AN: This is my first pokemon fic ever, and I'll admit that it's probably not very accurate with the series as there are many episodes I haven't seen. Still, I thought I'd give it a go and see how this works out. Er, I'll apologize now for Meowth's voice; I can't type in his voice. And I know the characters may seem OOC now, but . . . whatever, you don't want to read these notes anyway, do you?
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon and, unfortunately for me, do not own Team Rocket, though I like to believe otherwise. Engrave this in your head because you'll never hear me admit it again. It hurts too much.
Night. A time of fantasies, where moonlit shadows held the philosophies of another age, answers to questions never asked. Memories flooded the ethereal haze even as one fought desperately to forget.
Meowth, a pokemon cursed with nocturnal instincts despite training to become as human as possible, found his paws carrying him in circles around the apartment. Of course, 'apartment' was a bit of a loose term for the stack of bricks Meowth and his teammates shared. The team shared three rooms, two of which were a bathroom and a kitchen, the remaining room cradling a king sized mattress (courtesy of the town dump) with holes exposing the springs and a rickety lamp with no shade. This lamp remained off, in spite of the darkness, as they were down to their last light bulb. Besides, Meowth could see just fine in the darkness, and his human companions weren't in the vicinity to complain.
"At least it's clean," Meowth imagined James saying in his usual optimistic fashion. Or maybe something along the lines of, "The kitchen actually has food in it this time!" But Meowth dropped these thoughts just as fast as they flashed through his mind. He tried not to think about James too much these days. Things change. And so, Meowth realized, did people, as cliché as it sounded. This realization had hit the cat pokemon harder than he'd thought possible.
Meowth sloped into the kitchen, conflicted with the debate of his stomach. Should he risk the wrath of his partners by eating the last slice of bread? The crisis took second priority as his furred ears pricked to the creaking of the front door opening.
'Good, dey're home,' Meowth sighed in relief. After all, it was well past two in the morning. The two had been out for nearly eight hours now!
"Its about time yous twos got back! We still gotta run ovah our plan for tomorrow," Meowth nagged, tensing up as he waited for a response. Depending on how well the date had gone, he could expect either a snide remark or a concussion from a mallet, courtesy of Jessie.
As the silence stretched, Meowth's need to protect himself dropped slightly, replaced instead by worry. The house seemed too quiet for both Jessie and her partner to have returned. "Didja hear me?" He rose his voice, edging towards the doorway into the main room.
The front door hung ajar where it had been entered moments prior, though neither of his teammates could be seen. As he closed the door, however, he noted Jessie's rose heels kicked off on the carpet, supplying enough evidence to realize which one had returned.
So where was Jessie?
"Jessie? Where are you?" Meowth called out, voice constricting in his throat. He made out a squeaking noise, the sound a Pikachu made when its head was trapped in a Ziploc bag. A sound crossed between a sob and a scream. The hairs on Meowth's back bristled as the room seemed to chill ten degrees.
Meowth's paws transported him across the room, into the hall leading to the bathroom. The noise intensified, escaping through the same crack that allowed light to flood the tiled floor preceding the bathroom.
"Jessie, are you alright?" Meowth asked, leaning against the wall. The noise faded slightly, though he could faintly make out human breaths from inside. Still worried, he leaned a paw against the door. "Jess, I'm comin' in, alright?" Painfully, he inched the door open, initially relieved to find his female companion fully dressed only to plummet farther into distress than he had been earlier.
The girl huddled on the shower floor, water running out of the faucet without use, could not possibly be Jessie. Not this broken girl with the shattered expression. The girl huddled into herself, lost in a nightmare she couldn't awake from, used in a way Meowth had never before witnessed, in a way Jessie could never be portrayed. This girl was everything Jessie wasn't. There had to be some mistake.
Meowth's eyes widened, transfixed to the almost familiar form as her face turned to him. Her makeup streamed down her face, staining her pale flesh and puddling on the wet linoleum. Even through the water, Meowth knew she was crying, though she didn't seem aware of the fact. "Meowth," Her voice quivered through bloody lips, a familiar sound to Meowth, though not possibly Jessie's voice, for this girl lacked emotion, speaking in a dazed monotone. Still, he inched closer, needing to hear what this stranger-Jessie would say next.
"Meowth, he raped me."