The next few weeks were, in both Jessie and James' minds, the worst they had ever spent
together. James found his new inability to communicate quite aggravating, often refusing to write
anything. Jessie had purchased a notebook for him to write in to communicate, as he had no other
way of doing so, but he rarely did that. Both of them, including the sarcastic cat Pokemon had
fallen into a deep depression. To Jessie, James no longer had presence, he was merely a felt
entity. Without his speech, it was if he was no longer there.
"They say you can go home tomorrow, and in a few weeks you won't even have to wear the
bandages anymore," Jessie said as she sat at the foot of James bed one dismal afternoon.
He simply sighed and picked up the notebook, which lay at his side, scribbled something in it, and
handed it to Jessie. She read it and scowled at the roughly scrawled writing. "So what?" was all it
said.
"Don't you want to go home?" she asked softly.
James snatched the notebook away and brutally scratched another message in it. "I want to be
dead." Jessie had cried the first time he had written this, but it had become such a frequent
occurrence, she was able to ignore it.
In some ways, Jessie wished James could have been killed. The mere shell of his former self was
absolutely pathetic. Jessie was not even sure of the last time she had seen James smile. He was
depressed, and near suicidal, and Jessie was positive if he had access to anything that may have
killed him, he would have done it. "James, I'm getting tired of this," she moaned rubbing her
temples. "I...I don't know if I'm even going to be able to live with you anymore, and I'll be blunt as
to why. I hate what you've become. You're bitter and resentful, you hate your life, you write that
you want to die at least twice a day! I can't stand it, you're not my James anymore," she said, her
voice growing quieter as she spoke.
James sat up as to write to her more easily, a deep frown distorting his features. "How would you
feel?" he wrote.
Jessie scowled at him, malice passing between the two souls. "I'll be back for you tomorrow,
whether you like it or not," she hissed, and stood up swiftly. James looked away, crossing his
arms over his chest bitterly. "Goodbye James," Jessie muttered softly as stormed quickly out of
the room, leaving her former friend to fume.
He watched Jessie leave wistfully, even hating her slightly. "She's not my friend," he thought to
himself, "if she was she'd try to understand. But she's so self-centered she doesn't care about me.
She can't even begin to try to understand." A single tear rolled down his cheek as he buried his
face into the starched white hospital pillow and sobbed bitterly. He cried harder than he had ever
let anyone see, harder than he had ever in his life, the absence of any sound causing him more
grief. It was nearly nightfall, and when James had finally silently sobbed himself to extreme fatigue,
he fell asleep.
Jessie had set a pair of jeans and a shirt next to his bed so he would not have to get up to change,
and he took them gratefully. He sighed in relief as he shed the hospital attire and slid on his own
personal clothes, finally satisfied with his garb since he had been first admitted. He looked to the
window, expecting the usual bright morning sunlight, but was welcomed by a small roll of distant
thunder, and a bleak looking cold light.
Curious, James slid cautiously from the bed, the cold floor unforgiving to his bare feet. He stood
up, and closed his eyes to ward of the points of light that danced in the corners of his vision. He
had not stood on his own feet since the accident, and he was forced to hold the metal frame of the
bed to prevent the dizziness from sending him to the floor. When he finally felt strong enough to
stand upright, he proceeded cautiously to the window at the far end of the room.
The curtains were drawn tightly over the spotless glass panes, and as James parted them gingerly,
he was welcomed by the soft sound of rain hitting it. He sighed, a perfectly dismal day for his
perfectly dismal mood. Jessie would be showing up any moment to take him home, back into the
real world, which he dreaded more than anything. At least at the hospital people had known his
speech was impaired, and they never treated him like he could, and the thing he feared most was
ignorance. How people would react to his being mute drilled into his mind now that he had a
glimpse of what it was like. Even his best friend had turned away from him. He absent-mindedly
fingered the thick white bandage around his head as he thought, grateful he would not have to
wear it much longer, and groaned as he spotted their jeep, hood drawn over the top to keep the
rain out.
He rolled his eyes and looked away from the window to his packed belongings set near the door.
He felt a pang of remorse at the familiar items, reminders in their own of a much kinder time, and
wished he had never met Jessie or Meowth, never joined Team Rocket. He gasped and slapped
himself in the forehead lightly, causing his wound to throb dully. "No, James that's crazy, don't
blame Jess or Meowth. It's not their faults it's yours. You chose to risk your life to save your best
friend, and look what you lost. There's no one to blame but me," he thought to himself as the door
slowly opened.
James lifted his eyes slowly to see both Jessie and the same wormy doctor from when he had first
arrived standing there. Jessie looked annoyed, her arms crossed bitterly over her chest, her
spiteful glare turned to James. He returned it, conflict tacitly passing between the former friends.
Both Jessie and James had barely spoken, or written, to each other since James' first experience
with his handicap and had subconsciously discontinued to be friends. In Jessie's mind, her best
friend in the world had died up there in those air ducts, shot by the rebels they had crushed. In
James' mind, his best friend had betrayed him, and he could never forgive such a crime.
Never taking her glare away from the dull eyes full of hatred, Jessie picked up the suitcase and
leaned against the doorframe, still scowling.
"Well James, I'm sure you're anxious to get home, shall we schedule a date for a check-up?" he
asked cheerfully, and handed a pen and notebook to James.
"Anytime, call Jess, just get me home now," he wrote.
The doctor read it and smiled obnoxiously. "I understand, I'll call, and now if you'll follow me, I'll
go ahead and check you out," he replied.
James stood up slowly and followed both Jessie and the doctor down to the reception area. A
few papers required his signature, and time seemed to dissipate as he practically found himself
suddenly in the jeep. It was silent, the only sounds the rain and the wipers on the windshield.
Meowth sat in James' lap, purring softly in joy that his friend was alright as this was the first time
he had seen him since the accident, they had not allowed Pokemon in the hospital and James had
not been permitted to leave. He purred to console his own depression at seeing his old friend's
sadness, and perhaps in an attempt to cheer him, but nothing would coax James to even so much
as smile.
When they arrived home, James proceeded directly to his room, Jessie and Meowth to the
kitchen. "One question, where's James? Was dere a mixup at da hospital or sumthin?" Meowth
asked solemnly.
"He's gone Meowth, he'll never be the same," Jessie answered sitting at the table to leaf through
the mail she had picked up on the way in. "And to think I was falling in love with him too," she
muttered to herself as one in particular caught her eye, a small, personal letter in a black envelope,
and a red wax seal embossed with a capital 'R' on the back. Jessie's heart nearly stopped as she
lifted it from the pile, and broke the seal with a fingernail.
"Jess, maybe we should just burn dat," Meowth warned.
Jessie ignored the cat and pulled the letter out, which unfolded on its own accord and began to
read:
To the current leader of Rocket Team 'Meowth' Jessica Burkely,
It has come to my attention that your team has suffered an accident on a mission for
personal reasons to me. I feel a great remorse at this, and though I am thankful your
partner is alright, this does not come without its consequences. The skilled professionals at
the Team Rocket medical facility have informed me that the other human member of your
group, James LeBlanc, has been left with a handicap, namely, mute. I regret to inform you
that I cannot have a Team that has any disadvantages to anything or anyone, so I have a
proposition for you. Since you three have been some of my loyal and trustworthy agents,
I'm willing to provide you with support. As I know how much you care about James, I won't
force you to another team, as I usually would. You will become his caretaker, I trust you
will stand by him, and help in any way you can. Paychecks will arrive in the mail biweekly I
hope I have provided you with enough. Wish James luck with the speech therapy for me.
Sincerely,
The Boss
Jessie snarled and crumpled the thin paper in one hand. "God! Why me?" she yelled angrily.
James frowned as he heard Jessie's angry screams and obscenities from the kitchen and drew his
knees into his chest, rocking softly, trying to ward off the inevitable tears. He looked wistfully out
the window, where rain dripped lazily from the bare branches of a wiry tree in the back yard.
James let the tears fall as he heard the joyous song of a bird from the depths of it, and rested his
forehead against the cold glass, watching as a Nightingale hopped cheerfully onto a limb near the
window.
It opened its beak as another beautiful strain of notes poured from the depth of its soul and James
sorely wished he still had one. All his life, he had been oppressed, molded to what his parents felt
was best for him, and what they considered a perfect child. He was just beginning to experiment
with expression, but now that had been robbed from him as well. He picked up his notebook and
the pencil that usually accompanied it and absent-mindedly traced a wavy line across the page. He
sighed as the silver marks seemed to carry themselves across the page, creating a jagged rocky
cliff.
Finally deciding to draw something, James roughly sketched a Growlithe standing on it. He drew
its head thrown dramatically back in a mournful howl and frowned. The Growlithe looked
miserable enough, but he could not decide over what. He thought for a moment, reflecting on the
tragedy that had befallen him, and decided, penciling in the body of a young boy lying on his back.
Blood seeped from a dozen different wounds, as well as from the corner of his mouth. His clothes
tattered, and his loyal Pokemon wounded as well, the boy in the drawing was dead, his best friend
mourning him.
James finished the drawing by rubbing the pencil lightly to blend it and nearly smiled at his work.
For something he had just done spur of the moment, it was good. The drawing, unlike most, had
depth, not like the flat images he had seen most people do and more importantly, emotion. He
continued to cry, perhaps even a bit harder than before looking at his accurately forlorn and
grieving Growlithe.
James put the notebook down and looked out to the now dark yard. The Nightingale had ceased
to sing, and had long since left its perch and James wished it well. A thing of such beauty should
not befall any ill will or misfortune. He tucked the notebook into a drawer without a second
thought and got up moving to the full-length mirror he kept next to his closet. He stood in front of
it, scowling at what he saw. He was thinner than he remembered, but then again, he had not so
much as looked in a mirror since the accident.
He gasped and placed a hand over his mouth as his eyes came to rest on the reflection of his face.
The other hand moved to his sunken cheek, and traced over the bony surface until it reached the
black area beneath his lifeless eye. "God, what have I become? I know I'm miserable, but now I
look the part!" he thought to himself, "what happened to James? And who is this I'm staring at?"
His face fell further as he turned away from the crystal clarity of the mirror and he sighed deeply.
"James is dead."
His eyes soon found themselves upon two, very familiar red and white spheres resting on the
table. Meowth had probably set them there for him, but his Pokemon were the last things he
wanted to see. He felt remorse at this, feeling instead that his old friend Weezing should be
comfort, not pain, but reassured himself that the faithful gas cloud would only bring him sorrow. It
would not understand the situation, and its innocence was pitiful in James' mind. His Pokemon
deserved the best, so he swept the Pokeballs into his palm, his notebook under his arm, and
slowly proceeded down the hall.
Jessie sat at the kitchen table, her forehead cradled in her hands, her shoulders convulsing slightly
with tears. He knew he was making a mistake, but he sat by her side regardless, tapping her
shoulder lightly. She looked up, and upon seeing James immediately frowned deeply.
"What?" she asked bitterly.
James picked up her hand from the black envelope on the table, opened it, and gently pressed the
two minimized Pokeballs into her palms. Jessie shook her head, tears sliding silently down her
cheeks.
"Don't you dare do this to me James, don't even try this," she grumbled.
James scowled at her and opened his notebook to a clean page, beginning to write as soon as it
was there.
Jessie's grimace grew deeper as she read as fast as James could write. "Jessie, I need someone I
can trust to look after Victreebell and Weezing. I trust you more than anyone in the world. I can't
take care of them anymore, they wouldn't understand. I can't even use them to battle so I give
them both to you. I hope they'll be of some help when you get transferred to a new team," he
wrote, his expression sour with despair.
Jessie slammed her fist down on the table, leaving the Pokeballs there as she swept the letter from
Giovanni up and thrust it in James' face. "You might as well keep your god damn Pokemon! I
might as well throw Arbok and Lickitung down the gutter! I can't even use them anymore!" she
yelled beginning to sob.
James' expression changed from sorrow, to confusion, to utter infuriation as he carefully read the
hand written script. After completing, he roughly ripped the letter in two, flinging it to the ground,
glaring at Jessie. "Why?" he roughly scribbled on the page.
"Because you're a god damn invalid now," Jessie hissed mockingly.
James picked up his Pokemon, his gaze never leaving Jessie's. Tacit hatred passed between them
as they stared in enmity, each placing full blame for the downfall of their lives on the other.
"Get out of here, I can't deal with you now," Jessie finally snapped, her teeth clenched tightly.
James' grimace deepened as he tearfully wrote one last message before storming out of the room.
"At least you can answer."
Jessie tore the page out of the notebook, crumpling it angrily and tossed it to the wastebasket, and
missed. She folded her arms across each other and laid her forehead on them, rocking it gently
from side to side. "My life is ruined...Over gone and ruined," she moaned.
"Yeah, well maybe ya should tink of James fer once," she looked to the ground from whence she
had heard Meowth's voice.
"What about him?" she asked bitterly, "it's all his fault anyway."
Meowth smiled coyly. "What about da man you was falling in love wid? Da bravest person in da
world? Giovanni's fault? Hmmm?" he asked.
"God I don't know who to blame anymore," Jessie replied through her sobs.
"Did it ever occur to ya maybe dat's because dere is no one to blame?" Jessie was silent after this.
"Tink about dat," Meowth mused and sauntered off into the main room of the small house, leaving
Jessie to think.
She wiped the tears from her cheeks and sighed. "I give up James, you win, and just as I was
about to tell you how much I cared-No, how much I loved you, this had to happen. This can
never be righted, I hate you now. Meowth's wrong, it is your fault. You ruined my life along with
your own and for that you must be despised," she whispered through clenched teeth, unaware that
James had heard most of her conversation with herself.
"I hate you too, Jessica, and I know how much you hate your full name! You've made my life after
my handicap a living hell, when you should have stuck by me! I thought you were my best friend,
but now I know for sure I was wrong!" he screamed in his mind, tears sliding silently down his
cheeks.
He closed his eyes remorsefully and closed his door, a loud clap of thunder drowning out the loud
slam. He pressed his back against the door, burying his face in his hands as he slowly slid down to
the ground, sobbing the whole way. Through his despair an image came to mind, representative of
sorrow, and betrayal, of a soul who did not know which way to turn, and he decided to draw it.
Drawing the Growlithe before did something for him, relieved some of the stress he had pent
inside of him, the stress he could not express through speech as one normally would. He knew of
some pencils, but those were not adequate enough for such a gorgeous image he had in his mind.
He managed to find some thick paper, quite a bit larger than a normal sheet, but was left without
sufficient drawing utensils. He frowned, setting his prized canvas aside and put a hand to his
forehead in thought. He brightened briefly as inspiration struck, and dashed to the closet. He
threw it open with a particularly large crash and dove in zestfully, throwing his belongings behind
him. After he finally reached the carpet at the bottom, he stopped, his search fruitless, and sighed
in defeat. James wiped his burning eyes with the back of his hand, standing, but only to fall
forward onto his stomach as the back of his head collided harshly with a wooden shelf. He silently
cried out in pain and put his hand tenderly to the offending area, his entire skull, particularly the
healing wound, beginning to ache.
James rolled over onto his back, eyes shut hard, and rested on the soft warm carpet. He relaxed,
however, as the pain finally began to subside. "This is going to get annoying," he thought gently
sitting up. The shelf creaked, and James' eyes snapped open as he felt something plummet to land
in his lap. He looked down and almost smiled with delight at the ancient and worn shoebox, taped
shut, that now rested on his thighs. The yellowed plastic succumbed easily to his finger, and he
gently lifted the lid, revealing a secret stash of cash ironically saved for a rainy day. He snatched a
few bills and tossed them on the small table next to his bed, yawning widely. As he changed into
his nightclothes, James promised himself he would go to the art supply store in town and buy
himself some quality charcoal pencils.
James bent down to shut the light off to rest, but stopped as his gaze fell upon an old photo in a
simple metal frame by his bed. He picked it up and grimaced at the memories flooding back into
his head. It was of Team Rocket united, when both he and Jessie had decided to throw a surprise
birthday party for Meowth. She had made up the date, as Meowth did not know the actual date
of his birth, but true to his friend's wishes, he celebrated every year on April third. He had a
comical cone shaped paper hat on in the photo with bright colored decorations on it, as well as
strewn around their small house. Jessie and James had donned the embarassing attire regardless of
their own vanity, and the day had been a success. Though Jessie and James had been friends since
school, that was the first year they had been united with the feline Pokemon as Team Rocket.
James opened the single drawer below the tabletop and roughly toppled the photo into it,
slamming it shut afterwards.
James could not deal with the happy memories surrounding it. The one person he felt he could
trust anything with, tell anything to, and do anything with, had deserted him exactly when he
needed her the most. He sighed loudly as he pulled back his bedding, and gingerly slipped under
them, grateful for something familiar once again. He slid his eyes shut, gently adjusting his
bandages one last time before turning over to a more comfortable position. "I'm really going to
miss her," he thought and drifted off into a numb, dreamless sleep.
Jessie lay in her bed, unlike James, unable to sleep. Thoughts crossed her mind that she had never
imagined would even take place there, thoughts she would punish herself for later in life. "I
shouldn't be so cruel to him," she whispered to herself, "it really isn't his fault he got shot. And
Meowth's right, he is the bravest person I know, but he's changed so much. I hate him for
sacrificing himself for me, and being so warped by an accident. I hate him for not even trying to
overcome it, he just left me." She turned over onto her side, her face twisted in confusion, pain,
and hatred. "I don't know what to do anymore." She closed her eyes and also fell asleep after
yelling at herself for convincing herself she hated James. She knew in her heart it was true, but her
conscious mind would not allow herself to admit she loathed her best friend since she had been a
child. "I never even told him when my mom died."
The next morning, James awoke to the bright sunlight he was accustomed to, along with the song
of a Nightingale outside his window. "Must have a nest in my tree," he thought to himself as he
stretched. His hand found the money sitting on his dresser and he sat up suddenly, remembering
what he had set out to do. He set it back down, sliding carefully out of bed as not to aggravate his
skull, and pulled open the bottom drawer. He sifted the contents until he located his favorite pair
of simple blue jeans, and a black shirt with a blue stripe across the chest.
James shed his nightclothes, changing quickly and shoved his cash into the right pocket. Light from
James' door shed a faint ray on the ancient carpet of the hall as he opened it slightly. The house
was still quiet and still, indicating no one but him was awake and active. Taking the opportunity, he
deftly slid his thin frame into the hall and stole to the kitchen.
The keys to the jeep glinted in the early morning sunlight from their place on the table just in front
of the door, and James did not even pause as he picked them up on his way through to the
vehicle. He unlocked it and started the engine as soon as he was comfortable in the driver's seat.
Gravel crunched under the worn tires as James eased the jeep into the street and picked up speed
towards town.
Jessie awoke that morning due to an unfamiliar weight on her stomach. She rolled over, in an
attempt to rid herself of it, groaning in complaint and heard a loud thud accompanied by an
enraged yowl.
"Jessie!"
Her azure eyes were instantly open at the familiar voice and Meowth leapt indignantly back onto
her bed. "I'm sorry," she mumbled groggily.
"Apologize lata, James is gone!" he replied, his fur standing on end with rage and worry.
