Chapter Text
The rain’s pounding against the window doesn’t look like it’s going to slow down anytime soon. With a sigh, Green turns back to his paperwork. He’s still got half a dozen forms that he needs to finish and get to Lance tomorrow, so he really shouldn’t be dawdling. He notates some clauses, tweaks the wording of a few of them, and applies a transparent sticky note to circle some particularly… er. Ambiguous wording.
He obligingly writes a rebuttal, turning down the exploitative opportunity and then signing the rejection neatly. He’ll give that to Lance as soon as he’s done with the rest, Green thinks to himself, before resuming reading the rest of the proposals. Takeshi’s proposal to set up lighting along Route 2 between their cities is interesting, and he scribbles a note to call Takeshi in the morning before signing off on that.
A knock, and Green doesn’t even bother looking up when whoever it is enters.
“If you’re here to kill me, please make it faster than this damn paperwork, please and thank you,” Green says dryly, hearing a familiar laugh. Blinking, Green looks up to see Lance, the man’s mouth curled into amusement, red hair damp from rain. “Lance!” A smile grows on his face, and he stands up, moves to greet the amused adult. Lance allows him to sling a towel over the Elite 4’s head and push a cup of still hot tea into the man’s hand. “I thought you’d still be in Johto for that emergency until tomorrow!” It’s good to see Lance. Aside from Takeshi and Erika, Lance was the only person in the league who didn’t treat him like a complete dumbass, and it’s always good to have someone who isn’t insulting him.
“I was able to clean everything up a little faster than I thought I would,” Lance says, chuckling at Green’s enthusiasm. “Since I had some time, I thought I’d swing by, see how you were doing.”
“Relatively okay, all things considered,” Green says, politely circumspect. Lance rolls an eye at him, and Green squirms a bit. “... You know as well as I do, I have no standing to complain. If I open my mouth, everyone just immediately assumes I’m going to insult Red or something.” Lance sighs, takes a bracing sip of tea, and doesn’t argue.
“That’s not fair to you, though,” Lance says, the man noticing the signed paperwork and picking it up. He reads the rebuttal and frowns. “Shit like this should give you standing – I’ll deal with this myself. If you don’t mind me claiming these edits as mine.” Green shrugs – it’s better if Lance took the heat on it anyway. Nobody took him seriously.
“It’s fine. We both know Blaine will blow his top if it’s me,” Green says agreeably, and goes back to his notes. No, no, no, Misty really needed to read the yearly budget, no, no, no… Lance is content with the silence, as is Green, the two of them enjoying what little peace they could find with each other.
“You have any plans?” Lance asks him when he hands the last of the paperwork over, and Green gives him a dry look in response. “I know Erika plans on nagging you to do something for Golden Week this year. She’s already said she’s not going to let you just close the gym and fuck off without at least inviting her.” Green stares, blinks, and then snorts.
“Well, Erika is basically Daisy, but more polite. I’ll ask her if she wants to join me,” he says, snickering. It eases some of the tension from his shoulders. Lance gives him a warm smile and takes a sip of his last cup of tea. When Green tries to refresh it, the man shakes his head, though it’s with obvious reluctance.
“If I don’t go home now, the teleport station to the League will close, and flying in this rain might as well be swimming.” Lance pulls a face, and Green laughs at his disgruntled expression.
“Zander’s always up to teleporting you for a fee, you know,” Green says, amused by his antics.
“There’s fees and then there’s racketeering. I know which one I put Zander’s fees under,” Lance says flatly. “Feed your Alakazam’s Sitrus berry obsession without stealing mine, thank you.” Green laughs again, but admits it privately to himself that he’ll miss Lance when the man’s gone for the evening. He escorts the man to the Center, though Lance carries the umbrella, the two of them taking the last few minutes quietly to enjoy each other’s company. “Hey. Come visit me during Golden Week,” Lance says softly. Green blinks up at him, and Lance’s mouth curves into a faint smile as he hands the umbrella back. “It’d be nice to have your company without work getting in the way.”
Green’s face flushes at the warmly encouraging words, and Lance smiles at him, firmly pressing the umbrella into his hand before leaning in, waiting for him to answer.
“I- um… Sure, Lance,” Green manages around the lump in his throat, making Lance chuckle.
“Such enthusiasm,” Lance says, amused. “I’ll see you around, Green. Please give me a call, and let's schedule a day. I mean it.”
Green finds himself staring at the darkening door, cheeks flushed bright red as he tries to process that statement.
He needs sleep.
“Ah, so he finally manages to have some game,” Takeshi says sagely, and Green’s head smacks into the desk, a groan leaving him.
“You’re a horrible friend,” Green groans. Takeshi, used to Green’s dramatics, merely chuckles.
“Your two friends before Erika and I happen to be a selectively mute boy with a murderous Pikachu and a girl who believes humans can be caught in Pokeballs and made to do tricks. Given your metric, ‘horrible’ could mean murdering children in the night or being genuinely supportive,” Takeshi says dryly. “I think I’m fine.”
Erika, sipping tea from her spot, snickers.
“You also have been asking out his sister, Takeshi,” she points out, and Green wonders if he can get away with drowning in his cup of tea.
“At this rate, I’ll be dying of embarrassment before I even get a chance to talk to Lance,” Green complains, and Takeshi pats the top of his head in a way that reminds him of Daisy when she thinks he’s being cute.
“There there, my friend, I will assure you he will likely find you fetching regardless,” Takeshi says, smiling warmly. Green sighs, but gives up on convincing them that Lance is definitely not hitting on him. “I do not see why you protest. It is not like there are no things to like about you.” Pointedly, Takeshi adds, “Just because your grandfather happens to have the cognitive awareness of a brick does not devalue the good you are capable of.” Green heaves another sigh, turns to look at the older man. Takeshi was always weird, Green would admit. But the man never said things he didn’t mean, and he’d been the first person to genuinely talk to Green when he’d shown up, quiet and anxious and worried he’d already screwed everything up. Between his own social awkwardness of not knowing what to do if people weren’t insulting or otherwise challenging him to battle, and the Professor’s little hail of insults towards his character, having become somewhat public knowledge in the league, he barely had much chance to make friends at all.
“You know, I doubt Lance was joking. He’s never been the type for casual relationships,” Erika says warmly. “Besides, it’s not like you’re a bad catch. Smart, dedicated to your job, good with Pokemon…”
“You two are biased,” Green huffs. “You’re my friends.”
“Of course we are. It’s difficult enough to get to this point that by the time we’re here, we’re fond enough of you to want to encourage you,” Takeshi says, words dry. “And of course, ensure you get a date.” Erika giggles between sips and adds,
“That too. I’m just here to tease you and get photos for Daisy.”
“Please leave,” Green says immediately, and Erika immediately laughs herself out, though she makes sure to take a photo for Daisy before escaping. Takeshi sticks around, ruffling Green’s hair.
“I know you might feel as though we are teasing you, and well… yes. But you are our friend, and we do wish for your happiness.” Takeshi slides him a slip of paper and smiles crookedly. “If you insist on wallowing alone, then have this. It’s certainly going to be good company for this dour attitude of yours. You’ll enjoy it when you’re done cringing about the premise.”
“Oh, that’s really encouraging,” Green says, taking the paper and watching Takeshi leave with a grin on his face. “That’s not encouraging me to read it, Takeshi.” The man glances over and finishes shrugging on his jacket.
“Perhaps not,” he agrees, grinning. “But friends inflict terrible things on each other all the time, and I, for one, would love to see you bitch to me about this story.”
With that extremely horrifying parting shot, Takeshi leaves, Green staring incredulously at the paper in his hand.
“I hate you,” Green says bluntly the next time he sees Takeshi.
The man immediately busts out laughing, folding over the end of his chair. Green sourly waits out the man’s amusement before smacking him with a rolled-up notebook.
“I take it you were not pleased by the showing of the Hisui version of Kanto-Johto,” Takeshi says, grinning. Green glares at him in answer.
“You are a horrible fucking friend,” Green repeats.
Green cannot literally say it enough. Takeshi merely looks amused, and Green immediately decides he is sneaking every spicy pepper under the sun into this man’s food in revenge.
“At least it doesn’t use your real name like the ones Erika gave me,” Takeshi says, smirking at him, and Green blanches.
“There’s more?” His voice rises on a squeak, and if he were being his normal self, he’d be embarrassed by his voice, but he’d left dignity somewhere between chapters three and four. Takeshi grins.
“Welcome to being famous.”
“Refund, please,” Green moans, head in his hands. Takeshi merely sniggers in response.
“Be glad they left you alone until you became an adult,” Takeshi advises, and Green miserably wallows, head on the table. “Now, have you decided whether or not you’re going on that date of yours with Lance?”
Green’s face reddens. “... I don’t know.” When Takeshi gives him an arch look, Green splutters, “It’s still a what the fuck for me, Takeshi! Lance is –” Green flails a hand vaguely upward, and Takeshi snorts at him. “He has to have better prospects.”
“Better? Maybe there are plenty of people with good pedigrees and their shit put together out there. I mean, give Lance props for tenacity – he’s clearly a do-it-yourself kind of guy. Though I admit, you are a version of ‘I can fix him’ that people would - and do - write fanfiction about.”
Green glares. “Why are we friends again?”
Takeshi grins. “You were a project I picked up because you looked like a drenched Eevee at that first Gym Leaders meeting.” Fondly, Takeshi flicks a strand of hair. “You’re a good kid, Green, and Lance seems to recognize that.” Another smile, and Takeshi gives him a warm look. “You are allowed to have nice things, Green. That means you can say yes to that date. Go out of your gym for fun, not just because you have work. Bake something tasty and eat it, not just because it’s healthy and you hate the taste the whole time. You don’t have to always prove you’re better than whatever your grandfather says you have to be.” Takeshi’s hand squeezes his shoulder as his tone softens. “I would advise you to say yes, my friend. Lance clearly likes you well enough to seek you out himself.” Green sighs, lifting his head up from his hands.
“You’re horrible,” Green says, and Takeshi snickers. “I guess I’ll – augh, my life is so weird – let Lance know I’ll see him Friday.” Takeshi’s smile is warm, and the man leaves him there to bemoan his life.
Once he’s done wallowing, Green manages to get his shit together enough to pull his phone out, dial Lance’s number. It’s obvious from the moment Lance picks up that he’s had a long day, and Green smiles at his tone. It’s a little embarrassing to realize how much he likes the sound of Lance’s voice.
“Hey. Lance here.” The tone is brusque, and Green’s mouth twitches.
“Such enthusiasm,” Green says, and Lance’s voice changes immediately to delight.
“Green! It’s good to hear from you! Do you need something from me?” Lance asks; it’s clear Lance isn’t going to ask first. The man never pushes him, though he really should sometimes, Green thinks. “How’s Golden Week treating you?”
“I wouldn’t count it as good so far – Takeshi dumped some gawdawful story on me, and I do not know why I read it. I wish I were blind, Lance. I really do.” Green groans, and Lance busts out laughing on the other end.
“It sounds terrible, and please don’t send it to me,” Lance tells him with fond amusement. “Tell me, though – how are you, horrible stories otherwise?”
“I’ve got a thing planned with Erika tomorrow,” Green admits. “Apparently, she got her hands on some baby Bulbasaur, so I’m looking forward to helping her with those. I’ll take pictures for you.”
“Oh, please do,” Lance says indulgently. “If I weren’t so busy, I’d love to join, but my clan is hatching eggs tomorrow, and I’ve been put on egg-watching duty.” Green chuckles.
“Are you free on Friday?” Green asks, before he can Torchic out. Ignoring the heat on his face, Green continues, “There’s a new place opening up – I’ve got an offer for a reservation, just the two of us.”
The silence on the other end is a touch stunned, and Green flushes darker, wonders if he made a mistake.
“... I would love to, Green,” Lance sounds a touch breathless, and Green can’t help his blush as it makes him feel like a Tamato berry. “Any specific dress code?”
“Semi-formal, from what I got from the owner,” Green says, smiling shyly as he begins to close up his gym. “Maybe a suit if you want, but slacks and a nice shirt will do too.” Lance laughs; the sound is pleasant, sweet, and Green can’t help but enjoy it.
“Don’t worry, Green. I’ll dress up for you. Let me know the time.”
With those horrible (wonderful), no good words, Lance hangs up, leaving Green bright red and staring at his phone.
Takeshi was going to be so fucking smug about this.
Green tucks his feet underneath himself, phone held loosely in his hand. He’d been thinking about talking to Takeshi, but he’s really not in the mood for his friend to start another one of his good-natured but mean roasts on him, so he’s been in limbo for the last hour or so, debating. Well. After telling Daisy – thankfully via voicemail – the good news.
Eventually, instead – and against all common sense, he opens up that gawdawful fanfiction again.
High Tide in Kanto.
It was a historical fiction set in the Hisui era – though in Kanto it was known better as the Kitora era, given the discovery of the tomb southwest of Saffron – and held the most utterly ridiculous premise.
Whhhhhy was absolutely everyone in the League evil?
Oh, they were at least nice enough to give everyone names that were more common at the time, but seriously. Akira was obviously Red. You could not get more Green than fucking Midori, thank you. It was a very obvious fetish piece too – whoever wrote this fucking idolized Red, even though they also wrote this like Red was the biggest fucking dumbass on the planet.
Seriously. Green didn’t like his former rival – now technical boss – much, but Red had never been as bone-headed thick as Akira was written to be. Green could write better. Fuck, his sister could probably write better. This was fucking embarrassing.
Even so, he finds himself guiltily reading through it, more curious about how the story portrayed his relationship with Lance – well, he was called Wataru – in this universe. And it was weirdly nice how the writer put Akira’s relationship with Midori together. Granted, if he found out Red was in an abusive relationship, he’d also probably want to put his fist in their face, but fucking still.
People who had a brain usually checked that shit first.
Granted, the twist had been interesting – the alternate universe Giovanni had been lying to Akira to steal rare items so he could open up the Tomb of Mew, and now Akira was public enemy #1, but they could not have made Akira any dumber.
At least Red fucking checked to make sure his shit was straight before he charged in, Arceus.
And he did kind of like how his alternate version self had ended up nursing Wataru back to health, and the two of them ended up in some kind of actual marriage.
Because yeah, apparently the writer definitely thought Lance was screwing him in real life.
Green’s hand is on his face when he’s done with the most recent chapter, face burning.
Thank Arceus, he didn’t read this hot mess right before his date with Lance.
His phone rings, and almost instantly, he answers it, still a touch flush with embarrassment.
“This is Gym Leader Green. How can I help you?” He asks, still on autopilot.
“Oh, so now you answer me?” His grandfather’s words are sarcastic, and Green immediately regrets answering. Cold ice drips down his spine, and he can already feel the ashes of disappointment and anger.
“If you have no official business, please send an email. I’m afraid I’m not being yelled at for something that’s been done and dusted for a year again, Professor Oak,” Green says, bland formality. The phone is silent for a moment, and Green continues, a touch more evenly. “Again, if you have professional business to discuss, Professor, I’m all ears.” Green knows almost instantly that the Professor is going to lose his temper, and sighs when he hears the familiar words start.
“If I want -”
“Have a good evening, Professor. Enjoy your Golden Week,” Green cuts him off; hangs up and tosses his phone to the end of his couch.
It immediately starts buzzing. Green lets it go to voicemail. It buzzes again, and Green decides he might as well make tea. Standing, he goes to his kettle, sets it to a temperature, and gets his tea assembled. Rain begins to patter against his window, Green ignoring his phone until he’s done with his cup, picks up the phone to see how many times the Professor called him.
Sheesh. A sip, and he tosses it again to the spot he’d left it. It buzzes; the sound droning on and on as he lets himself relax, not in the mood to put up with whatever demand the Professor is going to ask of him. He checks again when he’s done with his first cup. All of them are from the Professor. He makes a second cup, and sighs in relief when the phone stops buzzing at last.
Only for a knock to sound on his door.
Green closes his eyes and groans; of course, the old bastard would show up if he didn’t appear to perform tricks like a good little Ponyta. Plodding over to the door, he takes a look.
Yeep. Good old Professor Oak. He doesn’t bother undoing the chain, but he does open the door.
“Exactly what do you think this gets you?” Green sighs, watching the old man try to force the door open wider and scowling when he fails. The man’s face turns ugly, and Green continues, bland irritation. “You’ve already informed me I’m worthless, that I have no value to society, and that I am a constant, endless disappointment. Why in hell should I prance around being your show Arcanine when you’ve made it clear you’d rather me drop dead than succeed?” When the man sucks in a shocked breath, Green closes the door; he’s too tired for this. Louder, he adds, “Try to teleport in and I’ll have Zander ‘port you right into a cell for public nuisance. Don’t fucking test me.” Just to be safe, he takes his beloved partner out of his ‘ball and pats his head. “I’ve got some Sitrus tea with your name on it, buddy,” Green says gently, his Alakazam’s mustache twitching in fond acknowledgment.
Green makes himself another cup of tea, sighs. Peace and quiet at –
His phone buzzes.
Green snatches it up, scowling, and sees an even more unwelcome name appear.
Champion Red.
Oh, for fuck’s sake – Green picks up, and answers irritably, doesn’t bother with being polite despite all hell he’ll catch for it later.
“What in the fuck does Professor Oak need so fucking badly that he’s sending you to tell me to do it?” Silence. Green waits, irritated, and finally, Red plucks up his courage to speak.
“Sorry,” Red mutters. “Said it was poachers.” Green doesn’t even bother apologizing to Red. Poachers were official business; he should have filed a standard fucking request through the mission board.
“Right. And he wants me on that? After saying I wasn’t any better than one?” Green asks, sharp ice. “Hard fucking pass, thanks. Tell the Professor he can file it on the job board and actually have someone look at it.”
“Green.” Red’s voice is a touch stiff, but Green doesn’t let him, done and tired and annoyed.
“No. Hell no, Red. I’m sick and tired of being his fucking pet Poocheyna whenever he so much as blinks funny. He disowned me, Red. If he wants someone to do it, then he can get his actual grandson to do it.” His tone is sarcastic, and he knows, even without looking, that Red is wincing, recalling how the Professor had been so proud of Red he’d personally inducted him into the Hall of Fame. “He can call me ungrateful if he wants - Arceus knows it’s all he’s ever said I am.” Green shakes his head, disgusted. “If it isn’t official League business, Red, I don’t want to hear it. I’m done.” Green hangs up, tosses his phone, and groans into a pillow.
Having a famous family member is the worst. Green moans into the pillow, and he begins to shut everything down, making sure to look like he’s heading to bed. He grabs his phone again, knowing his luck, Bruno or Agatha would call, making it an official request, and he’d have to put up with that shit anyway. He doesn’t even bother to change, just flops on the bed after kicking off his house slippers. He allows his Umbreon out of her Pokeball, the cute bundle of fluffy fur curling herself up on his chest and giving a deep purr of greeting.
“Hey, baby girl,” Green murmurs, tired in a way he doesn’t want to explain. “Might have a rough night ahead of us. The bastard’s up to his tricks again.” Venus tilts her head at him, before licking at his cheek in affectionate assurance, and he chuckles sleepily. “Yeah, yeah. I know, sweet girl.”
As expected, his phone rings again as he’s starting to finally get drowsy, and he groans, but obligingly grabs his phone.
Lance Blackthorn.
A sigh, and Green answers.
“Red or the Professor?” He asks, defeated.
Lance, at the very least, sounds fucking sorry for him, with genuine regret when he speaks. “Professor Oak came by. Scared half my clan, showing up and demanding I order you to go. ” Green gives a tired groan, rubbing his hand against his face.
“Fucking hell. I’m sorry, Lance. I really am,” Green says, bitter and angry about it already. “I didn’t expect the old bastard would drag you into this when his ex is actually on duty for Golden Week.” Lance gives a stifled snort over the line, and the man sighs.
“By the look on his face, he has plans to make your life miserable,” Lance notes, and Green laughs, bitter.
“Like him calling almost thirty times and trying to demand Red send me out alone wasn’t bad enough. Send me the details. I won’t have him thinking you don’t have some power over me,” Green sighs. Lance is quiet on the other end, and then,
“Do you need backup? I know Takeshi and Erika are out because of their obligations, but I can try and call someone for you, even if it’s Johto-side. Claire might be willing if it’s serious.” Green’s throat goes tight.
“I’ll see if Falkner’s available. He’s decent enough, and unless Claire’s in Kanto, he’s much closer,” Green says, and doesn't try to argue with Lance. “I won’t take you from your clan when they need you.” A soft sigh, and Green adds, quietly, “I really am sorry.”
“We can’t help who we’re born to,” Lance says with open sympathy. “The moment the League’s open again for business, however, I’m filing a restraining order on your behalf.” Green nearly drops his phone. “This shit really can’t stand. Professor Oak cannot be treating you like you’re on his payroll just because you share his last name, and I’m fucking sick of him treating you like this. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your position.” Green bites his lower lip, embarrassed but grateful all the same for Lance’s kindness.
“Still. Thank you for letting me know I’m not crazy,” Green insists, making Lance chuckle a touch bitterly.
“You’re welcome, then. I’ll be waiting for you to call me when I get back. Tell me if it’s serious.”
Green’s mouth curves into a flustered, appreciative smile in response. “You’ll be the first person I call,” he assures, and hangs up on his bright laugh.