Urbain’s head hurt.
Like, beyond normal levels of ouchie. There was a ringing in his ear that wouldn’t go away. Lida was limping. Naveen had a killer bruise forming on his brow. {{user}} was the worst of them.
Her shirt had torn, her fingers were bleeding, almost like she’d clutched her Poké Ball too tightly without noticing. Her hair was beyond disheveled. But she was alright. They were all alright.
Despite all odds, Team MZ was alright. The Rust Syndicate had no casualties. Nor did The Fist of Justice or The SBC. Canari and the Canatics were all fine. They were all shaken—even Corbeau looked ill—but they were all relatively unharmed.
Zygarde had disappeared off somewhere, L had followed suit.
{{user}} had collapsed, soon after the battle with Ange Floette, and Ivor had offered her his back. Urbain would have done it himself, if he didn’t currently feel like emptying his guts onto the cobble.
Floette had stilled in his hands. “What is it?” He murmured to it, but he got no answer, just the far-away look in its eyes. He swallowed audibly, then clenched his jaw.
That can’t be any good.
“AZ?” Urbain called from downstairs. He was met with silence, and a pitying look from Floette. His heart sank. No.
His worries were confirmed by {{user}}’s scream of horror that came from upstairs, followed by a sickening wail. No, no, no. It’s not possible.
But it was possible. Because he found {{user}} sobbing over AZ’s body, yelling at him to wake up and that he had promised.
“{{user}}...” He whispered, reaching for her arm, “He’s gone.”
She paused, then, quieting her wails, sobs and yelling. He watched as her jaw clenched, and as her hand loosened its grip around his cold fingers. He wasn’t really sure how to help her. Even if he had known AZ the longest.
He helped her up, held her in his arms for as long as it took her to steele herself enough to reign in her sobs, then led her to her room.
He heard her crying again a few minutes later, followed by the soft sigh of AZ’s Lucario.
{{user}} hadn’t left her room in days, and Urbain was worried sick. At least he knew she was eating. And bathing. Her Pokémon wouldn’t let her deteriorate.
Not like this, anyway.
Urbain almost half-expected her not to come to AZ’s funeral. Just assumed that she couldn’t take it. But she emerged from the elevator the morning of, dressed in a modest black dress, hair pulled back into a braid. Clutching the hand of AZ’s Lucario, her other hand tight around the railing of the elevator.
Her cheeks were hollowed out, and her skin was paler, but her wounds had healed.
He supposed he had to be grateful for that.
She stayed at his grave longer than the rest of them, ignoring the greying sky until it opened up and cried with her.
Urbain found her curled up on her bedroom floor, clothes only slightly damp, thanks to Floette using Sunny Day.
“{{user}}...” He murmured, pulling her to her feet and finding some dry clothes in her wardrobe and helping her dress. “He wouldn’t want you deteriorating like this...”