Disclaimer: the PPC was originally created by Jay and Acacia. Pokémon belongs to Nintendo. Gaspard and Tacitus belong to me and World One belongs to itself.

I’d like to thank DawnFire, Iximaz, and the Irish Samurai for their beta reading services.

Intangible

Gaspard dragged himself into RC 22’s living room. He was feeling very, very tired. So tired, in fact, that he only made it halfway across the Response Centre before he felt too weak to continue, so he lay down on his back, spread his arms and legs out a little, and stared up at the Generic Grey ceiling while thinking about nothing in particular.

He stayed in that position for a good thirty minutes until he heard scratching at the door. A small voice in the corner of his brain told him that he really should get up and answer the door, but it was quickly drowned out by a tidal wave of fatigue. “Come in,” he groaned.

The scratching continued, more aggressively this time. Gaspard didn’t do anything except look up at the ceiling some more. After a while the scratching stopped and there was the characteristic sound of a D.O.R.K.S. being used and something fumbling with the doorknob. The door opened, there were footsteps, the door closed, the lock was pushed in, and the D.O.R.K.S. was used again. This time, there was the skittering of paws on the floor.

In a colossal surge of willpower, Gaspard turned his head to see Tacitus the Zorua approaching him, looking cross.

“Oh, right. The reports,” mumbled Gaspard. “Sorry for not answering the door. I had a bad day. Just... put the Mansfield reports somewhere and take your payment from the fridge. I don’t care. Just eat anything.”

The Pokémon nodded, looking slightly less miffed. He pulled a letter from his vest using his teeth and balanced it neatly on the human agent’s head. He then slowly made his way to RC 22’s kitchenette and, after struggling with the refrigerator door with his paws, temporarily used a human disguise for dexterity to take an entire ham shank from the refrigerator. Tacitus carried it back to the living room in his mouth. He raised an eyebrow at Gaspard, who hadn’t moved from where he was lying. The Zorua put the shank to the side, took out his personal notebook and his pen, and wrote a message by gripping the pen between his teeth.

Gaspard stared vacantly at the piece of paper now being waved in front of his nose. Words. Oh, right. The Spy focused on the note. I see that the date didn’t go too well, it read.

“No, it didn’t,” said Gaspard. “To be completely honest with you, I was kinda prepared for this result.”

Tacitus withdrew the paper and added another line. That pessimistic?

“I don’t know. I always knew I was a bit of a joke but this takes the cake.”

Tacitus cocked his head to the side. He wrote down a reply. Colour me intrigued. Go on.

“Well,” said Gaspard, “you know that girl that started chatting with me a while ago? Through the ICEP chat? Well, we decided that we would like to meet up. Just a casual rendezvous at the park, buy some food at a random place, and chat face-to face. You can’t really call it a date. More like... a friendly meetup.”

The Zorua chuckled. Considering how badly you’re taking this, I think this was a little more than just a friendly meetup, he wrote.

Gaspard shrugged. “It was the first time anyone had said that I was funny, that I was really making them laugh. She said that she looked forward to our daily chats. We shared quite a lot of interests too: we’re both gamers, we love Pratchett, we stayed up late talking to each other about random things, and she was the one pushing for the meetup. Said she really wanted to know what I looked like and that she hoped to keep meeting me afterwards. Did I have a crush on her? Probably, yeah.” He paused for a moment and said, “Though I think the meetings will be indefinitely postponed as of now.”

Let me guess. She didn’t like what she saw. Tacitus smirked.

In response, Gaspard shrugged again. “Can you blame her?” he said flatly.

Tacitus pulled off one of his all-teeth-no-warmth smiles at the human agent. Tell me what happened, Quasimodo, he wrote.

“There’s nothing much to it,” said Gaspard. “About three hours ago I clocked off and went to the park in New Caledonia to wait for her. Today’s a nice day, by the way: lots of sun, not very humid, light breeze, and no clouds in the sky. I sat down in the shade of a bench and—”

He was interrupted by Tacitus hissing. The Zorua scowled at him, probably shorthand for “cut to the chase”.

“Right then. I saw her approaching me. She hadn’t noticed me yet. She was...” Gaspard fell silent.

Tacitus leaned forward and raised his eyebrows.

“She was so beautiful,” said Gaspard quietly. “And I’m not talking about fashion-magazine, heavy-makeup beautiful. She had the most beautiful smile. It even reached her eyes: when she got close to me, it seemed as if they had some joyful spark behind them... and then she saw me. That spark— gone. Click!” The Spy mimed flicking off a light switch. “She was still smiling, but her eyes were empty.”

A smirk slowly spread across Tacitus’ face as Gaspard continued his story: “I said ‘hello’ and went to shake her hand. She returned the handshake but very limply. Now that I think back on it, I should’ve noticed that she was creeped out by me but I was too nervous to notice. We made small talk for about a minute or two before she said that she had to go to the washroom. She never came back. I waited for two hours before realising what happened.”

Tacitus was sporting a terrifyingly large grin on his face by the time Gaspard had finished talking. He pushed a note towards the human agent. You know, I’ve heard about unattractive people before, but you seem to have actually repelled someone else. That’s an achievement in my books.

“I seriously don’t know anymore,” said Gaspard. “Every time I put myself out there, I get stepped on. I don’t think it’s worth it anymore.”

Then stop. Cut your losses and move on, wrote Tacitus. Do something worthwhile with your time. He nodded towards the letter still balanced on Gaspard’s ear. You have a civil war to plan, yes? Hundreds of lives rest in your hands, General. In this timeline, you can do something great with your life. Isn’t that what you want? Recognition? Then earn it.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a poisonous friend, Tacitus?”

The Zorua shrugged. You know, if someone actually considers me their ‘friend’, I’d say they have a poor taste in companions.

“So you’d rather not have anyone around you, then? You’d rather solo life instead of having people to help you along?”

Tacitus’ expression remained perfectly neutral. I know that deep down, I am not a good person. Along with assisting half-crazed loonies in killing sparkly things, I violate people’s privacy and sell their secrets. I don’t care. Pecunia non olet: money has no smell. At the end of the day, material goods are the only thing that matter and I know how to make myself rich.

“And deep deep down, I bet you know that’s not true,” said Gaspard. “Am I right? Don’t you want a friend?”

Tacitus only stared back at his colleague until Gaspard broke eye contact.

The two Spies were silent for the better part of a minute. “We’re a couple of pretty sad-looking losers, aren’t we?” said Gaspard.

It could be worse, wrote Tacitus.

“It could be better,” mumbled Gaspard.