Returning to Your Roots
Written by Fruit Punch
A Pokémon Fanfiction featuring Professor Birch and Norman
February 2016 – Present
Chapter 03: A Shoulder to Cry On
Rating: G
Warnings: None
"Until death do us part" is a flowery enough phrase when you think you love someone, when you imagine that you will, indeed, be with the other person until death comes for one or both of you. Preferably after a long, fulfilled life, death will arrive peacefully and gracefully in the night, making your sleep permanent and eternal, as assured and everlasting as your love for one another. The certainty of death didn't seem as scary when you face it with the one you love. At least, that was how marriage was supposed to go, Norman thought. It was not something to rush into with halfhearted feelings or only out of a sense of convenience. Matrimony was a binding contract, in a legal and monetary sense, but more importantly, in an emotional aspect as well. Legal red tape and money could be mitigated, but emotions last forever, and have no recourse to fix the damage. To Norman, the phrase "until death do us part" now was more of a looming threat, of a sentence to remain in misery and emotional stagnation for the rest of his natural life, until the embrace of death finally freed him. But those feelings made Norman hate himself, because his wife had done nothing to deserve any contempt, and such harsh words were only finding her as a scapegoat, when the real person Norman was mad at was himself. Whether it was for straying away from his wife emotionally, or whether it was marrying her in the first place, Norman wasn't sure. Neither answer sat well with him. But it created an unending cycle of self-loathing, which was only exacerbated each time by the previous iteration.
Norman wanted to be upfront and tell Birch all of this, about how he hadn't felt content in his marriage for years, for so long that he wondered if he ever had really been happy in the first place, or whether it was just convenient. He wanted to tell his friend how guilty he felt feeling this, and how he hated the fact that he used his job to hide from the problem. How he was afraid he was hurting both his wife and his son, yet he was too afraid of being hurt himself to change anything. He wanted to be told that he was wrong for feeling this way, to be assuaged and reassured that everything was fine. That he would wake up and realize he loved his wife. Maybe they just needed a romantic vacation or getaway to reignite the spark. After that, everything would feel as joyous as it had been the day he got married to his wonderful wife. But Norman knew that nothing of the sort would happen, and the miserable situation was his own fault. That even if the problem initially hadn't been his doing, the stagnation and isolation he caused by doing nothing aggravated the decay of the already crumbling family unit. Had Norman even been happy on his wedding day? He couldn't remember anymore. He knew he didn't feel this sense of dread, the acute instinct that something was wrong. And Norman didn't remember such self-loathing, or the constant fatigue that came with it. Was it really all the gym leader's fault? And was there even any way of alleviating it without only making things worse? Norman was scared of the blame, and of the possibility that things would, in fact, not get better. And it was this fear that kept Norman from opening up and telling Professor Birch.
Currently, Norman was distracting himself from the problem by discussing Brendan's recent travels. His heavyset friend listened intently, providing moderate commentary, but eyeing Norman suspiciously, as if he knew that Norman was dodging a much more sensitive subject. Of course Birch knew, the man knew the inner workings of Norman's mind better than almost anyone else. But for the moment Birch was playing along and not changing the subject, seemingly content in letting Norman lead the conversation.
"And so Brendan did successfully beat Roxanne last week," Norman explained as he tried to keep his mind on the stories of his son's journey and progression as a trainer, which was a much easier subject for Norman. The man was normally brimming with pride over his son's accomplishments. But everything tonight was said somewhat sheepishly as he looked into his alcohol. He was already on his second beer for the night, and Birch had brought out a bottle of bourbon that was currently sitting on the counter with two glasses for when they decided to switch to it. "But apparently there's been a rockslide in the tunnel connecting Rustboro and Verdanturf, you know the old one?"
"Yeah?" Birch replied attentively. "I had heard about that, but luckily nobody was hurt, right?"
"Uh huh, and it happened a few days before Brendan got to Rustboro anyway, so he was fine. But that ruined his plans to travel immediately to Verdanturf."
"Why did he need to go specifically to Verdanturf? It's mainly a rural town, though it does have Pokémon Contests there." Birch sipped his beer, tilting it enough to almost empty the can.
"That's where Wally, you remember that boy I mentioned that stopped by the gym when Brendan tried to challenge me?"
"Yeah," Birch answered after pausing to think. "The one you helped catch his first Pokémon?"
"Well, that was more Brendan than me, but yeah." Norman said, clearing his throat. "He's lived in Petalburg since before I took over the gym there, but he's a little sickly. Nothing life threatening, just enough to effect his daily life."
"Okay."
"He moved away from Petalburg to Verdanturf," Norman discussed, motioning his hands from one side of his to the other to iterate the change in living areas. "He has family there. They think it'll be healthier for him to live in a smaller town. Less stress, less pollution, and his relatives have more free time to take care of him, I think."
"Oh, so Brendan was hoping to visit him in his new home?"
"Exactly."
"That's really nice of him," Birch said with a smile. "Brendan is awfully considerate."
"I think they really bonded when they met," Norman continued. "I know they exchanged PokéNav numbers and Brendan has kept in somewhat contact with him lately."
"Well I'm glad that Wally has something to look forward to in his move, then."
"Yeah," Norman sighed. "I don't think Wally had many friends in Petalburg. So I'm glad Brendan can help lift the boy's spirits. He's a good kid, just timid and hasn't been exposed to a lot due to being sick. That's why I wanted him to at least have a Pokémon as a friend when he moved."
"What Pokémon did he catch?"
"A Ralts, I think? I'm not sure though."
"Oh wow," Birch commented. "Those are a little rare around here. They're really good companions though."
"Yep, so he should be fine. And Brendan will visit him eventually."
"How is Brendan getting there, then?"
"I think he's going to sail around Dewford and into Slateport, since Dewford has a gym." Norman explained. "Mr. Briney offered to take him."
"Who?"
"Mr. Briney," Norman repeated. "He's a retired sailor that lives right outside of Petalburg. Nice man, though a little eccentric at times."
"You know him?"
"Enough to trust that he'll be okay taking care of Brendan." Normally, Norman wouldn't want his son traveling such long distances, especially by boat. There was always an added level of danger once you took the element of solid land away. But Norman had been working hard to become acquainted with the idea of Brendan journeying progressively farther from home. It helped ease Norman's fear when he found out that Brendan had been offered the trip by Mr. Briney, whom Norman knew. But it still worried him sometimes. "I've talked to him a handful of times over the past few years. He's a reliable sailor, and I hope he teaches Brendan what he knows while they're on their journey."
"If Brendan wants to, I'm sure he'll pick it up quickly." Professor Birch assured him. "Brendan is a hard worker, and an information sponge."
Norman and Birch continued talking about Brendan's upcoming travels, until the conversation eventually slowed down. Norman continued nursing his beverage, until Birch finished his and proceeded to crush the empty can in his hands. Norman gulped down the rest of his beer exhaling loudly afterwards.
"You want something else to drink?" Birch asked, getting up to grab the bottle of bourbon.
"Sure," Norman answered nonchalantly.
"So," Birch said with his back turned to Norman as he poured the drinks. "I assume you have more on your mind than Brendan going sailing."
Norman hesistated, and Birch turned around, a glass in each hand. Setting one down in front of Norman, Birch sized up his friend in a calm, yet slightly confrontational manner before sitting down across the table from him once again. "What's really the problem?"
"What?"
"Norman, come on." Birch insisted. "I'm just worried."
Norman's heart raced in fear as Birch finally addressed the problem at hand. He had placated Norman long enough, but he knew that nothing more was able to be gained by dodging the question any more. And Norman knew it too. So here it was, the moment of truth. Norman couldn't really complain, because this whole conversation was the gym leader's idea in the first place, and his friend was only here to help. The nervous man took a deep breath and picked up his glass, the cold condensation reminding him that he was still here, that he had to finally verbalize his problems and face them.
Taking a swig of bourbon, Norman collected his thoughts, trying to find the best way to tread into the potentially land mine-ridden path he was about to go down. He put down the glass and held it with both hands, occasionally using his right index finger to trace the edge of the cup. Norman looked up at Birch nervously, and then back down at his drink with a sigh.
"What if I'm wrong?" Norman murmured sheepishly, his shoulders tensing in stronger increments as he finally uttered the words. Instantly he lowered his head into his drink, which he only raised a few inches off the table, still cupping it with both hands.
"What?" Birch asked.
"What if everything I've ever done up to this point is wrong?" Norman continued, with slightly more force. "How do I know I'm not making a terrible mistake until it's too late?"
"Norman, where is this coming from?" Birch pondered in worry, leaning forward over the table in a silent attempt to close the distance between himself and his clearly hurting friend.
"I just…I don't know…" Norman stammered, having difficulty finding the right words, or even knowing what exactly it was he even wanted to say. "It's like…I…I don't know what I'm doing anymore."
"Norman."
"You loved your wife, right?" Norman blurted out, and then immediately regretted. He raised his head up for the first time in the past few minutes, fear and panic in his eyes as Birch looked at him with an expression that Norman couldn't quite fully grasp, but seemed to be somewhere between confusion and pain.
"I'm sorry," Norman quickly replied, raising a hand up in apology. "I shouldn't have asked that, that was incredibly rude. I just…it's…"
"Of course I did, Norman." Birch finally answered, his voice firm but kind, and covered in a tone of sadness. "I'll never stop loving her, either."
"I-I know," Norman stumbled. "I'm so sorry. That was terrible of me. I never should've said anything like that, I had no right, I just…"
"Norman."
"Of course you loved her," Norman continued. "I never should've even implied that you didn't. I'm so sorry, I meant no harm."
"Norman, it's okay."
"I'm so, so sorry." Norman persisted in panic, speaking faster and beginning to garble his words together. "You have every right to be mad, that was completely out of place for me to say. I'll just…I'm sorry. I'm really, truly, entirely-"
"Norman is this about you and your wife?" Professor Birch asked.
"…what?" Norman froze, finally put into silence. He looked at his friend with fear and surprise in his eyes, as if Norman never really expected the conversation to reach this point, and was now unable to process what to do next.
"Are you having problems at home? Is that what this is about?" Birch looked at the smaller man with a look of gentle concern, but also with a newfound understanding as he slowly began to piece together the small signs of Norman's turmoil over the past few months, or even longer. The professor waited for Norman to respond, but Norman just grew redder in the face as the silence persisted, only accentuated by occasional panicked noises.
"Is that why you're never home anymore?" Professor Birch continued, feeling both a stronger worry as he realized the depth of the problem, but also an underlying emotion of comfort that at least now Birch knew exactly what it was that was plaguing his friend.
"…yes…" Norman responded after what seemed like hours of silence to the fearful man, but in reality was no more than a handful of seconds.
"How long has this been going on?"
"I…I don't even know…" Norman said, slowly able to find words and sentences. "I can't even remember anymore. Sometimes…sometimes I wonder if I ever really was happy with my life…oh god, that's such a terrible thing to say, she doesn't deserve things like this being said about her…" Tears began to form in Norman's eyes as the words finally came out, all the concerns that had kept him up for nights on end. And with it came all of the self-loathing, the hatred that he would even think something like this, let alone actually verbalize it.
"Oh Norman…"
"She's so good to me," Norman cried, his voice trembling as he attempted to put emphasis on each one of his words. "This isn't her fault at all. She's so, so good. Everything she does is so caring, and so understanding. She always goes along with anything I want or need, she's such a good wife. She doesn't deserve this."
"And knowing that only makes you feel worse for thinking it in the first place, doesn't it?" Birch asked, understanding his friend well enough to finish the rest of the thought.
Norman looked his best friend in the eye and the tears started pouring down his face. He nodded shakily as he dropped his head and wept, unable to speak again. Birch reached over to place his large hand gently on Norman's as he sat there wordlessly, letting Norman expel as much emotion as necessary.
"She doesn't deserve this…" Norman repeated between sobs. "She's so good to me…she deserves someone who…who can treat her better…give her what she wants. She needs…someone much better than I can ever be."
"But Norman," Birch interjected. "You are a good person. Look how much this affects you. Clearly you care about her, even if you don't love her the way you feel like you should. If you weren't a good person, this wouldn't be bothering you so much."
"I'm not," Norman shook his head. "I'm really not. If I was, I wouldn't bet letting this happen. I…I would've fixed this, I would've stopped it before it got this bad."
"Norman, Norman, no!" Birch cooed in an attempt to console the gym leader. "You can't help the way you feel. Just like how you can't stop hating yourself for feeling this way, you also can't control the fact that you aren't feeling what you think you should be for her."
Norman again couldn't respond and continued sobbing, but his cries were slightly more restrained than they had been. Birch continued reassuring his friend that he was indeed a good person, albeit a complicated one, all the while tracing gentle, reassuring circles into Norman's hand with his thumb.
"You are good, Norman." The heavier man persisted. "I need you to believe that. Even if you can't convince yourself of it right now, I need you to try to think that way. Can you at least try that for me, Norman?"
Norman raised his head to look at Birch, tears wetting his face and snot running from his nose. Hesitantly, Norman began to nod in agreement as he used his free hand to wipe his face with his sleeve.
"Thank you, Norman." Birch continued. The burly man then rose from his seat and walked around the table to the still quivering man and embraced him deeply. "Thank you for trying to do that. This is a very hard situation to be in, and I don't know what to tell you to do. But I need you to keep trying, because it's the only way anything can improve. So thank you, Norman."
Norman clung to his friend tightly and sobbed into his shirt, which smelled reassuringly like the Pokémon professor. Occasionally Norman would stammer out small words and phrases of apology, but Birch simply continued to hold his endearingly fragile colleague, his one arm draped over Norman's shoulder as the other hand brushed lovingly through Norman's hair. And there the two stayed like that for a while, inseparable as Norman unloaded his pent up agony and stress. It had felt like years since Norman had been this honest with himself, and the rush of emotion brought on an entire other wave of feelings. Fear, embarrassment, hatred, love, and a mortifying sense of helplessness. But another emotion eventually washed over the gym leader, a sense of relief, and of protection in his friend's arms. For so long Norman had kept these feelings locked inside, petrified in anxiety over his problems. But he had finally told someone, and despite all his apprehension, the world had still not yet came crashing down on his head. Birch now knew the root cause of Norman's problems, and the professor still accepted him. Sure, this conversation didn't simply fix all the damage caused in Norman's tense life, but the feeling of sharing his pain, of knowing that someone else was aware of the situation and had Norman's best interest at heart was extremely comforting and, at least for the moment, made the upcoming problems in the near future seem much less daunting.
Eventually Norman's tears subsided and he continued resting his head on Professor Birch's chest, which was now a sopping wet mess of a shirt. Knowing Norman made such a scene all over his friend's torso was moderately humiliating, but Birch didn't seem to mind. So Norman simply relished the moment, occasionally rubbing his face into the damp shirt that covered the large chest of man Norman cherished. He looked up at the brunette and smiled with a mix of thanks and embarrassment, dried tears staining his face. Norman didn't know what he needed to do next in his life. Clearly, something had to be done with the situation with his wife. What that was, Norman didn't know, and he didn't feel like obsessing over it would solve anything. For once, Norman wanted to actually let his thoughts go for the evening and relax with his best friend after such a cathartic conversation.
And so that's what they did. After another somber and grounding conversation about the situation at hand, Norman and Birch decided to move their conversation into the living room and switching to a lighter topic. The men situated themselves on the large paisley couch, sitting the two glasses and the bottled of chilled liquor on the two end tables on each side of the piece of furniture. Birch leaned into a relaxed posture with his back against the cushion, his legs spread wide apart and feet sitting firmly on the floor, whereas Norman sat in a moderately more collected manner with his legs close together as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. Norman swirled the ice in his drink occasionally between sips as he alternated hands to hold the cold glass in, while Birch had one arm resting on the back of the couch behind where Norman sat as he sifted through television channels with the remote in his other hand. The two men talked and talked as they paid mild attention to the various drivel illuminating the television screen, the conversation being both meaningful yet about nothing at all. The important part was that they were together and enjoying themselves, and that's what made the night significant.
Currently on the television was an informative documentary about the Devon Corporation and its most recent developments. A spindly lab coated researcher was guiding the cameraman and female reporter through their laboratory, where they were documenting the newest Pokéball creations, as well as alluding to more to come.
"So, what you're telling me is the longer the battle goes on, the stronger the Timer Ball becomes?" The reporter on the news clarified for the audience, her face accented by a professional yet attractive blue bob cut. "But how does that work? How does the Pokéball know how long the battle has been in progress?"
"Well, you see if you press this button here," the scientist said, adjusting his glasses before motioning towards the Timer Ball on display. "At the start of the battle, the Timer Ball records how long the battle has been going on from the time you press it. So it's imperative that if you plan on using a Timer Ball, you ready it as soon as the battle begins and then store it away as you fight. It's really a great item to use when you encounter a Pokémon that is hard to defeat and specializes in stall tactics."
"But how does the Timer Ball register that there actually is a battle going on? Couldn't you in theory press this button anytime and then just bring it out when you feel like using it?"
"Well yes, you would think that." The Devon employee answered. "However, the Timer Ball can recognize the pheromones given off by a Pokémon during a battle, and the button will not activate the timer unless it senses those chemicals. Originally this caused a problem in development where the Pokéball wouldn't recognize the pheromone patterns of certain species of Pokémon. But after trial and error we found that by-"
"Didn't Brendan go to Devon lately?" Professor Birch asked, staring lazily at the television screen. "I feel like May told me he was involved with the testing of their new Pokéball."
"Yes, he is." Norman clarified. "Actually, he met the president of the corporation too, and the man took such a liking to Brendan that he began giving him free merchandise if he would test it out first too. That's how he got his new Pokénav model."
"Wow, that's fantastic!" Birch exclaimed. "He might not be too concerned with something like that right now, but Mr. Stone is a really powerful man in the business world, and could really open some doors for Brendan in the future."
"Yeah," Norman agreed, before sighing slightly. "I think Brendan is too young to really appreciate that right now and only views it as running small errands for him, but it gets Brendan access to new places and interesting gadgets before the general public and I know he enjoys that."
"Doesn't Devon have a separate beta testing division though? I didn't think that was open to the public."
"Normally it isn't. But I think Mr. Stone really took a liking to Brendan. I've talked to him lately and he seems to almost view Brendan as a son." Norman's expression twitched as he finished the sentence. It wasn't that he was upset that Brendan was making powerful allies, it was just that the concept of his son finding other parental figures outside of his family was something that gave Norman conflicting feelings. On one hand, it was nice that Brendan was doing well, and doing something he enjoyed. But the specific phrasing of like a son just hit home how is own relationship with Brendan wasn't stellar. But Norman didn't dwell on it either, because from what he had gathered from Brendan, his son was viewing the eccentric older man as just as much of a nuisance as he viewed Norman as. It was more of the same teenage boy sass, and at least it meant that Norman wasn't being viewed as less than Mr. Stone. It seemed like a petty distinction to make, but it still put Norman more at ease.
"Doesn't Mr. Stone have a son of his own though?" Professor Birch asked.
"I'm not really sure," Norman pondered. "To be honest, I've never asked and he's never mentioned anyone."
"I'm pretty sure I know of some sole heir to the Devon Corporation," Birch continued, motioning towards Norman with his arm that was resting on the sofa. "I think he's a little older than Brendan though, and is somewhat of an eccentric like his father, and a hermit. So people don't see him much. I've heard that even his own father isn't sure what he's doing most of the time, and that's why he doesn't give this R&D to his son. "
Norman laughed. "I guess all parents have communication problems with their children to some degree."
"That's true," Birch chuckled and agreed. "It's the one inevitable fate of parenthood that'll never change no matter the era."
"Is…is that even true for you and May?" Norman hesitantly questioned, cautiously eyeing the professor out of his peripheral vision as he inquired. "You've always seemed to have such an open and strong relationship with her, at least as long as I've known."
Birch paused, looking up at the ceiling. "I guess," he responded after a moment. "But we still have our moments. Nothing like full-fledged arguments and hurt feelings, but she'll get annoyed that I don't give her enough space, and sometimes she used to seem irritated when I couldn't get along without her help in certain areas. I guess that's why she calls me so often now that she's not home as much, because I'll always be her bumbling boob of a father."
"Really? She always seems so happy to help."
"Oh, for the most part she is," the larger man clarified, taking another sip. "But everyone still wants time to be a kid, and time for themselves. May is a wonderful daughter, more than I ever deserved, but even her patience has limits."
"I guess that's true," Norman trailed off, comforted by the knowledge that even Professor Birch's relationship with his daughter wasn't completely picturesque and perfect.
The night progressed calmly and quaintly as the two friends drifted from one topic to another as the television gave off its quiet background ambiance. The simple conversation felt good, as if it had been quite a while since Norman had such an amiable banter that was without a constant derogatory nagging internal monologue. His head hummed comfortably from the alcohol, and eventually his body started leaning closer towards his best friend. Whether it was intentional or unintentional, Norman wasn't entirely sure. But at some point the conversation died down with a happy sigh, and Norman's back slid on the material of the couch until he rested his head on Professor Birch's shoulder. Both men were aware of the sudden physical contact, but neither seemed to react or mind. His mind foggy and relaxed, Norman lightly nuzzled his face against the broad shoulder, enveloped in Birch's scent and warmth. He let out a deep sigh, his body feeling lighter than it had in longer than the gym leader cared to think about.
"Thank you for this." Norman whispered, his eyes shut securely as his consciousness drifted dangerously in and out of sleep, his thoughts focusing on the pleasant feelings of here and now. It wasn't as if he had forgotten their earlier conversation, nor the implications that he would be faced with tomorrow morning. But the catharsis of the shared knowledge of it with his best friend who accepted him and was working to alleviate as much stress as possible gave Norman newfound reassurance that maybe he would find a way to fix the complications in his life. It probably wouldn't be easy or clean, something had to be done. And at least he wasn't alone.
Norman's mind was brought back to the present as he felt a strong hand laid on his worn frame. Birch wrapped his arm around the smaller man's back and planted his hand on Norman's head. His eyes opened in surprise, but he made no movement to resist the embrace. On the contrary, Norman let the weight of the arm push his head further into Birch's body and onto his bosom.
"You're welcome," Birch answered quietly.
And it was there that Norman and Birch remained, leaning on one another as they faded into the night. Their breathing slowly became synchronized as Norman's head raised and lowered to the movement of Birch's heavy slow breath. Norman was fighting the urge to fall completely into slumber as he tried to remain conscious to relish as much of the moment as possible. The scents, the texture of the fabric of Professor Birch's shirt, the warmth of his body, and the tempo of his relaxed heartbeat were all ingrained into Norman's mind as the gym leader pondered how he was lucky enough to have such a friend. Norman rested on top of the same shirt he had been sobbing into earlier, now dried, feeling like no matter what, his friend would accept him. There would definitely be hardship and struggles, but that was an unavoidable part of life. But at least Norman could come to Birch with his problems, and know that he would be met with open arms and unconditional acceptance. And that was an incredibly liberating feeling.
A/N: Uhhhh...happy one year anniversary of this story, I guess? (Which was almost a year of hiatus...)
I don't really have a good excuse for taking this long, especially after I finally decided to "make this an actual story" as I said when I posted chapter 2 forever ago. I have had a lot of changes in my life though. I got promoted twice at work, and then I moved and now I live away from home for the...second time which will hopefully be permanent. And then I quit my job and got a new one altogether closer to my apartment and I only started that a few weeks ago. I told myself "maybe now that my life is in order, I can finally get back around to writing!" (Yeah...but as much as I'd love to claim it'll go back to being a regular thing to write, I know myself well enough to promise you that it probably will still be sporadic.) And as much as I'd love to use all my life changes as a good excuse, I know it isn't really valid because I still found time to put in probably 100 hours into Skyrim after my roommate got the remastered version and I was reminded that I loved the game. And then I marathoned a lot of anime that I had been meaning to watch. The truth is I'm just lazy and procrastinate? But the most embarrassing thing is the majority of this chapter was actually finished this past summer, I just never wrote the last page or proofread and edited it.
But yeah, regardless, here you are. To those of you still reading, thanks for being patient with me. I know I'm an aggravating writer to follow, but reviews and comments are literally the things that keep me writing more, so thank you for caring. I'm sorry this isn't as smutty as you might've been hoping when I left off last chapter with the promise of a night alone with alcohol, but I...actually did plan on it getting sexual? It just changed? ALL I WANT IS MASTURBATION MATERIAL BUT INSTEAD I KEEP BEING A DRAMATIC ANGST-DRIVEN WORDY IDIOT. But still, I really enjoyed writing the casual dialogue this chapter, it's something I wasn't always that strong with when I was younger but nowadays I think I do a good job making it flow naturally.
Wow that was wordy. My explanations always are. Again, sorry, but I don't expect that to change either.
