Weather the Storm
Summary: 18 years following the take-down of Team Rocket, 36-year-old Ash Ketchum randomly disappears only to be declared murdered. His 18 year-old daughter, heartbroken by her father's death and her mother's tears, goes back in time to prevent the events leading to her father's death in the future.
Pairings: Mainly PokéShipping; Ash/Misty, slight ContestShipping; Drew/May, slight Rocketshipping; James/Jessie, OC/OC.
Rating: T for language, suggestive themes, and violence. Oh, and Ash and Misty are very, erhm, close in this fic. So if that kind of AAML relationship turns you away, then maybe this isn't the story for you.
Ages: Ash and Misty are 36, but for the majority of the story and flashbacks they are 18. Drew and May are a year or two younger, Brock is a couple years older. Flashbacks take place in modern day. My OCs are 18.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated in any way with the Pokémon franchise. This story is merely for entertainment. I, however, do own my OCs Ilse (pronounced Ilsa), Noah, and Sophie. I also don't own Back to the Future or anything else you could relate this storyline to.
A/N: Know that this is a Next Generation OC fic. Most of the story is told from the perspective of her. But the story does surround Ash and Misty, so don't worry. :) Now on with the show!
Crying Buckets
Ilse sat fixed in the Cerulean library, furiously flipping page after page, book after book. Words danced in front of her eyes, barely registering as she just glared at the crease. Out of the corner of her eye, two figures shifted, one moving out of her line of sight, the other approaching cautiously, and sitting down beside her.
"Noah's been asking about you."
The last page billowed as it settled on the rest of the book, rustling slightly when Ilse released a breath of relief. She glanced up slowly, her long black hair covering her face. "Is he gone?"
Sophie nodded in reply, twirling a rebellious strand of green hair, chuckling, "I know that Noah is probably just about the last thing that you need right now, so I shooed him away." She paused, gauging Ilse's response before saying softly, "You know that you can't hide out in the library forever, though."
Ilse absentmindedly toyed with the corner of the page of the book, crinkling it between her fingers. "I know," she said, looking at her best friend's green eyes. "I just need to be here right now."
Sophie didn't say another word of it. This was why Ilse loved her. Sophie was the only one that was there for her through all this, not just throwing the standard pity-look her way whenever eye contact was made in passing.
"You wanna get out of here?" Sophie suggested. "I'm sure that you can only study for so long."
And there was another reason.
Half a smile graced Ilse's features. "Yeah." She stood up, leaving behind not only the still open book that she'd been scouring, but stacks upon stacks still strewn on the table. She took Sophie's arm in her own, looking down at her shoes to avoid the curious eyes piercing through her.
"Move out of our way!" Sophie spat, elbowing someone blindly in the gut as she pushed their way through the clambering crowd of reporters. It always amazed Ilse how Sophie could change personalities at the drop of a hat. Even though she was a few years younger than her, Sophie commanded attention in a way that Ilse had never seen before. "Shit, people, have a little respect, why don't you?" They finally pushed their way up the stairs to the front door of Ilse's house, quickly opening the door, and consequently slamming it shut, crushing a Channel 9 microphone in half in the process.
Sophie brushed herself off, smirking a little as she kicked the mangled microphone head across the floor in the vague direction of a trash can. She promptly plopped herself down on a stool in the kitchen and leaned her elbows on the cold counter. The smirk had fallen from her face, now replaced with a somber expression. "Anything new?" she asked softly.
Ilse sighed, fiddling with things in the kitchen before she even gave herself a chance to put her backpack down. "No. But given that my mom is gone right now and not teary-eyed, flipping through old photo albums on the couch, I can guess that there'll probably be something else on the case soon," Ilse said as she chopped an apple particularly forcefully, making Sophie wince.
Just then, the front door burst open, the din of all of the reporters carrying easily into the kitchen, announcing someone's arrival into the Ketchum house.
"That's probably her," Ilse exclaimed as she ran to the front door, dropping the forgotten knife to the ground, just missing her own feet. Sophie followed after taking a moment to look wearily at her friend before putting the knife in the sink.
In the living room, Ilse and Sophie found a red-headed woman with a yellow mouse on her shoulder and a brunette by her side, followed by a police officer.
"Mom?" Ilse squeaked out, trying not to let hope shine through from her wide green eyes.
Misty glanced back at Officer Jenny, whose face was eerily devoid of expression. "Why don't we all sit down," she suggested. Everyone complied, turning to Jenny once they were settled.
"Alright, let's start by briefly reviewing the report so far," she started. "Four days ago, you're husband, Ash Ketchum," she added, turning to Misty, "suddenly went missing. We found no sign of intrusion or any form of breaking and entering into the house, nor were there any reports of suspicious activity in the area. This suggested that Ash may have left of his own volition, presumably in the middle of the night. There were no leads as to where he could be or any real motive of a hypothetical attacker. Until now.
"Of course, we all spent some time theorizing and imagining the worst, given Ash's past misshapes with malicious organizations. Murder wasn't in any way out of the question, despite the relative peace that you've lived in for the past few years. Unfortunately now there's no question." Jenny paused, examining the faces in front of her, sighing as she continued. "A body was found."
Ilse's body went rigid. She saw her mother's face immediately harden and her grandmother leaned over to embrace Misty, softly stroking her hair and cooing motherly assurances in her ear. She felt Sophie's soothing touch on her shoulder, but everything else went by in a haze. Words ran over her, not really making sense, not even really sounding like words. In the end, Jenny got up from the couch, murmured her condolences, hugging Misty, Delia, even Pikachu, and finally Ilse after she robotically stood up.
Misty's still glassy eyes turned to Ilse, and she managed a watery, "Baby," her voice cracking as she opened her arms to her daughter. She hugged her mom, feeling her mother's heaving sobs as she focused all her energy on fighting a losing battle to keep her breathing normal.
"Baby," Misty tried again, "are you okay here with Sophie? I think I need to have a moment."
Ilse nodded into her mother's shoulder, letting her go and watching her walk up the stairs with Delia shortly behind her. Ilse slowly, mechanically, turned back forward to the wall. She stopped abruptly, freezing in an instant as a picture of a young Ash Ketchum caught her eye on the wall. He looked so vivacious and full of life—like nothing could strike him down. Her breathing immediately sped up, and she found herself hyperventilating, backing slowly away from the picture as fresh tears stung her eyes.
"Ilse?" Sophie started hesitantly, reaching out to touch her shoulder again.
Before she got the chance, Ilse whipped around, and flew out the front door, shoving through the throng of reporters before they knew what hit them, leaving Sophie in the doorway trying to push them back down the stairs.
Ilse ran, not having the faintest clue where she was going. The only thought running through her head was the dark mantra of, My father is dead. My father is dead. My father is dead...with every pounding step of her feet. Before long, she made it to the door of another house; one without reporters and without people giving her pitying looks. Before she even got the chance to knock on the door, it swung open, and she crumpled into the arms of the one holding it.
"Noah," she mumbled into his now tearstained shirt. Taking a breath, she grasped both his arms in her shaking hands and looked up to him with watery green eyes. "Make me forget."
Ilse woke up with a pounding behind her puffy eyes that only could come from hours of crying herself to sleep and in an instant the world's weight fell on top of her. My father is dead.
She peeled open her crusty eyes to find her second crushing realization of the day.
This wasn't her room.
She'd slept with him.
Again.
At just that moment, Noah decided to waltz into his room. His blue hair was wet and he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His brown eyes widened slightly when he noticed her eyes open and making a weak attempt at glaring at him.
"You're awake," he noted.
Ilse rolled her eyes and made a move to get out of bed before she realized that her clothes were strewn about the room and that the only thing covering her naked person was a blanket. Noah looked at her, deciding to take a moment to stare her down awkwardly and watch her face turn from a soft fuchsia to a glowing vermillion before stepping out of his room and closing the door.
Sighing in relief, Ilse hopped out of bed and had only just started recollecting all her clothes from the night before, prepping herself for a walk of shame, before Noah's voice rang through the door.
"I heard about your dad."
She froze as her blood ran cold for the second time that morning at the reminder. My father is dead. She hardened her face with resolve and chose not to respond.
"It's on the front page of the newspaper and it's all over every television station."
Again, no response.
Noah let out an audible sigh through the door. "Just thought I'd warn you."
A fully dressed Ilse threw open the door, leaving Noah, who had been leaning against it, to reach blindly at the air as he fell towards the floor. He managed to grasp onto her arm, which seemed to spark with electricity from his touch. She blushed again, maintaining a scowl on her face and yanked him up.
"No need to warn me," Ilse said flippantly. "I've got everything taken care of."
Noah arched his eyebrow at her. He recognized that face. Stubbornness was the Ketchum family's strongest trait. "I sincerely doubt that you have everything taken care of."
"I do."
"Don't."
"Do."
"Don't."
"Noah!"
"Fine!" he conceded. "What are you talking about?"
"I have a plan," she stated. "A plan that will get us through this. First, though, I have to go somewhere."
And just like that she flipped her long black hair in his incredulous face and marched right past him. After a few steps, she paused and turned back toward him. "Thank you for last night, Noah." She paused for dramatic effect. "But it was a mistake that won't be repeated.
It was times like these that Ilse thanked Mew that she had a Flying Pokémon that could carry her. This way, she could avoid all the people who wanted to give her their condolences, tell their stories of how they met Ash in his younger days and how the world was a worse place without him. She could get from Point A to Point B without even having to see them as anything more than little specks from her vantage point in the sky. Soon enough, mountains filled her vision and shortly after, a small town. She called for her Pidgeot to swoop down.
They landed softly in front of the Pewter City Gym. Ilse reached for the doorbell before recalling her Pokémon or even hopping off it. The heavy stone doors slid roughly to either side in an instant, revealing a long hallway that Ilse had traversed many a time. She entered and began meandering through. Eventually she was greeted with the sight of the Slate's kitchen and a frilly apron-adorned Brock scurrying about the kitchen, trying to meet the many breakfast requests of his children. Everything would have looked normal were it not for the sullen expression on everyone's faces and the prominent bags under Brock's eyes.
"Uncle Brock?"
Just like that, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Great. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
"Hey, kid," he greeted, trying to sound upbeat.
She cleared her throat, waving awkwardly at the various cousins that were all staring at her. "Uncle Brock, if you're not too busy right now, could we chat for a bit?"
Brock looked around at the children for just a moment before he untied his apron and handed it off to his eldest son. He ushered her into the living room and sat down across from her. Neither said anything for a few minutes.
"Your mom called me. She's been wondering where you are."
Ilse looked down at the ground. "I figured as much."
Brock nodded. "Out of curiosity, why are you here instead of at home?"
"I have some questions for you." Brock tilted his head at her. "I would've asked mom, but she's…not doing so well." Ilse shook her head to clear it. "Anyway, I want to know about when you, my mom, and my dad destroyed Team Rocket."
Brock chuckled a little to himself. He'd seen this coming for a long time. Straightening up, he turned to face her. "What do you want to know?"
A/N: Well? What do you guys think? I have been working on this story for months and months. I didn't want to publish it until the story is fully finished because I always go back and edit things as I write more. And I was afraid that I would never finish it. And I hate unfinished fics. But at this point I have 12 chapters finished and I feel that I can do this. But I didn't want to finish the story without getting some feedback. So please leave reviews telling me if you're interested in this story!
Cover photo courtesy of the wonderful MiyaToriaka on Deviantart!