”Gyarados? No shit?” Mike’s eyebrows hiked up his forehead, and he rocked forward onto his toes, his excitement all but overflowing. Fuck yes, he could go for wrestling a Gyarados for his first pokemon.

Not his first, he thought, with a brief pang of guilt, but -- he had to start over fresh, didn’t he? What better way than to study water-types? His imagination drifted, skirting over the few others he could remember. (Gyarados was obviously the best and the brightest of that type, but there was also Sharpedo, and Feraligatr was pretty cool.) Hell, maybe he’d even wind up becoming a firefighter, and wouldn’t that be ironic?

His fingers brushed over the cellphone in his pocket, deciding briefly if he should let Avery know where the hell he’d gone. It’s not like they hadn’t been talking about doing this -- going out and getting pokemon, becoming proper trainers -- but Mike decided to wait. Something about this needed to be private. Something about this needed to be more serious than he was making it out to be. This was his symbolic goddamn abandonment of hope at ever getting Killer back. He grit his teeth against the grim line of thought and scowled across the desk, watching his paperwork get stowed. This ranger didn’t need to see this side of him, Mike knew, and he forced it down.

He leaned in and nudged Kieran’s ribs with an elbow as he passed, teasing. “I wouldn’t mind a Gyarados, yanno’, I could probably take it.” He flexed for show, glancing down at the Gloom for backup. “Eh? Pretty strong, right?”

The elevator was a bit cramped with all three inside, and Mike lounged up against the back, arms folded across his chest. “I’m surprised y’all don’t free-climb down to this catching spot,” he said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them, “From what I hear, you’re supposed to have all sorts of badasses in your - uh, group.” He shrugged and stood tall, pushing away from the elevator wall to roll his shoulders.

“Watch and learn,” he boasted, as he felt the elevator start to slow, “You aren’t gonna’ want to miss this--”

The Gloom’s reply drew an easy smile to Mike’s lips, and he laughed at the chipper conviction in her voice. “I like this one,” he announced to Kieran before the elevator announced they had reached their destination with a soft ding. “If this goes sideways, can I take her?” he asked, teasing.

He didn’t bother to wait for the ranger’s response before stepping out into the… field? He squinted out across the stretch of softly swaying grasses, dotted at random with bursts of colorful wildflowers. It was hardly the spectacle he’d built up in his head, but Mike could appreciate the landscape, at least. He took a few steps out, shoes crunching over the grass, and squinted as he gazed out across the horizon.

So, what, grass types? That could be interesting, although if he was going to pull a 180, he’d halfway hoped he was going to find a water type. Maybe there was something big hidden out in the long grasses, something big and bulky like a Rhyhorn -- that would be awesome. The faint patter of small paws through the grass didn’t reach him until it was too late to move: a flash of brown fur and hard thwack as head met shin.

Mike startled half a step backwards, arms raised at his sides and one foot hovering mid-air, like he was afraid of stepping on the tiny bundle of fluff. He was silent for a beat, looking the young pokemon over before throwing a questioning look at Kieran.

“... For real? You guys pulling my leg?”

It was an eevee, he was pretty sure. That he had ‘asked’ the universe to guide him to the right type to train and received a pokemon with such potential didn’t pass him by -- and he’d definitely unpack that later over a couple of beers. For now, he knelt in front of the pokemon, knees cracking as he lowered himself.

“You alright there, runt?” he asked, harsh words contrasting with the genuine warmth in his tone. Sure, this wasn’t the manliest, and maybe there’d been some kind of mistake, but Mike wasn’t heartless. He grabbed the eevee by the scruff, just like he used to handle Killer when she was a pup, and peered down at the crown of his head. No blood, as far as he could see. Probably just smarted from headbutting his leg -- Mike's own shin was still stinging, so he didn’t exactly blame the eevee. (He was, however, skeptical of the rangers’ judgement if they thought this pokemon was anywhere close to battle-ready.)

“Yeah,” he affirmed, “Yeah, you’re just fine. Too fast for your own good, huh?”

The eevee squirmed in his grip, and Mike found himself met with a surprisingly determined scowl. He tucked his hand under eevee’s back legs for support. The pup was heavier than he’d expected -- maybe not a pup at all.

< How do you know I wasn’t aiming for you? >

The conviction in the eevee’s tone drew a soft huff of a chuckle from Mike’s lips, and he knelt to set the eevee back on the ground.  Maybe he was a better candidate for a starter pokemon than Mike had originally given him credit for. 

“Well, if you were, we gotta’ work on your technique, huh?” A sudden mental image of the eevee in a flashy red helmet -- with flames painted down the side -- crossed Mike’s imagination. Oh, yes. “If you’re going to tackle someone, you gotta’ mean it. Otherwise you’re just gonna’ hurt yourself more.” He ruffled the soft, plush fur atop the eevee’s head almost absentmindedly.

“Oh! Hey, I have a great idea -- d’you want to practice?” Mike’s face lit up, and he stood tall and stretched before jogging a few yards into the field. Hell, if this wasn’t obviously a ranger reserve biome, he could see himself relaxing and enjoying a couple of beers out here.  He made a mental note to ask Kieran if he and his ranger buddies ever did exactly that.  When he’d gotten far enough away, he turned on his heel and half-crouched, center of gravity lowered and arms stretched out wide.

“Going for the shins is good if you can actually sweep the leg, but you might be better off going for somewhere softer,” he said, patting his stomach, “C’mon, try and knock me over!"

“Like you mean it,” Mike goaded, squaring off against the eevee. “Don’t hold back.”

If he’d known the limitations of eevee’s vertical leap, he might have chosen different words. This was fun, though, something thrilling after so many days of monotony -- in the moment, it seemed like a perfectly good idea. What better way to help train young pokemon than with your own two hands?

With a determination that was quickly winning Mike’s heart over, the eevee dug his paws into the earth and launched towards him, tail wagging. Mike willed himself not to tense up, to take the entirety of eevee’s tackle to really let the small pokemon feel like he was strong and --

Pain erupted through Mike’s body as eevee’s very, very hard skull impacted with the boys. He shouted some incoherent mash of curses and doubled over, taking one very weak, very shaky step backwards.

“Uhhhhhhhh,” he groaned, both hands cupped over his goods as he slowly fell first to his knees, and then all the way forward until his forehead rested on the grass. “Good one,” he wheezed, “You jerk.”

When he’d managed to regain some control of his body, pain no longer binding him into a tense fetal curl, he clambered to his hands and knees and glared the eevee down. Tears, startled from him by the shock of pain, glistened in his eyes.

“You did that on purpose!” The accusation, more celebratory than anything, was followed by barking laughter, and Mike stood, brushing off his pants. “Fuckin’ vicious -- I like it! Uh, so, I’m Mike. I’m gonna’ be a trainer, and, I dunno’, I think you’re gonna’ end up really strong. Do you want to come with me?” He nodded over to the elevator. “My buddy Avery’s coming with me, and I think he’s gonna’ be getting a pokemon soon too, so we’ll have plenty of people to practice with.”