AN- First off, I want to add a couple of warnings.

This fic goes to dark places, and there are definite non-con elements. There are no actual descriptions or indications of non-consensual sex, but one of the relationships described is certainly forced and heavily abusive.

There is no explicit violence, either, but again, I want to mention it because although I don't go into overly graphic detail, the violence mentioned is potentially very triggering. Please use careful judgement if you're sensitive to either of these issues- I won't be offended at all if you choose to pass on this story.

Some other notes- this is set in early Kanto era, sometime after Holy Matrimony. I've had the idea for this kind of story for a while now, and I decided to write it because these darker elements of the characters are very important to me. I especially think that representation for characters who have been through abuse is fundamental- that's certainly been a huge part of my own healing process.

Jessie thought that the whole thing was complete bullshit.

They hadn't been robbing a Pokemon Centre, or poaching, or pulling some money-grabbing scam. Granted, they'd been doing all three of those things the day before, but that was hardly the point.

When the group of cops had swarmed them, they'd been defenceless- asleep, for god's sake. Their makeshift camp under the shelter of a disused bus stop was turned upside down by the time the officer's voice snapped them from sleep: their packs were being rooted through by a couple of growlithe, the bowls and leftover food from last night's supper knocked aside by their approachers.

It wasn't easy to see in the near darkness, but as someone hauled her upwards by her arm, Jessie just made out the outlines of Officer Jenny's features.

"I'm placing the two of you under arrest, for Team Rocket membership or association. I'll read you the rest of the charges at the station."

The words didn't hit Jessie with the force Jenny had probably been hoping for; Jessie had, since their first day as field agents, been expecting and preparing for their capture. Even Giovanni had admitted to them that arrest was more than likely at some point or another.

But the scenario she'd envisioned in her head had been a far cry from this. She'd pictured being overwhelmed in the heat of battle, pokemon attacks flying left and right, or some Joe Civilian turning around with a police badge and telling them they were busted, or... Something more grandiose.

This?

This was sort of pathetic.

She was too tired and thrown off to resist- besides that, there wouldn't have been much point. Their pokeballs had already been confiscated, and two officers were battling to stuff Meowth into a glorified cat carrier.

"Hey- Meowth ain't some mangy alley cat- get ya mitts off!" he screeched at them, claws drawn. A few seconds later and they managed to shove him inside the container, sliding the cage shut behind him.

Jessie couldn't help but worry for him as he was taken away- even though they'd been briefed on what to expect in such a circumstance, and been assured that bail was standard, it was difficult to put complete trust in theory. They were swimming in untested waters.

Her hands were pulled behind her, and she felt cuffs tighten around her wrists. She glanced around, surveying the scene with a little more care. Four officers- five, if she counted the one that was carrying Meowth. There was a police van parked down the road, blue and red lights bleeding over the dark of shadows and concrete. And then, of course, there was James.

In all honesty, he hadn't really entered her thoughts until now. She'd been too busy taking everything in, dragging herself out of that groggy state of half-sleep.

He was to her right, held by a male officer. His eyes were wide, fearful, like those of cornered prey.

That was to be expected. He was James, and James was not known for his stoic nature. She remembered him bursting into tears the first time he got detention back in Pokemon Tech- this was probably the most trouble he'd ever been in by a long shot.

He'd get over it. Give him a few minutes to wake up and calm down.

She tried to shoot a reassuring look his way, but couldn't catch his eye.

"Come on, let's go," came the voice of the cop holding her left arm, and she obliged, walking forwards with them.

It was eerie, here in the quiet of the early hours with everyone else dead to the world but them. There was something about it all that made her feel odd- the darkness, the silent lights from the police van, the scuffs of their footsteps amplified by the lack of any other noise. It was like being stuck in a timeless limbo.

One of the cops opened the back doors of the van as she neared it; like a chauffeur, she thought, and actually smirked a little. That was a good sign. Proved that she wasn't losing her cool.

The metal step clanked under her weight as she stepped up, ducking her head so as not to hit the vehicle's roof. Glad to part from the grip of her escorts, she sat down on the steel bench and stretched her legs out in front of her.

James followed a couple of steps behind, stumbling a little without the use of his arms for balance. He took a seat next to her, and the doors slammed shut, leaving their only view to the outside world between the bars on the window.

"Well, this sucks," Jessie remarked. She nudged her elbow into her partner, trying to prompt a reply.

And then she saw it: something was wrong. He wasn't just brooding. His breathing was weird- not fast, but shallow- and even in the minimal lighting she could see that his face was paler than usual.

"James?" she asked, shifting so she faced him properly. "James, what's wrong? Talk to me, okay?"

His breath hitched in his throat.

The van was moving now, and Jessie was getting more than just a little worried. She hadn't seen him like this, not ever.

Not one to waste time, she turned her head to the front of the vehicle and shouted at the top of her lungs:

"Hey, we need help back here!"

She waited a few seconds to no response. Frustration building, she staggered back to her feet, hunched over, and launched a hard kick into the wall in an effort to get their attention.

"Hey-"

"Keep it down!" returned an officer's voice, muffled and clearly annoyed.

Jessie decided she didn't have time to argue. Cursing inwardly, she moved her attention back to James.

He was trembling, eyes screwed shut as he gently knocked his forehead against his knee over and over.

"Hey, it's okay, all right?" Jessie said. "We're okay- the boss'll take care of things."

He didn't hear her. He was in a whole other world.

It had been fine, relatively speaking, for the first part of the proceedings.

Being woken up by a squad of officers was not at the top of his list of favourite situations, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world either. He at least knew where he stood with cops, and he'd grown almost used to having danger sprung on him like this. He had resolved to keep a brave face, tough it out until they could get word back to Giovanni and sort things out.

He'd made good on his plan until he'd felt the handcuff ratchet around his wrist.

Something had kicked in then- something instinctive and terrifying. Panic swelling in his stomach, James had nearly yanked away from the policemen, shoved them aside and ran. Every emotion had screamed at him to.

But shock was a good filter, and combined with the common sense still clinging to his attention, that desire to run had only translated to a flinch. It had prolonged his freedom for all of half a second before the cop secured the other cuff.

A growlithe was barking, snarling-

And she was there again, her breath on his neck, her hand gripping his hair and pulling his head back. He couldn't move, couldn't break the chains, couldn't-

"Don't tell me you can't walk all of a sudden, I ain't buying that."

The officer's words grounded him. He was here. He was here, and all that was over now.

He walked.

He couldn't feel the pain in his wrists anymore. They were numb.

She leaned forward in a sort of bow, so that their faces were level. Blood red curls framed her simper.

"You make all yah own problems, you know that, darlin'?"

It was not in James' nature to hate. He'd always seen the good in pokemon, even if they were aggressive by nature, or their physical affection was painful, and the same went for people. He saw the light before the darkness.

He hated Jessebelle.

How could she stand there, a smile staining her lips, as he made attempt after attempt to pry his hands from the shackles, even when the skin was rubbing from his wrists? When he was sobbing, broken?

"Please," he whimpered, even going so far as to force himself to meet her gaze. "Please, please stop..."

Jessebelle's face shifted to display a condescending frown.

"Really, James. It's most unbecomin' of a gentleman to whine like that."

Indignation rose inside him until it was a white rage, blinding the pain for a moment. It gave him the courage to glare, speak his hatred through his eyes. Let her see it.

She tutted.

"You won't learn yah lesson, will you?"

And the fear flooded back. He was stupid, so stupid-

She raised the whip.

"James!"

He pulled his head up from his lap.

Jessie was staring back at him, concern written all over her countenance. "It's okay, I'm here," she said. Her voice was so different from-

Taking a staggering breath, he focused on her. Her lipstick, still in place from the day before. Swooping magenta hair. Her eyes, blue and just like-

No. He was disgusted at himself for even thinking that.

"Are you okay? We're nearly there, I think," she told him.

"Y-Yeah," he managed to reply. His voice was back. "I'm sorry I-"

"Don't. Nothing to be sorry about." She smiled, and he felt something gnawing at the relief of her comfort. It took him a short while to pinpoint the feeling.

Unworthiness.

The van slowed, and pulled to a stop. James' heart still fluttered, felt arryhthmic, but it wasn't thundering anymore. The worst, he hoped, had passed.

More than anything else, the booking process was tedious. The time it took to log his data and take his prints and mugshot only gave his nerves more time to breed. There was little else to think about, besides the more surmountable worry of now having a record.

When they were finally told they would be taken to a cell, a new fear sprang up: would the two of them be separated? He didn't think he could deal with the aftermath, not by himself, not without Jessie.

Mercifully, that didn't turn out to be the case; upon reaching the first cell, one of the officers motioned for the both of them to step inside. Whether it was because they were both Team Rocket members, or just because the laws were slack, James didn't know- nor did he care.

The second saving grace was that their handcuffs were taken off. That crushing weight of memory- the panic, the sickness, the flashes of her- seemed to evaporate the moment his hands were free again, and he flexed his arms, relishing the liberty. It would be okay now. Sure, he was still stuck behind bars for the time being, but he thought he could deal with that.

Once the walkspace was cop-free, Jessie perched herself on the end of the lower bunk bed, and patted the space next to her with a small grin.

"Try it- it's really comfy."

James found a smile spreading on his own face, and he was relieved beyond measure. He was right: the storm had passed. Whatever it was that had happened, he was glad to bury it.

When he was next to her (and what a lie, the mattress was about as soft as a plank of wood), she studied him, analytical.

"James... I think maybe we should talk about what happened back there."

He froze.

This wasn't part of the deal.

He gave his best nonchalant shrug.

"I don't know. I got scared, I suppose," he mumbled. "First time getting caught like that."

"Mm." She couldn't have sounded less convinced. "Look, I don't want to probe. I get it if there's stuff you don't wanna tell me- your business is yours. But you pretty much blacked out back there. I was really scared you were having some sort of breakdown. And... I don't think whatever caused that should be ignored."

He weighed up his options. On one hand, he could go along with his charade: insist it was nothing more than a bout of anxiety and make her leave it alone. It was the easiest choice, and besides that, he'd made a vow to himself never to disclose his past, not to anybody. It was too messed up, too embarrassing to share.

And on the other hand, there was a part of him screaming to let it out, to confide in somebody- and here was the woman he trusted more than anybody else in the world. Maybe she was right, maybe it would help him to talk.

There was, however, no way of knowing for sure. Not until he tried it.

He closed his eyes and blew out a sigh.

"You... Um..."

He trailed off, hating himself for not even being able to speak properly.

"You met my parents, and... Jessebelle."

Her eyes flashed- with what, he wasn't sure. Realisation? Pity?

Jessie nodded.

"And obviously, you know they don't exactly approve of me."

"Well, yeah- but I figured that was because you're in Team Rocket now, y'know?" Jessie said. "That's not exactly every parent's dream."

"That's part of it, but... Well, they've disapproved of me for a long time before that." James swallowed as he tried to gather his thoughts. "Uh, so when I got engaged to Jessebelle, they thought it would be a good way of making me be better."

His vision was cloudy, suddenly, and as it grew more distorted he felt the wetness of tears in his eyes. He brushed them away quickly, but they sprang up again.

Why did it hurt so much to say it out loud?

Jessie was quiet. She just waited, let him decide if he wanted to go on.

"And, well, Jessebelle, she..."

His voice cracked. He couldn't say it. The whole thing was too awful.

He couldn't say it, but he could show her.

Sniffling, James held his arms out, under the bulb's harsh light.

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to be looking at at first, but then she saw them- faint rings of scars that curled around his wrists. A frown crossed her face. She didn't understand.

Then he took hold of his black undershirt, and lifted it up a couple of inches. When he swiveled his body to show her his back, he heard Jessie take a sharp breath.

It had been a while since he'd looked at it in the mirror, but he knew that it was bad. There were too many scars there to count, an overlapping collection of everything he'd done wrong: every time he'd spoken out of turn, every improper mannerism, every failure to adhere by the rules. They were protruding, ugly. Whenever he thought he might have to take his top off in front of anyone, he'd slather his back with concealer- he spent half his salary on the damn stuff, but it was worth it. Anything to make him look a little less freakish.

Letting his shirt drop down again, he shifted so he faced the side wall again. James couldn't bring himself to look at her. She would be disgusted.

"James, I..."

Her voice wobbled. He braved a glance to her face, and was taken aback to see tears in her own eyes. She was crying.

"James... I'm so, so sorry."

He wasn't sure how to respond.

She's revolted. You should never have showed her that.

"How-" Jessie cleared her throat. "When did she...?"

James inhaled.

Breathe.

"She was always like that. Violent. But the worst of it started a few years ago, when she was old enough to... You know. Stronger."

He didn't want to admit to her the details of the first incident, how he'd so stupidly gone back even as an adult, when he should have known far better.

"Your father has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. The doctors say he's got a couple of weeks, at best. Please, James, come home. He wants to be with you."

And he'd bought it. And Jessebelle and her vileplume had been waiting.

Jessie took her head in her hands. "Shit..." She looked at him with utter sincerity. "I know that it's not enough, but what we did to you- forcing you back in that house- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry James, I-"

He shook his head. "You didn't know."

"But I could see you were uneasy, and I didn't care, I just kept going because I saw a chance for quick money and- and that's horrible. I was horrible."

Her words didn't make sense. How could she be horrible? She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"No, Jessie-" He exhaled. "You didn't know what was going on. You made a mistake because you saw an opportunity. We're both guilty of that- look where we are!" He was surprised to hear himself chuckle. "Just how you're reacting right now... That proves you're anything but horrible."

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"You're too kind, James Kojiro," she muttered.

Neither of them said anything for a while. They both had a lot to process.

James was still trying to shake off that sense of shame- his mind bellowed, furious at him for daring to delve into such taboo. What had happened to him was a dirty secret, and his alone to keep.

But now it was out, and it was his fault for not just keeping his damn mouth shut-

"Doesn't it bother you when we get hurt on the job?" Jessie asked, cutting off his thoughts.

James paused. "What do you mean?"

"Like, when we get all beat up after a fight, or whatever- we've both gotten scars from that," she said. "How... How do you deal with it?"

He thought about this.

"It's different," he answered. "The injuries we get- they're our choice. They represent our choices and actions, and they're ours. Not like- not like the ones she gave me."

James had never put it into so many words before, and he realised just what he was getting at. The welts on his back weren't just blemishes- they were pain, imprisonment.

They were Jessebelle.

It killed him that he had to wear her forever.

"I'm not gonna pretend I understand what you went through, but I know that what she did is evil," Jessie said. Her voice was low, dangerous, with that familiar edge of spite. Now wasn't the time for anger, she knew that. It would only scare him. So she forced it back, and her face softened once more. "But... Every bad thing those scars symbolise- they're hers, not yours."

James blinked at her.

"I know it wasn't your choice to go through that, but the fact is you did, and you came out of it alive. Those marks on your back don't belong to her. They show your survival."

Survival?

Yes, he supposed he had survived. It didn't feel like it, most of the time- but here he was. Alive and kicking mud at his family's name every time he donned his uniform.

He supposed, in theory, that if he could claim his new battle wounds as his own, he could do the same with situations such as arrest. It wouldn't be easy, to have his freedom snatched away yet again without revisiting that dark place that sat in his core, but maybe it was possible. This was all part of the game, part of their adventure. If this narrative meant being landed in a cell every now and again, so what? It was a piece of his story as a member of Team Rocket. A new tale entirely, and one that belonged only to them.

And if he could do that, maybe then, one day in some far-off future, he'd be able to look at his back without cringing.

He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to take Jessie's words to heart, not truly. Reclaiming a part of him that he'd thought of as broken beyond repair for so long was not an overnight matter.

But he could make a start.