AN: As ever, many thanks to the people who reviewed my work since I last added a story (Maymist, SunnyDayInPallet & IsisCat123); may this be considered a small gift for your kind words. Back to the hardcore Eldershipping (you all know you love it!), I wanted to write something that was a little bit longer, more of a story than a One or TwoShot. I also wanted to write something that was more bedded into the world of the Pokémon Animé as we know it; and although I know not everyone likes the idea I think Professor Oak being Ash's Dad is a pretty awesome concept. Will we ever find out for sure? I don't think so, but I like to think if it were true it would have happened a little something like this.

I don't own Pokémon or any of the characters/settings, I'm just using them as pawns for my game of love-chess, so please know I don't intend any copyright infringement nor will I profit from this story. Hopefully you'll enjoy this SADRN (or OAKRN if you prefer) as this site is in dire need of some! This piece is rated 'T' for some mild language, angst and adult themes but generally you won't find anything distasteful here (aside from an affair of sorts, I suppose). Please don't forget to leave me a short review as it'll help with future chapters and so on. This novella is in memory of the Eldershipping Brigade, specifically Ilex The Elder as her writing was what turned me into an Eldershipper in the first place!

A Father's Love

Written By Solent

Prologue

The sound of her weeping was where it all started. It's ironic that the sound of despair is what brought my greatest joy in life. It brought a lot of pain with it too, though. Was it worth it in the end? My conscience tells me that I should say 'of course', but I have my doubts. That's a horrible thing to say, isn't it? A Father doubting whether or not his own child was worth it…

If only he knew. Would he think it was worth it? It's not so much that I question if he was worth it, because that's a certainty. I just find myself questioning if all the lies and pain were worthwhile. All I've ever wanted is to tell him. To hold him. To have him call me 'Dad' and to be able to call him 'Son' in return. Is that really so much to ask?

***

She was sat with her head on the desk, crying softly. I'd only known her a couple of months then; she was working part time as my aide. I didn't really know all that much about her if I was honest, but then I'd been working on a particularly important project and hadn't had much time to talk to her one-on-one like I usually did with my assistants. I said her name gently, not wanting to surprise her. When she looked up her face was puffy and her eyes were bloodshot.

I sat on the table and took her hand in mine, offering a supportive smile. She tried to smile back, but then she burst into another fit of tears. It was a good hour before she could talk coherently. I got her a cup of tea and handed her a fresh tissue as she dabbed away all that was left for her body to cry out.

When I asked her what was wrong she said it didn't matter, and I replied firmly, telling her that 'I wasn't going to have any of my staff upset with no shoulder to cry on'. Even though I was her boss, and an admittedly poor one in hindsight, I had hoped she still saw me as somewhat of a friend.

I'm not sure how much she intended to tell me but it all came out in a rush then: how her fiancée had left her the night before, with nothing but all his possessions gone and a scrawled Goodbye Note left in her apartment explaining how he'd 'found someone else' to greet her after work. How now there was no way she could afford to stay in Pallet Town, as she couldn't find a better job, and that she'd have to quit the night classes she'd been taking to help get her into a real profession. Occasionally she'd pause, or stop entirely, and I would nod to tell her that it was OK to continue. I learnt more about her that night than I could have over a thousand coffee breaks. Gradually the conversation shifted, and we started talking about the lab, Pokémon and our childhoods. Eventually we reached the inevitable question I'd been trying to avoid all night.

She had asked me what my Wife was like, and so I told her as best I could. It had been just over a year since her death (she'd died of Cancer, having battled it for years; although I didn't discuss that part of her life in great depth as it still to this day brings tears to my eyes when I think of it) and I was still recovering. I told her that she was a shy, conscientious woman who enjoyed nothing more than curling up with a good book before bed. How when she smiled it seemed to fill her whole face with a light that just made everything better, even at the worst of times. The way she'd had all the patience in the world with me: putting up with all of my eccentricities and dedication to my work.

It wasn't until the girl yawned that I checked the clock. It was nearly midnight, and we'd spent the entire evening talking. I gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder, telling her she'd be alright, and that if she ever needed anything: money, a place to stay, whatever she desired; she would find it here. She was a young, innocent girl and I can't say I'm proud of how I behaved that night.

As I was leaving the room she grabbed my arm, pulling me round and embracing me tightly. I hugged her back, allowing my head to rest on top of hers, inhaling the scent of jasmine in her hair. I don't know exactly how it happened but suddenly I was kissing her forehead, and then her cheek. Then she was running her hands through my (even then) greying hair. Then I was putting my hands round her waist. Finally our lips joined together as she started unbuttoning my lab coat. I should have pulled away, resisted the urges, but I didn't. I was weak and failed to do my duty as her employer or her friend, and I can never forgive myself for that.

I'll never be able to absolve myself for my actions after that. She was my assistant and I was a good ten years older than she was. Either way, neither of us had any restraint by that point. I was a lonely, grieving widow and she was an abandoned woman in the prime of life. I'm over-romanticising an event that I don't remember much of, but I have a vague recollection of leading her upstairs to my bedroom, taking off her clothes as she removed mine.

I'd like to say that things stopped there, and I came to my senses, rather than making a mistake, but I can't. I've had to pay for that error in judgement every day for the last decade or so. That night I enjoyed things I shouldn't have, and although I've never discussed it with her, I think secretly she might have enjoyed it too. But that's neither here nor there.

The next morning I awoke to find myself next to her under the covers; with my arm against her chest and my hand where her heart was. If there was ever a first sign that I loved her, it was that. Unfortunately at that point she was simply my employee, and what had taken place, for whatever reason, was incredibly wrong. Luckily it was a Saturday, and so no one else would be working at the Lab, but needless to say Delia & I didn't speak much after that... for a while at least. We have had to this day a silent vow to never talk of that night, although it doesn't really need to be spoken out loud as we discuss the repercussion on a daily basis.

For the next month we spoke only when necessary; I think we were both too embarrassed and ashamed of what we'd done to so much as look at each other properly. As it tends to, however, life went on and I had the escape of work to bury myself in. I did try to atone, you should know: I offered her a pay rise that would let her stay in her flat, even offered her a guest room in the lab itself, but she politely declined all of my offers. Probably saw me as some lecherous old man who offered his students extra benefits in exchange for their bodies. I don't blame her; I just wish that things could have happened differently.

It was the last week of August (roughly a month and five days since 'the incident') that she sat me down before work one morning with news that changed my life, her life… our lives; forever:

She was pregnant.