I guess this is a "what if" type of story. It has character death and the other characters dealing with it. It's either going to be sad or laughably dramatic.

There are bodily fluids mentioned, but not too much of it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon.

-O-o-O-

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

One could say this was to be expected. Nothing Jessie, James, and Meowth were involved with ever turned out the way it was supposed to. They tried to capture Pikachu; they failed. They tried to make an honest dollar; they floundered. They tried to shed their Team Rocket status like an Arbok sheds skin and have at least a shot, however long, at competence for once in their lives; that pleasure eluded them. Underachievement beamed from them like their own personal halo, their aura neither dark nor light, but a sodden brown-green of ineptitude.

Who would've thought that the time one of them actually followed through with something, it would have much worse consequences than if he'd just sat there and sulked?

"There goes another failure for the records," James sighed as they trudged back to their shack.

"We wouldn't have any failures or records of them if someone would follow the plan," Jessie growled, her blue eyes staring daggers at Meowth.

"Why's it always my fault?" the cat snapped back.

"Are you stupid? I just said you seem to have an uncanny inability to follow instructions. Apparently, your speech comprehension is failing, too." Jessie, despite her hatred of premature wrinkles, couldn't stop her face from contorting.

"Half the time, I'm the one with the great plan, but you just can't let anyone tell you what to do, can you? Even if that'd mean we might actually not leave the scene bleeding." His whiskers twitched. His paws curled, as if connected to his whiskers.

Jessie wasn't inclined to listen to reason at that moment. "Well, it isn't a day unless we see some blood, is it?" She curled her hands into fists.

James stepped between them. "Don't start. Not now."

Jessie shoved him back, maybe a little harder than she'd meant to. James slammed against a nearby tree and slid to the grass.

Meowth didn't think. James had barely hit the ground before the cat sprung up and scratched at Jessie's face. Jessie moved fast–a little too fast. She leaned back to avoid Meowth's claws, her fists ready to knock him out when she came forward again. Meowth, intent on making his point, lurched further and swiped again.

It might have been better if he'd lost balance and fell on his face.

Jessie went sprawling backwards, her hands flailing to grab at her neck, but already limp as the blood left them. She fell with a thud to the grass, her arms framing her head and her legs crumpled. Meowth thought she was just being melodramatic until he saw the expanding red stain on the front of her white uniform, blending with the bright red "R."

He was probably completely still for a minute or so. Maybe. Time seemed to have slowed, so much that Jessie still hadn't gotten up.

Another couple of years passed before Meowth turned around to the tree next to him. James was still out, it appeared, but he was stirring. He was moving fast-with time slowed down and all, he was moving at a near normal speed. That's when he realized Jessie was completely still and she wasn't likely to start moving again.

Meowth crept towards Jessie, his eyes dipping in and put of focus as he came to her torso. He shut them completely as he approached her head. His foot hit something and out of instinct, he opened his eyes and looked down.

James's eyes, which had started to flutter seconds earlier, flew open at the scream. He rose slowly and tried not to pass out at the throbbing headache as he walked toward the noise.

Meowth was still screaming as far as he knew. He was screaming when he saw James come over (maybe louder then), he continued even after he fell over, and he was sure it was only getting louder as he curled up into a tiny ball. He may not have been screaming out loud, but he was certain his voice wasn't dying out soon.

When it finally did, Meowth wasn't grateful. The silence made him wish for the terrific noise of a few seconds ago. He dared to twist his neck up and look at his remaining partner.

James's blue mop fell over his down-turned face. Time must've slowed down again, Meowth thought, because he wasn't moving. Taken out of context, the scene could be mistaken for some sort of performance art piece involving wax figures and tomato juice. Then a gust of wind blew James's hair back and Meowth revoked that thought-he'd seen wax sculptures with more expression in their face than James had now.

Meowth wasn't sure what drove him into the next frenzied activity. He threw himself toward Jessie and sliced off a piece of her white top. He then began to press it onto her overflowing neck wound. It was soaked in seconds, so he cut another swatch and repeated the process. He removed her black gloves and repurposed them, but the blood kept coming-and Jessie's chest wasn't rising.

"I think she's gone, Meowth."

Meowth barely recognized the voice as James. "No, she'll be fine. I…I just need to stop the bleeding. Yeah." He pressed her other glove onto her neck. "She's still alive. I can fix this." He stretched his redden paw toward James. "Lend me your shirt, will ya."

No answer.

"James, I'm serious. She's gonna bleed to death if I don't apply the right pressure." He shook his paw. The other pressed the glove to her neck with more force, despite the glove's waning usefulness.

James only knelt down and took one of Jessie's wrists in his hand. Then he took off his own gloves and put two fingers to the side of her neck.

Meowth removed them after a few seconds. "It won't work if you don't use a cloth, Jimmy." He turned the glove inside out, found the inside to be just as soaked, but still bunched it over Jessie's neck.

He was surprised at how easily James took the glove from him and at the delicacy with which he laid it over her neck. "It's no use," James intoned.

Meowth tried to grab the glove back. He tried to grab the other glove and turn it inside out to use as a plug. But his arms felt like lead. His lead arms must have poisoned the rest of his body, because his thoughts were losing all form and meaning. Perceived and real sounds blended together; he's long since quit trying to take in any visual information. The only thing he could make of his surroundings was the blue. The color was draining from the scenery: the green foliage, red dirt, yellow dandelions signaling a new season, new life. All of it was looking a dull tint of blue, like an old photograph, like the bluish-silver publicity shots he'd seen tacked everywhere when he lived in Hollywood.

Then his whole vision was blue. Just highlights and lowlights and lines of every tone in between.

He soon realized he was staring into James's hair. James had picked him up and was holding him very closely. Meowth's head was propped against James's shoulder and tilted up toward the young man's hair. His hand supported Meowth's head as if he were a very young baby.

Meowth shut his eyes. He could barely hear James's murmured attempts at comforting him over the voice in his head screaming, over and over, "Jessie's dead and you killed her."

-O-o-O-

This might not be a one-shot. At least I hope it won't be (writer's block is unpleasant). It's also not Rocketshippy.