Here to There

L.R.T.

Jessie awoke with a start, breathless, a mixture of tears and sweat running down her face. The same dream with the same ending: she was too late to save him. Again. Maybe it was better that way; after all, if she dreamed that he was alive and woke up to what had become her harsh, unforgiving reality, it was likely she wouldn't be able to take the gut-punch. Actually, a punch to the gut sounded much more pleasant.

She winced and squinted at the harsh afternoon Lumiose City sunlight that shone through the window, her head throbbing. Where the hell was she? What happened? And did anyone get the license plate of that semi that apparently hit her head-on?

Rubbing her eyes, attempting to gather her bearings, half-open, they scanned the room. There was nothing that looked familiar. It was fairly good-sized, the bed taking up most of the space that was otherwise occupied by a dresser and small nightstand. There were two doors - one leading out into...well, who knew what? and the other into a small bathroom.

She looked down at herself and furrowed her brow in confusion, only to curse at the pain it caused and wincing again. She was still decked out in her uniform - gloves and boots and all. She never went to sleep wearing all that garb. It was uncomfortable, for one thing.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grumbled at the sun and the nerve it had. Wasn't it bad enough that the cheery warmth and brightness still happened when she could never imagine feeling any of those things ever again? Did it have to be right in her face, too?

Normally she would have gone into the bathroom and made herself somewhat presentable for whoever (or whatever) awaited her outside; but she felt too awful and annoyed and curious to bother. Maybe she had been kidnapped by a psychopath and he would kill her the second she emerged. Wouldn't that be nice?

The door gave out a long, high-pitched squeak as she opened it, causing her to put her hand to her forehead and try to rub the pain away. It wasn't until she started walking down the hall toward the living area that she realized how unsteady she was on her feet, leaning against the wall for support. Reaching the corner, she peeked her head around and blinked, putting her hand to her head again as it began to throb once more, this time in confusion.

In the kitchen stood Professor Sycamore, washing what appeared to be about two months' worth of dishes, getting assistance in putting them back in the cupboard from a Bulbasaur that used its vines to gently grab and place them in their home.

Suddenly she recalled...the night before? How long had it even been? She had made a fool of herself and was nothing but awful to him when all he was trying to do was help - not that she asked for it. She put her back against the wall and slumped down slowly until she sat on the floor. This was exactly what she didn't want - someone she cared for worrying about her and taking care of her. Already she felt the pressure to put on a happy face for his sake and act as though everything was fine and her world hadn't been completely shattered. She hated that feeling. So much.

"Bulba!"

Jessie jumped, banging her head back against the wall and saying words that would make even the manliest sailor blush. Putting her hand to the back of her head, she whispered to the tiny Bulbasaur that had discovered her, "Shh! No! I'm not here. Go back and help in the kitchen!"

The Bulbasaur cocked its held and then smiled, bounding into her lap and making itself right at home. "Bulba..." it yawned.

She groaned, shaking it gently. "No, no, no! I have to go! You can't -"

"Looks like someone made a new friend."

Slowly she lifted her head upward, his smiling face looking back down at her as he dried a plate. "Yeah. Not sure who, though."

He laughed softly, kneeling down next to her and rubbing the Pokemon's head to many murmurs of delight and contentment. "I was wondering where this one got off to. Never finishes a job."

Jessie turned her head away from him, bemoaning her rotten luck. Not only had possibly the nicest guy in the known universe helped her but now his adorable baby Pokemon was trying to melt her icy heart. Couldn't she just be miserable in peace?

Lifting the now-sleeping Pokemon from her lap, he stood, smiling down at it lovingly as he took it over to a chair in the living room and put it down. He went back over to her and offered his hand, which she really had no choice but to accept given her current balance issues. "You look awful."

She narrowed her eyes at him and yanked her hand away, crossing her arms. "Thanks. You're a peach."

"Come on, why don't you sit down? I can make you something to eat -"

"I'll just puke it back up," she retorted.

He sighed, running a hand back through his hair. "All right, well...what about taking a shower or a bath? The main bathroom's right -"

"All I want to do is leave. I have a job, remember?"

Professor Sycamore crossed his arms now as well. "You didn't seem too concerned with that last night when you were drinking that restaurant dry."

She shot him a look that she sincerely hoped would knock him over so she could run to the door and get out. "What? I'm not allowed to have a few drinks and mellow out after a hard day's work?"

He shrugged, not budging from his spot. "Sure. You had just gone way past 'mellow' about six shots ago, that's all."

Jessie started for the door, trying to get past him, being met with his frame every single time. "I don't need anyone's help," she growled, clenching her fists. She knew it was an extremely adverse reaction to get angry at someone for being considerate, but she couldn't help it. How dare anyone try to minimize her pain or control how she was dealing with it? It was none of their business - especially his, of all people.

Grabbing her wrist, he looked into her eyes, swirling with more emotions than he could recognize: sadness, fear, shock, anger. He wanted so desperately to help her that it made him ache inside. "Not until you eat something. I can't let you go until I know you've actually had food and not just alcohol. Deal?"

She was startled at how rough and tight his grip was. It was a stark contradiction to the softness in his face, the worry and love in his eyes. No, not love. It couldn't be love - not that kind. What kind of schmuck kept longing for the girl that broke his heart? James was that kind of schmuck. No one else could be James. Any similarities she noticed were brushed off as wishful thinking. So what if she had noticed it before? She had been without James then, as well. This time she wasn't about to settle for an imitation - for both her sake and Augustine's. "Fine," she conceded.

He let go of her and made his way back into the kitchen, putting the plate he had been drying away with the others. Heading over to the fridge, he scanned its contents for anything that was actually for people and not Pokemon. "I don't really cook that often..." He laughed slightly, leaning against the appliance as she cautiously climbed up onto a stool that went with the small island counter. "In fact, last night I was picking up some food when I came across you. Completely forgot about it, of course." He shut the fridge and looked around, stroking his chin in thought. "There must be something around here..."

"You don't have anything. It's fine. You tried. Can I go now?"

He smirked playfully, reaching into the sink and taking some of the cluster of bubbles the dish soap had produced on his finger, leaning onto the island across from her. "I have not yet begun to try." He smeared the soap on her nose which made her lightning-fast reflexes grab his wrist this time, something that wasn't overly shocking to him.

"Do something like that again and I'm biting the fucking thing off," she growled, using her other hand to wipe the residue off her face, still gripping his wrist tightly.

Professor Sycamore remained quiet as she rid her face of the bubbles, taking the moment to look at her. It had only been a few months ago when he'd seen her again for the first time in years. She was as beautiful as he remembered - maybe even more so. Being in love had the tendency to do that to people. She was so happy. It didn't take a professor to figure out that James was likely her soul mate; and now he was gone. He couldn't even begin to wrap his head around what that must have been like for her.

"Don't give me that look," Jessie said roughly, though quieter than she had been. "I don't need anyone's sympathy. I don't want their pity. And I especially don't want any of yours."

He smiled sadly at her, the dark circles under her eyes somehow making her sapphire ones stand out even more. "No pity. Sympathy, yes. I'm a human being, we tend to feel empathy." His eyes darted to his hand which was still held captive by hers, her gaze following his and immediately dropping it to land on the counter with a "thud." He winced. "I was actually thinking how impossible it would be for me to try and understand what you're going through. Not many people in the world can. A loss like that..." He shook his head a little, rubbing his hand with his other one. "That doesn't happen every day."

She turned up her nose to him, looking away with a huff. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Professor Sycamore blinked and then began to nod slowly, the sad smile returning to his face. "That's one of the stages of grieving, you know - denial."

"How can I be in fucking denial when it's right in front of my face every day that he's not here?"

"Well..." he started, cautiously, leaning against the island once again, "in all fairness, it seems like you're over-achieving a little. I can see the denial, the anger, the desperation for things to be different, the depression...it's all right there written on your face."

She glanced at him, then turned back to the wall she had been facing. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

He shrugged. "Maybe not. I'm no psychologist. What I do know..." He went around the island and sat down on the stool next to her, blocking her view of the wall she'd been so interested in, "is that acceptance is the only thing that makes all the others just a little more bearable. You'll never stop getting a phone call and thinking it might be him for a split-second, or being angry and sad that he's gone, or wishing that things could've turned out differently." Reaching over to her, he gently took her hand in his. "But once you accept that not only is he gone...but it's okay to feel all those things because of that fact, you'll be better off. I promise."

Jessie tried to blink back the tears in her eyes, turning her head away from him again, not wanting him to see. Her foot tapped incessantly against the floor and she bit her lip nearly in half trying to keep it from quivering. Who did he think he was? What kind of person purposely upsets another and then claims it to be for their benefit? What kind of asshole was he? The questions continued to buzz around her still-throbbing head as she hunched over, breaking down into uncontrollable sobs the likes of which she hadn't experienced since that day in Geosenge Town.

"Jessie..." he murmured, standing up and wrapping his arms around her, holding her tightly as she gasped for breath amidst her anguished cries.

She slumped down from the stool, sliding to her knees on the cool linoleum of the kitchen floor, Professor Sycamore going with her and never letting her go once. Clutching his shirt, all she could do was cry and scream her frustration and heartache. "He's dead!" she wept, her body sliding down once again to lay limp on the floor, her face buried in his lap. "Why is he dead?!" she screamed, still loud and heartbreaking despite having been muffled.

He pulled her tangled hair out of her face and let it drop behind her shoulder, running his fingers through it and leaning down, making soothing noises and trying to get her to calm down. This was good, technically; but he feared what flood of emotions he may have unleashed, as well. She was weak and hadn't eaten in...well, he had no real clue but it had to have been at least a day. If she kept up at this rate, she would cry until she passed out - or worse.

Concerned, Bulbasaur came trotting over, awoken from its nap by her sobs, tilting its head and trying to understand what was going on and why. Professor Sycamore tried to give it a reassuring smile before collecting her in his arms and standing. He carried her as she continued to cry, trying to choke back her sobs and catch her breath, her chest tight and burning inside.

Walking into the spare room she'd been staying in, he gently laid her down on the bed, stomach twisting at the sight of her suddenly tiny, shaking body curling up into a ball. He had promised her that she could be alone and figure things out for herself. If he was there when she stopped, he'd get the shit knocked out of him - a thought that made him smile despite himself.

Stroking her hair once more, he stood, forcing himself to pull away from her; but as he turned, his assaulted wrist was grasped once again, tenderly this time. He looked back at her, her eyes pleading, the tears spilling from them only adding depth to the oceans he could see himself drowning in.

"Please don't go..." she whispered, lowering her hand, letting her fingers brush against his as it fell.

He nodded slightly, kicking off his shoes and laying down next to her. His heart still pounded fiercely in his chest, the beautiful and disturbing way she looked at him something he couldn't shake and would surely remember for the rest of his life. She curled up next to him, resting her head against his chest, a quiet sob echoing in the room every now and then. He wrapped his arms around her, never needing to hold someone and not let go more in his entire life.

As she finally cried herself to sleep, he stared up at the ceiling, unconsciously letting his fingers brush up and down her lower back. He was an awful person. He hadn't known James for very long but what he did know, he liked and knew he was a good man. What kind of person finds themselves feeling old feelings that should have long been buried during a time like this? What was wrong with him? He couldn't let her go - physically or otherwise - and it made him question everything about himself.

Tilting his head down, he kissed the top of her head lightly and closed his eyes only to open them again almost immediately, feeling her tug at his shirt. She was still asleep and he frowned, watching as she dreamed and her eyes fluttered against the heavy lids that had finally fallen. He wondered what it was she was dreaming about and hoped that for once, maybe, it was something good.