AN

Well, here it is: the final chapter. I hope I did it justice!

Thank you so much to everyone who's followed this story, and to every reviewer- I'll say it again, I wouldn't have made it this far without you. This story has been in my head for such a long time, and I'm so glad to have seen it to the end.

I have plenty more writing projects planned for the future, so stay tuned for that! And I hope you enjoy :D


The first two trains that rattled over the tracks were write-offs- all enclosed compartments without so much as a ridge to jump onto. True to the mantra, the third was the charm.

They jogged alongside the rails, kicking up dust and gravel behind them, and hopped up into the first open trailer. The train was moving slowly enough to render the task pretty easy, something for which James was glad. It still vaguely felt like there was a rock lodged under his temple, grinding against his skull with every step that landed too heavily.

He shifted further into the compartment as the world trundled by, and leaned his back against one of the hay bales, straw prickling his neck like insect legs.

Orange and ruby bled firmly into the sky, watercolours let loose on a periwinkle canvas. The field alongside which the train currently ran was an endless stretch of lush grass, stretching, curved blades nodding to the wind's current. Soaked in the sun's sinking light, the scene was mesmerising, and that beauty inspired a passing observation: the world was incredibly deceptive. Deceptive for flaunting such prettiness when life was hacked at and snuffed out just around the corner, and deceptive for letting everything seem so rotten when so much of it wasn't.

James had given up trying to convince himself that Jessie and Meowth were either okay or weren't, and conceded that all he had was uncertainty. It left a persistent queasiness deep in his gut- not quite the full-blown despair of grief, not yet, but teasing that sensation with bursts of panic, treading the shoreline of something awful. Equally, it teased hope, and every so often a wave of calm would roll tantalisingly close before shrinking back into that icy black sea.

It wasn't just his friends, either. While they were most certainly at the forefront of his concern, there was plenty more in the background. The newest addition to that cluster of shadows was Carter, alive and dead. James could see him, stern and composed, walking and giving orders and bursting into that elevator, and James could see him in that slumped, bloody heap, face pressed against metal as pain and guilt and sickness filled the world.

He supposed what he was experiencing was called trauma- it was an odd and unpleasant thing, to register that yet another memory was now lumped into that bracket.

Yet he wasn't the sole witness to that brutality- nor the perpetrator. The woman who claimed that title sat across from him, and he wondered how she was faring, all things considered. Her road had been far less kind than his own.

For a while he wrestled with the idea of simply asking her. From what he'd inferred from their short-lived conversation on the ferry, she was not adverse to talking about such matters- rather, he'd sensed that a part of her wanted to. It was crucial to her character to show no weakness, especially around someone like him, a rival for whom she held not hatred, which might have accompanied a begrudging respect, but mere disdain. Perhaps, therefore, it fell on him to prompt discussion.

James mustered the courage and spoke.

"Do you… How…"

He cleared his throat sheepishly as she gave him an impatient stare. Not exactly the smooth start he'd been hoping for.

"What happened with Carter- I was just thinking that I'm finding it difficult, and was wondering how you're-"

"If you're asking me if I feel bad about it, I don't," Cassidy interrupted. "Not one bit. Bastard deserved what he got and more."

James squirmed a little, uncomfortable with her harsh words- uncomfortable with the part of him that sympathised with them.

"No, but..." He grimaced. "I mean, killing someone- anyone- must be an awfully big thing to contend with. I only watched it happen, and I'm…" He sighed, and met her with a humourless smile. "Quite frankly, I'm horrified by the whole thing."

Cassidy shrugged.

"Well, it's not like it's my first rodeo," she said evenly. James gawked as the words hit home.

"Wait- you mean you've killed someone before?" he questioned, incredulous. It wasn't so much the action that shocked him- that brand of evil was something he'd been exposed to frequently enough in the past months to render it commonplace- but the fact that it was Cassidy attached to it. Did he think she fit the profile of someone capable of murder? In all honesty, yes. But he'd known her for so long- had that grim secret really been lurking there all that time, behind the comparative innocence of every insult match, sabotaged plan and brawl?

"Multiple someones," she answered, and drew her knees up to her chest. "Actually, me and Butch had a stint where we were something like hitmen. We took out enemies and traitors of Team Rocket, and made extra money for the boss with the odd outsider contract. Giovanni called it off eventually- the heat got to be too much."

She didn't offer more than that, but it was plenty to think on. The organisation just described to him, one that dealt with lives the same way banks dealt money, was the place he'd always worked for. The nasty stuff under the rug had always been there- Jessie and Meowth had been right about that- and in truth, the one who'd swept it under in the first place had been himself.

It was terrifying in particular to think just how easily he could have had a death on his own hands, should one of their earlier schemes have gone wrong. In that not so distant past, he'd put countless people in considerable danger; the pipe bombs that had, at the time, seemed no more than flashy tools for a memorable heist and a dash of public menace, could so easily have spelt manslaughter. James could only conclude that he was not, not then and not now, a good person. Good people didn't end up where he was.

Naturally, that observation was not a totally novel one. Of course he wasn't good- he stole for a living and reveled in it. But he couldn't remember a time before when he had felt so utterly despicable.


When it became apparent that Cassidy herself didn't know exactly where they were meant to be going, James wasn't exactly reassured. He'd already been feeling a profound lack of direction sitting on that train wagon headed Who-Knows-Where, and to discover that his supposed guide wasn't entirely sure if they'd jumped off at the right place only threw him further into unease.

Yet once they'd set off walking and neared the edge of a vast expanse of forest, Cassidy's uncertainty was traded in for cautious optimism. The surroundings felt familiar, she claimed.

It wasn't exactly the perfect hiking location: branches and brambles had grown thick, waist-high and making navigation tricky (and, on occasion, painful). Still, with some careful footing it would have made a decent trek- if not for the fact that their light was fast fading away. Already they were relying on the dimmed afterglow of twilight, and it was no secret that the limbo between day and night in which they dwelled was a fleeting affair.

The crackle of twigs underfoot felt reminiscent of a spitting fire, conjuring memories of nights spent huddled in makeshift camps, joking and quarreling and sharing silences. James felt a pining nostalgia, something he wasn't sure he could handle right now; he focused instead on keeping up with Cassidy's brisk pace.

Darkness fell too quickly for comfort- Cassidy's flashlight provided a lifeline in the form of a thin beam of vision, but being able to see a square inch of space at a time only helped so much. Less confident by the second that it was worth continuing blind, James was on the verge of suggesting they just call it a day and sleep rough under a tree when Cassidy stopped, tracing the torch's beam along what remained of a fence.

"I think I know where we are," she said.

"Really?"

"Yeah- yeah, it's this way. We're close."

With renewed motivation, the two stumbled onwards into a clearing, and the whoosh of the night's wind no longer felt foreboding, but a tranquil comfort. It was on their side.

And sure enough, only about a minute later did their string of light hit the wooden wall of a cabin.

"This is the place," Cassidy whispered, pacing up to the building hesitantly. With that she rapped the back of her hand against the door- the rhythm carried a quick impatience that suited her perfectly. When there was no answer, she cupped her hands around her eyes as she peered into the glass window, hoping for a hint as to whether the cabin was occupied. Eventually she withdrew with an unsatisfied grunt. "Can't see anything."

"Do- Do they even know we're coming?" James asked, mildly stunned (though, he mused, he really shouldn't have been, given everything he knew about his traveling partner).

"Not really, no," she responded, and then shrugged. "Guess he must be away- doesn't matter, we'll just have to break in."

She withdrew her lockpicking gear from inside of her jacket, and instructed James to hold the light for her before getting to work. He watched the process, mesmerised and oddly calmed by the motions; perhaps it was the connotations of the earlier days in his career, where the biggest problems his team had faced were picking locks and making clean getaways. There was, too, an undeniable satisfaction in pushing each pin into place, listening for telltale clicks in the mechanism. Even as a mere onlooker, he still felt pleased when the lock, convinced that the pick and wrench were a key, gave way.

Cassidy flipped the switch on her way in, and a large standing lamp lit up the room in warm, yellowy-orange. It wasn't much to write home about- a single sofa, a small bookshelf crammed with magazines and paperbacks, and a couple of counters complete with a fire stove and a mini-fridge- but it felt like a sanctuary amidst the endless tangle of trees surrounding it.

Whilst James dropped his bag on the sofa and sat next to it, Cassidy made a beeline for the fridge, surfacing triumphantly with a four-pack of beers. She ripped one from the packaging, cracked the top and guzzled the drink like it was going out of fashion.

Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she held one out to James.

Beer definitely wasn't his poison of choice- he favoured sweet wines, or liquor diluted with plenty of soda- but the appeal of a ightcap swayed him. He took the can, and pulled the tab with practised ease. Cola would have been better, but at least it was fizzy.

As he sipped at the bitter alcohol, a taste he couldn't say he found pleasant, he drew lines in the precipitation on the tin's surface, studying the logo with sleepy half-interest. Meanwhile, Cassidy roamed the cabin's space, and marked her return half a minute later by lobbing her empty beer can across the room into the bin.

"There's a single and a double," she told him. "And since you owe me that favor, Jamesy, the double's mine."


Two days into their stay, and James was getting pretty comfortable in the new routine: wake up whenever they happened to, raid the cupboards for instant ramen and cereal, and think. Coming up with a future plan of action was easier said than done- now they were here, now what? There were no guidelines on what to do after assassinating your criminal boss and fleeing the region.

At least they were so far-flung from the world they'd left behind that it all seemed unreal, like the remnants of a dream you'd cling to upon waking, trying to decipher if those memories were fact or fiction. So welcome was that limbo that they both probably would have stayed until the food ran out.

But they didn't get the luxury of that chance.

James was reclined on the sofa, studying the wooden ceiling and looking for shapes in the timber's knots, when there was the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock. He jolted up as if electrocuted, not sure whether to call for Cassidy or just to hide. Before he could decide either way, the door was open, and he was face to face with a very surprised-looking man.

The guy jumped back at first, then collected himself and stormed into the cabin. "Hey! What- Who the fuck are you?!"

James blanched, stammering.

"I- I uh-"

The man's line of sight moved to the carrier bag on the floor.

"Is that my stuff?" he demanded. Then, with sudden and almost comical urgency, he lunged across the counter and grabbed a kitchen knife from the block. "I'm calling the police!" he told James, pointing the blade at him. "Don't- Don't move or-"

"Fucking hell Simeon, calm down!" came Cassidy's voice as she appeared in the bedroom doorway. She slumped against the frame, regarding both of them with a thoroughly unimpressed and very tired glare.

"Cassidy!" the man yelped, dropping his knife-wielding arm to his side immediately. "What are you doing here- how did you get in?"

She scoffed. "How do you think I got in."

"And who is he?" Simeon continued, giving James another accusatory glare.

"A colleague."

Simeon sputtered out sounds of exasperation.

"I don't want some criminal in my house!"

Cassidy raised an eyebrow. "In case you've forgotten, I'm a criminal too."

He sighed, and leant over to put the knife back in its slot. "That's different. We're friends."

"Well, now you get to make a brand new friend!" Cassidy chirped with mock sweetness. She nodded at them both. "Simeon, James. James, Simeon."

For the first time in the encounter, James dared to look Simeon in the eye for more than a second. He offered his hand sheepishly.

"Uh- hello."

The brown-haired man gave him the once-over, then took his hand without much enthusiasm. He shook it a single time before letting go again.

"You don't have to worry about him," Cassidy said, and for a moment James wasn't sure which one of them she was talking to. "As Rockets go, he's pretty pathetic."

Usually he would have taken offence to her offhand jab, but in this particular context, he was glad of the insult. Anything that made him look like a more trustworthy guest was a good thing in his book.

"Okay, fine- but I need to know what's going on here," Simeon said. He made for the fridge, only to spot the empty beer cans by the sink; he shot Cassidy a dirty look, and then perched on one of the wooden chairs. "I'm guessing it's got to do with all that shit going on with Team Rocket?"

"Yeah, it has," Cassidy nodded. "What have you heard?"

"The raid in Unova has been all over the news, for starters," Simeon replied. Both James and Cassidy were taken aback by his remark, and listened intently as he continued: "The police conducted this massive take-down on the HQ there- there's been speculation that they have intel your boss is dead? I'm guessing that's bullshit."

Cassidy blew air from her lips like smoke from a cigarette. "It's not bullshit."

"Really? Do you know how it happened?"

"A Rocket shot him."

"Wow. That must've-"

"Look, Simeon," Cassidy cut in, "we really need your help here. We got mixed up in some bad stuff and there are a lot of people probably looking for us right now."

He looked a little confused. "Are you asking me if you can stay here? Because it seems a little late for that."

"Yeah, well, you weren't here to ask."

Simeon sighed again. "Fine, you can stay- provided no one knows you're here. I'm not about getting gunned down in my sleep."

"Don't worry, we got out clean."

There was an awkward silence- awkward in particular for James, who felt like he was intruding in a conversation he had no right to be privy to, and had no idea what to do with himself.

"You know, despite your… Unconventional entrance, it's good to see you, Cass," Simeon said, a subtle smile on his lips. "Say- how's Butch doing these days?"

James winced at the question, tense and expecting Cassidy to react similarly, but she remained impassive.

"He died."

First shock, then a sadness that was painful to witness crossed Simeon's face.

"Oh shit- I'm…" He swallowed, clenching his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry to hear that." He opened his mouth for a second, seemingly about to say more, but he apparently thought better of it.

"The new boss killed him," Cassidy went on, sensing his unspoken curiosity.

"Fuck."

Simeon shook his head slightly, then blinked away his disbelief and stood up. "I only came here to drop off some stuff and spend the night- I'm staying in town on business at the moment," he told them. "So the place is pretty much yours."

"Are- Are you sure?" James spoke up; he felt he had to say something, and he'd take any chance to express his gratitude. The other man smirked in response.

"Think of it as, uh, whaddya-call-it… Housesitting. 'Sides, I can always kick you out if I change my mind."

Cassidy returned his grin.

"Just try it."


Simeon left pretty much first thing the next morning- James woke up with his leg hanging off the sofa to the sound of him gathering his belongings.

Catching him before he could slip out unceremoniously, Cassidy greeted him by the doorway. Her face displayed a stern sincerity, almost soldier-like, and she wrapped her arms around him without warning.

"Thank you," she mumbled into the shoulder of his coat. He returned the embrace for as long as she allowed him.

"Call me if you need anything. Stay safe," he said, addressing both of them now. James nodded, hoping that his thankfulness came across in his expression.

Then the door closed, and Simeon was gone.


Watching the world through the cabin windows, time didn't seem to pass at all. The weather was almost eerily constant- grey but clear, without a speck of rain to speak of. Besides wander around the woods and thumb through the sparse reading material, there wasn't much to do but talk.

It seemed that both of them had passed the initial despair of their circumstance, and settled into a weary acceptance that the situation wasn't changing anytime soon. Through the short-lived conversations they held, James felt the distance between him and Cassidy slowly lessening. He had no illusions that they were friends, nor anything close to that, but there was an understanding between them now that even partners of fifty years might never develop. They had seen each other at their worst, and shared an experience that no one else could hope to comprehend.

So when she announced her departure two weeks later, James dreaded the decision more than he'd anticipated.

"I just can't hack living in a secluded shack with nothing to do," she went on. "Besides, I can't stay here forever."

"Right," James said, trying not to sound too dejected at the prospect of being left alone. "Where will you go?"

"I'm not totally sure yet- but I'll figure it out. We're a long way from Unova, and there's a little room for uncertainty."

He nodded. "When- When are you planning on leaving?"

"Now, pretty much," she answered. "It's not like there's much packing to do."

Her backpack was already over her shoulders, and James realised just how little time they had left together. Would he miss her? The company, certainly. The person, he still wasn't sure.

"So, uh. See you," Cassidy muttered. "I left the number to my burner phone on the table, but if anything happens I'll have to ditch it. So don't count on me if you burn the place down or something."

He chuckled. "Good to know you've got the same unwavering faith in me."

"What? You are flaming, after all." James could feel the blush heat his cheeks.

"That- That was a long time ago and you have no right to-"

"Yeah yeah, okay." She smirked and punched him on the arm on her way out, not hard enough to really hurt but not exactly lightly either. "Don't go and get yourself killed, all right? I'll be pretty pissed if all my efforts end up being for nothing. And, uh… Good luck finding the others."

"Thank you, Cassidy," he said, trying and failing to meet her gaze; she kept it stubbornly trained on the floor. "I hope things go well for you."

"Mm."

She pulled the door handle, back to him. "Bye," she said plainly, and shut the door behind her before he could respond.

With that, James found himself thrown back into their monotonous routine, only now as a one man act. It took some getting used to, not having her cross by in his peripheral vision every now and then, no occasional voice to ask him something or throw half-serious insults his way. In the first couple of days without her, he found some relief in the privacy, but that soon morphed to a loneliness that made every action seem heavier, more difficult.

Something that alleviated that sensation, if only a little, was the infrequent visits from wild furrets that resided somewhere on the brink of the clearing. Ever since he'd first caught sight of one, James had made a habit of bringing scraps of food with him on his walks so he could feed the skittish mammals- they soon discarded any distrust they had for him, and came running at the click of his tongue.

There was a spare pokeball in the supplies Cassidy had left behind, and the thought to catch one of them didn't pass him by. He'd found little equal to the joy of a new partnership with a pokemon, the early days of learning each other's ticks and quirks that evolved into a deep-seated trust that couldn't be broken, and the temptation to start that process anew was palpable.

He knew that he couldn't act on that whim, however- to do so wouldn't be healthy for him or the pokemon he'd be enlisting. They were not, despite what he might have pledged to his organisation, creatures to be used and replaced, and if he caught one now, that's exactly what he'd be doing. Besides which, he wasn't ready for a new companion. Accepting that Inkay was out of his reach was hard enough.

After Cassidy left, the food only lasted for about another week, and that was stretching it. There was, thankfully, a map in one of the drawers, and James worked out that the nearest town was only about half an hour's walk away. Within a couple of months, the path became familiar to him, and the walk was something he looked forward to.

What little money he'd been left with wasn't nearly enough to buy what he needed, so he deployed a strategy that would have made his former self proud: buy something small on every trip so as not to arouse suspicion, and shoplift everything else. Scanning his peripheral for security cameras and shoving foodstuff up his sleeve or into his bag when no one was looking, he felt like that naive Rocket fresh from training again.

It didn't make him feel good, robbing these shops that didn't have a heavyweight corporation to fall back onto, but at the same time, he found it difficult to feel truly guilty for what he was doing. Petty theft seemed such a minor, and, well, petty, thing, compared to the atrocities he'd witnessed in the last year. If a couple of chocolate bars and a box of cereal went missing, so what? No one was dead.

Besides, he didn't have any other choice. It wasn't like he could just go and get a job with his history, not to mention the media attention on Team Rocket right now. He'd be in handcuffs faster than he could slap down a forged resume.

In his plethora of spare time, he formulated and scrapped plan after plan to find Jessie and Meowth. He couldn't go to the police, or even try to contact Jessie by name without putting them all at risk. How did you go about finding someone without asking anyone for help, or even using their name?

Heading back to Unova didn't seem like a good idea, either. Besides the obvious danger of running into one of the Rockets who'd been loyal to Carter, it was highly unlikely that his team mates were even still there.

He had nothing to go on, and all the time in the world to agonise over it.


Almost a year had passed when he decided to leave for Kanto. The little shack in the woods had grown on him; he looked on it fondly, but it had never quite crossed the line into feeling like home. There was nothing for him here.

In all that time, Simeon hadn't come to visit once- James wouldn't have minded, only he would have liked the chance to thank him properly. Figuring it was the best he could do, he penned a short note to him, and left it propped up on the table.

Then, he gathered what was worth taking in a pidgey-print backpack he'd stolen from a sports shop, and left in the early morning. He took a page from Cassidy's book, and ended up a stowaway on another ship.

As he deboarded (more neatly this time), he took in the scenery of the region he'd set out from all those years ago. Love and fear and excitement and regret pooled together, drawing on his reserve of conflicting memories. Here he had met the best friends of his life, and joined the team that for him spelled freedom, and here he had been beaten and made to feel worthless by the woman he was supposed to love, and the parents who were supposed to love him.

His first stop was an old Team Rocket hideout not far from the shoreline, and thus began his loosely formed plan. He would travel the region, loitering by old landmarks that had significance to his team, in the slim hope that they might be waiting there. Next was Viridian Gym, then the bus stops they had used to shelter under in rougher times. That lifestyle welcomed him back with open and cold arms, and before long James was once more adjusted to mattresses made of concrete and grass.

Maybe it was the fresh hopelessness of not finding them in the most likely spots on his list, but whatever the reason, he started the letters a few weeks into his wander. Under the light of streetlamps, on crumpled paper, he would write until his wrist was sore and his brain was tired, pouring his heart out to Jessie and Meowth in pages and pages of curled handwriting. There was a certain relief in writing letters that he knew he could never send, even if he did have an address.

Over the months, it was far from smooth sailing. Every time he thought his emotions had stabilised to something predictable, he'd find himself breaking down with newfound distress. The world itself posed problems, too- he had a close call with a group of Team Rocket grunts he passed on the street, and one narrow escape from a security guard when he got too cocky and pocketed a wristwatch in plain view of a camera. Mostly, though, he was successful in staying off the radar.

Having spent the day searching, James ended up in a long-abandoned building, its roof half crumbled and sprigs of moss and ivy coiling up the walls. He sat where a window used to be, head resting against the frame as he watched the glittering city lights that punctured the darkness.

Out of chaos, he had found this relative peace. There was no soothing the reality of the carnage left behind, but everything felt so still now. Relentless in its perseverance, the world continued.

And maybe, if the aftershock of everything he'd witnessed could fade, so too could this state.

He would awaken one day like any other, only to stumble into their arms by sunset. Through tears they'd blurt their affections, wrapped in a clinging embrace from which they were reluctant to withdraw, lest the universe should seperate them again. Under the stars they'd share their stories, adventures from the last few years that would spur fits of disbelieving giggles, and stabs of heartache. They would lie side by side, and drift into sleep together knowing that everything was okay once more.

James traced his hand over the windowsill, fingertips navigating the path of moss and paint flecks. Watching his breath twirl and fold in the air, he smiled.

Someday.