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When Sycamore comes back, the first thing Mable admits is this: she wasn't actually furious with Sycamore, she's more frustrated with him. "The Mega Evolution professor" who isn't here while the whole city is filled to its armpits with Mega-Evolved Pokemon! Revelations about what kinds of energy can cause Mega Evolution! No one giving her nearly the respect that comes with the title of Pokemon Professor because she's 1) an ex-terrorist but also 2) just acting director, not actually Pokemon Professor. As if it makes that much difference when she's the one who's been doing the work!
The second thing that she admits is this: Sycamore looks fucked. He radiates misery so strongly even she can tell, and he all but threw himself at her feet to beg for--not even forgiveness but punishment! This man is so mentally ill. If this is how bad it is five years later, she doesn't want to know how bad it was before. And more than that, she hates to say it but Sycamore probably does need. Support? Vacation? Something, because he's not doing well. He's a mopey, weepy mess, and that's on his good days. On his bad days...he is eerily silent. Doesn't eat, doesn't drink, doesn't seem alive. His two assistants came with him, but as much as they're cheery for young adults, they're clearly worried about him. They say they dragged him off to Alola of all places, but besides giving him a tan and more Vitamin D, it doesn't seem to have helped.
So of course the first thing any scientist does when faced with something incomprehensible is to do a preliminary literature review. Or just ask Smeargle, but with rather more skepticism and citation-referencing. And, beyond that, as someone with an axe to grind with the ivory tower of academia, a few sideways looks at the ways scientists talk about things.
Sycamore is depressed, that's clearer than anything, and it's infuriating, but instead of invigorating, this anger seethes with failure. Because Sycamore can't well do the research he needs to do if he's got the mental equivalent of a broken leg, now can he!
But at the same time, if he's ever to get better, he's clearly going to need a lot of help. Well, she didn't sign up for babysitting but this is what can she do: if she can get these three up and running, and if they're competent, she'll have more than quadrupled the amount of research she can do. Synergy and all that.
So she spends her very precious rare moments of time off (that she has to carve for herself because she doesn't actually have any) reading up on depression and his medication. On the actual lived experience of people with depression, too, not just papers. And while there's a lot she can't change or help with (like Sycamore needing to put effort and intent in himself), there's also a lot she can help with. And she's just gotten a far better picture of what he might be struggling with, psychologically. So: give him structured time, give him agency to complete tasks, make him run all over the city to do fieldwork (and not get mauled by Pokemon), give him the money to buy gold stars so she can slap them on a calendar he's got in his room for the good brain chemicals. Force a schedule on him, make him eat and drink, work him until he's so exhausted he can't be heartbroken anymore.
The people Mable's actually furious with are the mayor and Quasartico, because they're responsible for the poor conditions of the Pokemon in the Wild Zones. However, she's well aware she doesn't have nearly the peoplepower or social power to get anything done about the Wild Zones, and forget about even doing anything, she's most certainly not going to act before she knows the situation. Which she doesn't, and won't, because wild Pokemon are still streaming into the city at all hours. Less so now, after the destruction of Prism Tower, but judging from the data, it's probably not going to tail off for a while even then. And that doesn't even scratch the tip of the Avalugg on the crappy quality of crowdsourced data she's getting.
More than anything else the house arrest prevents, it chafes that she can't go out to verify the field data she's receiving. Intellectually, she understands that nobody wants to deal with raging alphas and nobody even has access to the Rogue Mega-Evolved Pokemon because Quasartico's an ass about secrecy, but that doesn't do anyone any favors, people or Pokemon. And anyway it's Quasartico's fault for not listening to her.
~~~~~
The interesting thing is, though, that even if Sycamore isn't back up to his usual researching self, while people aren't willing to work with her, they are willing to work with the Mega Evolution professor--even just the very thought of him. Now, see, for example if Sycamore asked for volunteers (no pictures, naturally, because depression means he hasn't been taking care of himself), she thinks, trailing off, pleased...her people power shortage is about to fade away like a Vanillish in the face of a Fire Blast.
And that's not the only problem Sycamore's useful for, even depressed. Mable sees other people's reaction to his social influence and promptly starts throwing him at problems like a wrench. If only people would give her the same respect and willingness, but whatever, she'll work with what she's got. And yeah, she's aware that she does have part of the blame for the Team Flare incident so, again. Whatever. She doesn't bother people, and if they don't wanna work for her, fine.
~~~~~
Sycamore goes on walks around the city, and. He really, really missed Lumiose. He didn't realize he even was homesick under all the heartbreak, pain melding into pain, but now he's finally back. And so much is still the same. The sound of the rain on the roof is the same, and even when the Plazas are taken up by Pokemon the flowers everywhere are the same, filling the air with the same scent, the smells of food trucks and cafes are the same--even the awful benches that were part of the mayor's attempt to shove the homeless out of view are still there. But Lumiose has changed so much, too--and it's like heartbreak and growing pains and the fluttering of something new all at once. There's scaffolding everywhere, bits of debris that still haven't been swept up from the disaster, Pokemon pacing the roofs (some menacingly with glowing red eyes, and he ducks away from their blazing glares nervously. He's not a spry young trainer anymore ready to madly dodge-roll away like some of the kids he sees. His back aches), and Prism Tower--Prism Tower, the heart of Lumiose, is exploded and greened over both. He can't walk the same paths because of the scaffolding and Wild Zones. People mutter on the streets about new problems that come with living in such close quarters with Pokemon (when he said, "We live in a world filled with Pokemon", even he hadn't thought that this was what it would look like!), and.
And Mable ("That's acting director Mable to you!") is right. There's people and Pokemon both in the city, but things are so far from perfect it's not even adequate. It's enough to shove him out of the foglike state that has gripped him for so often and so long, because he's a scientist, and he can't help but notice--the Pokemon pacing, almost, frustratedly, at the lack of space, sometimes bashing either unexpectedly, or worse, deliberately, against the walls. The squabbles over territory that wouldn't happen out on the routes between overcrowded packs and individuals both. The unhealthy sheen on scales and dull, patchy fur: either lack of nutrition, varied nutrition, or time or resources to groom. The people in this city are anxious and frustrated, but so are the Pokemon. Pokemon like Pyroar weren't meant to be cooped up between apartments; there's a reason that apartment leases tend to have limits on size! After a certain point it just isn't feasible to ensure the Pokemon has enough space and time to exercise and not feel hemmed in. Also, on one particular survey trip, terrifyingly, he noticed that the electrical substation had been turned into a Wild Zone, when, for obvious reasons, people generally try to keep the Aron line away from power stations and the delicate machinery that keeps Lumiose's lights on.
One day he doesn't realize it before he's made a near full loop of the city, and he jumps when Mable howls at him from his phone, "Did you even eat?! Where the fuck are you, you sorry bastard? Get your ass back here before the fucking Battle Zones come online and trap you in some mall until dawn where you piss your fucking pants for lack of a bathroom!! Take a Lumi cab if you've lost your sense of direction in the past few years!". She sends him enough money to cover a trip through his phone somehow (first thing she did was grab his phone, shake her head at how old it is and grumble about updates while downloading more apps than he can remember) and he manages to hail a cab before he sees the flickering red holo-barriers come up like eerie ghostflame.
The night is alive, but different: Lumiose is the city that never sleeps, but now night is punctured with the sounds (and sights) of rowdy Pokemon battles from sundown to sunup. Yet even that outpouring of energy and adrenaline isn't enough to satisfy the wild Pokemon, who obviously can't participate, held back by barriers as they are. Of course, neither can they be let loose to run amok through the streets, but. Sycamore feels a painful twinge at the thought of keeping them in their current conditions. It'd be wholly irresponsible and immoral to do so, and entirely against his duty as a Pokemon professor.
Mable is right. Something needs to be done about the living conditions and ecological balance of the Pokemon in the Wild Zones.
For the first time in a long, long time, he feels something root and sprout its way through the ashes of his emotions. He doesn't know what on earth he will ever do about Lysandre, and he doesn't even know what the next steps will be about the Wild Zones--they're a wonderful temporary measure, to be deployed in emergencies like the Prism Tower event, but hardly suitable for long-term use--but before he knows it, his mind is already spinning, thoughts kicking back into action in that achingly familiar rhythm. If he doesn't know the solution, doesn't know the answers to the questions he has, then there's only one thing to do: research until he drops.
Good morning, Lumiose city. Pokemon professor Augustine Sycamore is back. Not unscathed, yet once again looking to face the new day alongside everyone else with everything he has.
~~~~~
Sina and Dexio are pretty wary of her at first, because Mable is intense. She's either screaming on the phone, or through email, or else that kind of silent death-laser-focus staring for hours at her spreadsheets and graphs over a half dozen empty coffee mugs. And then just? Short dozing at her desk in snatches? But also, what they realize, slowly, is that Mable is snappy but not malicious. She tells them brusquely to read through her data--"How much of the research were you actually doing for Sycamore--don't touch my spreadsheets!" (curled protectively over her computer), quizzes them thoroughly about what they know about statistics and field research and data visualization (and paper writing, not that that'll happen from the desk of an ex-terrorist with no good standing in academia), bemoans her lack of monitors and computing power, and finally, grudgingly accepts their competence and sends them off to parse data and write reports after hovering over their shoulder for a couple minutes before stalking back to her computer again.
She forces them to stop working at reasonable times (Ha, Sycamore's supposed to be used to this kind of work schedule or I have no idea how he managed to get enough papers published for tenure, but you two are just kids. Go to sleep so you'll be functional in the morning, or if you can't, I don't know, run around the city and burn off some of that adrenaline!) and makes them go outside and do things that aren't just for research. She asks them what they like (within reason and her power to get) to slap on their desks as rewards for work done well. Hands them more responsibility and is open to sharing her thoughts and receiving feedback when it's clear that they know what they're doing. Appreciates it when they direct her to "Wherever in fuckall Sycamore put his notes and research data" (all over the place, there's things written on fucking napkins and even tissues. Fucking facial tissues!. Disgusting. She can't stop pulling random shit out of drawers and cabinets and it's clear when Sina and Dexio organized something, because it's labeled and sorted somewhat comprehensibly, whereas when it's just Sycamore it's total bafflement. "Why the fuck--er, I mean, what could have possibly possessed him to name this folder "field trip 5-3" and why does it have files on Mega Stones and Mega-capable Pokemon--which don't even match up!!" "Is this a fucking, ah, fudging interview transcript? With who? The fu--that, uh, ancient mega evolution master in Shalour? Why isn't it labeled!!! Time, date, location, interviewer, nothing!!" "Look I might be an ex-terrorist but listen, if my boss strolled in to check in on research progress and I couldn't produce it because I was scrambling through some unsorted stack of paper in desperation I would have been in deep trouble. Clearly someone needs to light a fire under Sycamore's behind."
Sina and Dexio are so inhumanly helpful in finding anything, and they actually kind of like? Working with Mable's frenzied energy? It's a lot easier to nag her into some kind of compromise for organization because she argues back but appealing to efficiency tends to succeed, so she can eventually be tag-teamed down, whereas with professor Sycamore he sighs and nods but often brushes them off. With Mable it's more, "I know where everything is", "Yes but we don't", "I'd just have to slow everything down to train you", "Yes, but if you show us how you want to do it and maybe even adjust a couple things the way we used to, it'll be faster from here on out, which is what we all want, right?" and Mable glares at two matching sets of cheerful smiles before caving.
Over the course of a few weeks Sina and Dexio and Mable blaze through the data at an inhuman pace. She slaps gold stickers on their hands like babies and actually, really smiles and thanks them before passing out. It's only concerning for a while. In the mean time, they sneak out to go get takeout that she likes and possibly ice cream for the minifridge, and debate between themselves what else she might like to spruce up the office, because it's her office now. The professor offered her both the title of Director as well as that of Pokemon Professor, and Mable snatched up the one while scorning the other. "About time you took notice of my efforts! But rest assured, you can be my assistant director" and "Like I'll ever grovel for the title of professor ever again! Insult me again like that, Sycamore, and I'll make you regret it. And besides," darkly and bitterly, "it's not like anyone would ever recognize it even if you wanted to hand it over. That's not a title for someone like me." Lighter: "I don't even really care about the titles, anyway. The Pokemon are more important, so get back at it!"
A little ominous, but that's just kind of how it goes half the time with newly-minted director Mable.
~~~~~
Sometimes Sycamore makes the mistake of falling asleep at his desk. While most of the staff can go home, and Mable has appointed either Sina or Dexio on a rotating basis to do the nightly shooing out, she obviously can't, and it almost feels like a betrayal to leave her behind. And of course, if he won't go neither will Sina or Dexio, until all of them are up late into the night burning the midnight oil and still working.
But while his wonderful assistants can handle the rigors of a schedule like that with the vigor of youth, and while Mable seems powered by endless wells of spite and/or passion, and a great deal of caffeine, he. He really is quite tired.
So then he falls asleep.
And what a terrible, agonizing mistake that is. The first time it happens, it feels like he's barely slept a wink before there's a phone alarm blaring to wake him up, and Mable is prodding at his ribs mercilessly. When he cracks his eyes open blearily the sun hasn't even risen, and his aged back is weeping with pain. "Up and at 'em, Pyroar, the sun and wild Pokemon wait for no man!"
He feels like he's crusted to his chair. Fossilized, and the amount and volume of the crackles and pops that sound off when he attempts to slowly peel himself off would have belonged in a fireworks show. Somehow everything hurts, not just his back: his neck, his shoulders, his hips, his knees. He's one big bruise. Sycamore winces and cringes the whole time, while Mable watches with cosmic indifference to the suffering of humans. Impatience, even.
She doesn't leave him entirely without solace, though. She shoves a fresh cup of coffee (Boiling! Ouch!) under his face and and tells him she's already texted the planned activities for today to his phone. And that she'd charged it because of course he'd forgotten to when he fell asleep.
And then she whirls away, and it's Sina who's on one side with his depression medication and Dexio on the other with painkillers (Mable barely looks up from her spreadsheets to yell, "Double check that those are the right kind that won't mess with his normal meds and make him bleed out (internally) on the street! I don't feel like being arrested for attempted murder today!" "Got it, director," A pause, glance, "Looks like the right kind!" "It'd better be.") like a pair of sympathetic Chansey handling a fainted Pokemon, and Sina says, "You'd better take your medication before you leave, professor, you know the Director won't let you step foot outside otherwise."
And Dexio adds wryly, "If you don't get out the door soon, you also know she'll make you deal with every single slowdown with the data afterward and her volcanic wrath besides. You'll be lucky if you survive."
~
It's only later, after he's stumbled out to make the rounds, checking his phone with the resignation of those facing an oncoming Tyrantrum, that he notices that Mable's attached a stretch routine, with the text, "You're no good to me if you shrivel into a raisin. Find some park and walk through these at least once before you come back, if you know what's good for you."
And under that, "Take some of the fucking money I pay you with and get a pillow or something. Or a beanbag or whatever, even that'd be marginally better to sleep on. If you can't make it to that before you conk out I'll have the kids physically drag you there."
He can't help it. For a moment, he smiles down at his phone, warm.
Then he's far too busy to even think.
~
Meanwhile, Sina and Dexio start getting curious. The one time they dare to ask--"When do you sleep, director Mable?" she shuts them down, hard. "Sleep is for the dead," she sips at her coffee, eyes glued to the screen, flat and harsh as the asphalt pavement. "And for those with less work than I have."
How do you even respond to that??
As if reading their thoughts, she follows up that terrifying statement with her usual flippant razor-sharp cheerfulness, and says, "So if you want me to get more sleep and feel less like setting the world on fire, perhaps consider working harder! Or writing a script to automate some of this data analysis. Or roping in more useful volunteers," she considers, "I don't really care who gets the work done so long as it is, in fact, done."
But beneath her usual vitriol, she's smiling. Huh.
"She's been smiling a lot more," Dexio mumbles, "since Sycamore came back. Before that, well..."
"Don't remind me of the kind of cataclysmic eruption we used to have to deal with daily," Sina groans. Then, logically, "It's because she has less work to do. The director's work ethic is like being blasted in the face by a star going supernova and trying to hold on for dear life, but somehow even that is less miserable than before."
~~~~~
What's entirely unexpected (to Mable, Sina, Dexio, every hapless volunteer who recognizes her, and even somewhat to Sycamore), is that at some point, Champion Diantha shows up. She's slightly concerned both about Sycamore's mental health and also the fact that he emerges somewhat rarely from what is maybe a hostage situation (It isn't, Mable kicks him outside as often as she can to do field work but he's still moping and sighing over his spreadsheets forlornly sometimes. She gets it, depression is like that and there's no cure but time, and sometimes not even that), and Mable just yells at him to "go wrangle your friend that Champion actor lady", "Maybe get her to kick Quasartico in the face" (Hmm. Concerning). Augustine Sycamore stumbles out of the elevator and. He doesn't look well. He's got heavy bags under his eyes ("Ah, that's just the workload" he smiles feebly at her), he's thinner, but more than that, the way he carries himself has changed. He's weighed down: slower, smaller movements that speak of heart-pain, hunched, guilty as he catches her questioning gaze and looks away, and in that brief glance, his eyes are haunted. He's grieving, she thinks, sympathetic. Oh, Augustine. At the same time, a spark of anger: they had both trusted--loved, as much as she tries not to think about it, boxes it neatly away where it can't hurt her when it isn't useful--Lysandre. And he betrayed them, betrayed all of Kalos.
More than that, she knows he's alive, but apparently amnesiac--while inscrutable to humans, the legendary Pokemon Zygarde should be able to keep him in check. And Team Flare is scattered, some arrested, others pardoned, still others having taken up plea deals like ex-Flare scientist Mable, but. In the wake of a second catastrophe in five years, where she was too late to help as all the world screamed in terror under the light of ruin, she can't afford any further seeds of misfortune. Augustine might trust Mable, but her friend has not had the best judgment, historically. She will see for herself whether Mable's appearances deceive, or not.
She has the time--will make the time--for her friend, though. "Augustine, dear, it's wonderful to see you well." Warmly, because that is no lie; as poorly as he appears to be doing now, it is still a vast improvement from the last time she saw him, before he fled Kalos entirely, shattered. "How have you been? Busy?" A touch pointedly, but above all concerned. She flicks her gaze meaningfully at the ceiling, where Mable must reside.
"Ah, haha...ha" he laughs rather nervously, "Director Mable has certainly been running me into the ground..." he hurries to reassure her at her raised eyebrow, "It's nothing bad, just that we are rather swamped with the data on the Wild Zones, even with the expanded staff. And, er, the fact that it is rather difficult to gather data on certain aggressive, or rare, or both-aggressive-and-rare Pokemon..." he trails off as she simply intensifies her stare. Weakly, "Perhaps you'd like to speak to director Mable?"
Anxious, with the frenetic energy of the overly-caffeinated, Director Mable? She weighs how much bluntness might spook him if he's really being threatened versus how much faster it might coax information out of him when he's like this, decides on the latter. It's not like she can't handle whatever threat Mable might pose as a trainer. Quietly, calmly, "Are you in danger?"
"What?" he seems genuinely surprised, she muses, watching. Protective, even. Hmm. "No, no, you've got it wrong, Diantha, Mable has been the one spearheading the research efforts into the Wild Zones while I was, er, away. I can provide a brief overview, if you'd like, but Mable is more keenly aware of some of the obstacles we're facing. Actually," He takes a breath, sets his shoulders, a steely glint entering his eyes (He looks like he has purpose again, she thinks. Startled, but pleased. He's always been at his best tackling some research problem or other), "We were hoping that you might be able to resolve some of them for us."
"Oh?"
~
They go up the elevator, and she takes stock of her surroundings. Mable is busy at her desk, and so are Sina and Dexio at theirs. She smiles at the two, approaches Mable, who bursts out, "Fu-fudging Quasartico! You'd think they'd be willing to hand over a small slice of that data I know they're collecting on Wild Zone 20, they've probably got cameras and drones all over, but no! They won't hand it over! Given how they've locked it behind ZA-Royale ranks, they should know very well that that's the hardest zone to survey, and just as well that it's the most crucial! Fudge them and fudge their CEO sideways!"
This is. Not the most auspicious start, but somehow Mable manages to actually explain, without swearing, the roadblocks that she, Sycamore, and everyone else at the Pokemon Research Lab have been encountering. And then she asks for Diantha's help. ("As champion, you care about both the people and Pokemon of the region. I don't care much for the people, but if there's anything I can get across to you, I hope I've made it clear that I care about the Pokemon. Maybe Quasartico and the mayor will actually listen to you and do something--they sure as anything won't listen to me!"). And Sycamore, Sina, and Dexio fill her in on the situation, more thoroughly, while Mable goes back to glaring at her screen and muttering.
The thing is, the more she listens to them, sees the data, the photos, the firsthand reports from trainers, the more she believes them. She doesn't fully trust Mable; might never fully trust Mable. But regardless of who produced the data, it's legitimate. And she does trust Augustine, who swears up and down that he and his assistants have triple-checked everything as much as they are able. Because that is precisely the problem: they can't actually verify the data themselves without more people, a combination of strong trainers, practiced researchers, and above all else, cooperation from Quasartico and the mayor. Mable can't leave despite five years of good behavior ("Can't even take out my trash!") and she's the one, like it or not, with the most knowledge of the situation.
And, well, if gentle moral pressure isn't enough to make Quasartico act. Diantha knows someone who would be very willing to crush them under her heel. It'd be a juicy, juicy story, after all, even if it has been years since she's taken to the newsreels. Exposing the truth, destroying an opponent, and helping the people too--somehow Diantha doesn't think it'll be too difficult to convince her to give the situation in Lumiose city a little helpful nudge.
~~~~~~
Mentioning Malva is the one thing has shaken Mable, which Diantha finds to be quite amusing. Mable isn't afraid of being seriously injured by these "alphas" (of course not! They're just defending their territory and bored out of their minds! We humans have just made ourselves very appealing targets!), but mentioning Malva's name has her clamped down, hissing, "You must be mad to try and tempt the Pyroar out of her den! What on Earth could you possibly have on her that could guarantee her cooperation?" and Diantha just smiles.
Mable, with fear and respect, "You are a terrifying woman. The public has no idea."
~~~~~~
Diantha gets a text from an unknown number, and frowns, skims it, relaxes. Ah.
Mable: This is Mable. Got your number from Sycamore. I need you to tell me what kind of coffee he likes, from what cafe. He puts up with whatever I have on hand with minimal fuss, but honestly, neither of us are happy about it. Only the kids can drink this without suffering.
Diantha: He likes Robustaryu from Kizuna cafe. May I ask why you aren't asking him?
Mable: I'd like to surprise him. As I predicted, people are much more willing to talk to him than to me, but I don't care so long as the research gets done.
Diantha: And as for your favorite?
Mable: Useless until I'm out of house arrest. But if you really care, why not send a better coffee machine? For all that the boss had his flaws, he didn't give us coffee dregs. And since I can't leave, the best I'll ever get is either a delivery or pods. Even I know that good coffee means good morale, and therefore good research productivity. A happy lab is one with lots of delicious caffeine.
~
After a few days, Sina brings in a delivery: a top-of-the-line coffee machine and pods.
~~~~~~
It takes months before Diantha finally decides on telling Augustine about Lysandre...or L, the name he's been going by. She still isn't resolved on how she feels about him--or his amnesia, or his newfound service to a legendary Pokemon of balance, and she isn't sure now is the right time to tell Augustine when he's still in such a fragile state, but he has recovered a great deal. And if he keeps moving about the city the chances of him running into l unprepared increases by the day.
Augustine does not take the news well. He breaks, hope and anguish in equal measure warring, as he chokes out, "Why? Why tell me now? After everything?". He curls up and promptly starts crying. Sina and Dexio rush over to him and start comforting him immediately. And the second person she was...testing is a cold way to put it, but yes, testing, Mable, gives her such a chilly look and hisses, "He was doing so well!"
She pauses, turns the interaction over and is clearly processing it before she realizes and snaps, "You! Absolutely not! I don't care about Lysandre, I've told you this once, ten, a hundred times! You and Interpol and the police and every other nosy gossiper who asks! He fucked up, so fuck him! All I care about is Pokemon! You might think in Team Flare we're all the same, and true, there were plenty of misanthropes and nihilists who were interested in omnicide, but I was not and am not!" She strides closer, arms folded so tightly her whole body is a coiled spring of tension. "And now look at what you did! You fucking traumatized him again!" She gestures violently at the still-sobbing Augustine, shielded by his assistants.
Honesty. All of it is honest: Mable, judging from her frequent rants and grumblings, seems largely incapable of deception, certainly not for this long. And she knows this, knew it before she set these events in motion. But still. "He needed to know. You can't keep it a secret from him forever." she says it quietly, softly. Tries to move closer to lay a hand on his back.
"Oh fuck off, and give me that." Mable grabs a tablet and shoves it roughly under Augustine's face, and she tenses, but Mable only waves it like a dog treat, impatiently. "Sycamore, you fucking crybaby, stop bawling and start running chi-square tests on these most recent tables. And take more tissues; don't drip all over my data!"
Miraculously, this somehow manages to stem the tide of tears. Evidently the lure of statistics is enough to distract him from heartache. He picks up the tablet tremblingly, blows his nose pathetically, sucks in a few deep breaths amid the comforting back-patting, and gets to work, lines of code streaking across the screen.
Still using the tablet as a buffer, he drags his gaze back up to Diantha, and manages, miserably, "I don't want to see him again. I don't think I could bear it. I think--I think I hate him. I hate what he's done." resolve cracking, he turns back to his research and deliberately ignores her. Sina is giving him a half-hug while Dexio watches him, offering gentle corrections when his shaking fingers mistype something.
It's Mable that corners Diantha, even the facade of a smile gone. She's deadly serious as she says, flatly, "I don't know much about what friends are like. But I don't think what you just did was particularly friendly. And I know--" Mable cuts her off, pointedly, "that you're the champion, that you've got a lot to think about with this whole city, the whole region balancing on your shoulders. And I know it's our fault, Team Flare, and him, the boss especially. But I think you should think long and hard about whether you want to keep dragging Sycamore into this, and more than that, how you're going to make this up to him, because you, doing this--this dipping in and out of his life, half the time with bombshells to drop on him? That's not good for his mental health. And this is bigger than just getting him a latte and being forgiven."
She lets Mable speak, because that way there's more to read. And Mable has placed herself squarely between Diantha and the rest of the room: protectiveness, fearlessness. And she realizes in a flash that perhaps she was seeing someone else entirely--too much of Malva, and specifically, Malva and Team Flare at their worst. Malva's rage, all the uglier emotions of the human heart, one of the worst days of her life, fire arcing over the sky like impending doom and the wrenching certainty of betrayal. And yet. Mable's ferocity evokes some of the best of Malva as well. Someone fierce and tempestuous and passionate as a storm, as fire itself. But Mable isn't Malva. And in playing these games for too long, she's overlooked the casualties of the battle. Of the four of them, Augustine was never the fighter. Stepping into the crystal clarity, Diantha murmurs, sincere, "I know." I know--I know now. And then, almost childish, "I'm sorry. That won't happen again."
Mable nods, once, sharp, "That's good. But I'm not the one you should be apologizing to." She jerks her chin wordlessly at Augustine, and lets Diantha pass, watching her all the while. Director Mable of the Pokemon Research Institute, she thinks, and for once, she doesn't doubt, doesn't fear, doesn't suspect. Just inclines her head, respectful.
She reaches dear, dear Augustine, takes his free hand, and squeezes. He squeezes back, and she promises that she'll be here for him, as she should have been. For Lumiose, for Kalos.
~~~~~
It isn't even a week later before Diantha gets a text from Mable: "Tell me what Sycamore likes so I know what to get for his birthday. I need to add it to the spreadsheet. Tell me something you like, too."
Not a request but a demand, but even then she feels a pressure fading from her chest. She's more relieved than she realized. No burned bridges this time, then. She taps back, "Augustine is a romantic. He likes scented candles, but it doesn't have to be fancy. He doesn't like berry scents too much, but something calming is good. Lavender, jasmine, vanilla." She dodges the question about what she would like.
Barely a minute later comes Mable's reply. "Why are candles so much money???"
She hides a laugh behind a hand, "Would you like me to chip in?"
"Yes, please. Tell me what I owe you later. Hmm, something for Gardevoir? Also, the kids say hi, and that you're invited for his birthday party."
A moment later, "Don't fuck it up."
"Of course."
And length, a peace offering from Diantha: “I spoke to Quasartico and the mayor. It took perhaps more effort than I would have liked, but they finally agreed to consider adjustments to the Wild Zones, once you and Augustine have discussed the best path forward.”
“FUCK YES!!!”
~~~~~
It takes a lot longer than Mable would have liked--some irritating combination of forgetting due to work and making that placating gesture (I know you're watching, look at me playing nice!) to the likely-ever-watching Interpol and Quasartico that she has no desire to pick up where Team Flare left off--to get around to telling Sycamore about Team Flare's second generation. The kids left behind in the wreckage who grew up to be adults, who've stuck around out of a motley mix of love for the city, her people, and some of the ideals the big boss espoused.
Given how long it's been, she doesn't even know all that well how they're doing, but. There's a loose network of ex-Flare people, initially tied up together by Interpol and their mandatory therapy sessions to talk about their feelings in a monitored circle that mostly stuck together out of necessity when the rest of the world tended to either turn its face from them deliberately or pretend they never existed. And she does know these two rising stars at least by name: the most ambitious of the second generation, Grisham and Griselle, formerly Team Flare's hot new powerhouse trainers, currently proprietors of cafe trucks across the city.
And honestly, she has no clue what's going to happen when she kicks sad wet Litleo Sycamore at these kids. Sycamore, who's surprisingly actually very good at running herd on a bunch of brats, and with that soft bruised heart and outsized sense of responsibility weighing him down like a sack of bricks. He's never going to replace their parents, either too stupid or too proud for their own good to take a plea deal and keep their heads down, but. Well, in terms of the equation between him and Lysandre, she figures he comes out somewhere like "stepdad". "Ex-boyfriend of beloved mentor and idol of a cult", dealing with the chiral opposite-hand reflected-axis kind of pain as the kids is simply too long of a mouthful to say, and frankly, unlikely to explain anything to Grisham and Griselle and their band. Or it'll explain everything too well, and they'll maybe lash out at him for seeing too deeply into their wounded hearts. Or maybe it'll go well, Sycamore's mysterious kid-friendliness maybe has something to do with not patronizing them (he's been surprisingly decent to work with. She'd come into this with a certain kind of expectation: showy, boastful professor who lectures you about the books he's written, or useless deadwood hanging onto the coattails of earlier productivity and propped up by countless unthanked research assistants, and somehow, Sycamore is neither)--hard to put statistics to the fluffiness of human emotions.
But she does know that Grisham and Griselle, in the aftermath of yet another disaster to strike Lumiose, have earned some small amount of goodwill. Heroics are certainly good for PR, but, she thinks, bitterly, never as good as, say, the esteemed Pokemon professor speaking on your behalf. Or, eventually, if Sycamore manages some more champion-wrangling, her merciful (ha! But appearances are what the public likes) serene highness.
~
So she puts down her work for once, stretches, and wanders over to where Sycamore, and his assistants, Sina and Dexio, and doing that quiet, helpful half-snatch of conversation between them (" Where's the latest data for Wild Zone 20--" "Got it, here, I've sorted the data by date." "Thank you"). Thumps his shoulder, and he startles, then double-takes again at the fact that she's not at her desk, and she says, simply, "There's some people you should meet. I know you're still torn up about Lysandre, or L, or whatever he's going by these days, but I also know his limbo state doesn't provide much closure."
That gets his attention nice and fast, eyes going wide. She's no good at this kind of therapytalk, and because she knows she's no good, doesn't bother to try too often. Actions can speak louder than words, but sometimes words are the only tool for the job. "You didn't know much about Team Flare, did you?" She can keep her tone calm, at least, even if she can't quite manage soothing like his assistants. Said assistants have also looked up and paused, equally curious.
And just like that his face darkens like a cloud passing over the sun, or like a Sunflora withering. "No, I find that I knew very little about what he was doing."
Hums, deliberately upbeat, "Sure. But I'd like to draw your attention to a ~little problem~. After the Team Flare incident, well--did you know that some members of Team Flare brought their kids to work?"
"No, I didn't." Sycamore's frown has turned thoughtful. Good! Let Mr. Scientist do what he's best at: thinking, because clearly emotions haven't been working out for him very well. Not in the romantic realm, anyway, not that she'd know anything about that. The wonders of being married to your work instead.
She gives him the short abstract version: "Most people didn't either, but when they found out. You know how people avoid any mention of Team Flare like the plague?" He nods. "Yeah, it's like that but a lot worse for the People. And it doesn't matter whether they were kids or not."
"...Ah." Mable sees the instant he makes the connection from her shitty house arrest to the dilapidated ruins of Lysandre cafe, to a fraction of what Grisham and Griselle have been going through.
She pulls his phone off the desk, disconnects the charger, and taps a map marker each onto the Nouveau Cafe truck locations. "whenever you're feeling up to it, I think you should talk to Grisham and Griselle about what they've been going through. And what you can do to help."
Addresses his assistants, "Sina, Dexio, one of you can go with professor sad cat if you think he'd be in danger. Grisham and Griselle are strong trainers, but if you're willing to believe I have no hidden evil schemes, believe it of them too. They want to carry out the best version of Lysandre's ideals. Improving the world, one cup of coffee at a time." Hilariously, they immediately go off to rock-paper-scissors-squabble over who gets to accompany Sycamore.
"Director Mable." She blinks, turns back to Sycamore where he's currently shrugging off his lab coat in that tiny but somehow effective method of preventing recognition on the streets. He meets her gaze with a surprising determination. "Grisham and Griselle--they're in pain, aren't they."
It's not a question.
"I'm no therapist," she puts the disclaimers right up front. "but you don't have to be a therapist to get it. You know, I haven't really experienced the kind of stigma they have, since, house arrest and all." she waves a hand irritably at the walls and windows. "But I think, if I were out there doing the fieldwork? Even for me, when I didn't care nearly as much as either you or them about Lysandre..." she trails off. Tries to extrapolate from the expectations and relative privilege and comfort and luxury of Team Flare, to being thrown out on the streets of Lumiose, which in spite of its metaphorical and literal light, carries the same deep shadows of the human psyche as everywhere else. Humans aren't rational, she knows that. And sometimes that irrationality turns to cruelty, to exclusion of the other, of those labeled monstrous. Even when you want to turn over a new leaf, even when you've fought and struggled and shouted your repentance to the world.
"It doesn't feel very good when the world--even if it's just the social structures in your immediate environment and not the actual world--comes crashing down. And people will forgive you, pity you, Augustine Sycamore--the esteemed, shining Pokemon professor, beloved of all--for being manipulated, for being exploited." She meets his gaze, locked on. "But even though they were just kids, they won't forgive Grisham and Griselle, and everyone else. The world's unfair like that. Second chances don't come easy if you're not the right person."
"Then let's see if there isn't anything I can do," Sycamore hovers in the elevator hallway, and. Huh. The set of his shoulders, the line of his jaw. He's serious. She can't help but be struck, then, by another image, overlaid: Lysandre, eyes burning fire, proclaiming his ideals to all of Team Flare. The passion to remake the world, for better or for worse, that had drawn her like Dustox to flame. And--for all that Sycamore isn't Lysandre, far from it, something here, now, in the way he stands, in the way he speaks...huh, she thinks, slowly smiling. Not too bad, professor.
Their ideals may have been at opposite ends of the spectrum, or perhaps the same and only different in execution (A world of people and Pokemon; she's heard that countless times and only now, looking at Sycamore, does she think he has both the determination and actual ability to act on it. And the kind heart to steer it through). And yet. She's grinning now, sharp and real.
"Go get 'em, Pyroar. I have faith in you."
"Thank you, Director Mable. I'll do everything I can, everything in my power to help."