Some days, Proton struggled to remember why he ever thought joining Team Rocket was a good idea. He'd been perfectly happy dabbling in petty crime. Well, maybe not perfectly happy but he'd seen nothing wrong with living day to day the way he had, stealing, starting fights, breaking shop windows in Celadon City.

But that had all changed suddenly.

Like everyone else in the big cities and towns he heard the rumours. But instead of fearing the new gangs, Proton had sought out as much information as he could and within the week he'd thrown himself into the firing line. He'd picked a fight with a Rocket. But not any Rocket, no, Proton had always done things properly. He'd picked a fight with the boss.

xxxxx

The early years had been better than his pathetic attempts at criminal activity, as the other new recruits called it, better by far. Even the smallest criminal acts were so much easier, more satisfying, when you had a full team of like-minded colleagues by your side. It didn't matter that he couldn't care less about Team Rocket's ultimate goal when he'd joined; he was the kind of person that they were looking for. When he thought about it, Proton couldn't even remember when he'd moved from enjoying the crime to enjoying the suffering it brought. Schadenfreude, the Boss had called it once.

By the time Team Rocket had expanded enough to take over Celadon and Saffron cities combined, Proton thought that he'd be on the front line. He thought he'd at least have a place as a guard, with his history. He thought he was worth something to the organisation. He wasn't the hardest criminal, not yet, but he was promising. He'd done the hard work, been taken in by the Boss himself.

Proton was a Rocket.

He wasn't a fucking babysitter.

xxxxx

"It's your turn," Silver scowled at Proton from under the hair he refused to have cut.

"And I'm thinking," the Grunt snarled back; his tone didn't even faze the boy.

"You've been thinking forever."

"That's because chess is a game of patience. Which you have none of, kid."

"No it's not. You need to be smart to win. But you're just sitting there so you don't have to let me win again."

"Quit the superiority act, kid, I'm older than you and I'm smarter than you'll ever be."

"How old are you?" Silver asked.

"What?"

"How old are you?"

"Why does it matter?"

The boy shrugged.

"Twenty three." Proton rolled his eyes.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Have your turn."

"Why 'oh'?"

"Have your turn." Silver scowled again.

"What's wrong with being twenty three?"

"I'm bored."

"Good." Proton stood up and flipped the board as he walked away. "I hate this fucking job."

"Why?" Silver was all too used to being hit with flying chess pieces and slipped down to the floor to collect them.

"Why what?"

"Why do you hate this job?"

"Because it means being stuck here with you all day," Proton snarled. He dropped himself onto the couch and switched on the television.

"But isn't that what you get paid for?"

"I get paid to be a Rocket, not to babysit you day after day, after day."

"Not every day, Ariana comes sometimes." Silver sat down on couch as well and stared at the television; the news was on. Again. "She's a lot nicer than you are."

"Are you doing it on purpose now?"

"Doing what?"

"Annoying me."

"I am not!"

"Bullshit you're not." Proton narrowed his eyebrows and turned the volume up.

"Why aren't you nicer like Ariana is?" Silver pouted. It had no effect on Proton.

"Because I don't give a shit about you. The Boss gives me an order, I do it. You know what he told me to do? He told me not to let you out of my sight and not to let you out of this building. I asked him why I couldn't just lock you in your room with some food but no, that's not good enough for the Boss's kid. Someone has to sit with you to make sure you don't get out, and feed you and keep you entertained and who knows what else."

"So why can't Ariana do it?" Silver asked.

"I don't fucking know. You know what, let's go ask her. Or how about we just ring your dad and ask him, huh?" Proton snapped.

"Okay."

"Don't be so stupid, I'm not going to call him now. He's in the middle of something."

"What's he doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's he doing? I know he's doing Team Rocket things and I know he's in Saffron City because I heard him tell someone that they had to go to Saffron City. What's he doing?"

"He's in the middle of some delicate negotiations."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if we ring him now, he'll probably kill both of us."

"Not me. Maybe just you." Silver said quickly.

"You're seriously overestimating how much he likes you kid." It was difficult for Proton not to laugh at the look his comment had put onto the boy's face.

"At least he likes me better than he likes you."

"Ha, we're not playing that game."

"What game?"

"Just shut up for a while, would you? You just… talk. All the time. Stop it."

"Can I go and read a book in my room? Then you can keep watching TV."

"You can go and get a book and bring it here and read it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not sitting in a little kid's bedroom while he reads."

"But you can stay here."

"You've got ten seconds to get a book and shut up unless you want to play my game, kid, and trust me. You do not want to play my game." Proton hissed. Silver took the hint and jumped over the arm of the couch, leaving Proton to watch the news in peace.

xxxxx

"Silver!"

"What?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"In my room!"

Silver's eyes went wide when he looked up to see Proton standing in his doorway, kitchen knife in hand.

"W-what?"

"Get to the table."

"Why?"

"Because it's six-thirty and I told you to bring the god damn book out of your room."

"But I've been in here for ages. Why do I have to leave now?"

"Because," Silver's eyes lingered on Proton's hand, tightening its grip on the knife. "I said so."

Silver didn't argue. He dropped the book and did exactly what Proton had told him to do. He sat up at the table and waited for his dinner.

"You know that you're not supposed to leave my sight."

"You said I could get a book."

"Yeah and bring it back out here."

"Why didn't you make me come back out then?"

"Because you were fucking quiet for a change." Proton put down a plate in front of Silver and sat opposite him, knife on the table.

"Ariana says I'm quiet."

"Fuck Ariana, I don't want to hear about her anymore."

"Why do you swear?"

He was playing a game, Proton thought, he had to be. The kid was only eight years old but he wasn't stupid and he wasn't just any kid. His father was in charge of the whole operation and he'd learned a thing or two along the way. The problem, as far as Proton was concerned, was that he was just as much a sneaky rat as his father. It was getting increasingly difficult to tell when the boy was stringing someone along. He enjoyed it in much the same way Proton enjoyed thieving; someone always lost and hell, it was just fun to laugh at them while they were down.

"Why do you think they've left me with you?" Proton asked. He picked up the knife and put it point down onto the table, moving the handle back and forth; a small dent appeared in the wood.

"I dunno, because they didn't have a real job for you?"

Proton laughed.

"They didn't have a real job for me, that's a good one, kid," He leaned forwards and Silver sat his ground, didn't flinch, didn't blink. "You think this is just a joke? Whoever doesn't have anything to do has to watch the Boss's kid? No. Doesn't work like that. I'm working my way up. Only the best get the so called privilege of looking after you, day after day. You know why? You're the only one. You're his only son so he's gonna look out for you. He won't be there for any of your birthdays or anything stupid like that but he'll make sure you're alive. You've got the things you need. Looked after, real well. Doesn't mean he loves you. Just means you're his only heir." He grinned at the look of discomfort on the boy's face. "What's wrong with you?"

Secretly, Proton hoped he was about to cry. It was a cheap trick but being stuck inside all day had sapped a little of his creativity. If making the kid cry was the only choice for some light entertainment then he wasn't opposed to the idea. If he was completely honest with himself then it wasn't a secret at all. If he succeeded in keeping Silver alive he would get a promotion; it was that simple.

"Is this just what I didn't finish eating for dinner yesterday?"

"What?"

"It's got my fork marks in it and everything."

Not for the first time in recent weeks, Proton began to seriously doubt if a promotion was worth more than the satisfaction of just killing the kid right there and then.