All the while, Hiroshi had been preparing a plate for himself as well. He finally scraped the last of the eggs and beef from the pans onto a dish, adding a bit of salad and a buttered roll. Nothing fancy—he was far too tired to make a separate gourmet dish for himself—but it looked hearty and satisfying. He set his plate aside on the counter for the moment. There was one more thing he needed (besides food) to truly start feeling human again: a hot shower.
He glanced at the wall clock: 5:50 A.M. Time was slipping by. If he wanted even a short rest, he'd have to be quick. But he also knew if he sat down to eat first in his current state, the food coma might claim him before he ever rinsed the grime of the night's battles off his body. Better to freshen up now, then eat and catch a power nap.
Seeing that everyone was happily occupied with their breakfasts (and likely ready to doze off right after), Hiroshi cleared his throat gently. "Guys, I'm going to grab a quick shower," he announced. "Behave yourselves. And please don't wreck anything while I'm in there. That means you, Raichu." He shot the electric mouse a mock stern look. Raichu, who was busy licking berry juice off its paws, gave an offended squeak as if to say Me? Never! The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that its orange snout was smeared with a bit of chocolate from the earlier cookie attempt. Hiroshi laughed and shook his head.
Daisy stood from the couch in a fluid motion. She stepped towards Hiroshi and gave a small bow of her head, indicating she would keep watch. A silent understanding passed between them: he was vulnerable in the shower, so she'd mind the fort telepathically, just in case. Hiroshi knew it was extraordinarily unlikely anything would happen here—Makima's arrangements were undoubtedly secure—but old habits died hard for both him and his Gardevoir. "Thank you, Daisy," he said softly. Daisy responded by gently levitating his discarded suit jacket and folding it neatly over the back of a chair, as if to say go, I've got this.
Hiroshi grabbed a clean change of clothes from the single suitcase that had been delivered earlier (the sum total of his personal belongings, really). Then he made his way to the bathroom, stepping around Wartortle who was now stretched out on the cool bathroom tiles, looking ready for a post-meal nap right there. "Excuse me, buddy," Hiroshi chuckled as he carefully stepped over the snoozing turtle. Wartortle opened one eye and gave a lazy wave of its paw before drifting off, clearly in bliss.
The bathroom lights came on with a soft motion-activated glow. Hiroshi set his fresh clothes on the counter and took in the sight. The Jacuzzi tub was indeed massive, and there was even a small attached sauna room behind a glass door. But those could wait for another time. The rainfall shower—an array of high-tech nozzles and a digital temperature display—beckoned. He stripped off his rumpled shirt and trousers, stepping out of them with relief, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Yikes, he thought. Dark circles under his ice blue eyes, a few new bruises blooming on his arms from last night's scuffles, and generally a tired pallor to his usually warm tan complexion. "I look like a ghost," he muttered. A ghost in dire need of a shower.
He tapped the shower panel and water cascaded down from the ceiling in a steaming curtain. Hiroshi stepped in and groaned with pleasure as the hot water pounded against his sore shoulders and back. It was heavenly. For a long moment, he simply stood there, eyes closed, letting the heat seep into his muscles. Weeks of tension and grime seemed to melt off and swirl down the drain. He found himself almost lightheaded with relief. How long had it been since he'd had a proper shower, not a 2-minute rinse or a cold river dunk? Too long.
And here he was in a luxurious safehouse-hotel, washing off the filth of war. It was such a stark contrast to the life he'd been leading just a short time ago. Only yesterday (though it felt like ages), he'd been crawling through an enemy facility, dodging bullets and moral nightmares. And now… now he was an Assistant Director with a five-star roof over his head and people calling him -sama. The world truly had turned upside-down.
He finished rinsing off and turned the water off with a reluctant sigh. Every fiber of him wanted to linger under that soothing stream, but duty tugged at the back of his mind: time, time, you need rest too. Grabbing a plush towel, Hiroshi briskly dried himself and donned the fresh clothes—simple black track pants and a gray t-shirt (he'd long ago learned to sleep or lounge in clothes he could move in at a second's notice).
When he emerged from the bathroom, he was greeted by a heartwarming sight: almost all of his Pokémon were curled up or stretched out in various states of contented dozing around the suite. The aftermath of a good meal.
Machop was sprawled on the rug right in front of the now-closed balcony curtains, belly-up and snoring softly, one dumbbell still clutched in its arms like a teddy bear. Charmeleon had clambered onto one of the large armchairs, promptly claimed a throw pillow, and was curled atop it. Despite its tough-guy persona, the fire-type looked positively cuddly now, tail draped over the armrest and ticking like a metronome in sleepy rhythm (Hiroshi carefully noted the tail's flame was safely away from the fabric). Wartortle had indeed decided the bathroom tiles were the best spot—through the open door Hiroshi could see it snoozing on its back, using a rolled towel as an impromptu pillow. Ivysaur had moved to be near the balcony door, perhaps sensing the dawn sunlight beyond; it was napping with its plant bulb angled toward where the morning rays would soon shine in, soaking up even sleep-time photosynthesis. Lairon, after polishing off its bowl of kibble, had unceremoniously flopped down right next to the empty bowl. The steel-rock type was now fast asleep on its stomach, legs tucked under its bulky body, looking like a small armored tank parked for the night. By the coffee table, Swablu and Kirlia were snuggled together on the sofa. Swablu had half-burrowed itself into a spare plush cushion, only its round blue head poking out, fast asleep with a satisfied smile. Akemi the Kirlia was sitting upright but her eyes were closed, her head nodding forward in that fight-sleepy-but-can't mode; as Hiroshi watched, Daisy draped a light shawl (that she'd summoned from who-knows-where) around the dozing Kirlia's shoulders and eased her down to lie against a pillow. The little Kirlia instinctively curled up against Swablu's soft feathers, sighing in contentment. Daisy, seemingly tireless, floated the now-empty plates and bowls from the floor and table back toward the kitchen, doing a bit of tidying up via telekinesis. Alakazam had actually moved out onto the small balcony that adjoined the living room; through the sliding glass door, Hiroshi could see him seated cross-legged facing the horizon, eyes closed in meditation as the very first sliver of sunrise painted the sky. Alakazam would likely remain there, standing guard in his own way, until it was time to leave.
And Dragonair… Hiroshi felt a light touch brush his damp hair. He glanced up to find Dragonair's lithe form coiled around part of the ceiling molding, the iridescent serpentine Pokémon hovering just above him. It had gently nudged him with its tail as he came out, perhaps simply greeting him. Dragonair's blue eyes regarded him kindly, and it gave a soft, whispery trill. With a smile, Hiroshi reached up and stroked Dragonair's silky head. "All good up there?" he whispered. Dragonair nodded almost regally, then uncurled from the ceiling and glided down. Like a floating ribbon, it looped once around Hiroshi in an affectionate embrace, its scales cool against his warm neck, before it then drifted across the room to curl up on a long chaise lounge by the window. Dragonair rested its head atop its coils, the three crystalline orbs on its tail softly glowing. Its gaze remained on Hiroshi, watchful but serene, as if it too intended to keep a gentle vigil while he rested.
He padded quietly into the kitchen, where Daisy had levitated all the dirty dishes neatly into the sink. She gave him a soft telepathic nudge—Go rest, I'll handle this—clearly intending to clean up with her powers. Hiroshi chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. "Yes ma'am," he whispered jokingly.
Hiroshi grabbed his plate of food—now a bit cool, but still perfectly edible—and a bottle of water, then tiptoed into the bedroom area. As he lowered himself onto the edge of the massive bed, the mattress gave beneath him like a fluffy cloud, drawing out a sigh of relief he hadn't meant to make aloud. It was, without question, the most comfortable thing he had touched in months.
He set the water on the nightstand and balanced the plate on his lap, slowly chewing a piece of beef. It was still flavorful, but the chill dulled the spices. He looked around the dim, tranquil room, his gaze falling on his Pokémon. All of them had dozed off after their meal, spread out across the room in their preferred corners and cushions. The only sounds were the gentle crackle of Charmeleon's tail fire and the soft duet of snores from Machop and Lairon—one high and nasally, the other a slow, vibrating rumble. Hiroshi chuckled under his breath. I should record that and sell it as a relaxation track.
Then his eyes flicked toward Charmeleon, still awake and curled on the nearby chair, its tail lazily flicking. Hiroshi held up his plate. "Hey, mind giving me a hand with this?" he whispered.
Charmeleon tilted its head, then grunted and slowly raised its tail toward Hiroshi's plate. The fire at its tip burned low and steady, casting a warm orange glow. Hiroshi leaned the edge of his plate close to the flame, hovering it just long enough for the beef to sizzle faintly. After a few seconds, he pulled it back, tested a bite, and let out a pleased hum.
"Now that," he murmured with a grin, "tastes wonderful."
Charmeleon gave a low, satisfied growl and turned its head, clearly proud of its assistance.
He didn't realize how hungry he was until he started eating, but fatigue was catching up even faster. After finishing roughly half the plate, Hiroshi decided that was enough to stave off hunger for a bit of sleep. He set the dish aside on the nightstand and swung his legs up onto the bed.
"Oh… oh wow," he breathed as he lay back against the pillows. The bed was incredible—the kind you sink into as if into a warm cloud. Clean, crisp sheets, yet soft to the touch; a mattress that supported every inch of him just right. Hiroshi's whole body practically sang in relief. He hadn't slept in a real bed, a safe bed, in… months, easily. Possibly not since his last stint in Japan over a year ago. Certainly never while he was undercover abroad—he'd had cots, sleeping bags, the occasional dingy motel mattress with springs poking his ribs, but nothing like this.
He pulled the duvet over himself and let out a long, deep sigh. For a moment, guilt tried to creep in—telling him he shouldn't indulge in this comfort while there was so much work to be done, while danger still lurked out there. But he pushed that thought away firmly. Makima herself had ordered him to rest now, and his own mentor Yoshimura insisted as well. They're right, he thought, eyes already growing heavy as the first light of dawn pressed gently against the curtains. The battles will resume soon enough. In fact, in a little over an hour, he'd have to be up and back to the command center, leading the charge. But right now, nap time.