History Retold

Sapphire gripped at the hand on the crook of her arm, eyes wild and bloodshot. She was hearing the words, but they made no sense to her. Why would he target her? She couldn’t have been all that important? He mentioned her father, and that brought forth a burst of fear, a needing to protect papa that overwhelmed her senses for a moment. She could feel starbursts at the corner of her eyes, small white specs beginning to crowd her vision. She ignored them, she had answers to find.

“I must have– I must have done something–” she stressed, her grip against the wall turning white with the effort to keep herself upright. “—you don’t just fake someone’s death without a good reason, right?” a small hysterical giggle bubbled out of her throat, and Sapphire made no motion to stop it. She was so tired. She raised her head to look at the man– her uncle, with half lidded eyes, trying desperately to hold onto consciousness. 

“My… my papa– did Damian ever hurt him? Becasue of me? There’s someone else, I can only vaguely remember– I needed to protect him the most, but I can’t–” she tapered off, her breathing growing labored, as a cough began to build in her throat. Not now, she couldn’t vomit now.

She goes on about how she must have done something for all of this to happen, and while Sycamore knows vaguely why she was targeted (he’d done his research after his fist encounter with Damian) he wasn’t sure he could explain the why’s to her properly in this state—better to just let it come back naturally. Besides, the tired, hysterical laughs that came out her were enough to convince him that they couldn’t spend any more time on this. She needed rest.

“Your father,” he said, beginning to mention the fire at his lab, but stopped. “Your father has been fine. Because you were so very brave, my girl, he’s safe. So please. Please come with me now, okay? Let’s go somewhere you can be safe, as well.”

Sapphire stares up at the lanky man in front of her with a desperate look on her face, familiarity of him so close in her mind, but still so far out of reach. “Why can’t I remember anything?” She needed to know, why would he want to wipe her memory?

His voice broke as he spoke to her, only confirming more to her that this man knew her, could almost feel the desire to protect radiation off of him. It baffled her. This had never seemed like a possibility– but then again, what did she know? She had apparently been drugged up to keep her from remembering something. Something important, she could feel it. She thought of the scars all over her body, the huge, old gashes across her back.

Something important indeed.

“What do you know?” Sapphire asked, her voice slightly raised in panic. “What did he do to me, why would he want to make me forget? What happened to me, what did I do–” her voice lowered and caught on her last sentence, “–did I deserve it?” 

She’s trusting him again. Slowly but surely, she has to be. It’s why she doesn’t run, why she stays and keeps asking him things. Things he doesn’t necessarily want to answer, but things she needs to know, nonetheless. Things to remind her why she was here, who she was with, and why he was bad news. Again, Sycamore swallows hard.

“I know that he would hurt you,” he told her, “I know—know that we thought you were dead. Your father and I. We—you were gone for so long, and we never heard anything. And I know that I... I found you here, I walked into a lab room and he was—he was hurting you, and.....”

Sapphire immediately shrinks back at his tone, instinctively bringing her arms up close to her chest, ready to defend herself if need be. It takes her a moment to realize that he is angry for her, and it calms her somewhat. The throbbing in her head grows as she tries to recall exactly what Damian has done to her, the only alarming things coming to mind being smiles that didn’t reach his eyes, grips on her that became a little too tight, too possessive. 

It is very easy for her to imagine him being violent, and that scares her.

The fear makes her pain spike, and she lets out a low groan, swaying against her position of leaning on the wall. Everything hurts, in a way she knows is wrong, and her eyes dart down to the pock marks on her arm. “What are these– I don’t remember… this happening, doing this to myself. Do you think he–” She stutters off, not wanting to believe what is right in front of her.

She shrinks from him, and Sycamore supposed that was his own fault for getting upset, for being angry and that he needed to try harder not to spook her. She’s swaying and looking not good at all, and if anything happens Sycamore needs to know she’ll let him take care of her if she falls, hurts herself, anything—she needs to remember that he’s her uncle, and he’s here for her.

When he notices her looking down at her arms, his mouth forms a thin line and his brow creases. “Yes,” he says, “yes, I would not put it passed him. He is vile, my girl, and all of this.....” He reaches out slowly, gently taking one of her arms in one hand and running his fingers over the marks. “This is from drugs, chére. And I know you—” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard.

Sapphire stares unseeing for a moment as her vision clouds, echos of a memory bubbling through the heavy fog in her mind. –Uncle, uncle, tell me more, I want to know everything, tout savoir Uncle!– she shakes her head and the echo is gone, lost to the abyss of pain and confusion. “My mama has been dead since I was a girl-” Her response comes from her mouth before she understands the words, and her eyes widen at information previously lost.

Her hand lifts from her arm to cover her mouth, and Sapphire tries to blink away the sudden burn of tears behind her eyes. She will not cry in front of this man, she will not. His eyes had focused in on her arm, the itchy little red bumps standing out on her pale, was once sun kissed and tan pale skin, and suddenly he was berating her. She staggered to her feet, wobbling dangerously and using the wall for support as she gathered all her frustrated strength.  

“I– I have done nothing! I woke up hurt and confused and no one is making any sense! You– you say you know me, that man… that man Archer says he knows me, but tries to hurt Damian, but Damian… he says he helped me, took me from something, something terrible??– I don’t–” she tapered off towards the end, her strength draining quickly. “I… I don’t know.”

Sapphire sniffed, rubbing a hand absently over sleep-bruised eyes. “I can’t remember… anything important. Everything hurts, it hurts to think–”

Yes. She begins to remember, he can see it in her eyes, and she starts to recount her family, and for a single beautiful moment, Sycamore felt the hope swell within him, but it was short-lived, and to Sycamore’s dismay, it was only his own fault for setting her off. He started even as she wobbled forward, wanting to catch her and hold her, but her defensive words stab him deep into his heart.

Damian. Damian again. This was his doing, had to be, and Sycamore didn’t know what he did, how he did it, what he used, but his darling niece is suddenly under the impression that Damian was her ally, and he knew without a doubt he had to have done something to make her think such a way, and the image seared into his mind that haunted his nightmares resurfaced, her pinned to the lab wall, Damian taking her so roughly—

Sapphire startled as a hand landed on her shoulder, wrenching herself up against the wall and letting out a small, strangled shriek as her body jerked. She wasn’t able to catch herself as she tumbled back, sliding against the smooth wall and down to the floor. The pain wasn’t immediate, it was a slow creeping thing, stealing the air from her lungs and causing her to grasp at her chest and wheeze. Why did all these people know her name? 

She tried to ignore the pain building in her lungs, the rasping in her throat the only giveaway to her misery. She looked up at this new man, this gangly, lankly man in a lab coat and gave him a nervous look. “I– I don’t… who are you? How do any of you people here know me, I don’t– I don’t understand?” Her nervous energy spilled over to her hands, and she brought her hand up to scratch at the pock marks on her forearm.

“I— I’m so confused–”

She didn’t recognize him. It was plain as day, there for the world to see, and they may as well have, because she didn’t recognize him. His darling niece. And she didn’t recognize him, and the way she was looking at him—no. No, she wasn’t allowed to be scared, he remembered when she was small and tiny and Brenden brought her with him when they met up and Sycamore would get to hold her and steal her little nose. And now she didn’t know him.

“Sapphire, ma chére, it’s me,” he said, “it’s Augustine. You remember? I would come and your parents would let me sleep on the couch and we would drink chocolate milk and look at pokemon. Please remember me, chére.” She was scratching, and his eyes were immediately drawn down to the pock marks on her arm and his face fell.

“I have already put in a request to have these kitchens redone. Food is of most importance. It will keep the grunts satisfied and functioning so I doubt I will be refused.” He would fight it if so as he wasn’t one to give up. “And you have me to help you once again with your research. It has been quite some time since I’ve used mega evolution in battle.” He finds a small smile touching his own lips at the mere memory of using it with his partner but it soon fades as Sycamore makes a request to help him further. 

“I need to get started on the peas. Add them into the water and watch them.” He commands, once again tending to the chicken after he sets the potatoes down. 

“I would be incredibly grateful, cher,” he said with a smile, “oh, that would definitely be good. No megastones and no keystones to speak of with me, it has been a disaster! Désolé!” He shook his head in defeat. “And they won’t even steal one for me. Rude is what I would call it!”

Peas. Right. Do the peas. But not like that. In the professional way. Sycamore’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on getting the peas into the water. It is a very important, very difficult task, and he accidentally drops one on the stove that starts to burn and blacken, but that’s okay. He’s helping.

It’s unexpected for someone to listen when they’re so sure of something and even still he hardly expects an apology to fall from Sycamore’s lips. But they fall and that eases the tension in his shoulders, takes the sharpness from his tongue and now he’s left to mull over it. Sycamore apologizes and it leaves him to reveal some of his own reasons for being there, but just enough to keep Sycamore safe from it all. 

“Your credentials aren’t bound to a piece of paper. You would do well to remember that.” He says softly as the chicken cooks and sizzles. Now he moves to the remainder of his ingredients, gathers some peeled potatoes in a bowl to be mashed and butter, salt and pepper to go with them. He wonders if he can assign such a task to Sycamore and decides against it as he uses a masher to mash them. “You still have them here, oui?” He questions hoping to hear some confidence from the other man. 

“Yes,” he said, “yes, I’ll try to remember. And besides, you’re right!” He offered as best of a smile as he could at the moment. “They have me researching my field here. They’re not as pushy as the League was, either. I’m able to work my own pace. It’s not so bad, here. Have... have you been settling in?” Now Siebold is mashing potatoes, and Sycamore doesn’t understand why butter has to go in them. He keeps his question to himself, but quite frankly it seemed that potatoes could be wet enough on their own. Isn’t that why people juiced them? It’s probably for the best that Siebold didn’t let Sycamore help with this part.

“And I am here for you,” he replied, “it will be hard, but we will have our friendship. And who knows?” It’s easier to smile now, almost easy enough to give a vague attempt at a laugh. “Maybe if you manage to navigate the bureaucratic mess of this place, you can get funding to redo the kitchens. It will be up to your standards in no time, cher.”

“I know all about it, but I would suspect out of all the people to know me you would have more faith in me than that. It wasn’t I who voted for you to be striped of your title and they’ve no right to take your Pokemon away.” He holds his gaze with his own, daring him to speak out of turn, out of line and most of all against him or his proclamations.  But all he had were words and what were those in comparison to losing a job? He prepares for the worst as he faces down Sycamore, his hopes of having a friend her quickly dwindling as he knows how people are, what they do to avoid truths. Had their friendship meant nothing in the great scheme of things? 

He keeps a straight face as thoughts course through his mind, as he turns to tend to the chicken again, grabbing tongs to turn them over in the pan. 

He slowly lowers the wing as Siebold denies the unspoken accusation, asserts that he was on Sycamore’s side the entire time, and by the end Sycamore felt more ashamed than he had just being caught here. Awkwardly, he rolls the wing again in flour and sets it with the last of his batch, unsure of what to do with it next.

“I....” He swallowed again. “I’m sorry, I—I know, I just—there was no warning, and no word from anyone, and I have no credentials and.... I’m sorry. I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.” He watches still as Siebold returns his attention to the chicken, cooks with such precision that Sycamore is always mildly envious of. He doesn’t have a choice at all, Siebold continues, and Sycamore can only wonder what that can mean. Something about safety and resenting him? It’s... odd. Was he up to something? Or not?

“You could have come to me while you searched for a new position or fought for the very one they took.” He starts, his words simple and to the point as he’s never been really good at pampering with his words. He doesn’t feel sorry for Sycamore, or himself for that matter– he just feels… hallow, empty and wants to fill that emptiness with something as quickly as possible before it consumes him entirely. You fought and look where that got you. His mind chides him for the very suggestion, makes him cast a glance over to the former professor as his lips smooth into a thin line. 

“I fought them and now I’m here.” At least I can say I fought… What good had it done? They had put him in such a compromising position and all for what? Because he wouldn’t do what they wanted him to do. Their corrupt dirty work and now…. he can’t even tell his friend why he’s really there. What would the League do to him if he knew they were corrupt? He shakes his head and starts to drop the chicken down onto the pan. 

Sycamore refuses to look at him now, refuses to acknowledge what Siebold could possibly be feeling about the situation and focuses on not screwing his chicken pieces up. “When they tear up your contract and take your pokemon, it’s not exactly easy to fight back,” he snapped, “but I suppose you would know all about what happened, wouldn’t you, Monsieur?”

Now he is also getting forceful with the chicken. The chicken never asked for this. It was just being chicken, and now two upset Kalosian men were throwing it around like it insulted their mothers. At some point something is going to fall to the floor and the tension is going to get worse. Sycamore just wants to leave before this last friendship snaps like the others.

But of course, Siebold is also in Rocket now, and he says as much—and if he, someone with qualifications, someone with prospects and power in the League, fought and still ended up here, then what chance could Sycamore have ever had of keeping his job or even finding a new one that wasn’t mopping bathrooms at Starbucks? As much as he wants to say it, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Oui, go wash your hands.” He takes the chicken, and pulls a bowl of flour closer to him so that he can start preparing it. He dips some of the chicken into it, rolls it around before setting it off to the side, expects Sycamore to be back by the time he finishes the third piece and by then he shifts the bowl closer to be between them so he can follow example and do the same thing. 

“You went missing for weeks.” He begins, voice finally giving way to the strain of worry, of discontent at finding he had run away to here of all places. “And this is where I find you.” No note, no message… nothing to convey he even cared to tell his friend where he was going. He wants to feel angry for this all over again but instead feels the insult of the blow anew. He wants to be important, of course, but feels abandonment instead. And all for what? For this?

A simple oui, and Sycamore finds his feet moving of their own accord towards the sink, where he rolls up his sleeves and turns the tap to hot, washing his hands quickly before returning. Siebold has a bowl of flour to one side, and so Sycamore takes the spot next to it and watches, brow furrowed, as Siebold rolls chicken in it. Won’t that make bread happen? Why would anyone want to have a surprise chicken in their bread? Still, he doesn’t ask, and instead begins to clumsily copy Siebold as best he can. It sticks and clumps and it’s messy, but Sycamore manages to kind of get the hang of it.

“They fired me,” he said softly in reply, shame settling into his heart, “and I needed work. I didn’t.... I didn’t really have options.” He wasn’t sure how to talk about it. Not to Siebold. Not now. It had been painful, a painful experience, and for all he knew Siebold—Siebold may have.... He swallowed hard, doing his best not to pass judgement. Siebold was here, too, after all.

Circumstance brings him here. To this place and it’s of no ones fault but his own. He’s too proud to admit defeat, too wrought with his own situation to do more than think about it. Here he is, assigned to the kitchen of criminals and here he looks at what little he has left and makes use of it as if it doesn’t bother him at all. But it does bother him. It eats away at him from the inside out and as he rattles around the dingy kitchen he now calls his own he recalls a time when he had much nicer facilities. All of this, though, is part of his punishment. He defies the very League’s wishes, their intentions as cruel as ever and still he tries to stand up against it. Now look where he is, assigned here and forced to step down. 

He tells himself it’s only temporary, tells himself he’s here of his own volition , his own power but in the end his situation rings clear. He’s at the mercy of these people. Even if he holds his head high, even if he plays pretend it all boils down to the mercy of Team Rocket. And so he works hard with what he has and arrives early to begin work in his kitchen. His team is later than he wishes them to be and so he begins preparation without them; they will learn to show up on time or be left behind his rigorous schedule. 

He’s in the middle of boiling water when he hears the doors to his kitchen open. He assumes it’s one of the staff, and doesn’t turn to face them as he moves to gather another pan so he can pour some oil into it and set it down on the warming stove eye. 

“Bring me the chicken. I imagine you know how to prepare it?” He finally casts a glance up from his pans and turns to meet who he assumes is going to be one of the cooks in this kitchen. 

Instead he’s met with a familiar face, one he hasn’t seen in the following weeks to his own disappearance. He stills and blue eyes flicker with curiosity, as if questioning Sycamore’s very presence before him. Is he really there or is all this some trick on his eyes? He braces himself, form growing taut with caution. 

But all of that aside, Sycamore is still hungry; it’s easier to focus on than the monotony and loneliness, and so with his mind set on something to munch on, he slipped down the hallways and sneaked into the kitchen; at this time of day, it was always more or less empty, with none of the cooks rarely arriving in time to beat the lunch rush (and subsequently, Sycamore imagined, being responsible for the periodic outbreak of salmonella throughout the base) but it at least made it easy to raid Rocket’s pantry without worry.

Except someone is in there, today. Sycamore is already shuffling through the pantry and comes across a knock-off brand of Lucky Charms, and satisfied that he could, at the very least, pick out all the marbits to eat, prepares to take the whole box and return to his tiny office when the order comes to bring the man a chicken. And he recognizes that voice. Oh, does he recognize that voice. Freezing in place, he can only bring himself to stare on with wide, confused eyes as Siebold worked to begin cooking preparations in Team Rocket’s kitchen. Siebold. Cooking. In Team Rocket’s kitchen. Only one of those pieces of information did not belong, and it was not Siebold nor the cooking.

She could feel the calling from the woods. There was a lake there, she just knew it. It was calling her.

A sudden surge of pain in her abdomen leaves her gasping for breath, scrabbling for purchase against the wall. The pain keeps hitting her in waves, on and off for the past few days, its becoming excruciating. Sapphire lets out a small moan, slumping against the wall where she fell. She can feel he tugging towards the woods. She just dosen’t know why. 

As he neared her, however, he realized the feeling hadn’t been joy, not by any means—though certainly he was glad to see her and know she was still alive, the feeling that had settled into his throat and made its way towards his stomach could only be defined as dread, the apprehensive fear of the unknown. Where had she been? What had she been doing? Why hadn’t he seen her in months?

He reaches his limit at the door to the hallway, and Sapphire braces herself against the wall as he catches his breath. Sapphire gives a soft smile as he pants, waiting for him to finish, although his final words have her frowning and biting at her lower lip. “My pokemon– I… I released them. It wasn’t— it wasn’t safe for them here. I had to do what was best for them.” Her grip on the wall tightens. She hasn’t seen her pokemon in months, and their absence weighs on her. She had been with Rono and Toro since she was a small girl. Not having them with her was a constant pain in her chest.

It was one depressing thing after another, of course. Her pokemon were out in the wilderness, on their own. Without her. Not protecting her. That’s... not good. That’s the furthest thing from good. Them out there somewhere, her in here. “They’re your friends,” he told her, “they’re meant to be with you. To protect you. I don’t mean to lecture, but....” He sighs heavily. “Well, I suppose it’s not matter anymore, eh? If you ever wish for someone to find them and look after them until you are, ah... in a better position....”

Sapphire watches Sycamore take a few steps before backpedaling, and she lets out a short, stunted laugh. “No, no you won’t need to carry me uncle, it’s not that bad.” Not today at least, and Sapphire can only thank her lucky stars it isn’t. “I just— need some assistance walking. Just a balance thing.” She tries to give a reassuring grin, making to push herself off the floor into a standing position.

She may have said she only needed assistance walking, but he wasn’t having it. Not after everything he heard. He wasn’t about to lose her just walking down the hall. As she balances herself against a lab table, as he tries to convince him they’re safe for now, Augustine swoops in and sweeps her up into his arms, holding her close even though he is now trembling with having to exert actual effort for once in his life. “No,” he says, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you and I am not letting you go until we get you safe.”

She hears him make a noise of triumph, and waits for him to wiggle out from under the table he’s at. With the way her whole body was aching, there was no way she would have been able to get under there herself. He handed her the pokeball with the most pained smile Sapphire had ever seen on his face, and she simply took the small device and hugged it close, keeping her eyes on the ground. “No one’s lucky with me around, not these days uncle. I get close to anyone, he is more than willing to hurt them.”

She clicked the center button on the pokeball and released Kaylee, the small dragon giving out a happy chirp and bumbling around until she found Sapphire’s leg and began to try and climb onto her. She had found mama! Mama smelled like scared and tired but she was here! Sapphire hugged the little pokemon close, more desperately than ever missing her main team, Toro, Relo, Rono and Pilo out in the surrounding forests waiting, hoping, for her to get away from her captor.

She had been forced to take them there when Damian had threatened to crush their pokeballs, she only hoped they would just leave and realize the lost cause. They hadn’t so far. 

When he finally hands her the pokeball, she can’t seem to meet his eyes, tells him that anyone around her gets hurt by that heathen, and Sycamore feels the pressure in his heart build. She must be so alone, he thinks, so very, very alone. Not anymore. They were going to fix everything, and she could be happy and safe again.

He’s about to say as much when Sapphire instead opens the pokeball and lets out the most adorable deino Sycamore has ever seen. He watches as she bumbles around she finally finds Sapphire and tries to climb up her leg, and the ex-professor can’t help but let out a laugh at the adorable innocence of such a small, blind pokemon. “Oh, ma belle, she is darling. What is her name, then? Are you planning on raising her for battle? Come come, tell me as we walk.”