Chapter Text
I'm supposed to be overqualified for this job.
I trained a championship-winning team. I've grown up around labs, and spent a year officially helping Professor Oak raise some starter Pokemon. And as if that wasn't enough, I even had a huge role in taking down Team Rocket. After everything I've done, being in charge of raising a trio of starters for Professor Elm should be easy.
Apparently, no one told that to the starters.
“Don't bite him so hard, Totodile! It's just training! You're too slow with your dodging, Cyndaquil! And Chikorita, now would be the perfect time to launch a projectile attack while they're both distracted!”
My words seem to have no effect, as usual. The Chikorita is determined to do nothing, nervously watching the other two fight from as far away as possible. If I were training her for a tree-climbing championship, she'd be less hopeless -- she's currently high up on a branch and trembling like, well, a leaf. It's impressive that she even got up there, but what am I going to tell Elm? “Well, this one's not much of a fighter, but at least she knows how to climb trees! There are trainers out there who are looking for that in a starter, right?”
Down below, the Cyndaquil squirms free from his opponent and launches a triumphant counterattack. His small legs don't propel him very far, and he's easily swatted out of the air by the grinning Totodile. Not to be deterred, he struggles to his feet to try again, breathing hard, blood trickling from small bite marks on his side.
“That's enough,” I say wearily, stopping them before any serious injuries can happen. “It's getting late, so let's call it a day, okay? There's always tomorrow.” Always another day to fail miserably at turning these three into proper starters. No matter how much overtime I put in, I never seem to get anywhere with them.
I reach for the Totodile’s Pokeball, and his teeth reach for my hand in response. “Behave,” I command in my sternest possible voice, yanking my arm back. “Or you won't get to train tomorrow at all.”
After a brief moment of tension, he slowly closes his mouth, accepting his fate. I sigh in relief as I recall him. The Totodile is by far the strongest of the three, and the obvious choice for any serious trainer, but how can I send him out into the world when he has no self-control? In the wrong hands, it would be so easy for him to become a killing machine.
“You can come down now!” I call treeward. “He's gone.” The Chikorita hesitates before scrambling down the tree and into my waiting arms. I stroke her leaf reassuringly, and it's not long before she's all smiles. This one would make a perfect companion Pokemon, but labs don't produce companion Pokemon. I'm supposed to be making a fighter out of her.
“Maybe tomorrow you can at least move on to fighting another Chikorita?” I suggest. So far, the only thing she'll attack are plastic targets.
She looks scared at even the thought of it, so I sigh, wish her good night, and watch her disappear into the safety of her Pokeball.
When I reach for the third Pokeball, the Cyndaquil flares his flames in protest.
“I know you don't like going in there,” I say as I kneel down to look at him. “But you're covered in bites and scratches, and the healing machine can deal with them quicker if you're inside your ball.”
He puffs out his chest in a defiantly adorable I-am-tough-and-not-hurt-at-all gesture, and I can't help smiling through my concern. This one's got far too much determination to fit into a body as small as his. All Cyndaquil are small, of course, but this one's an actual runt. He's running out of time to do much more growing, and there's already been an alarming lack of change in the numbers the last few times I weighed him.
“I know,” I agree. “You fight well, and you'll beat him soon. But you won't beat him at all if you're tired and scratched up, so let me heal you, okay? Besides, you know the lab rules. I can't leave you outside of your ball when no one's around.”
The Cyndaquil frowns, but he lets his flames die down, and when I reach out to ruffle the fur on his head, he goes back to smiling.
“See you tomorrow,” I whisper as he disappears. For a moment, I just sit there, holding his Pokeball. Three starters. One fierce and disobedient, one gentle and timid… but it's this little one that worries me the most. Would any trainer ever choose someone so fragile? And if they did, could they keep him safe?
At least I can keep him safe right now. I stand up, brush the dirt off my jeans, and carry the three Pokeballs into the lab. Everything’s quiet as I slide them into the healing machine. All my coworkers have gone home, since they have the ability to raise actual desirable starters that get snapped up by trainers.
What's wrong with me? Did I never have any real skill at raising starters? Alone in a different region without Gary and Laurel around to help me, I haven't been able to do anything right. Every day, I'm more surprised that I still have a job. Sometimes I wonder if the only reason Elm hasn't fired me is because he just enjoys watching the security footage of my training and laughing at it.
I can't go home until I make sure the starters have been healed properly, so in addition to lamenting my situation, I pass the time by wandering the building and making sure all the lights are off. Being the one who always has to lock up the lab is an unfortunate side effect of staying late.
I'm standing in a storeroom in pitch darkness when I hear the phone ring. It's so tempting to not answer it (the lab is technically closed, after all), but I don't want to get extra fired for ignoring important phone calls. Making a mad dash through the hallway, I slide into the main office and pick up the receiver with just a second to spare.
“Elm labs, Tessa Linden speaking,” I say breathlessly.
“Oh, good,” the familiar voice crackles over the line. “I was hoping you'd still be here.”
Yes, Elm, I'm still here. As usual. Because you assigned me the most troublesome trio of starter Pokemon in existence.
“What is it, Professor?” is all I say, though.
“Remember how I said earlier that I've gone to visit a friend outside of Cherrygrove today? Well, it just so happens that Samuel came all the way from Kanto to visit him too, and we all got caught up in talking about our research and lost track of time...basically, I don't think I'll bother coming home tonight, so I wanted to ask if you could come in a little early tomorrow to open the lab.”
Professor Oak is here in Johto? I guess I should be grateful that he didn't show up at the lab, but I'm sure Elm is still telling him all about my amusing failures.
“I was going to come in early anyway,” I reassure him. Not that I'm happy about it, but I do need all the extra time I can get.
There's laughter in the background. “I have to go,” Elm says quickly. “I really appreciate it, Tessa." A click, and then silence.
Yup, definitely telling stories about my amusing failures.
Well, nothing I can do about that. Time to store the Pokemon safely away, lock up, and come back tomorrow to repeat this pointless effort all over again. Sometimes I regret essentially retiring from battling.
The recovery machine is still beeping away when I return, so it takes me a minute to realize that there's anything unusual going on. A closer look reveals only two Pokeballs filling up the slots, and I feel a brief spike of panic.
I shake my head to clear it, trying to dismiss my typical paranoia. What's the worst that could happen? I must have not locked one in properly and it rolled onto the floor, or maybe I absentmindedly left one outside. But then my eyes are drawn to a set of muddy footprints by the wide-open door, confirming my worst fears.
No time to waste. I've got to be ready for this. In one fluid motion, I snatch up the two remaining Pokeballs and throw them into my bag, then lock the door and let it slam behind me as I run out into the backyard. I realize the situation isn't as bad as I think once I glimpse a flash of red hair and dark clothes disappearing over the fence.
Still holding my keys, I unlock the gate and dash through it, catching the thief by surprise. Already halfway down the path, they don't look back, but I can see their pace quicken. I grit my teeth and run right after them.
There's no way I'm letting a Pokemon thief escape me this time.
They're trying their best to do exactly that, though, immediately heading for the trees to throw me off their trail. It's some comfort that I know the wooded area fairly well, but knowing which Pokemon and plants can be found in the area is hardly the same as knowing where each individual very trippable tree root can be found. The setting sun doesn't help, either.
But I seem to be taller and older than the thief, and I find myself closing the gap a little with every stride. Even just keeping them in my sights for as long as possible is better than nothing. It sure beats being drugged with Sleep Powder while they teleport away, at least. Whoever this is, they're much less prepared for a heist than Team Rocket ever was.
I used to feel kind of silly for all the time I spent worrying, running over seemingly unnecessary plans in my head about what I’d do if something like that ever happened again. Now that it has happened, I desperately wish that I was back at the lab feeling silly, making plans that I wouldn't actually need.
Why me, again? I can't help lamenting. It's as if I have a big sign around my neck proclaiming “Please steal from me!” The worst part is, it's never myPokemon. I'm not looking forward to telling another professor that I lost an important Pokemon.
At least this professor isn't my mom.
I keep a close hand on my bag, making sure the two remaining Pokeballs are still there. Without my actual team on hand, they're all I have to fight with should I manage to catch up. I'm just hoping that any amateur thief desperate for a starter Pokemon wouldn't have a good team with them. Or any team at all, ideally. No matter which two I have, I don't like my chances against absolutely anything.
Even though I'm in shape, I find myself breathing hard, frantically dodging left and right and trying not to trip on what I now realize are an unreasonable amount of very trippable objects on the forest floor. So it's a relief when the thief finally comes to a halt right on the outskirts of Cherrygrove (how did we make it all the way here?) and turns around to face me.
I can barely see them through the shadows of the trees and the darkening sky, but it's still obvious that they really are just a kid. Their clothes are much too big and much too torn up, and probably much too stolen as well. A shoulder-length curtain of chronically unbrushed red hair frames a frustrated scowl.
“Why do you even care?” they demand. “I saw how frustrated you were with all of them. You should be grateful I took one off your hands. It's not as if Elm doesn't have a bunch of replacements, anyway.”
I'm torn between righteous anger and pity, and it honestly surprises me which one wins out.
“You could have applied for a starter,” I say with an unexpected amount of kindness. “You could have gotten a license and gone out to catch anything you want. You still can. Give me back the Pokemon and I won't press charges.”
The scowl deepens. “You don't know anything!”
What is up with this kid? “I know that I'm giving you a second chance, and you're wasting it.”
“I'll battle you for it,” the kid says, gripping the Pokeball tighter. “If I win, I keep it.”
I snort. “You know I'm a champion, right? Also, absolutely not.”
“A champion with no team, just two weak starters,” the kid declares, throwing the Pokeball anyway.
Okay, they've got a point there.
I'm not surprised to see the Totodile appear. It's the kind of choice I'd expect from a burglar, and it's the worst-case scenario for me to fight against. It looks back and forth between us, confused.
“You've been kidnapped,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “Just agree to come back with me to the lab, and it'll all be okay.”
“Don't you want something more than that?” the kidnapper jumps in immediately. “I've seen you fight. You're stronger than the others, and they're just holding you back. Why wait around for a trainer to pick you when I've already picked you now?”
The Totodile turns away from me, considering this. “Totodile, please!” I beg. “You don't know anything about this person other than they stole you. Come back with me and we’ll find you a good trainer.”
Even in the darkness, I notice a brief flicker of surprised happiness on the kid’s face at my use of they -- but then they’re right back to sneering. “His name isn’t Totodile. It's, um...Chomp.”
Pleased by this idea, Chomp grins, revealing many appropriately sharp teeth. He steps in front of the kid and narrows his eyes at me. I can't believe this.
“Send out a Pokemon, or it'll be you that gets torn to shreds,” the kid threatens.
My hand has already closed around the Chikorita's Pokeball inside my bag, but I flinch and it slips through my fingers. Every time I think I'm over it, something like this happens, the robbery and the sharp teeth and the torn-up grass Pokemon, and why this again?
Deep breaths. Grab the other Pokeball, throw it, and have faith in the Cyndaquil’s fighting spirit. I've come way too far to fall apart over a misguided kid and a Totodile I trained myself. Type advantages be damned; the Chikorita is not my best option here.
Without hesitation, the Cyndaquil’s flames blaze to life, softly illuminating the area around us. Fire won't do anything against a Totodile, but at least he's prepared to fight. “Be careful,” is the first thing I tell him. “I'm pulling you back at the first sign of danger, but give it all you have.”
“Bite it, Chomp!” the kid yells. Chomp snarls and charges forward, teeth flashing.
Okay, speed. We've got an advantage on that front. “Tackle!” I call out desperately.
A small hop out of the way, a small lunge forward, and it's the Totodile who ends up sprawled on the ground.
“Get back!” I order. The Cyndaquil dashes over to stand in front of me while Chomp is already scrambling to his feet.
The kid’s eyes narrow. “Water Gun.”
I laugh. “Nice try, but he doesn't know that yet.”
Determined to prove me wrong, the Totodile opens his mouth. I'm expecting nothing, but suddenly there's water gushing forward, taking me by surprise. The Cyndaquil is equally unprepared, getting knocked back by the torrent and collapsing facedown in a puddle of mud.
When he doesn't get up right away, I run over and kneel by his side, not caring how muddy I get. He coughs feebly and spits out a mouthful of dirty water. Once he gets his breath back, I gently lift him into my arms, then spin around to confront Chomp and the thief.
They're both gone.
Cherrygrove City lies just ahead, taunting me with its many hiding places. I suppose it's a good thing that my first thought was to ensure the Cyndaquil’s safety, but it's led to me losing the thief.
Well, looks like I need to head in to their Pokemon Center anyway. How hard can it be to find a redheaded thief who’s only been gone for a minute?
Knowing my luck, probably very.