Work Text:
Tracey had been doing well lately. He hadn’t had any symptoms in months, thanks to a lot of adjustments to his diet and a few embarrassing conversations with the people who were insistent on ensuring he was eating enough. He’d been careful.
And yet, the searing pain in his chest and bitter taste in the back of his throat were unmistakable. The condition that had plagued him since his late teens was rearing its ugly head again.
He was in for a long day. There was the usual work to do, and there was more—of course this would happen the day three new trainers would be coming to the lab for their first pokémon. And Professor Oak wanted him more and more involved in the process every year, saying he’d need the experience to take over the lab one day.
That the professor had enough faith in him to even suggest that made it impossible for Tracey to say no then, or back out now, as they gave the three starter pokémon one final examination. All three of them seemed to be in perfect shape—they were healthy and brimming with energy, eyes bright with excitement. They knew what was happening today.
Tracey wished he felt half as energetic. Boy would it make things harder if he had to talk today.
“Tracey?” Professor Oak’s gentle voice got his attention. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Professor,” Tracey said. “Just… nervous, I guess.”
Tracey hated lying, especially to Professor Oak, but his condition was so embarrassing. And it wasn’t a total lie—he really was nervous. Which wasn’t doing his stomach any favors.
“You don’t have to be nervous,” Professor Oak said. “Those kids will have one thing on their minds, like always. They’re much less interested in us than in getting their first pokémon and going out to battle.”
That was true. Still, kids could be so mean. He still remembered that Gilbert kid who had been so dismissive of bulbasaur—he’d ended up leaving with one anyway, and getting thoroughly humbled through the trials of being a trainer, but the memory of his spoiled rich kid attitude still made Tracey feel a twinge of irritation. He’d never had much patience for spoiled rich kids. (Except Gary, he supposed, but that was different.)
After how well Tracey had handled that, it was a wonder the professor still trusted him to talk to these kids. He didn’t feel at all cut out for it, especially today.
But he just swallowed back bile and nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
“All I’m saying is that you can relax, Tracey,” Professor Oak said gently. “It’ll be fine. Breathe. You’ve done harder things than this.”
Tracey nodded again and took a deep, shuddering breath. He had done harder things. He could handle this. Even if it was accompanied by the all-too familiar struggle of stifling or swallowing back anything that tried to force its way up his throat.
He was pretty good at that. Mostly.
He slapped a hand over his mouth in time to muffle a burp he couldn’t quite stifle and felt heat rise to his face. Maybe he couldn’t do this, actually. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, my boy. I know your condition well enough.” Professor Oak looked unoffended, but concerned. “But I didn’t know it was flaring up again. Do you need to rest?”
“I’ll be fine,” Tracey said, not wanting to let the professor down. “It’s not that bad today, just… uncomfortable, mostly.”
Besides, lying down would only make it worse. All there was to do was push through it.
The doorbell rang, and Tracey took a shaky breath before answering it.
The three kids looked up at him, and one of them immediately said, “Wow, you’re really big!”
Another of the kids elbowed the first in the ribs. “Don’t be rude!”
“It’s fine,” Tracey said, used to this by now. His last growth spurt had made him tall and broad enough to stand out in Kanto, and kids who came to the lab usually commented on it. He’d been asked all sorts of questions—usually about how he got so tall (genetics and a lot of good food, he guessed) and how often he hit his head on things (more often than he’d like to admit). “Come on in. There’s three pokémon here who are excited to meet you.”
The kids didn’t have to be told twice, and Tracey quickly stepped aside so they wouldn’t have to barge past him. Unfortunately, that was a sudden enough movement to seemingly remind his stomach it was angry at him, and he had to swallow back his nausea. He forced a smile and led the kids further in.
"Where’s Professor Oak?” one of them asked.
“He’s in the lab with the—” another hard swallow, a shaky breath through his nose “—with the pokémon. He wants me taking the lead today, because he says the experience is important so I can run the lab when he retires one day.”
He probably didn’t need to tell them that. Professor Oak had always said he had a habit of rambling when he was nervous.
“Are you a professor too?” another kid asked, head tilting as if genuinely interested.
“Oh, I’m not,” Tracey said. “I’m just an assistant. I don’t have a degree or anything. The professor says I should get one, because my options are limited without it and I won’t qualify for research grants if I don’t have the credentials to be officially recognized as a researcher, but, well… I’m pretty busy here and he needs me.”
He was definitely rambling. He doubted any of these kids knew what to say to anything he was telling them.
One of them finally said, “I wouldn’t wanna do more school either. Taking care of pokémon all day is better.”
Tracey decided not to tell them about the sometimes unpleasant realities of his job—injuries from temperamental or overexcited pokémon, getting sweat-soaked and filthy and sunburned from doing manual labor outdoors all day, a lot of tedium in keeping the lab’s extensive database up to date, and days like today when he’d rather be curled up in bed but didn’t want to let the professor down. He still loved it—and it was definitely better than sitting in a classroom. “Yeah, it is.”
They soon reached where Professor Oak was waiting with the bulbasaur, charmander, and squirtle that would be the kids’ first partners. Professor Oak smiled. “Well done, Tracey.”
Tracey didn’t feel like he’d really done anything, but he was warmed by the praise regardless. “I’m sure you guys know Professor Oak.”
The kids nodded, and one of them said, “Who doesn’t? Isn’t he the smartest science guy or something?”
Tracey decided he liked these kids.
“I’m honored to be giving you three your first pokémon,” the professor said. Tracey knew he meant it—he took great pride in seeing new trainers off on their journeys. “These three have all been raised well to start a journey with you, thanks to my assistant, Tracey. He’ll take it from here.”
Tracey felt his heart speed up. Swallowing hard, hoping the kids were too excited to notice his rising discomfort or occasional pauses to fight back anything trying to force itself up his throat, he said, “You probably know what your choices are here. The grass-type bulbasaur, the fire-type charmander, and… the water-type squirtle.” He gestured towards the three pokémon, who cried out their various greetings to their soon-to-be trainers. “You can… take a moment to decide amongst yourselves who—”
He broke off abruptly as nausea overwhelmed him, and managed to choke out an “Excuse me,” before rushing for the nearest bathroom.
On his way out, he heard one of the kids ask, “Is Mr. Tracey okay?”
He didn’t hear Professor Oak’s answer. He slammed the bathroom door shut in his haste and then doubled over and vomited into the sink, retching violently until he was finally reduced to painful dry-heaving, nothing left to bring up but bitter acid.
Once it was over, he sank to the floor, groaning at the realization he was going to have to clean that out of the sink later.
Miserably, he wrapped his arms around himself and shut his eyes. His throat burned and his abdominal muscles ached. He didn’t want to move ever again. The professor would be disappointed in him for not being able to hold himself together. How could he be trusted to run the lab one day when he was like this?
He felt a hot surge of frustration with his body, and his nails dug into his flesh through the fabric of his shirt. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn’t he do something as simple as eating without the risk that his body would punish him for it?
He felt tears welling in his eyes and blinked them away. He already felt pathetic enough, he was not going to make it worse by crying.
Then he heard a knock on the bathroom door. “Tracey? Are you all right in there?”
Professor Oak had come to check on him. He hated lying, especially to the professor, so he told the truth this time: “No.”
“Can I come in?”
Tracey hesitated, unsure of how he wanted to answer. “Okay,” he decided.
He heard the door open, and soon felt the warmth of Professor Oak sitting beside him, wrapping an arm around him. No hesitation despite how gross Tracey felt. He melted into the contact, burying his face in Professor Oak’s shoulder like he was still a kid. It probably looked a little silly now, with him so much bigger, but the professor didn’t comment on it.
A warm, gentle hand stroked his back. “Oh, Tracey… I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard.”
“It’s my own fault, Professor,” Tracey said miserably, words painful against his acid-ravaged throat. Another surge of nausea had him pulling away, only to give a few unproductive dry-heaves. “Sorry.”
For years, Tracey had been searching Professor Oak’s face for any sign of disgust or irritation, but there never was any—not even the time Tracey had thrown up on him during a particularly bad flare-up. The unmistakable look of pity was almost worse, though.
“Don’t apologize for being sick.” Professor Oak’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Nothing that’s happened today is your fault. You can’t help your condition, and I know you only ever do your best.”
Tracey nodded weakly. He did try his best at anything Professor Oak asked of him. Maybe he tried a little too hard sometimes.
“Have you taken anything?”
He really should’ve. He shook his head, feeling stupid.
Professor Oak didn’t respond with anger or disappointment. Instead, he calmly said, “Well, it’s a good thing I brought these.”
The professor was holding a bottle of antacids. He opened it and shook three into his hand, offering them to Tracey.
Tracey accepted them, putting all three into his mouth and chewing carefully. Swallowing hurt.
“That’s it, my boy,” Professor Oak praised. “You know, I think those kids liked you. They were worried about you. You’re not as bad with them as you think you are.”
“It’s a good group of kids this year,” Tracey said. “I’m not patient with the difficult ones like you are.”
“You didn’t raise Gary,” the professor said with a soft, good-natured laugh. “I have more experience with difficult children than you do. Patience is a skill learned with time.”
“I guess so,” Tracey conceded. He still felt pretty miserable. Hopefully the antacids would kick in soon.
“You sell yourself short, Tracey.” The professor started rubbing Tracey’s back again in rhythmic motions. “You always have. But you’re a smart, capable young man—I wouldn’t trust just anyone with my lab, you know.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Tracey said. “But are you sure I deserve it?”
“Very sure,” Professor Oak replied without hesitation. “You’re the finest assistant I’ve ever had, and you’re as dedicated to this lab as I am—if not more. There’s nobody more deserving.”
“What about Gary?” Tracey couldn’t help asking. Gary was the professor’s flesh and blood, his heir, his pride and joy. And an Oak was the obvious choice to take over the Oak Lab.
“Oh, I’d be thrilled for you two to run the lab together someday,” he said with a fond smile. “But you know Gary. He’s always been a free spirit, he’d hate to be tied down by such a responsibility. He thinks it should be you too—he’s too stubborn to tell you, but he thinks the world of you.”
Tracey felt his face heat up, and buried it in the professor’s shoulder again, overwhelmed by the praise. If even blunt, cynical Gary thought so highly of him… he still didn’t feel like he deserved such an honor, but maybe someday he would.
“Tracey…” Professor Oak gently pulled him into a hug. “You don’t have to worry about it just yet. I’ve still got plenty more years left in me before I’m ready to retire, I just want you to know I believe in you. I know when the time does come, you’ll be ready.”
“I won’t let you down, Professor.” Tracey couldn't stop the waver in his voice, his throat painful and heart overwhelmed.
“I know, you never have,” Professor Oak replied, voice fond and gentle. “But you don’t have to push yourself so hard, my boy. Take it easy. You’ve done enough for today. Once you’re feeling better, we’ll see if we can figure out what triggered your flare-up so we can avoid it, and I’ll get you whatever you feel like you can handle for dinner tonight.”
Tracey nodded against his shoulder. “Thank you.”
They lapsed into a peaceful quiet, Professor Oak rubbing soothing circles between Tracey’s shoulder blades.
Then there was a knock on the door. “Mr. Tracey, are you okay?”
Tracey looked up in surprise. “The kids are still here?”
“They insisted I check on you immediately,” Professor Oak said. “I’ll let them know you’re not feeling well, but that you’ll be fine. You stay put and rest as long as you need to.”
Tracey nodded, dizzy with relief (and possibly dehydration from all the vomiting). His stomach was settling, but his throat was still sore and he felt too drained to stand up. The professor gave him a final pat on the shoulder before standing up and walking out, gently closing the door.