed.

Gray and Roark had spent the next several hours comparing the old maps to Rowan’s property records. Eventually, the obvious thing happened.

They went underground.

Lyra objected.

They wore helmets.

She objected less.

They took Bastiodon and Roark’s Onix as far as the main junction, then left both Pokémon behind when the secondary passage narrowed.

That had been responsible.

Gray wished someone were present to appreciate this.

Everything remained perfectly safe until Roark found a cluster of unusually rounded stones embedded in a side chamber.

Gray had crouched to inspect them.

Roark had said, “Those aren’t stones.”

Gray had said, “Obviously.”

Roark had said, “Then why are you touching one?”

Gray had said, “I’m not.”

He had, in fact, been touching one.

The first Diglett appeared approximately three seconds later.

Then another.

Then six.

Then a Dugtrio.

Then enough movement started beneath the floor that Gray concluded they had discovered either a major nesting chamber or the headquarters of some previously unknown subterranean military organization.

Roark apologized.

Gray had asked why.

Roark had said, “I don’t know. It felt appropriate.”

Then the Dugtrio attacked his boot.

They had been running ever since.

The tunnel widened ahead.

Roark pointed.

“Main junction!”

Gray could see Bastiodon at the far end.

The old Pokémon had already stood.

Beside him, Roark’s Onix raised its enormous head.

Gray had never been so pleased to see either of them.

“Move!”

Bastiodon understood immediately.

He stepped aside.

Roark reached the junction first and slid halfway around the support beam instead of slowing properly. Gray followed less gracefully, nearly collided with him, and recovered just as three Diglett erupted into the chamber behind them.

The Dugtrio came next.

Then another.

Roark stared.

Gray stared.

The Ground-types stared back.

There was a moment of silence.

Roark breathed heavily beside him. “Okay.”

Gray kept one hand against the wall while catching his breath. “Do not say anything stupid.”

“I was going to say we should de-escalate.”

“That is acceptable.”

The closest Dugtrio shrieked.

Bastiodon moved forward.

Gray immediately put a hand against his armor.

“No. We started it.”

Roark looked sideways. “We?”

Gray turned his head slowly.

Roark grinned despite being out of breath.

Gray pointed. “Not now.”

The Diglett colony had stopped advancing.

Good.

Gray looked at the closest Dugtrio.

Three heads.

All furious.

Understandable.

He crouched slowly.

Roark whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Apologizing.”

“To Dugtrio?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Gray thought about that.

“Improvising.”

He removed his pack.

The Dugtrio watched.

Gray opened one side compartment and pulled out a small bag of dried root treats intended for Ground-types.

Roark looked at him.

“You carry those?”

“I own a Marowak, Donphan, Steelix, and several other things that appreciate them.”

“You have a Steelix?”

“Later.”

Gray opened the bag and placed several treats on the ground.

Then he backed away.

Nothing happened.

The Dugtrio stared.

Gray waited.

One Diglett emerged beside the treats.

It sniffed.

Took one.

Vanished.

Several more appeared.

Roark leaned closer to Gray and whispered, “Are we bribing them?”

“Yes.”

“That’s your scientific approach?”

“Would you prefer battle?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

The treats disappeared quickly.

The Dugtrio stopped shrieking.

The atmosphere improved from murderous to resentful.

Gray could work with resentful.

He placed more food down.

Roark opened his own pack.

“I have crackers.”

Gray looked at him.

“For Ground-types?”

“For me.”

“Then no.”

“I have an apple.”

“Still no.”

“Half a sandwich?”

Gray stared.

Roark raised both hands.

“Just helping.”

“You can help by not feeding wild Pokémon processed lunch meat.”

A Diglett appeared near Roark’s boot.

He froze.

The Diglett looked upward.

Roark looked downward.

“Hi.”

Gray whispered, “Don’t move.”

“I wasn't planning to.”

The Diglett sniffed the boot.

Then bit the lace.

Roark sighed.

“Oh, come on.”

Gray smiled.

“Apparently they’ve forgiven us.”

The Diglett pulled harder.

Roark's lace snapped.

Gray laughed.

“Mostly.”

They eventually made it out without further violence.

Their dignity did not survive.

The tunnel opening emerged into the central ranch paddock, where the afternoon sun felt much brighter after several hours underground.

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Gray climbed out first.

His clothes were covered in dirt.

His sweater had a rip near one elbow.

One knee was muddy.

His helmet was crooked.

Roark emerged behind him looking worse.

His jacket was streaked brown from shoulder to waist, his glasses had somehow accumulated dirt on the inside of one lens, and one boot was unlaced because a Diglett now owned part of it.

Gray looked at him.

Roark looked at Gray.

They started laughing.

It was difficult not to.

The entire incident had been stupid.

Not dangerously stupid.

Mostly.

Gray had learned useful things.

There was definitely a significant Diglett colony beneath the eastern portion of the property. That explained several minor soil disturbances Marcus had recorded. It also meant they needed to mark the habitat and stop disturbing that branch.

Useful result.

Terrible methodology.

Roark took his helmet off.

“I blame you.”

Gray wiped dirt from his cheek with the back of one hand. “You identified the nesting chamber.”

“You touched it.”

“I touched one object.”

“It was a Diglett.”

“It was mostly underground!”

“That is what Diglett does!”

“Which creates a separate anatomical problem that nobody has satisfactorily answered.”

Roark stared at him.

“Are you seriously doing this now?”

“Yes.”

“You were almost bitten in the ass ten minutes ago.”

“By a Dugtrio, which makes the underground structure even more interesting because the visible heads—”

“Gray.”

He stopped.

Roark shook his head, laughing.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Before Gray could respond, a woman's voice came from behind them.

“What happened to you?”

Both men turned.

Lyra stood on the path outside the laboratory.

She had a folder tucked beneath one arm.

Her hair was tied back.

There was a coffee in one hand.

Gray recognized the expression immediately.

She was not surprised.

That offended him.

“Why do you assume something happened?”

Lyra looked at his ripped sweater.

Then at Roark's broken boot lace.

Then at the dirt covering both of them.

Then at the tunnel.

“I don't know. Intuition.”

Gray removed his helmet.

“We found Diglett.”

Roark snorted.

Lyra looked at him. “Apparently.”

“No, I mean a lot of Diglett.”

“And Dugtrio,” Gray added.

Roark nodded. “Several.”

Lyra's eyes narrowed. “How several?”

Gray considered.

“Enough.”

“That isn't a number.”

“Between four and angry.”

Roark laughed.

Lyra looked at Gray with the patient disappointment she usually reserved for missed meals.

“You were supposed to be inspecting the mapped branch.”

“We did.”

“And?”

“It was longer.”

“So naturally you kept going.”

“Yes.”

Roark said, “To be fair, there were old support changes that suggested—”

He stopped.

Lyra had looked at him.

Not angrily.

Just looked.

Roark's entire train of thought visibly derailed.

Gray noticed.

That was interesting.

Very interesting.

Roark cleared his throat and adjusted his helmet even though he was no longer wearing it.

Or rather, tried to.

His hand reached toward his head, found nothing, then awkwardly dropped back to his side.

“The supports,” he said. “Were old.”

Lyra blinked.

Gray looked at Roark.

Roark did not look at Gray.

Lyra said, “I assumed.”

“Right.”

Silence.

Gray's eyebrows rose slightly.

Roark glanced toward him.

Gray smiled.

Roark's eyes narrowed.

Don't.

Gray smiled wider.

Lyra continued, apparently unaware.

“Did either of you get hurt?”

“No,” Gray said.

At the same time, Roark said, “Gray fell.”

Gray turned.

“I slipped.”

“You went down.”

“One knee touched the ground.”

“You disappeared behind a rock.”

“For half a second.”

Lyra looked at Gray.

He immediately regretted Roark's presence.

“I am fine.”

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Gray.”

“No injury occurred.”

Roark said, “He also hit his shoulder.”

Gray stared at him.

Roark looked innocent.

“You have been here a day and already learned betrayal.”

Lyra set her folder and coffee on the fence post.

Then she walked closer.

Gray sighed and allowed her to inspect the shoulder.

Nothing hurt.

Because nothing was wrong.

She pressed around it anyway.

Gray tolerated this with dignity.

Mostly.

Roark stood nearby.

Watching.

Gray noticed that too.

Not the examination.

Lyra.

Roark was trying not to stare.

Badly.

Very badly.

Gray had never seen somebody who could identify mineral composition from ten feet away become this incompetent because a woman tucked loose hair behind one ear.

It was fascinating.

Lyra finished.

“You're fine.”

Gray spread his hands.

“As predicted.”

“You still need to clean the scrape on your elbow.”

Gray looked.

There was, in fact, a scrape.

He frowned.

“That wasn't there before.”

Roark laughed.

“You ripped your sleeve.”

“I knew about the sleeve.”

“How did you know about the sleeve and not the arm inside it?”

“Different observational priorities.”

Lyra picked up her coffee.

Then looked at Roark.

“You?”

Roark straightened.

“What?”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Too fast.

Lyra looked him over.

Roark suddenly seemed unsure what to do with his arms.

He crossed them.

Uncrossed them.

Put one hand in a pocket.

Removed it because apparently that was wrong too.

Gray watched with growing delight.

Lyra pointed toward his boot.

“You're bleeding.”

Roark looked down.

A small red line crossed the exposed skin above the boot.

“Oh.”

Gray started laughing.

Roark looked at him.

“You didn't notice either.”

“I wasn't claiming superiority.”

“You're laughing.”

“Yes.”

Lyra sighed.

“Both of you. Medical room.”

Gray's amusement died.

“No.”

She looked at him.

Gray gave up immediately.

“Fine.”

Roark smiled.

Lyra turned away.

Roark watched her go.

Gray watched Roark watch her go.

Several seconds passed.

Roark finally noticed.

“What?”

Gray's smile returned.

“Nothing.”

Roark pointed at him.

“Don't.”

Gray put both hands in his pockets and started toward the lab.

“I didn't say anything.”

“You're thinking loudly.”

“That isn't possible.”

“With you, apparently it is.”

Gray laughed.

Roark muttered something under his breath and followed.

Blissey considered both of them idiots.

Gray knew this because he was familiar with her expressions.

Roark learned quickly.

The two men sat on adjacent examination tables while Blissey cleaned the scrape on Gray's elbow and Lyra worked on Roark's ankle.

Roark was having a worse time.

Not medically.

Socially.

Lyra knelt beside his boot and inspected the shallow cut.

“This isn't bad.”

Roark looked straight ahead.

“Good.”

“Probably caught the edge of a stone.”

“Yeah.”

“You should clean these immediately when you're underground.”

“I usually do.”

Gray watched from the other table.

Roark glanced at Lyra.

Lyra looked up.

Roark looked away.

Amazing.

Blissey pressed disinfectant against Gray's elbow.

He flinched.

“Ow.”

Blissey stared.

“I said ow. Not stop.”

She continued.

Gray's attention returned to Roark.

Lyra finished cleaning the cut.

“You work in the Oreburgh Mine, right?”

Roark brightened immediately.

“Yes.”

There.

Competence restored.

“At the mine and the Gym, mostly. I do survey work too.”

“You're the Gym Leader?”

Roark nodded. “Yeah.”

“I thought I recognized you.”

And there it went again.

Roark's brain visibly stopped.

“You did?”

Lyra smiled slightly. “I've watched a few Gym matches.”

“Oh.”

Gray looked between them.

Roark was red.

Not dramatically.

Enough.

Gray had to bite the inside of his cheek.

Lyra continued wrapping the ankle.

“You use Cranidos.”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting battle style.”

Roark opened his mouth.

Nothing.

Gray looked away because if he watched much longer he would laugh.

Roark eventually managed, “Thanks.”

It came out too quiet.

Lyra didn't seem to notice.

Gray did.

Blissey did too.

Gray could tell.

Blissey glanced toward Roark, then back at Gray.

Gray's eyes widened slightly.

You see this?

Blissey's mouth curved.

She saw it.

Excellent.

Now there were two of them.

Lyra secured the bandage.

“That should be fine.”

Roark looked down.

Then at her.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

She stood.

Roark stood too quickly and nearly put full weight on the foot before remembering it hurt.

He caught himself.

Lyra put one hand against his arm automatically.

“Careful.”

Roark froze.

Gray made a choking noise.

Lyra looked over.

“What?”

Gray coughed.

“Nothing.”

Roark glared.

Blissey patted Gray's elbow harder than necessary.

He winced.

Apparently she disapproved of bullying.

Gray would remember this.

Lyra picked up her folder.

“I have actual work to do. Neither of you is allowed underground again today.”

Gray opened his mouth.

“No.”

He closed it.

Roark watched her leave.

Gray waited until the door shut.

Then counted silently.

One.

Two.

Three.

Roark said, “Not a word.”

Gray exploded laughing.

Roark covered his face.

“Fuck you.”

Gray laughed harder.

“You forgot how arms work.”

“I hate you.”

“She asked about Cranidos and you said ‘thanks.’”

“She complimented my battling!”

“You've defeated hundreds of challengers!”

“That is different!”

“How?”

Roark looked toward the closed door.

Then back at Gray.

“I don't know.”

Gray grinned.

“Excellent answer.”

Roark groaned.

Blissey made a pleased sound.

Roark looked at her.

“Not you too.”

Blissey smiled sweetly.

Gray wiped tears from his eyes.

“This is the best thing that's happened all week.”

“I came here to look at tunnels.”

“You came here because you wanted to see me.”

“That was last week.”

“And now you're staying for Lyra.”

Roark pointed.

“That is not true.”

Gray's smile widened.

“Sure.”

Roark grabbed a pillow from the examination table and threw it at him.

Gray ducked.

Blissey immediately became furious.

Both men stopped.

The pillow had landed on a tray.

Gray looked at Blissey.

Roark looked at Blissey.

Blissey slowly pointed toward the door.

They left.

Over the next several days, Gray discovered that Roark had developed an impressive number of reasons to visit Sandgem.

The tunnel genuinely needed work.

That was true.

Old survey documents genuinely needed comparing.

Also true.

The Diglett colony needed mapping so the ranch could avoid disturbing it.

Perfectly reasonable.

Roark also brought Gray a book on historical Sinnoh mining practices that had been sitting in Oreburgh's municipal archive for years.

Useful.

Then he brought an old fossil fragment he wanted Gray's opinion on.

Interesting.

Then he appeared because he was “already nearby.”

Oreburgh was not nearby.

Gray did not mention this.

At first.

By the end of the second week, Roark had become familiar enough with the ranch that Aggron greeted him automatically.

Roark learned to dodge the first lick.

He never dodged the second.

Chatot adored him.

This was a disaster.

Roark had taught Chatot three new phrases.

“Rock solid!”

“Nice helmet!”

And, somehow:

“LYRA!”

Gray had confronted him about the last one.

Roark denied involvement.

Gray did not believe him.

Lyra found it funny.

Roark nearly walked into a fence the first time she laughed at something he said.

Gray was having the time of his life.

Then normal work intervened.

Days filled.

Trainer appointments increased.

Research proposals arrived.

The League requested reports.

Gray spent three days reviewing old archaeological permits and another two arguing about the lab's fossil restoration budget.

Roark returned to Oreburgh more regularly.

The tunnel stabilized.

The Diglett colony was officially marked as a protected ranch habitat.

Life settled.

Then, almost without Gray noticing, a month passed.

A month into being Professor, Gray no longer had to think before navigating the lab.

That was the first thing he noticed.

He knew which floorboard near the archive room creaked.

He knew which freezer drawer stuck.

He knew the western greenhouse door needed a slight lift before closing.

He knew Marcus would arrive early, Mira would arrive almost exactly on time, Elias would stay late if nobody stopped him, and Tessa would ignore the clock entirely if a Pokémon needed something.

He also knew that Lyra would find him.

Always.

Gray had tested this thoroughly.

She remained undefeated.

The staff had settled into their roles in ways Gray had not entirely expected.

Marcus effectively owned ranch infrastructure now. Sensors, fencing, water systems, habitat maintenance. Gray still checked things, because not checking was impossible, but Marcus handled most day-to-day problems before Gray even heard about them.

Mira had taken control of several ecological research projects. She was especially good with long-term data, the kind of work Gray found intellectually valuable and spiritually devastating.

Elias managed samples, archives, and equipment inventories with an obsessive attention to detail Gray deeply respected.

Tessa had become the unofficial dictator of breeding and rehabilitation.

Pokémon loved her.

This gave her dangerous power.

Lyra ran everything else.

Schedules.

Appointments.

League communication.

Trainer intake coordination.

Supply orders.

Gray.

Especially Gray.

He had resisted initially.

Then he noticed life was easier.

Gray did not admit this aloud.

He had principles.

The ranch changed too.

The broken paddock had been repaired.

Mostly.

A reinforced access point remained above the old tunnel, secured behind fencing and locked unless someone had reason to enter.

Marcus had installed soil monitoring equipment around the Diglett habitat.

The Diglett ignored it.

One had stolen a sensor flag.

Another had somehow moved an entire marker pole ten feet overnight.

Gray respected the commitment.

Number Seventeen remained violent.

The two unexplained Magikarp remained unexplained.

Aerodactyl's wing healed completely and he celebrated by flying hard enough to terrify Lyra.

Bastiodon remained Bastiodon.

Aggron continued licking everyone.

Life was good.

Alarmingly good.

One morning, Gray stood in his office doorway with coffee and watched the lab function without him.

Mira and Elias were arguing about sample labels.

Marcus walked past carrying replacement sensor equipment.

Tessa came through the rear doors with a Wooper under one arm for reasons Gray chose not to question.

Lyra sat at the central workstation answering a League call.

No one needed him.

Gray smiled.

Then Lyra looked up and pointed toward his office.

“You have work.”

The smile disappeared.

“I was observing.”

“You were hiding.”

“Different disciplines.”

“Office.”

Gray went.

Not because she ordered him.

Because the grant review on his desk was actually interesting.

Mostly.

His office had changed over the month.

Not much.

Gray did not tolerate unnecessary disorder.

But evidence of other people had appeared.

A second chair now stayed near his desk because Lyra used it constantly.

Several books Roark had loaned him sat on one shelf.

A small polished fossil fragment rested beside the photograph of Gray riding Aerodactyl. Roark had given it to him after identifying it as worthless for serious study but “too cool to throw away.”

Gray agreed.

An Oreburgh Gym mug had also appeared.

Gray did not remember acquiring it.

Roark denied leaving it.

No one believed him.

Gray sat down.

Chatot landed on the monitor.

“LYRA!”

Gray pointed at him.

“Stop.”

“LYRA!”

“She is twenty feet away.”

“LYRA!”

From the main lab came Lyra's voice.

“What?”

Chatot puffed proudly.

Gray closed his eyes.

“You've taught him summoning.”

Roark's voice came from the doorway.

“Useful.”

Gray looked up.

Roark leaned against the frame.

Work clothes.

Helmet under one arm.

A paper bag in the other.

Gray frowned.

“You're here early.”

“I brought breakfast.”

Gray's suspicion vanished.

“What kind?”

“Pastries.”

“Come in.”

Roark laughed.

He dropped the bag onto Gray's desk.

Gray opened it.

Good ones.

Not the terrible dry things from the convenience shop.

Actual bakery pastries.

Gray took one.

Roark took the other chair.

“You busy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Gray looked at him.

Roark grinned.

“I need an excuse not to go back to Oreburgh for an hour.”

“Why?”

“Gym paperwork.”

Gray nodded.

“Stay as long as necessary.”

“Thanks.”

This was friendship, apparently.

Avoiding responsibilities in parallel.

Gray took a bite.

Roark looked toward the lab.

Gray noticed.

There it was.

“You know she's here.”

Roark looked back immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Gray.”

“You looked.”

“I looked at the lab.”

“You looked at Lyra.”

“I could not even see her.”

“Didn't stop you.”

Roark sighed.

A month had not improved him much.

Actually, that wasn't fair.

He could now hold normal conversations with Lyra.

Mostly.

As long as she did not compliment him.

Compliments remained fatal.

Lyra had once told him he had done a good job reinforcing one of the tunnel supports.

Roark said, “You too.”

Lyra had not touched the tunnel.

Gray thought about it often.

“I don't know why you don't just ask her to dinner,” Gray said.

Roark nearly inhaled pastry.

He coughed.

Gray waited.

Roark recovered.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Roark looked toward the door.

Then lowered his voice.

“Because I barely know her.”

“You've known her a month.”

“That is barely.”

“You knew me one day before you spent dinner in my house.”

“That is different.”

“Why?”

Roark thought.

Gray waited.

Roark frowned.

“I don't know.”

“Excellent.”

“Stop using that against me.”

Gray smiled.

Roark leaned back.

“Also, she works for you.”

“So?”

“So that makes it weird.”

“How?”

Roark stared.

Gray genuinely did not understand.

Roark sighed.

“Social stuff.”

“Useless category.”

“Exactly.”

Gray considered.

“Ask Mira.”

“No.”

“Tessa?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Marcus?”

“No.”

“Elias?”

Roark stared.

Gray smiled.

“Fine.”

Roark took another bite.

Gray returned to the grant document.

Silence settled.

Comfortable.

After several minutes, Lyra appeared in the doorway.

“Morning, Roark.”

Roark looked up.

“Morning.”

Perfectly normal.

Good.

Progress.

Lyra looked at the bag.

“You brought food?”

“Yeah.”

“Any left?”

Roark immediately stood.

Too quickly.

“There should be.”

He checked.

Gray watched.

Roark found one pastry.

He offered it.

Lyra smiled.

“Thanks.”

Roark smiled back.

“You're welcome.”

Normal.

Almost impressive.

Lyra took a bite.

“This is really good.”

Roark said, “You too.”

Silence.

Gray's eyes widened.

Roark froze.

Lyra blinked.

Roark's face went red.

“I mean—not you too like—you're good—”

Gray put his head down on the desk.

Roark continued dying.

“I meant you're welcome. No. I meant the pastry. The bakery. They make good—”

Lyra started laughing.

Not cruelly.

That somehow made it worse.

Roark covered his face.

Gray's shoulders shook against the desk.

“I'm leaving.”

Lyra laughed harder.

“No, wait.”

Roark looked through his fingers.

She smiled at him.

“Thank you for the pastry.”

Roark lowered his hands.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

Then, mercifully, he managed, “You're welcome.”

Lyra walked away.

Roark sat slowly.

Gray raised his head.

Tears were in his eyes.

Roark stared at him.

“Say anything.”

Gray bit his lip.

Roark pointed.

“Anything.”

Gray lost control.

The laughter came out hard enough that Chatot started imitating it from the monitor.

Roark put his face in his hands.

“I hate this lab.”

“No, you don't.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

“Your bird sucks.”

Chatot shouted, “YOU TOO!”

Gray nearly fell out of his chair.

Roark threw himself back in the seat.

“This is hell.”

Gray wiped his eyes.

“Rock solid.”

Roark looked at him.

Gray grinned.

“Nice helmet.”

“Fuck you.”

From the monitor, Chatot screamed, “LYRA!”

Roark stood.

“I'm going back into the Diglett tunnel.”

Gray laughed harder.

And somewhere between the ruined conversation, the stolen pastries, the screaming bird, and the work waiting on both their desks, Gray realized something mildly horrifying.

Roark had become normal.

Not normal generally.

No one involved was in danger of that.

Normal here.

Part of the ranch.

Part of the lab.

The staff greeted him without asking why he'd come.

Bastiodon let him lean against his shield.

Aggron assaulted him on sight.

Chatot had incorporated him into his vocabulary.

Gray no longer thought anything of seeing Roark's helmet sitting near the back door.

A month ago, Gray had wanted to be left alone with his Pokémon and his research.

He still did.

Frequently.

The unexpected part was that Roark's presence hadn't taken anything away from that.

Somehow, having another person sitting in his office avoiding paperwork while Gray did the same thing didn't feel like interruption.

It just felt comfortable.

Gray did not examine that thought very hard.

There were limits to scientific curiosity.

Instead, he reached into the bakery bag, found half a pastry Roark had missed, and ate it.

Roark noticed.

“That was mine.”

Gray looked at him.

“You said you were leaving.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Too late.”

Roark reached for it.

Gray leaned away.

“Absolutely not.”

“You thief.”

“You abandoned it.”

“For five seconds!”

“Legally distinct.”

Roark grabbed his wrist.

Gray twisted away.

Chatot started shrieking.

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

Lyra's voice came from the other room.

“If either of you breaks something, you're paying for it!”

Both men stopped.

Gray looked at Roark.

Roark looked at Gray.

Gray slowly took another bite of the pastry.

Roark narrowed his eyes.

“You're an asshole.”

Gray smiled.

“Friend.”