Summary: Despite his better judgment, Brock agrees to an illicit affair with the Saffron City Gym Leader. That was his first mistake. His second was falling in love with her. His third was buying her a sea breeze on her birthday. Mangashipping.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon.
12. The Forbidden Fruit: Citrus paradisi – Sins of the Father
She had put it off for as long as possible, but knew she couldn't do so any longer. A part of her had hoped that maybe if she left it long enough that word would get back to her father on its own and she'd be saved the dreaded talk with the man who sired her. Unfortunately, now a month since they'd made their announcement to their friends and colleagues, there were no signs that he had heard the news, and if he had, there had been no effort on his part to acknowledge the fact.
And so, reluctantly, Sabrina was forced to reach out to her somewhat estranged male parent.
When she was young, she remembered being very close to her father. He was the one who encouraged her psychic gifts, the one who had first taught her how to channel psychic energy and control her powers.
It was something special that the two of him shared. Her mother, Sophia, had no psychic abilities herself (although she did come from a family with psychic ability) so the training and honing of her gift had always seemed like a special secret between father and daughter – something that was only between the two of them.
Later, as her parents' marriage broke down, it gained greater significance in her life. It had become a way to tune out everything happening outside of her training, a thing that she could control while her family life was falling apart. It had become a thing that made her parents smile even as they were snarling at each other behind her back.
In hindsight she could see where it had all gone terribly wrong. Her desire to please her parents and cut off the part of her life that was making her so miserable morphed into a desire for power and need to cut off all emotion, becoming the emotionless shell that she had been the first time that she and Brock met.
When she came out of her haze, her parents had tried to pretend that everything was alright and back to the way things were before she'd lost herself in her training. But they hadn't been able to keep up the pretence for very long, and once again she had become the glue holding her parents' marriage together.
Once again she felt that desire to cut away the pieces of herself that caused herself and others pain. She was sixteen then, older and wiser than she had been the first time she'd fallen apart, but she was still just a kid and she wasn't strong enough to bear that burden.
She had felt herself slipping back to her old ways, bit by bit. But this time someone else noticed – her mother catching her and doing what she should have done years ago before it was too late and Sabrina was too far gone to be recovered.
With her parents' divorce came the stability that Sabrina needed to thrive, but it had also put a wedge between her and father. He had continued to push her to better herself – to become more powerful – even after the incident. Around her twenty-first birthday he'd even brought up the need to secure a suitable husband to ensure the Le Fay legacy. That had been the last straw and they'd barely been on speaking terms since.
So her call just a day previously surely must have come out of the blue, although being the pompous psychic he was, he showed no surprise at hearing from her.
She carefully selected an outfit from her wardrobe that made her look the least like a woman nearly 6 months into her pregnancy. Her rounded stomach was becoming increasingly obvious as she came into the final trimester, their son growing stronger every day. She wore a black turtleneck under a houndstooth smock with an empire-waist that would flatter her figure and discretely hid her expanded stomach from all but the most scrupulous gaze. Then arrived early at the restaurant, ensuring that she was already seated and mostly hidden beneath the table so that he wouldn't be able to guess the reason for their dinner date before she was ready to tell him.
As always her father was fastidious about time – neither a minute early nor a minute late. He didn't have her skill with teleporting, so he wasn't able to pull off the dramatic feat of just appearing in the middle of the restaurant, but he blustered past the hostess with an air of chilly sophistication that drew eyes all the same. When he reached her table he merely nodded at her in acknowledgement before taking his seat and scrutinizing the menu.
"I hear the fish is good," she suggested, unable to take the silence for more than few minutes. He grunted, eyeballing the menu for a few more minutes before waving over a waiter to take their orders.
"So . . . how are you?" she offered lamely once the waiter had left them in another patch of silence.
His eyes flicked over her face, as though he could somehow elicit the reason for her sudden contact by cataloguing some uncontrolled expression that might flick across her eyes in a moment of weakness. Eventually, having been unable to do so, he responded with "I'm fine. And yourself?"
It was, technically, an opening. "I have some news," she said, her tone neutral and giving nothing away. Steeling her nerves, she opened her mouth to make the announcement, only to chicken out part way through. "I'm . . . I'm getting married."
He was impassive, only acknowledging the news with a dull, "I see."
She mentally chastised herself for thinking, even for a second, that he might have some type of response to the news. It was stupid of her to think that after four-years of almost no contact that he might suddenly give a damn about her life.
They sat in silence until their food came. Then ate in silence. It was only as their plates were cleared away from the table that he deigned to say more than two words to her.
"I hope for all our sakes, you've made a suitable choice," he said in the same dull tone he'd used earlier. He folded his hands together on the table in front of him and narrowed his eyes in a stern glare.
She said nothing, partly hoping that if she said nothing it could be end of the conversation and she could consider her duty done. The rest of her wasn't sure that she could hold her tongue if she let herself respond to the implication.
"Do I know him?" he asked her a moment later, curiosity apparently getting the better of him.
She nodded, remembering that Brock and her father had met, briefly, all those years ago when Ash challenged her for the Marsh badge. "His name is Brock," she said softly, unable to keep the affection from her voice as she spoke of her husband. "He was the gym leader in Pewter, but he's been establishing himself as a Pokémon breeder for the past few years."
Her father frowned as he drew his own conclusions about her husband based on these tidbits of information. While others would conclude all this to mean that he was caring, good with Pokémon, and one of the few people who could understand the demands of her work as the Saffron City Gym Leader, her father had zeroed in on just one point in her vague description. "There are no psychics in Pewter."
"No," she agreed, then confirmed the assumption implied by his words, "he is not psychic."
"Then he is not suitable," her father replied with just the slightest curl of disdain on his lips. "I can't approve of this."
"I'm not asking you to approve," she answered without a moments pause. "I am informing you of my marriage.
"I'm twenty-five years old," she added, feeling her voice tremble a little with barely contained anger. "You don't get to say who I should or shouldn't marry. Brock is my choice and you just have to accept that."
His expression darkened, eyes flaring for a moment before going chillingly dull. "I just have to accept that you are making the wrong choice again," he practically hissed at her. "What about your legacy, Sabrina? Have you considered what this means for your progeny?
"Your offspring will be powerless compared to those you could have with a more suitable partner," he insisted. "Someone with even modicum of psychic potential who could nurture and contribute to their psychic ability. Your offspring – "
"My son," she said, standing abruptly and cutting off any further vitriol. Her hand went automatically to rest protectively against her stomach, and she felt calmer and braver as she thought of the two most important people in her life. "My son will have everything he deserves. He'll have a father that will support him and be there for him no matter what path he chooses."
Her father's eyes widened in understanding, seeing past her attempts to disguise her growing stomach with busy patterns and a forgiving waistline. But his surprise quickly turned disdain. "Your son will be undisciplined and weak," he told her harshly, each word clipped and dripping poison. "You don't have what it takes to be a mother. And this man you've chosen to tie yourself to will never be able to raise a psychic child – he'll be out of control."
Coolly he stood up from his seat, giving gravitas to his final words. Sneering he said, "Your son will never surpass you."
"That doesn't matter to me," she replied, raising her chin and looking steadfast. "My children may not be the powerful psychics that you want them to be, but they'll have something I never got from you. They will be loved."
She'd done what she came here to do – she'd told her father about her pregnancy, if not in words – and it was up to him what he chose to do with that knowledge. She was done trying to win his approval.
If he couldn't be happy for her – if he couldn't see how happy Brock and their son made her – then she didn't need him.
And with that parting blow, she left.
It was late by the time Brock made his way home, but he hoped that he would be forgiven seeing as he wasn't supposed to return until the morning.
His business in Viridian had wrapped up sooner than expected and so he'd nearly killed himself driving nonstop to get back to Saffron that little bit sooner. It was five hours more than he got to spend with her, even if it was five hours of holding her as she slept.
All the same, he snuck in through the gym entrance in order to avoid waking his pregnant wife.
The gym was dark and oppressive as he approached, although it always was regardless of the weather or time of day. Even with bright blue skies in the background the Saffron City Gym managed to give of an air of menace and foreboding.
Inside the gym was largely unchanged from when he and Ash and Misty had first visited the gym almost nine years ago – the same dark walls and exposed beams. He navigated the space by the light on his phone, rather than waste half an hour trying to figure out which light switches lit up which parts of the gym. It was a time saving that he almost instantly regretted when a 5 foot ghost Pokémon suddenly phased into view in front of him.
After ten or so similar incidents with the ghost Pokémon Brock managed to keep himself from screaming whenever Haunter just randomly appeared like this less than a foot from his face. Still, he wasn't quite habituated enough to the sudden appearance of the Pokémon that he could stop himself from jumping back and clutching at his racing heart.
That said, Haunter's usual reaction to his terror was absent this time. The ghost-type would normally guffaw loudly and point to Brock with one disembodied claw. Despite the creature's terrible appearance, Haunter's presence was always accompanied by humour and laughter. Instead the Pokémon was completely silently and a sombre feeling seemed to rest heavily in the air.
Like the good breeder he was, he immediately checked for signs of physical distress or illness, and when none were found, he became even more worried.
Brock was among the few to subscribe to one of Professor Oak's more – shall we say – crackpot theories about Pokémon-human relationships. And while there certainly wasn't any concrete proof as to the accuracy of said theory, anecdotally, Brock had seen evidence of the bond in his friends (Ash especially) and in his work as a breeder. Specifically, Professor Oak theorised that Pokémon will often reflect the emotions of its trainer.
In other words, Brock was pretty sure that if Haunter was upset right now, so was Sabrina.
And if it was bad enough that it could be affecting Haunter so adversely . . .
"Is she ok?" he asked the Pokémon helplessly, even though he knew she wasn't. She couldn't be when Haunter was looking so inconsolable.
Haunter's whole body seemed to move sombrely from left to right, conveying his negative reply.
Terror – real, unadulterated terror - seemed to fill Brock's body. He felt his heart stop, and then suddenly start pounding intensely. He could feel his blood running cold. Something was terribly wrong.
Calling her name, he raced to the other side of the gym, checking every room as he went for her presence. He didn't stop until he found her, sitting at the kitchen bench looking completely impassive, her eyes blankly staring ahead of her.
It should have been a relief to find her sitting there unharmed – she wasn't crying, she wasn't hurt or in pain. But somehow the absence of those things seemed all the more concerning.
"Sabrina," he said softly, cautiously reaching towards her as though she might break or strike out if he wasn't too careful. He brushed the back of his hand gently against her cheek, watching as she came back to herself – her eyes turning to the bright blue that he loved and her lips quirking ever so slightly in a pained smile.
Her voice was barely loud enough to hear as she whispered his name with reverence, and then collapsed into his arms. It was like some dark, twisted spell had been broken and she began to sob against his chest, mumbling incomprehensibly about whatever had brought her to this state.
For a long while he just held her, whispering words of love and comfort into her crown as he rubbed soothing circles into her back. In the past he would have stopped there, simply giving her the comfort that she needed and then settling her to sleep.
He waited until she had calmed enough to speak and lifted her head with a feather-light touch of his finger against her chin so that he could look in the eye. The look on her face was so heart-breaking that he felt his chest tighten at the sight.
"What happened, Princess?" he whispered as his fingertips gently wiped away the tears that had gather beneath her eyes.
Her lips pulled tight in a painful facsimile of a smile, tears springing to the corners of her eyes. "My dad," she answered, those two words saying everything that he needed to hear.
In the year that they'd spent not quite together, he'd heard plenty of stories about Harold LeFay. Some of them were sweet and funny or your usual reminisces from childhood. But the stories from her teen years and onwards had a brittle edge that cast a shadow over her earlier memories.
He pulled her back against him, cradling her against his chest as she began to explain the disastrous dinner engagement with her father in broken sentences.
"He's wrong," he said immediately as she repeated her father's words. She buried her head further into his chest and shook her head.
"Sabrina, he's completely wrong," he said again, his words almost forceful. He leaned away so that she would have to look at him, needing her to see the surety in his eyes. "You're going to be a great mother, Sabrina," he told her, his voice dropping to a lower register. "I know it. I see how much you already love him and I know you're going to be great mother. He's so lucky to have you, Sabrina.
"We both are," he added seriously.
A tearful smile pulled to her lips and he felt his heart unclench, his relief nearly palpable at seeing that small upturn of her lips.
"You should have told me," he said, the words more a plea than a reprimand. "I would have been there in a heartbeat."
She sent him another watery smile and nodded in agreement. There was no denying that he would have been at her side if given a chance, taking the burden and the abuse instead of her – he would have dropped everything to be there for her.
"It was stupid," she said with small bitter laugh. "For some reason I thought it might go better if it was just me. As though that might have stopped him from lashing out at you or the baby.
"I just wanted to protect you," she said brokenly, her eyes becoming watery again.
Cupping her cheek in one hand, he kissed her ever so gently and wiped away her tears. "That's all I want," he whispered back. "You and the little man – you are the most important people in my life."
Grinning a little, he added, "All I want to do is wrap you up in cotton wool for the next few months and make sure that nothing can hurt you ever again."
She smiled back him, a full smile blooming onto her perfect lips and he knew that she was starting to feel more herself again. "Let's get you to bed, my love. You're sleeping for two, remember?" he said, gathering her against his side so he could corral her towards the bedroom.
"I thought you weren't back until tomorrow?" she asked, as though suddenly remembering his schedule.
"We finished early so I decide not to wait 'til the morning," he told her. "I didn't want to spend another night sleeping without you."
Her smile widened and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I'm glad you're here," she told him, her eyes sparkling in a way that told him she didn't just mean 'right now' but 'always'.
"Me too," he answered, returning her smile. "I love you."
And when she kissed him again, practically shoving him towards the bedroom now, he knew exactly what she was trying to say.
~ to be continued ~
While the backstory is not entirely cannon compliant, we mostly learn about Sabrina's history from her father who might not be the most reliable narrator. I say this, of course, to justify adding Sabrina's father as an external locus of drama just to give a bit of momentum. My first draft of the story had Sabrina's dad as recently deceased and their relationship reasonably healthy, but that just wasn't dramatic enough.
That said, this is probably one of my favourite chapters in this fic - the call backs, the drama, getting to flesh out Sabrina. Plus there's a few lines in there that I just adore.