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Alba didn't consider himself as being much of one for social interactions. Which was something of a paradox, all things considered. Sure, he tried to keep mostly to himself, he'd been doing so ever since- Well, let's just say it had been for a while now. Despite that, the few interactions he had been in since joining Team Rocket, strangely enough, added up to carry more weight than all of the interactions he'd had in the several years before Team Rocket. And he'd been a bartender back then. Human interactions had been part of the job description!

Then again, he hadn't even seen much of his roommate, Lucas, in a while. Not since that first night when Alba had been assigned to the room. There may have been the occasional greeting in passing, but otherwise, not much communication. Lucas had his duties as a grunt, and Alba had his duties as a trainee. A very active, very tired trainee. It was almost unusual for him to be sitting on top of his bed covers, which he was doing now, with his back against the headboard, instead of off wandering the halls. Thank whatever deity for the creation known as caffeine, and as Alba took another gulp of the scalding hot brew, he thanked whatever again that the HQ building never seemed to be in short supply of it. With his free hand, he turned a page in the battered green journal propped against a raised knee. Spook jingled softly next to his outstretched leg, but otherwise continued to doze contently on top of the pillow she'd dragged down to her sleeping spot.

Spook cracked open an eye. "Ching?" She sleepily sat up on her pillow and looked to the door. Alba instantly took notice of the movement, but he was comfy. He didn't feel like moving for a while unless he had to.

"Hmm?" Al fingered the corner of the next page. "What is it, Spook? Oh." The door opened, and someone walked in. Al, however, still didn't look up from his journal just yet, and lifted the hand with the can of coffee in a half wave. "Hey. How'd the raid go- What the-!" Yep, Al had looked up, and if Lucas needed someone to help him walk, something wasn't right. He quickly fumbled for the can that started to slip from his hold, and set it safely on the corner of his desk as he got up. "What happened?" he asked in a quieter voice, but the poorly concealed concern was there.

"The mission was to summon and capture Kyogre," she explained as she helped Lucas to the bed, holding onto him even as he sat down to ensure he wouldn't suddenly fall or anything. Even if he was able to insist he didn't need help, there'd be no way in hell he'd be able to convince her of such a thing. She'd already proven she was more stubborn than he was, anyway. "Lance showed up too, turned out to be someone from the outpost in disguise. We caught Kyogre, but Mr. Chivalry here got himself a concussion," she finished with a sigh, and though frustrated with the end result her tone of voice betrayed a hint of what could possibly be affection. Maybe. It was sort of her fault he had a concussion, but really it wasn't. How would she have known he'd try and be some sort of hero? ...well, all things considered it actually wasn't very surprising at all.

Lucas had quickly lost focus and tuned out every word exchanged between his company, but the familiar sound of his name caught his attention. "Wha?" Something about fingers. Wait, were they messing with him? That wasn't cool. "Man, don' mess with me. Can' even see you." His vision flitted between clear and blurred, and he wasn't about to make a fool of himself by guessing the wrong number. Somehow not looking like a concussed idiot was a priority for the concussed idiot.

If the circumstances were different, Alba might've cracked a very slight smile at the response. As it was, though, he just continued to bite his lip. It was one of his tells, something he unconsciously did when deep in thought, or in this case, easily worried. Probably why he didn't acknowledge or even notice that he might have offended. "That's the thing. Been a while since I last dealt with concussions." It wasn't obvious if he was now talking to Claire, or himself. A few seconds later, he seemed to snap out of whatever he'd been thinking about, and waited to hear what Lucas had to say.

What? Ma-- "No, Lucas," she said with a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose momentarily before returning her focus to his person. "Pokeballs, where are they?" Were they in his pockets, his belt? Where? She needed Merry.

"I though' you took 'em. Someone took 'em." Someone had indeed taken the pokeballs when he had visited the infirmary, bringing them to the appropriate clinic so their occupants could be restored, but they had been returned to his person before he left. Lucas simply didn't remember putting the things in his pockets. If the slur in his speech wasn't enough to validate Claire's appraisal, the uneven dilation of his pupils that Alba would observe would certainly further that end.

Spook hopped and floated over to hover all around Lucas. She finally landed just behind him and Claire. "Li~ng." She pointed with a tassel at the nearest pocket.

Alba literally face-palmed. No way was he reaching in for them! "Alright. Lucas." He looked his roommate right in the eye. Well, as best as he could look someone in the eye when neither eye seemed capable of staying put. Whatever doctor had said Lucas was fit to leave the infirmary, was going to have hell to pay if Alba got hold of a name. Okay, maybe not, but the thought made him feel better. "Lucas, you need to empty your pockets. If not, we keep talking." He wasn't holding out much hope of that statement working.