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teamflareTitle: So Long as We Can Say
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: T
Summary: In the aftermath of victory, Lysandre discovers that triumph without peril indeed brings no glory. In more ways than one.
Notes: This is the fic, the one I started early on in the fandom, abandoned a year later, and then finished EIGHT YEARS after posting the first chapter. It's also the starting point for a whole series. Warning for Major Character Death (although it doesn't last) and heavy angst, especially in the early chapters. This is a story about Lysandre succeeding in his plans and then having a really bad time about it. Title is from Shakespeare's King Lear.
AO3 Link: Here.
"Oh, I wanted to show you this," Bryony said, hastily getting up to take something out of the dresser to her right.
The tiny bedroom of her tiny apartment was a giant mess, covered in clothes and cosmetics that she'd spent a long time trying out – at least, that was what Lysandre gathered. He barely fit in the chair she'd dragged in for him, so now he was sitting on the bed, careful not to step on anything.
She twirled in his direction, holding a white poofy dress covered in intricate laces. Her smile was wider than he'd ever seen on her, now or then.
"Do you like it? I can't show Celosia, because it's bad luck," she whispered ominously as if her girlfriend was going to barge into the room at any moment. "Mable said it was too 'girly' for me, but I think she was just teasing me..."
"Oh, for sure," Lysandre said. His calm voice did nothing to betray his inner turmoil when it occurred to him that he'd been somehow placed in some kind of fatherly position. "I think it's lovely."
She held her hand in front of her face to hide the blush blooming on her cheeks. "I trust your opinion above anyone else."
Of course, he knew she did. They'd reunited months after his recovery when she'd all but tackled him in the street while he was in the process of moving out all the materials they'd allowed him to keep from the café – and the lab, though that was kept under the table, mostly. All he'd wanted from there was his notes and the books from his father's library, anyway. He didn't need much else at that point.
Celosia was not far behind, keeping a careful distance from him. She looked older, a stark contrast to Bryony, whose emancipation from Team Flare seemed to have rejuvenated. He remembered her, less mature, yet still dedicated, following orders as long as she could do it alongside the girl she loved.
Months prior, he would have been devastated to see them again. At that time, though, he'd felt relieved to see that they were fine, and thriving without him. They talked about Xerosic's arrest in hushed whispers, and then Bryony revealed that she and Celosia were planning a wedding.
A wedding! He'd felt elated, his pleased laughter seeming to fill both of his past employees with a mixture of glee and confusion.
"Have you asked Professor Sycamore to be your plus one yet?" Bryony asked, pulling him out of his reminiscences.
"Ah," Lysandre said. He stifled a cough in his fist. "Augustine loves weddings. I'm sure he'll do fine."
"You have to ask him!" Bryony chastised him, her index finger pointing menacingly toward his face. "I expect his reply this week!"
A second later, she deflated, her face reddening as her attitude dawned on her.
"I mean... unless you don't want him to come," she added, sheepish.
"I'll ask him tonight," Lysandre said, firmly enough to convince them both.
*
It took Malva five months to get back to him. After the hundredth missed call, Lysandre had figured she was ignoring him on purpose. It seemed like something she'd do, all things considered.
When she finally called him back, he was unsurprised to hear her assistant on the other end of the call, reading out a scheduled date for an appointment. She sounded tense, though whether it was because of her or because of him, he couldn't say.
She'd arranged to meet him at a small, hidden-away café in one of the backstreets of Lumiose. When he walked through the unassuming doors, nobody turned to look at him, the few clients too busy with their own affairs, all scattered around a dimly lit room that smelled very strongly of overpriced coffee. Lysandre couldn't help but smile. At least she'd picked somewhere she knew he'd like.
The waiter who rushed to greet him didn't seem to care about who he was, which was nice. Public opinion of him hadn't changed much, with good reason, although Augustine was doing his best to tell every person who would listen that Lysandre had reformed. Diantha still refused to meet him, but neither of them could fault her for that.
Malva had booked one of the tables that were the least likely to be listened in on or even paid much attention to. The chairs were comfortable enough. Lysandre ordered an overly complicated blend of coffee, just to see if it would make the waiter trip up, but he dutifully wrote down all of his requirements and nodded before walking off.
Lysandre watched the people at the nearby table while he waited. A man almost as tall as he was was hunched over as he apparently shared a very intense tale with his tablemates, punctuating his story with very wide arm gestures that kept coming close to slapping the hat off the woman sitting to his right. She looked back at Lysandre after a few minutes, raising one eyebrow to signify that he should probably mind his own business. He scoffed but looked away.
His coffee had just been delivered to the table when Malva walked in. At her arrival, people did turn to look at her and gawk at her expensive-looking bright red outfit. She smirked in Lysandre's direction. She was beautiful, though at that moment all he could think about was being thirteen and scolded for being too mean to his cousin while she hid behind her mother's skirt and smiled the knowing smile of a child getting another one in trouble on purpose. He smiled politely back at her and took a sip of his coffee, burning the tip of his tongue in the process.
It tasted fine. Better when he thought about the look on the barista's face when he'd been told what he had to prepare. Not bitter enough, but it would do. He gestured to the waiter.
"Could I have some milk?" he asked as Malva sat down at the opposite side of the table. The waiter's lips quivered as if he was fighting back a retort, but he nodded and turned toward Malva instead of speaking up.
"I'll just take the same thing he ordered," she said with a smile on the verge of condescending. The waiter nodded again, impervious. Judging by the establishment, he was probably used to dealing with worse.
Lysandre took another sip of his coffee, watching Malva watch the waiter all but run off toward the bar.
"Glad to see you in good health," she said once it became clear he wasn't going to start the conversation.
"I could say the same thing," Lysandre retorted, his eyes fixed on his half-empty cup. "I was starting to think you might have fled the country."
"Nonsense." She rolled her eyes behind her thick red sunglasses. "You could see me on TV doing just fine."
"Ah, yes," Lysandre said after taking another sip. "I quite enjoyed those scandalous reports about me and my liquidation."
Malva crossed her arms. When he glanced at her, her eyes seemed darker behind the glasses.
"You ruined our plans," she said.
"Oh, here we go."
"You did!" She spread the fingers of her left hand on the table, her arms still crossed in front of her chest. "There are even rumors that you did it on purpose. I was mad at you."
"For months?" He raised his eyebrows.
"You know me, always with the excess. Some might say it runs in the family."
He leaned toward her, a sharp retort already forming on his tongue, but the waiter came back with Malva's cup just in time to abort it. He also left the milk saucer next to Lysandre and then promptly walked away before they could ask anything else of him.
Perhaps not so impervious, then.
Lysandre poured some milk in the leftover coffee in his own cup and smirked when, upon tasting her first sip, Malva's mouth curved into a displeased grimace.
"Ugh," she let out. "Should have expected nothing less from you."
"Too bitter?" he asked. There was too much milk in his cup now, but he wasn't about to admit that.
"Give me that." She grabbed the saucer and poured all the milk left into her cup. She took a sip and grimaced again.
Lysandre forced himself to swallow the content of his cup with a victorious smile. "So," he said, licking his lips in an attempt to get rid of the taste, "what did you want to talk about?"
Malva lowered her sunglasses, holding the rim in-between two of her perfectly manicured fingers, in what he assumed was meant as a threatening gesture.
"Why were you ringing me constantly for days on end?"
Before he could stop himself, Lysandre scoffed in disbelief. "Because I was worried about you? I wanted to make sure you hadn't gotten caught in the crossfire."
"Let me get this straight," she said, enunciating the words carefully, "the publicly scorned criminal who tried to destroy three-quarters of the population and who happens to belong to the same family tree as me..."
Lysandre sniffled.
"...tried to get in contact with me while I was fiercely denying any kind of involvement in all of this business, in order to... make sure I wasn't," she mimed quotation marks with her fingers, "getting caught in the crossfire?"
"I wasn't thinking–" he started.
"Oh yeah, doesn't seem like you've been doing much of that lately," she snarked immediately, interrupting him.
"I was in a coma for two months! You know what happened to Xerosic."
"Unlike Xerosic, I know how to keep my mouth shut," Malva said, rolling her eyes. "I know how to drop things, too."
"I'm sorry," Lysandre said.
That, of all things, seemed to take her aback. She looked at him with her brow furrowed, as if he'd just admitted to some kind of horrible crime.
"For getting you involved," he added. That didn't seem to change much.
"I got myself involved, thank you very much," Malva retorted, punctuating each word with a tap of her nails against the table. She looked him in the eyes as her tone took on a graver quality, "You look different. I've heard you're a good boy who makes your father proud, now."
Although it was surely supposed to be an insult, Lysandre could only smile upon hearing these words. His smile soon morphed into an uncontrollable cackle when Malva narrowed her eyes at him.
"You're really that mad, huh," he said once he'd regained some of his composure.
She looked like she was fighting back a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Of course."
They looked at each other, two predators gauging to see who would roll over first and admit defeat. Lysandre shook his head. He was getting too old for this, surely.
His relationship with Malva had always been complicated. In their youth, she was the annoying sibling figure he didn't want in his life, happy as he was to be an only child. Much later, when he'd given up on fixing the world in less radical ways and started coming up with ideas on how to actually make a change, she'd been intrigued, but unconvinced. She held a kind of power he didn't have: power over information. She'd already become well-known as a news reporter, and her ascension was the spark that made him finalize work on the holo-caster.
If there was somebody in Team Flare he'd ever considered his equal, here or there, now or then, it was her. She knew that, of course.
He could see in her eyes the acknowledgment of his abdication.
"I heard from Bryony that Mable and Aliana are working for you nowadays," he said, kindly.
"You know how it goes, their last employment kind of got blown up," Malva said with a glimmer in her eyes.
"Alright, that one was low even for you."
Her lips curled in an attempt to stifle a laugh, but then she let it out, the loud sound of her laughter attracting the attention of the nearby patrons. Lysandre's eyes met those of the woman with the hat and he winked at her. She looked away, her face red.
Malva covered her mouth with her hand and cleared her throat.
"That's what's changed, isn't it," she said, almost solemn all of a sudden. "You're happier."
Lysandre blinked. "Perhaps."
"I need full details about your new relationship," she went on, taking hold of her glasses once again. She procured her holo-caster from somewhere he couldn't see. "You're fine with being recorded, right?"
"I'm not giving you ammunition for your gossip mill," Lysandre said, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling.
"When's the wedding?"
He straightened his back against the chair and frowned. Malva's eyes were hidden behind the lenses, but her expression was that of a purrloin lying in wait. Maybe he was her prey, after all.
"I'll tell the waiter to pour whiskey in your next coffee," Malva added.
"Absolutely not," Lysandre protested.
She waved to the poor waiter so ostensibly that all the other patrons turned to look at her, again. This was going to be a long night.
Even then, Lysandre found that he didn't mind.
*
The giant – AZ, that was his name, he had to think of him that way now – was just as impressive now as he'd been in their other, forgotten life; more, even, because upon being reunited with his long lost friend he'd lost some of the sadness that had stuck to him. From there he'd regained what was left of the majesty he must have carried all those millennia ago, back when he was still king.
Now he sat in the garden of Augustine's lab, half the size of the trees that grew there, and peacefully let the pokémons climb or perch on him.
Lysandre sat opposite of him, his pyroar spread out against his back for his afternoon nap. Augustine had to take care of some business regarding the children – Calem had gotten in trouble while rummaging through some abandoned buildings to see if he could find something interesting. He'd grown bolder and bolder throughout the months, Serena following suit even when she looked like she disapproved, Shauna not far behind.
AZ looked up to watch his floette float down toward him. He still looked at her as if she was a very special kind of miracle. Lysandre thought he could understand that feeling.
He felt at ease here. It reminded him of sitting with AZ on that empty route. There had been no floettes there, no flabébés, not even pidgeys flying around. Now they were surrounded, marills carrying their babies on their heads and chattering loudly, zigzagoons hiding in the bushes, and of course Juliette keeping a watchful eye wherever she could. The world felt more alive than ever.
They'd been working on something new. A secret project. Malva had laughed at him when he'd explained, but then she'd called back later to ask if he was that serious about it. They could make the world better if they tried. Augustine believed in that enough for them both, even on the worst days, when they'd have hushed fights because the pressure was too much. People stared at him openly in the streets now, but as long as he was walking alongside Augustine he could tell himself that he didn't care.
AZ gently rubbed two of his fingers against the top of Floette's round head, making her giggle. She twirled the flower she was holding in her tiny hands.
"We've met before, haven't we?" he asked. He was still looking at her, so it took a few seconds for Lysandre to register who he was talking to.
The king had become more sedentary since the reappearance of his precious friend. None of them were very clear on where he lived, exactly, or how he took care of himself, but he stayed close to the capital, accepting all of Augustine's offers to stay at the lab with a serene sort of happiness. Augustine found him fascinating in a way that someone else might have seen as bordering on uncomfortable, yet AZ didn't seem to care. He answered his inquiries about the ecosystems and other intricacies of the past like you'd answer the very important life questions given by a child about why the sky is blue or the sun can't be looked at.
Lysandre cleared his throat.
"Yes, actually," he said, sounding oddly pathetic to his own ears.
He hadn't discussed his misadventures – he didn't know what else to call it, not particularly fond of the euphemisms Augustine liked to use – since the time he'd calmly shared it with the children, who'd all seemed to take it more or less like a long-lasting dream he'd had while in his coma and that had made him change his mind. He didn't expect to be believed, so he'd come to terms with their reactions fairly smoothly, especially when he'd seen how pale Trevor had gotten upon hearing him describe the state of his previous world.
AZ smiled, looking down at him finally. "I cannot remember it, but I could tell from the way you behave around me."
"I suppose you could say it was in a different life," Lysandre said, unnervingly calm at the prospect of discussing this.
Something like an understanding bled through AZ's pensive expression. His eyes flicked back to his floette, who was now hovering near the top of his head, too busy observing a scatterbug who'd climbed up his hat. He glanced back at Lysandre before she could notice.
"Whatever it is you did," AZ said gravely, "it appears you've made sure to resolve it."
Lysandre hummed. "It feels like the sort of thing that'll take a lifetime to solve."
"Well, I trust you'll take all of the time you need."
The scatterbug now perching on the hat let out a surprised cry when a gust of wind almost sent them flying off. They were promptly caught by Floette, who carried them back to the safety of ground and grass. She twirled her umbrella and took off, curious about a flock of fletchinders passing through the trees.
This time, AZ did not take his eyes off her until she'd disappeared in-between the leaves of the tallest tree.
"I'm glad you could reunite with her," Lysandre said. It was true, of course, but once he'd said it, it felt like a pointless thing.
AZ smiled. He was still peering at the tree as if it held the secret of where his friend had gone – or perhaps as if he was afraid that this time, she'd truly be gone for good.
"The feeling is mutual," he said. Lysandre frowned and AZ's smile grew larger, even though his eyes were still fixated on the slow movement of the leaves in the wind. "Your friend," he added.
"Ah," Lysandre said. His tongue felt too big in his mouth. "I see."
"It does good to have someone who can keep you in check," AZ went on. His eyes narrowed as he grinned, content. "Don't you agree?"
Lysandre smiled.
"That it does."
When Augustine came back into the garden, they were still sitting facing each other. Lysandre's pyroar was watching as AZ's floette demonstrated her juggling abilities with berries brought to her by the nearby rattatas. AZ had fallen asleep at some point, lulled by the quiet sounds of spring, his face tilted over slightly. Lysandre hadn't had the heart to wake him.
Augustine's hand squeezed his shoulder, hard.
"You look happy," he said when Lysandre turned to look at him. Lysandre smiled and Augustine smiled back.
*
The snow crunched under Lysandre's shoes as he walked through the streets of Snowbelle City. He wasn't exactly wearing the appropriate footwear for the weather, but he also wasn't expecting to stay for long enough to bother fetching his boots.
He'd lived there once, so long ago now it might as well have been another dream. He'd just gotten back to the country after traveling throughout the world; he wasn't tired of it yet, was still trying to make a difference in his own way. He liked the coldness of the wind and the warmth of the people. He had friends, maybe, or at least people who thought of him as such. They found him inspiring, jealous of the wealth he could spend in his endeavors, yet not envious of it, somehow. He'd met people in this city who'd become assets for his other plans, later.
Now he was just visiting. He'd thought about moving back in, briefly, when he'd seen that the people were still treating him as if he was the same man as he used to be – and maybe unknowingly they weren't that far off – but he couldn't leave Lumiose.
Augustine let him live in his apartment. It was small, though Lysandre was sure he could afford a bigger place. He'd assumed at first it was temporary, but Augustine didn't seem to be looking forward to him leaving.
Bryony kept sneaking them glances during her wedding dinner. At some point, Lysandre even thought that she was going to throw her bouquet in their faces.
He scraped the snow off his shoes on the stairway leading to the gym. AZ had said something about needing someone to keep you in check, and he'd agreed, even though they both knew he needed Augustine for more than that.
Propped up against his avalugg, Wulfric was sitting near the entrance of his gym, waiting for him as Augustine had arranged – after much arguing. He didn't react upon seeing Lysandre approach, merely taking a huge bite of the sandwich he held in his hands. The avalugg turned his head lazily to look at him, the sour expression in his eyes likely mirroring how his owner felt.
They used to get along well, Lysandre remembered. They were both fond of pokémons, and Wulfric was simply the kind of person who could get along with anyone, especially young men away from their fathers who were trying so hard to make the world a better place.
Now, of course, things were different. His father was gone, and his pretenses of self-righteousness were well behind him. It was his sincerity that he needed to prove to other people, these days.
Lysandre walked up to them and then stopped. He wasn't going to let Wulfric's indifference get to him.
"Good afternoon," Lysandre said. "It's been a while."
Wulfric swallowed his mouthful. "You look good, son," he replied as if he and his pokémon weren't looking at him the way you'd look at a bomb about to explode.
"My legs have seen better days, but the snow helps with keeping you steady."
That seemed to dissolve some of the wariness on the older man's face. "Funny," Wulfric said, putting his sandwich aside and taking hold of the avalugg's backplate to pull himself back up on his feet. "That's not what most people would say about the snow."
"You know me," Lysandre said, thinking back to some of the banter they'd shared, a lifetime ago. "I'm not most people."
Wulfric looked him over, from his shoes ruined by the snow to the tip of his ruffled hair. The wind hadn't been kind to him. "I can see that."
"Augustine told you I was coming, I reckon," Lysandre went on, unwilling to let himself be deterred by Wulfric's attitude. "There's something we'd like to discuss with you."
The gym leader looked behind him as if he was searching for someone else to be there. The gesture, innocuous although very obviously meant to unnerve him, unearthed a shadow of the anxiety that still clung to him when he thought back to the presence that had haunted him for so long. The two Sycamores were distinct in his mind, but sometimes, when Augustine's eyes caught the light of the sun just right, he couldn't help but think about it. He still hadn't confessed to that part, even now, months and months later, as they lived side by side in something that he supposed you could call a "relationship."
"I don't see the professor with you," Wulfric noted. He seemed to have caught on that his little act had had the effect he'd been aiming for.
"He's busy," Lysandre snapped. "If you're unwilling to do this, I won't keep you any longer. Have a good day."
With a contained sigh, he turned to walk away, the soles of his shoes hitting the snow a little too hard. He'd gotten used to walking again, the sensation of his feet against the ground only surprising him in moments where he was already perturbed. He liked walking in the snow, fresh and thick as it was in Snowbelle.
He stopped when he felt Wulfric's hand on his shoulder.
"You have to understand the position I'm in," he said.
Lysandre didn't turn around.
"I understand. That's why I'm dropping this conversation."
"Lysandre." Wulfric's voice sounded tired suddenly as if he truly was as old as he appeared, or even older. "Come with me."
Even through his weariness, his tone was firm. Lysandre thought of the train trip back to Lumiose, the expression on Augustine's face when he'd have to tell him they couldn't come to an agreement. He turned around and followed as Wulfric beckoned his avalugg to do the same.
The huge pokémon walked up the stairs so very slowly. Lysandre pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to ask why Wulfric didn't simply recall him. Wulfric gave him a look but did not answer the silent question. When his avalugg finally pushed himself up the last stair, the gym leader led them toward an unassuming little house.
The inside was just as quaint, a simple hallway with shelves covered in snow globes of various cities from around the world. Lysandre took off his shoes without looking away from one that proudly displayed the Goldenrod radio tower. On the base, it boasted THE GOLDEN CITY! in bold, golden lettering.
"My kids seem to think this is the funniest thing to bring me as a souvenir," Wulfric said as he led him to the living room. He'd recalled the avalugg once they'd reached the doorway.
"It's cute," Lysandre said. He sat on one of the chairs around the small wooden table when his host gestured for him to do so. "It's good to see you have a good relationship with your family."
Wulfric laughed, a booming sound coming from deep within his chest. "Well, my wife hates the snow, so she's with my son on vacation these days."
"You're retiring soon?"
"She wishes," Wulfric said with a smile. "I like it here. I get to meet all kinds of people and pokémons. Plus, someone has to make sure the Village is safe."
"About that," Lysandre started, but he was interrupted almost immediately by Wulfric.
"Oh, do you want something to drink? I forgot to ask."
Lysandre shook his head. "No, thank you."
They looked at each other, gauging the other's reaction. Wulfric was still standing, holding on to one of the chairs with both of his hands. Lysandre looked away first, his eyes instead fixating on the wall behind the gym leader, covered in pictures of him and people he assumed were his family members, surrounded by pokémons.
"I know you don't trust me," Lysandre said. Anymore, he wanted to add, but he didn't. "And I'm sure you don't fully trust Augustine's word when it comes to me."
Wulfric sighed. "He's a good man, but he's also the sort to put his head inside the pyroar's jaw fully expecting not to get bitten."
"I suppose I'm the pyroar in this brilliant metaphor," Lysandre snarked.
"Do you disagree?"
In one of the pictures, a younger Wulfric was holding a toddler in front of him, the baby's feet hovering over his avalugg's back. They were both smiling. A woman, who Lysandre figured was Wulfric's wife, was looking at them in the background with an expression that, from this distance, he couldn't exactly decipher as anxious or tender.
"No," he said, turning his gaze back toward Wulfric.
"I'm glad we're on the same page, at least," Wulfric said with a sigh. He pulled his chair out and sat on it, finally. "This is about the Village, isn't it?"
With a comforting sort of familiarity, Lysandre felt himself shift into business mode. This was his territory.
"The children were very enthusiastic about it," he said, his back very straight. "I'm looking to invest in ways to create a better future for humans and pokémons. We," he added when Wulfric tilted his head, a slight frown forming on his forehead, "we're looking to invest. Augustine is involved too, and we're trying to diversify..."
"What made you change your mind?" Wulfric asked.
Lysandre had prepared for this question, rehearsing things he could say on the train ride as he ignored the few people bold enough to openly stare at him. When his and Wulfric's eyes met, none of the things he'd thought of were coming back to him. As the silence stretched around them, Wulfric's serious expression morphed into concern. It made Lysandre feel like he was ten years younger, thinking about whether or not he was making the right choice.
"I've heard rumors that you purposely ruined what you'd been planning," Wulfric said. "That's– well. That's the only reason I agreed to see you when Professor Sycamore asked."
"What do you think?" Lysandre asked before he could think of anything else to say.
"You seem more like the Lysandre I used to know than the one I'd see on the news these last few years," Wulfric replied with the beginning of a smile. "That doesn't mean much, though, in the grand scheme of things."
He seemed sad about it, too, which only served to aggravate Lysandre more than anything else.
"Look, this is a waste of time for both of us," he said, moving to stand up. "I'll tell Augustine to come to talk with you if you're still interested."
"I'll take you to the Village if you agree to a battle," Wulfric said. He didn't move from his chair.
Lysandre scoffed.
"Fine."
*
When Lysandre came back to the lab, his irritation palpable to all the poor scientists sharing the elevator with him, Augustine welcomed him with excitement at first, which quickly switched to worry upon noticing his demeanor.
His mood changed again when Lysandre explained that while Wulfric was interested in seeing where their ideas were going, he'd also mercilessly defeated him in a two versus two battle in the middle of the Village, surrounded by hundreds of curious pokémons who'd watched them go at it intensely.
"You didn't have your pyroar," Augustine said once he was done laughing at him.
They were sitting together at his desk, so close that their shoulders were touching.
"Fighting types are strong against ice types," Lysandre mumbled, like a child reciting a lesson that'd been drilled into their head. "I thought my mienshao would pull through."
He must have looked particularly pathetic, because even though they were in the presence of at least five assistants, Augustine reached his hand out and let it lay against the back of Lysandre's neck.
"I'm glad you had fun," Augustine said fondly. "Though I'm sad I couldn't be there."
"Next time we should go together so you can watch me get obliterated by an old man," Lysandre joked. The feeling of Augustine's fingertips against his skin was sending frantic signals to the parts of his brain that were used for forming coherent thoughts. What kind of signals, he wasn't entirely sure.
Or perhaps, he thought as Augustine moved his hand upward to brush against his hair, he was a bit too sure.
"Maybe I do deserve a vacation," he said. His expression was relaxed and happy, but Lysandre could see the bags under his eyes. "Come to think of it..."
He leaned forward a little against the desk, his hand still resting against Lysandre's neck. In his periphery, Lysandre saw one of the assistants glance at them briefly, then immediately look away, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to go to Galar," Augustine said. He seemed oddly sheepish all of a sudden as if he expected Lysandre to protest. "I'm curious about dynamaxing..."
"Do you think they'll allow us to leave the country?"
Technically, Lysandre figured he was on probation under Augustine's watch. It was an informal arrangement; nobody seemed to want to have to deal with the fallout of his actions, especially considering the fact that everything had failed anyway. He'd paid damages for the havoc he'd wreaked on Geosenge, and of course most of his possessions – especially those related to all that mess – had been seized, but he hadn't been imprisoned. From what Augustine had told him, that was all his work: when Lysandre was unconscious, it was him who'd pleaded for him, alongside the children. He still wasn't entirely sure he'd deserved that consideration, but what was done was done.
Augustine was caught up in contemplating the back of Lysandre's neck now, idly rubbing at his hair with his thumb.
"Probably not," he said with a sad, resigned smile. "Maybe once we've convinced them of your goodwill..."
"You're petting me like I'm a persian," Lysandre remarked, keeping his voice low. He was aiming for matter-of-factly but there was definitely a hint of heat in his tone. Augustine tilted his head at him as if he didn't see anything wrong with that. "It's– your assistants are looking."
"No they're not," Augustine said without checking. "They're too terrified of you." He stopped rubbing, instead sliding his hand away until it rested on Lysandre's shoulder. "Does it bother you? People seeing us involved."
His expression was so neutral that it was more disconcerting than if he openly looked hurt or angry.
"No," Lysandre said immediately, much quicker than either of them expected, and loud enough that one of the assistants did turn to see what was going on. She glanced away after only staring for a couple of seconds. "I'm just... not used to this yet. I apologize."
Augustine squeezed his shoulder gently. His face seemed more relaxed, but there was still a hint of something that Lysandre figured was disappointment.
"Let's go out for dinner tonight," Augustine said. "My treat."
Slowly, as if hesitating until the last second, Lysandre lifted his arm and wrapped it around Augustine's shoulders. The other man tensed at first, and then went slack against him.
"Is that a yes?" he asked. He was smiling now, his eyebrows lifted up in amused disbelief.
"I don't want you to think that I'm rejecting you," Lysandre said instead of answering. Augustine's eyebrows slipped back down into a frown.
"Lysandre, you're here right now sitting at my desk while the whole world is still turning around us." Augustine was looking at him with such a pained expression now that Lysandre could do nothing except stare back. "That's the opposite of rejection. If there's one person you don't need to prove anything to, it's me."
It occurred to Lysandre that this was the worst place to have this kind of conversation. "You are the one person I want to prove it to," he said anyway because it felt right to say it, no matter how many times or in how many different ways.
"Don't say that," Augustine protested, but he was smiling again, desperately trying to cling on to his serious expression. "Come on. There's something I need to show you."
He opened up his laptop and started to flip through all of his notes, careful and precise records of his observations regarding the wildlife and mega-evolution, whether from watching the children battle or from his tentative experiments with his garchomp that Lysandre had finally convinced him to start on. In-between the written pages there were sometimes drawings, sketches of Juliette looking at a pidgey in a tree, or recreations of key and mega stones that the professor had been shown. Lysandre's arm was still around him, but he'd let go of the other man's shoulder, too taken in typing on the keyboard or explaining what he'd meant to discuss now that Wulfric was on board.
At some point, he accidentally opened something he had obviously not meant to show, and Lysandre was greeted with the sight of drawings of himself sleeping, scanned and stored on Augustine's computer. Augustine immediately closed the file, but it was too late, his face taking on a pale crimson color.
"You looked so different," he said hastily. "I thought it was... interesting."
"I don't mind." Lysandre smiled, giving him a tiny tap on the shoulder. "You know, back then..."
Augustine watched him struggle to find the words in silence.
"I found drawings you'd made of me," he let out. It was the least dramatic way of putting it. "In a diary."
"I'm starting to think you were telling the truth," Augustine joked. His smile was a bit crooked and his face still a little red, fighting off the embarrassment he was feeling.
They stayed in the lab until all the assistants were gone, until Dexio showed up to discuss his and Sina's travel plans in Alola, only stopping occasionally to shoot suspicious glances at Lysandre that both of them pretended not to notice. Once he'd left, Augustine closed his computer and stretched his entire body in one broad gesture. By that point, Lysandre had let go of him and switched to simply holding on to the back of his chair, feeling himself growing somnolent as Augustine rambled on and on about setups and researches and travels. At least Dexio's arrival had taken him out of that sorry state.
"You're still up for that dinner offer?" Augustine asked. He stifled a yawn with his hand. "Looks like we're both out of it."
Lysandre stood up, his legs barely able to carry his weight. He kept hold of his chair until he felt he could safely let go of it. "Every day feels longer lately," he said, looking at the night sky through the large window behind them.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good," Lysandre said with as much conviction as he could muster. "Do you really believe we can change the world?"
"I think if anybody can change the world, it's you," Augustine replied. Lysandre wasn't looking at him but he could hear the smile in his voice. "But circumstances have shown that it's better for you to have me as back up."
He paused as if musing.
"Do you believe that?"
Lysandre turned away from the sight of Lumiose's illuminated streets behind the window to look back at Professor Augustine Sycamore. There he was, with his dishevelled hair and the bags under his eyes and the beginning of a beard growing on his chin because he hadn't given himself enough time to shave in the morning. Whenever he looked at him now, he could only feel pity for the man he'd been in another life, blinding himself to the nature of their relationship.
Months earlier he would have probably let himself feel shame for these thoughts, or chastised himself for being so sentimental, but he'd come to realize that it was in this kind of sentimentality that he could gather the strength to not fall back on his old habits, to not fall again into a spiral of bitterness and contempt.
"Of course," he said, smiling back. "You are my handler after all."
Augustine laughed, pushing his chair away from the desk so he could stand up. "That's exactly why I'm the one who's taking you out for dinner. Come on. The walk to the restaurant will wake us both up."
The chilly wind did bring some life back to them as they walked shoulder to shoulder through the streets of Lumiose. They spent a quiet, peaceful evening eating good food – good enough, Lysandre would have said, and Augustine would have elbowed him in the ribs as gently as he could – before going back to Augustine's place, even sleepier than before. Sprawled on the carpet of the living room, Lysandre's pyroar greeted them with a slight nod before going back to sleep.
Augustine was so exhausted that he made no protest when Lysandre moved to undress him once they'd stepped in the bedroom. He sighed and pressed his forehead against Lysandre's chest, seemingly half-asleep.
"Love you," he mumbled against the fabric.
Lysandre felt his heart beat against his ribcage.
He guided him toward the bed gently, almost in a hug. Augustine's bed was assuredly not large enough for both of them, but they still hadn't discussed that part of the arrangement. Neither of them had any issues with the fact that whenever they slept together in it they always ended up tangled together, Lysandre sometimes waking up from anxiety-riddled dreams to find Augustine's arms tightly wrapped around him, as if to shield him away.
In sync with Lysandre's thoughts, Augustine held on to him until they were both in the bed, making sure that he couldn't escape to the couch or wherever else he slept sometimes when the domesticity proved too much for him. Even as they lay together at last, he did not let him go, instead nuzzling further against Lysandre, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
He was warm and pointy and whenever he shifted in his sleep he'd definitely wake them both up, yet Lysandre felt at ease when he closed his eyes, his nose brushing against a strand of dark hair.
There was a plain in his dream. It was empty, but it was a soothing kind of emptiness, one that made his non-existent body lighter. Nothing would ever disturb the quiet silence of this place.
In the distance, so far away, he thought he could hear a sound like a booming roar. It faded away before he could be sure.
Fandom: Pokémon X&Y
Pairing: Professor Augustine Sycamore/Lysandre
Rating: T
Summary: In the aftermath of victory, Lysandre discovers that triumph without peril indeed brings no glory. In more ways than one.
Notes: This is the fic, the one I started early on in the fandom, abandoned a year later, and then finished EIGHT YEARS after posting the first chapter. It's also the starting point for a whole series. Warning for Major Character Death (although it doesn't last) and heavy angst, especially in the early chapters. This is a story about Lysandre succeeding in his plans and then having a really bad time about it. Title is from Shakespeare's King Lear.
AO3 Link: Here.
SERIES NAVIGATION
So Long as We Can Say (starting point)
The Pangs of Disprized Love / And With Your Hands Your Hearts / Wisely and Slow (main story)
That Give Delight and Hurt (Not) / Daggers in Men's Smiles (explicit spin-offs)
CHAPTERS NAVIGATION
Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Epilogue
O gods! Who is 't can say "I am at the worst"?
I am worse than e'er I was.
And worse I may be yet. The worst is not
So long as we can say "This is the worst."
—King Lear, Act 4 Scene 1
"Oh, I wanted to show you this," Bryony said, hastily getting up to take something out of the dresser to her right.
The tiny bedroom of her tiny apartment was a giant mess, covered in clothes and cosmetics that she'd spent a long time trying out – at least, that was what Lysandre gathered. He barely fit in the chair she'd dragged in for him, so now he was sitting on the bed, careful not to step on anything.
She twirled in his direction, holding a white poofy dress covered in intricate laces. Her smile was wider than he'd ever seen on her, now or then.
"Do you like it? I can't show Celosia, because it's bad luck," she whispered ominously as if her girlfriend was going to barge into the room at any moment. "Mable said it was too 'girly' for me, but I think she was just teasing me..."
"Oh, for sure," Lysandre said. His calm voice did nothing to betray his inner turmoil when it occurred to him that he'd been somehow placed in some kind of fatherly position. "I think it's lovely."
She held her hand in front of her face to hide the blush blooming on her cheeks. "I trust your opinion above anyone else."
Of course, he knew she did. They'd reunited months after his recovery when she'd all but tackled him in the street while he was in the process of moving out all the materials they'd allowed him to keep from the café – and the lab, though that was kept under the table, mostly. All he'd wanted from there was his notes and the books from his father's library, anyway. He didn't need much else at that point.
Celosia was not far behind, keeping a careful distance from him. She looked older, a stark contrast to Bryony, whose emancipation from Team Flare seemed to have rejuvenated. He remembered her, less mature, yet still dedicated, following orders as long as she could do it alongside the girl she loved.
Months prior, he would have been devastated to see them again. At that time, though, he'd felt relieved to see that they were fine, and thriving without him. They talked about Xerosic's arrest in hushed whispers, and then Bryony revealed that she and Celosia were planning a wedding.
A wedding! He'd felt elated, his pleased laughter seeming to fill both of his past employees with a mixture of glee and confusion.
"Have you asked Professor Sycamore to be your plus one yet?" Bryony asked, pulling him out of his reminiscences.
"Ah," Lysandre said. He stifled a cough in his fist. "Augustine loves weddings. I'm sure he'll do fine."
"You have to ask him!" Bryony chastised him, her index finger pointing menacingly toward his face. "I expect his reply this week!"
A second later, she deflated, her face reddening as her attitude dawned on her.
"I mean... unless you don't want him to come," she added, sheepish.
"I'll ask him tonight," Lysandre said, firmly enough to convince them both.
*
It took Malva five months to get back to him. After the hundredth missed call, Lysandre had figured she was ignoring him on purpose. It seemed like something she'd do, all things considered.
When she finally called him back, he was unsurprised to hear her assistant on the other end of the call, reading out a scheduled date for an appointment. She sounded tense, though whether it was because of her or because of him, he couldn't say.
She'd arranged to meet him at a small, hidden-away café in one of the backstreets of Lumiose. When he walked through the unassuming doors, nobody turned to look at him, the few clients too busy with their own affairs, all scattered around a dimly lit room that smelled very strongly of overpriced coffee. Lysandre couldn't help but smile. At least she'd picked somewhere she knew he'd like.
The waiter who rushed to greet him didn't seem to care about who he was, which was nice. Public opinion of him hadn't changed much, with good reason, although Augustine was doing his best to tell every person who would listen that Lysandre had reformed. Diantha still refused to meet him, but neither of them could fault her for that.
Malva had booked one of the tables that were the least likely to be listened in on or even paid much attention to. The chairs were comfortable enough. Lysandre ordered an overly complicated blend of coffee, just to see if it would make the waiter trip up, but he dutifully wrote down all of his requirements and nodded before walking off.
Lysandre watched the people at the nearby table while he waited. A man almost as tall as he was was hunched over as he apparently shared a very intense tale with his tablemates, punctuating his story with very wide arm gestures that kept coming close to slapping the hat off the woman sitting to his right. She looked back at Lysandre after a few minutes, raising one eyebrow to signify that he should probably mind his own business. He scoffed but looked away.
His coffee had just been delivered to the table when Malva walked in. At her arrival, people did turn to look at her and gawk at her expensive-looking bright red outfit. She smirked in Lysandre's direction. She was beautiful, though at that moment all he could think about was being thirteen and scolded for being too mean to his cousin while she hid behind her mother's skirt and smiled the knowing smile of a child getting another one in trouble on purpose. He smiled politely back at her and took a sip of his coffee, burning the tip of his tongue in the process.
It tasted fine. Better when he thought about the look on the barista's face when he'd been told what he had to prepare. Not bitter enough, but it would do. He gestured to the waiter.
"Could I have some milk?" he asked as Malva sat down at the opposite side of the table. The waiter's lips quivered as if he was fighting back a retort, but he nodded and turned toward Malva instead of speaking up.
"I'll just take the same thing he ordered," she said with a smile on the verge of condescending. The waiter nodded again, impervious. Judging by the establishment, he was probably used to dealing with worse.
Lysandre took another sip of his coffee, watching Malva watch the waiter all but run off toward the bar.
"Glad to see you in good health," she said once it became clear he wasn't going to start the conversation.
"I could say the same thing," Lysandre retorted, his eyes fixed on his half-empty cup. "I was starting to think you might have fled the country."
"Nonsense." She rolled her eyes behind her thick red sunglasses. "You could see me on TV doing just fine."
"Ah, yes," Lysandre said after taking another sip. "I quite enjoyed those scandalous reports about me and my liquidation."
Malva crossed her arms. When he glanced at her, her eyes seemed darker behind the glasses.
"You ruined our plans," she said.
"Oh, here we go."
"You did!" She spread the fingers of her left hand on the table, her arms still crossed in front of her chest. "There are even rumors that you did it on purpose. I was mad at you."
"For months?" He raised his eyebrows.
"You know me, always with the excess. Some might say it runs in the family."
He leaned toward her, a sharp retort already forming on his tongue, but the waiter came back with Malva's cup just in time to abort it. He also left the milk saucer next to Lysandre and then promptly walked away before they could ask anything else of him.
Perhaps not so impervious, then.
Lysandre poured some milk in the leftover coffee in his own cup and smirked when, upon tasting her first sip, Malva's mouth curved into a displeased grimace.
"Ugh," she let out. "Should have expected nothing less from you."
"Too bitter?" he asked. There was too much milk in his cup now, but he wasn't about to admit that.
"Give me that." She grabbed the saucer and poured all the milk left into her cup. She took a sip and grimaced again.
Lysandre forced himself to swallow the content of his cup with a victorious smile. "So," he said, licking his lips in an attempt to get rid of the taste, "what did you want to talk about?"
Malva lowered her sunglasses, holding the rim in-between two of her perfectly manicured fingers, in what he assumed was meant as a threatening gesture.
"Why were you ringing me constantly for days on end?"
Before he could stop himself, Lysandre scoffed in disbelief. "Because I was worried about you? I wanted to make sure you hadn't gotten caught in the crossfire."
"Let me get this straight," she said, enunciating the words carefully, "the publicly scorned criminal who tried to destroy three-quarters of the population and who happens to belong to the same family tree as me..."
Lysandre sniffled.
"...tried to get in contact with me while I was fiercely denying any kind of involvement in all of this business, in order to... make sure I wasn't," she mimed quotation marks with her fingers, "getting caught in the crossfire?"
"I wasn't thinking–" he started.
"Oh yeah, doesn't seem like you've been doing much of that lately," she snarked immediately, interrupting him.
"I was in a coma for two months! You know what happened to Xerosic."
"Unlike Xerosic, I know how to keep my mouth shut," Malva said, rolling her eyes. "I know how to drop things, too."
"I'm sorry," Lysandre said.
That, of all things, seemed to take her aback. She looked at him with her brow furrowed, as if he'd just admitted to some kind of horrible crime.
"For getting you involved," he added. That didn't seem to change much.
"I got myself involved, thank you very much," Malva retorted, punctuating each word with a tap of her nails against the table. She looked him in the eyes as her tone took on a graver quality, "You look different. I've heard you're a good boy who makes your father proud, now."
Although it was surely supposed to be an insult, Lysandre could only smile upon hearing these words. His smile soon morphed into an uncontrollable cackle when Malva narrowed her eyes at him.
"You're really that mad, huh," he said once he'd regained some of his composure.
She looked like she was fighting back a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Of course."
They looked at each other, two predators gauging to see who would roll over first and admit defeat. Lysandre shook his head. He was getting too old for this, surely.
His relationship with Malva had always been complicated. In their youth, she was the annoying sibling figure he didn't want in his life, happy as he was to be an only child. Much later, when he'd given up on fixing the world in less radical ways and started coming up with ideas on how to actually make a change, she'd been intrigued, but unconvinced. She held a kind of power he didn't have: power over information. She'd already become well-known as a news reporter, and her ascension was the spark that made him finalize work on the holo-caster.
If there was somebody in Team Flare he'd ever considered his equal, here or there, now or then, it was her. She knew that, of course.
He could see in her eyes the acknowledgment of his abdication.
"I heard from Bryony that Mable and Aliana are working for you nowadays," he said, kindly.
"You know how it goes, their last employment kind of got blown up," Malva said with a glimmer in her eyes.
"Alright, that one was low even for you."
Her lips curled in an attempt to stifle a laugh, but then she let it out, the loud sound of her laughter attracting the attention of the nearby patrons. Lysandre's eyes met those of the woman with the hat and he winked at her. She looked away, her face red.
Malva covered her mouth with her hand and cleared her throat.
"That's what's changed, isn't it," she said, almost solemn all of a sudden. "You're happier."
Lysandre blinked. "Perhaps."
"I need full details about your new relationship," she went on, taking hold of her glasses once again. She procured her holo-caster from somewhere he couldn't see. "You're fine with being recorded, right?"
"I'm not giving you ammunition for your gossip mill," Lysandre said, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling.
"When's the wedding?"
He straightened his back against the chair and frowned. Malva's eyes were hidden behind the lenses, but her expression was that of a purrloin lying in wait. Maybe he was her prey, after all.
"I'll tell the waiter to pour whiskey in your next coffee," Malva added.
"Absolutely not," Lysandre protested.
She waved to the poor waiter so ostensibly that all the other patrons turned to look at her, again. This was going to be a long night.
Even then, Lysandre found that he didn't mind.
*
The giant – AZ, that was his name, he had to think of him that way now – was just as impressive now as he'd been in their other, forgotten life; more, even, because upon being reunited with his long lost friend he'd lost some of the sadness that had stuck to him. From there he'd regained what was left of the majesty he must have carried all those millennia ago, back when he was still king.
Now he sat in the garden of Augustine's lab, half the size of the trees that grew there, and peacefully let the pokémons climb or perch on him.
Lysandre sat opposite of him, his pyroar spread out against his back for his afternoon nap. Augustine had to take care of some business regarding the children – Calem had gotten in trouble while rummaging through some abandoned buildings to see if he could find something interesting. He'd grown bolder and bolder throughout the months, Serena following suit even when she looked like she disapproved, Shauna not far behind.
AZ looked up to watch his floette float down toward him. He still looked at her as if she was a very special kind of miracle. Lysandre thought he could understand that feeling.
He felt at ease here. It reminded him of sitting with AZ on that empty route. There had been no floettes there, no flabébés, not even pidgeys flying around. Now they were surrounded, marills carrying their babies on their heads and chattering loudly, zigzagoons hiding in the bushes, and of course Juliette keeping a watchful eye wherever she could. The world felt more alive than ever.
They'd been working on something new. A secret project. Malva had laughed at him when he'd explained, but then she'd called back later to ask if he was that serious about it. They could make the world better if they tried. Augustine believed in that enough for them both, even on the worst days, when they'd have hushed fights because the pressure was too much. People stared at him openly in the streets now, but as long as he was walking alongside Augustine he could tell himself that he didn't care.
AZ gently rubbed two of his fingers against the top of Floette's round head, making her giggle. She twirled the flower she was holding in her tiny hands.
"We've met before, haven't we?" he asked. He was still looking at her, so it took a few seconds for Lysandre to register who he was talking to.
The king had become more sedentary since the reappearance of his precious friend. None of them were very clear on where he lived, exactly, or how he took care of himself, but he stayed close to the capital, accepting all of Augustine's offers to stay at the lab with a serene sort of happiness. Augustine found him fascinating in a way that someone else might have seen as bordering on uncomfortable, yet AZ didn't seem to care. He answered his inquiries about the ecosystems and other intricacies of the past like you'd answer the very important life questions given by a child about why the sky is blue or the sun can't be looked at.
Lysandre cleared his throat.
"Yes, actually," he said, sounding oddly pathetic to his own ears.
He hadn't discussed his misadventures – he didn't know what else to call it, not particularly fond of the euphemisms Augustine liked to use – since the time he'd calmly shared it with the children, who'd all seemed to take it more or less like a long-lasting dream he'd had while in his coma and that had made him change his mind. He didn't expect to be believed, so he'd come to terms with their reactions fairly smoothly, especially when he'd seen how pale Trevor had gotten upon hearing him describe the state of his previous world.
AZ smiled, looking down at him finally. "I cannot remember it, but I could tell from the way you behave around me."
"I suppose you could say it was in a different life," Lysandre said, unnervingly calm at the prospect of discussing this.
Something like an understanding bled through AZ's pensive expression. His eyes flicked back to his floette, who was now hovering near the top of his head, too busy observing a scatterbug who'd climbed up his hat. He glanced back at Lysandre before she could notice.
"Whatever it is you did," AZ said gravely, "it appears you've made sure to resolve it."
Lysandre hummed. "It feels like the sort of thing that'll take a lifetime to solve."
"Well, I trust you'll take all of the time you need."
The scatterbug now perching on the hat let out a surprised cry when a gust of wind almost sent them flying off. They were promptly caught by Floette, who carried them back to the safety of ground and grass. She twirled her umbrella and took off, curious about a flock of fletchinders passing through the trees.
This time, AZ did not take his eyes off her until she'd disappeared in-between the leaves of the tallest tree.
"I'm glad you could reunite with her," Lysandre said. It was true, of course, but once he'd said it, it felt like a pointless thing.
AZ smiled. He was still peering at the tree as if it held the secret of where his friend had gone – or perhaps as if he was afraid that this time, she'd truly be gone for good.
"The feeling is mutual," he said. Lysandre frowned and AZ's smile grew larger, even though his eyes were still fixated on the slow movement of the leaves in the wind. "Your friend," he added.
"Ah," Lysandre said. His tongue felt too big in his mouth. "I see."
"It does good to have someone who can keep you in check," AZ went on. His eyes narrowed as he grinned, content. "Don't you agree?"
Lysandre smiled.
"That it does."
When Augustine came back into the garden, they were still sitting facing each other. Lysandre's pyroar was watching as AZ's floette demonstrated her juggling abilities with berries brought to her by the nearby rattatas. AZ had fallen asleep at some point, lulled by the quiet sounds of spring, his face tilted over slightly. Lysandre hadn't had the heart to wake him.
Augustine's hand squeezed his shoulder, hard.
"You look happy," he said when Lysandre turned to look at him. Lysandre smiled and Augustine smiled back.
*
The snow crunched under Lysandre's shoes as he walked through the streets of Snowbelle City. He wasn't exactly wearing the appropriate footwear for the weather, but he also wasn't expecting to stay for long enough to bother fetching his boots.
He'd lived there once, so long ago now it might as well have been another dream. He'd just gotten back to the country after traveling throughout the world; he wasn't tired of it yet, was still trying to make a difference in his own way. He liked the coldness of the wind and the warmth of the people. He had friends, maybe, or at least people who thought of him as such. They found him inspiring, jealous of the wealth he could spend in his endeavors, yet not envious of it, somehow. He'd met people in this city who'd become assets for his other plans, later.
Now he was just visiting. He'd thought about moving back in, briefly, when he'd seen that the people were still treating him as if he was the same man as he used to be – and maybe unknowingly they weren't that far off – but he couldn't leave Lumiose.
Augustine let him live in his apartment. It was small, though Lysandre was sure he could afford a bigger place. He'd assumed at first it was temporary, but Augustine didn't seem to be looking forward to him leaving.
Bryony kept sneaking them glances during her wedding dinner. At some point, Lysandre even thought that she was going to throw her bouquet in their faces.
He scraped the snow off his shoes on the stairway leading to the gym. AZ had said something about needing someone to keep you in check, and he'd agreed, even though they both knew he needed Augustine for more than that.
Propped up against his avalugg, Wulfric was sitting near the entrance of his gym, waiting for him as Augustine had arranged – after much arguing. He didn't react upon seeing Lysandre approach, merely taking a huge bite of the sandwich he held in his hands. The avalugg turned his head lazily to look at him, the sour expression in his eyes likely mirroring how his owner felt.
They used to get along well, Lysandre remembered. They were both fond of pokémons, and Wulfric was simply the kind of person who could get along with anyone, especially young men away from their fathers who were trying so hard to make the world a better place.
Now, of course, things were different. His father was gone, and his pretenses of self-righteousness were well behind him. It was his sincerity that he needed to prove to other people, these days.
Lysandre walked up to them and then stopped. He wasn't going to let Wulfric's indifference get to him.
"Good afternoon," Lysandre said. "It's been a while."
Wulfric swallowed his mouthful. "You look good, son," he replied as if he and his pokémon weren't looking at him the way you'd look at a bomb about to explode.
"My legs have seen better days, but the snow helps with keeping you steady."
That seemed to dissolve some of the wariness on the older man's face. "Funny," Wulfric said, putting his sandwich aside and taking hold of the avalugg's backplate to pull himself back up on his feet. "That's not what most people would say about the snow."
"You know me," Lysandre said, thinking back to some of the banter they'd shared, a lifetime ago. "I'm not most people."
Wulfric looked him over, from his shoes ruined by the snow to the tip of his ruffled hair. The wind hadn't been kind to him. "I can see that."
"Augustine told you I was coming, I reckon," Lysandre went on, unwilling to let himself be deterred by Wulfric's attitude. "There's something we'd like to discuss with you."
The gym leader looked behind him as if he was searching for someone else to be there. The gesture, innocuous although very obviously meant to unnerve him, unearthed a shadow of the anxiety that still clung to him when he thought back to the presence that had haunted him for so long. The two Sycamores were distinct in his mind, but sometimes, when Augustine's eyes caught the light of the sun just right, he couldn't help but think about it. He still hadn't confessed to that part, even now, months and months later, as they lived side by side in something that he supposed you could call a "relationship."
"I don't see the professor with you," Wulfric noted. He seemed to have caught on that his little act had had the effect he'd been aiming for.
"He's busy," Lysandre snapped. "If you're unwilling to do this, I won't keep you any longer. Have a good day."
With a contained sigh, he turned to walk away, the soles of his shoes hitting the snow a little too hard. He'd gotten used to walking again, the sensation of his feet against the ground only surprising him in moments where he was already perturbed. He liked walking in the snow, fresh and thick as it was in Snowbelle.
He stopped when he felt Wulfric's hand on his shoulder.
"You have to understand the position I'm in," he said.
Lysandre didn't turn around.
"I understand. That's why I'm dropping this conversation."
"Lysandre." Wulfric's voice sounded tired suddenly as if he truly was as old as he appeared, or even older. "Come with me."
Even through his weariness, his tone was firm. Lysandre thought of the train trip back to Lumiose, the expression on Augustine's face when he'd have to tell him they couldn't come to an agreement. He turned around and followed as Wulfric beckoned his avalugg to do the same.
The huge pokémon walked up the stairs so very slowly. Lysandre pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to ask why Wulfric didn't simply recall him. Wulfric gave him a look but did not answer the silent question. When his avalugg finally pushed himself up the last stair, the gym leader led them toward an unassuming little house.
The inside was just as quaint, a simple hallway with shelves covered in snow globes of various cities from around the world. Lysandre took off his shoes without looking away from one that proudly displayed the Goldenrod radio tower. On the base, it boasted THE GOLDEN CITY! in bold, golden lettering.
"My kids seem to think this is the funniest thing to bring me as a souvenir," Wulfric said as he led him to the living room. He'd recalled the avalugg once they'd reached the doorway.
"It's cute," Lysandre said. He sat on one of the chairs around the small wooden table when his host gestured for him to do so. "It's good to see you have a good relationship with your family."
Wulfric laughed, a booming sound coming from deep within his chest. "Well, my wife hates the snow, so she's with my son on vacation these days."
"You're retiring soon?"
"She wishes," Wulfric said with a smile. "I like it here. I get to meet all kinds of people and pokémons. Plus, someone has to make sure the Village is safe."
"About that," Lysandre started, but he was interrupted almost immediately by Wulfric.
"Oh, do you want something to drink? I forgot to ask."
Lysandre shook his head. "No, thank you."
They looked at each other, gauging the other's reaction. Wulfric was still standing, holding on to one of the chairs with both of his hands. Lysandre looked away first, his eyes instead fixating on the wall behind the gym leader, covered in pictures of him and people he assumed were his family members, surrounded by pokémons.
"I know you don't trust me," Lysandre said. Anymore, he wanted to add, but he didn't. "And I'm sure you don't fully trust Augustine's word when it comes to me."
Wulfric sighed. "He's a good man, but he's also the sort to put his head inside the pyroar's jaw fully expecting not to get bitten."
"I suppose I'm the pyroar in this brilliant metaphor," Lysandre snarked.
"Do you disagree?"
In one of the pictures, a younger Wulfric was holding a toddler in front of him, the baby's feet hovering over his avalugg's back. They were both smiling. A woman, who Lysandre figured was Wulfric's wife, was looking at them in the background with an expression that, from this distance, he couldn't exactly decipher as anxious or tender.
"No," he said, turning his gaze back toward Wulfric.
"I'm glad we're on the same page, at least," Wulfric said with a sigh. He pulled his chair out and sat on it, finally. "This is about the Village, isn't it?"
With a comforting sort of familiarity, Lysandre felt himself shift into business mode. This was his territory.
"The children were very enthusiastic about it," he said, his back very straight. "I'm looking to invest in ways to create a better future for humans and pokémons. We," he added when Wulfric tilted his head, a slight frown forming on his forehead, "we're looking to invest. Augustine is involved too, and we're trying to diversify..."
"What made you change your mind?" Wulfric asked.
Lysandre had prepared for this question, rehearsing things he could say on the train ride as he ignored the few people bold enough to openly stare at him. When his and Wulfric's eyes met, none of the things he'd thought of were coming back to him. As the silence stretched around them, Wulfric's serious expression morphed into concern. It made Lysandre feel like he was ten years younger, thinking about whether or not he was making the right choice.
"I've heard rumors that you purposely ruined what you'd been planning," Wulfric said. "That's– well. That's the only reason I agreed to see you when Professor Sycamore asked."
"What do you think?" Lysandre asked before he could think of anything else to say.
"You seem more like the Lysandre I used to know than the one I'd see on the news these last few years," Wulfric replied with the beginning of a smile. "That doesn't mean much, though, in the grand scheme of things."
He seemed sad about it, too, which only served to aggravate Lysandre more than anything else.
"Look, this is a waste of time for both of us," he said, moving to stand up. "I'll tell Augustine to come to talk with you if you're still interested."
"I'll take you to the Village if you agree to a battle," Wulfric said. He didn't move from his chair.
Lysandre scoffed.
"Fine."
*
When Lysandre came back to the lab, his irritation palpable to all the poor scientists sharing the elevator with him, Augustine welcomed him with excitement at first, which quickly switched to worry upon noticing his demeanor.
His mood changed again when Lysandre explained that while Wulfric was interested in seeing where their ideas were going, he'd also mercilessly defeated him in a two versus two battle in the middle of the Village, surrounded by hundreds of curious pokémons who'd watched them go at it intensely.
"You didn't have your pyroar," Augustine said once he was done laughing at him.
They were sitting together at his desk, so close that their shoulders were touching.
"Fighting types are strong against ice types," Lysandre mumbled, like a child reciting a lesson that'd been drilled into their head. "I thought my mienshao would pull through."
He must have looked particularly pathetic, because even though they were in the presence of at least five assistants, Augustine reached his hand out and let it lay against the back of Lysandre's neck.
"I'm glad you had fun," Augustine said fondly. "Though I'm sad I couldn't be there."
"Next time we should go together so you can watch me get obliterated by an old man," Lysandre joked. The feeling of Augustine's fingertips against his skin was sending frantic signals to the parts of his brain that were used for forming coherent thoughts. What kind of signals, he wasn't entirely sure.
Or perhaps, he thought as Augustine moved his hand upward to brush against his hair, he was a bit too sure.
"Maybe I do deserve a vacation," he said. His expression was relaxed and happy, but Lysandre could see the bags under his eyes. "Come to think of it..."
He leaned forward a little against the desk, his hand still resting against Lysandre's neck. In his periphery, Lysandre saw one of the assistants glance at them briefly, then immediately look away, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
"Yes?"
"I'd like to go to Galar," Augustine said. He seemed oddly sheepish all of a sudden as if he expected Lysandre to protest. "I'm curious about dynamaxing..."
"Do you think they'll allow us to leave the country?"
Technically, Lysandre figured he was on probation under Augustine's watch. It was an informal arrangement; nobody seemed to want to have to deal with the fallout of his actions, especially considering the fact that everything had failed anyway. He'd paid damages for the havoc he'd wreaked on Geosenge, and of course most of his possessions – especially those related to all that mess – had been seized, but he hadn't been imprisoned. From what Augustine had told him, that was all his work: when Lysandre was unconscious, it was him who'd pleaded for him, alongside the children. He still wasn't entirely sure he'd deserved that consideration, but what was done was done.
Augustine was caught up in contemplating the back of Lysandre's neck now, idly rubbing at his hair with his thumb.
"Probably not," he said with a sad, resigned smile. "Maybe once we've convinced them of your goodwill..."
"You're petting me like I'm a persian," Lysandre remarked, keeping his voice low. He was aiming for matter-of-factly but there was definitely a hint of heat in his tone. Augustine tilted his head at him as if he didn't see anything wrong with that. "It's– your assistants are looking."
"No they're not," Augustine said without checking. "They're too terrified of you." He stopped rubbing, instead sliding his hand away until it rested on Lysandre's shoulder. "Does it bother you? People seeing us involved."
His expression was so neutral that it was more disconcerting than if he openly looked hurt or angry.
"No," Lysandre said immediately, much quicker than either of them expected, and loud enough that one of the assistants did turn to see what was going on. She glanced away after only staring for a couple of seconds. "I'm just... not used to this yet. I apologize."
Augustine squeezed his shoulder gently. His face seemed more relaxed, but there was still a hint of something that Lysandre figured was disappointment.
"Let's go out for dinner tonight," Augustine said. "My treat."
Slowly, as if hesitating until the last second, Lysandre lifted his arm and wrapped it around Augustine's shoulders. The other man tensed at first, and then went slack against him.
"Is that a yes?" he asked. He was smiling now, his eyebrows lifted up in amused disbelief.
"I don't want you to think that I'm rejecting you," Lysandre said instead of answering. Augustine's eyebrows slipped back down into a frown.
"Lysandre, you're here right now sitting at my desk while the whole world is still turning around us." Augustine was looking at him with such a pained expression now that Lysandre could do nothing except stare back. "That's the opposite of rejection. If there's one person you don't need to prove anything to, it's me."
It occurred to Lysandre that this was the worst place to have this kind of conversation. "You are the one person I want to prove it to," he said anyway because it felt right to say it, no matter how many times or in how many different ways.
"Don't say that," Augustine protested, but he was smiling again, desperately trying to cling on to his serious expression. "Come on. There's something I need to show you."
He opened up his laptop and started to flip through all of his notes, careful and precise records of his observations regarding the wildlife and mega-evolution, whether from watching the children battle or from his tentative experiments with his garchomp that Lysandre had finally convinced him to start on. In-between the written pages there were sometimes drawings, sketches of Juliette looking at a pidgey in a tree, or recreations of key and mega stones that the professor had been shown. Lysandre's arm was still around him, but he'd let go of the other man's shoulder, too taken in typing on the keyboard or explaining what he'd meant to discuss now that Wulfric was on board.
At some point, he accidentally opened something he had obviously not meant to show, and Lysandre was greeted with the sight of drawings of himself sleeping, scanned and stored on Augustine's computer. Augustine immediately closed the file, but it was too late, his face taking on a pale crimson color.
"You looked so different," he said hastily. "I thought it was... interesting."
"I don't mind." Lysandre smiled, giving him a tiny tap on the shoulder. "You know, back then..."
Augustine watched him struggle to find the words in silence.
"I found drawings you'd made of me," he let out. It was the least dramatic way of putting it. "In a diary."
"I'm starting to think you were telling the truth," Augustine joked. His smile was a bit crooked and his face still a little red, fighting off the embarrassment he was feeling.
They stayed in the lab until all the assistants were gone, until Dexio showed up to discuss his and Sina's travel plans in Alola, only stopping occasionally to shoot suspicious glances at Lysandre that both of them pretended not to notice. Once he'd left, Augustine closed his computer and stretched his entire body in one broad gesture. By that point, Lysandre had let go of him and switched to simply holding on to the back of his chair, feeling himself growing somnolent as Augustine rambled on and on about setups and researches and travels. At least Dexio's arrival had taken him out of that sorry state.
"You're still up for that dinner offer?" Augustine asked. He stifled a yawn with his hand. "Looks like we're both out of it."
Lysandre stood up, his legs barely able to carry his weight. He kept hold of his chair until he felt he could safely let go of it. "Every day feels longer lately," he said, looking at the night sky through the large window behind them.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good," Lysandre said with as much conviction as he could muster. "Do you really believe we can change the world?"
"I think if anybody can change the world, it's you," Augustine replied. Lysandre wasn't looking at him but he could hear the smile in his voice. "But circumstances have shown that it's better for you to have me as back up."
He paused as if musing.
"Do you believe that?"
Lysandre turned away from the sight of Lumiose's illuminated streets behind the window to look back at Professor Augustine Sycamore. There he was, with his dishevelled hair and the bags under his eyes and the beginning of a beard growing on his chin because he hadn't given himself enough time to shave in the morning. Whenever he looked at him now, he could only feel pity for the man he'd been in another life, blinding himself to the nature of their relationship.
Months earlier he would have probably let himself feel shame for these thoughts, or chastised himself for being so sentimental, but he'd come to realize that it was in this kind of sentimentality that he could gather the strength to not fall back on his old habits, to not fall again into a spiral of bitterness and contempt.
"Of course," he said, smiling back. "You are my handler after all."
Augustine laughed, pushing his chair away from the desk so he could stand up. "That's exactly why I'm the one who's taking you out for dinner. Come on. The walk to the restaurant will wake us both up."
The chilly wind did bring some life back to them as they walked shoulder to shoulder through the streets of Lumiose. They spent a quiet, peaceful evening eating good food – good enough, Lysandre would have said, and Augustine would have elbowed him in the ribs as gently as he could – before going back to Augustine's place, even sleepier than before. Sprawled on the carpet of the living room, Lysandre's pyroar greeted them with a slight nod before going back to sleep.
Augustine was so exhausted that he made no protest when Lysandre moved to undress him once they'd stepped in the bedroom. He sighed and pressed his forehead against Lysandre's chest, seemingly half-asleep.
"Love you," he mumbled against the fabric.
Lysandre felt his heart beat against his ribcage.
He guided him toward the bed gently, almost in a hug. Augustine's bed was assuredly not large enough for both of them, but they still hadn't discussed that part of the arrangement. Neither of them had any issues with the fact that whenever they slept together in it they always ended up tangled together, Lysandre sometimes waking up from anxiety-riddled dreams to find Augustine's arms tightly wrapped around him, as if to shield him away.
In sync with Lysandre's thoughts, Augustine held on to him until they were both in the bed, making sure that he couldn't escape to the couch or wherever else he slept sometimes when the domesticity proved too much for him. Even as they lay together at last, he did not let him go, instead nuzzling further against Lysandre, burying his face in the crook of his neck.
He was warm and pointy and whenever he shifted in his sleep he'd definitely wake them both up, yet Lysandre felt at ease when he closed his eyes, his nose brushing against a strand of dark hair.
There was a plain in his dream. It was empty, but it was a soothing kind of emptiness, one that made his non-existent body lighter. Nothing would ever disturb the quiet silence of this place.
In the distance, so far away, he thought he could hear a sound like a booming roar. It faded away before he could be sure.