“Your what, Howard?”

Just as Howard’s switch was flipped into a more serious, dark tone, so too was June’s. Except hers took on a much more physical change. She rose from the couch and stared at him with the Angry Eyes. Despite him watching her hobble and look like a corpse, she now looked very alive.

Josh Devlin had backed off the second she said to. Grigori Sokolov never pried far, either. Hell, even annalise henderson didn’t push her luck. Why couldn’t Howard? Why did he have to push and push and push, like she was some fossil ripe for the collection?

Why couldn’t he just leave it be?

“Tell me, explain, to me, your what? Your fault? Your problem? Your concern?” She inched closer and closer, fists clenched hard by her side. Do not punch him, do not do it. Anything short of that, though, was fair game.

“Are you on something, Howard? Did you do a line before I got here? Because I could really fucking use some if it makes you think that we’re living in some weird reality,” she shoved her finger right in his face, “Or what I do is any of your fucking concern. I’m not a kid, and we’re not living in an alternate timeline. Do you think I’m a dumbass? Of course I know I could’ve died! It almost happened three times!”

This awful familiar feeling… it was like she was back at the bus stop. Where she’d been dragged along and shown an alternate reality. One that was hopelessly out of reach. How stupid she’d felt back then. How looked down upon. Something stirred in her chest and pressed on her skull.

“This is real life, Howard. This isn’t a storybook, you’re not some guardian angel, and you’re not my Dad. Because if you were, you’d be–”

The word got caught in her throat. The feeling grew stronger. Her heart drummed inside her head like a stampede of Tauros. “You’d be… be…”

“Alive.” June clutched her chest tight. Stop. Her ears hurt from the noise. If she closed her eyes, maybe the room would stop spinning too. “Fuck. Do you hear that?”

---

howard slayte

"If I was your dad, I'd be dead."

The words came out solemn, the expression on Howard's face palpable. Shit, why did he say that. Why did he say that? Grigori hadn't told him, but it had been very clear. It was obvious from how the man acted. Howard was missing an eye, but he wasn't stupid. That was a stupid thing to say.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

June Sleigh started to sway.

"June. JUNE!" He lunged forward.

---

june sleigh

June barely heard Howard complete the sentence she should’ve said. The pounding was too much, too loud. She certainly didn’t hear him shout her name, but the sensation felt awfully familiar. Like she’d heard it before.

But the thought didn’t go any further. Even as the world tilted and gravity did its thing, Howard’s grasp felt like a distant dream. One she fast approached, as her mind struggled to comprehend much of anything. How could it, with the abuse it’d taken in the last week? The strain in the last minute?

Her mind entered the void.

–

The first thing June felt, as she re-entered reality, was the soft glow of some light in the room. It pierced her eyelids and drove a nail into the back of her skull. So much so that it felt like she was still in Howard’s apartment, where the pain first started. She tried to shut her eyes tighter, but it accomplished nothing.

And her hand didn’t reach her eyes without a fight. There were a couple of lines attached, anchors that restricted her weak movements. Did the archeologist tie her to the coffee table or something? She pulled harder, but an uncomfortable feeling stopped her dead in her tracks. It was… in her wrist?

Where the hell was she? June’s eyes flickered, then opened into narrow slits. Sky blue walls greeted her, as well as the foot of a bed. There was not a rope on her arm, but an IV tube that connected a bag of clear liquid and her bloodstream. There was a clip on one of her fingers as well.

The light dimmed, if only in her mind, to reveal the rest of the room. The kind found in a hospital, with a TV in the corner and a man with a big cowboy hat in a chair next to the bed. Howard?

Howard. His apartment. The way she screamed at him, and how she promptly fell to the floor. “Ugh…”

“What time is it?” June tried to sit up in the bed. Even with the head start of a propped up mattress, it was a struggle to get herself truly upright. Her stomach growled something fierce and called out for sustenance. "You got any food?"

---

howard slayte

June Sleigh's first stint with consciousness was Howard yelling into his phone.

It's something that's hard to imagine. The archaeologist rarely got mad. He and June had fought before, but it had always been over meaningless stuff, like carnival games, tickets, and corn dogs. He was more likely to cower rather than fight back. It made him remarkably easy to walk over.

But the fight he was having on the phone? He had never been that mad.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU. SHE COLLAPSED! I TOOK HER TO THE HOSPITAL!"

The phone sparked with an eerily familiar voice, but focusing in on it was almost impossible, given June had barely made it out of her slumber.

"I'm sending Crumble to Slateport to get you! Go to that bakery you love so much, and it'll be waiting. I'll watch her."

"MR. HOW-" The phone slammed shut as Howard ended the call and rubbed his temples.

The hospital room was quiet, barring the silent beeping of the instruments attached to June and a prolonged sigh from Howard. When words left her mouth, Howard's eye softened. He turned to her, weighing his words carefully and dangling his phone between his thumb and forefinger.

"Go." He glanced at Crumble, his Claydol, who was floating in the corner. "Leave him outside when you head back."

The Claydol disappeared with a pop as it Teleported away. The two were alone in the room. Howard avoided looking into her eyes. So small. So frail. She looked like this when Atlas had blasted her and Matchstick out of the sky. He sucked air across his teeth as he gestured towards the bed stand.

"Nurse brought it by an hour ago. Said you'd be waking up in time for dinner. I hope you like macaroni and cheese." He refused to meet her eyes. "How do you feel?"

---

june sleigh

June didn’t ask about that phone call. She figured that if it was important, Howard would tell her. Instead, she went straight for the meager bowl of macaroni. It had long since gone cold, now a clumpy, vaguely cheesy clump of noodles. However, it still smelled like food, and that was good enough.

She devoured every morsel, the small plastic spoon a blur as it scooped up the pasta and shoveled it into her mouth. It wasn’t long until she scraped the bowl for every single ounce of processed, chemically flavored cheese product. “I feel…”

Despite the hunger pangs going away, something still didn’t agree with existence. She looked to the side, and grabbed her wrist. Skin. “Like dogshit. I don’t know. Listen--"

“Wait, did they take off my cast?” June felt her arm up like she’d never seen it before. True, genuine flesh and blood and warmth and that one indentation from when she got a coin stuck in there. The doctors hadn’t lied about how stupid that was: it was like it’d been tattooed on. Oh well. There wasn’t any blood.

“Finally. Been meaning to do that since… a month ago,” she said. Arceus, it felt good to have that gross, nasty thing off her arm. And if she got hers off, then…

June quickly scanned her bedside. Luckily, there were a couple poke balls resting on there. She grabbed the one with a T on the top and pressed the middle button. A white flash filled the room and burned her retinas. By the time she shielded her eyes, it was too late. The flash was gone, and now there was a large, vicious Talonflame on her legs.

June peeked between her fingers. She gasped. Both her wings extended up into the air, free from burden. They’d taken off her cast too. “Squaaaaaaaa!”

She lunged forward and wrapped her arms around the bird, careful not to touch her wings. “Thank fuck! Oh, Arceus, I missed you so much. Never do that again.”

The bird eyed her trainer. Do what? Get blown out of the sky by a stranger? Not exactly in her hands– wings. But she folded her wings back and leaned into June. Together, they simply embraced each other like there wasn’t anyone else in the room.

But there was, and he looked like a wreck. “Um… So. What happened? Did you just… drag me here after I collapsed? And, uh, are you feeling better yourself? That phone call…”

She’d never seen the man so animated in her life.

---

howard slayte

The man shrunk under her gaze. It wasn't the stare of an accusatory person, but the look of someone who had just been freed from the shackles of that battle in the Island Cave. The wounds left June, and eventually the memory would too. It'd disappear as time elongated, until there was nothing left of being shot from the sky.

Howard's guilt should've been absolved. He had done no lasting harm, beyond denting her bank account. Matchstick was fine. June was fine. She had overworked herself and collapsed. It hadn't been his fault, but simply an event born of circumstance.

Yet he felt chained down. Guilty. The happier she became, the more miserable he became as well. The knowledge that he had sapped the joy from her life was almost too much to bear. Was this the weight that Grigori felt, knowing that he had ended lives for Rocket?

Was he a snapshot into what Howard would become?

Why did he feel guilty?

He stared at June and Matchstick, and his heart skipped a beat. His mouth tasted like bile, and he wanted to retch. The horrible realization crashed down on him as he watched June and her Pokémon reunite.

Matchstick was June's Shirley.

That realization was heartbreaking. If someone had killed Shirley, Howard would've been reduced to a shadow of his former self. A ghost, incapable of returning to life. Howard felt his heart wither and die.

In a trance, he walked towards her bedside, past Matchstick, and got on his knees. He put his hands over hers.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I'm so, so sorry."

Then he wept.

---

june sleigh

“So is that a yes, or… are you okay–”

June wasn’t in any position to stop the man, her friend, as he walked like a husk towards the side of the bed, collapse to his knees, and press his hands into hers. There was a massive bird in the way, one who gave him a curious look. She didn’t push him away, despite the overwhelming urge.

Things only got weirder as he apologized and started to sob into the white sheets. His muffled cries felt heavy in her ears, but… she couldn’t just push to the side. Not after he dragged her here. June slowly massaged his hands with her thumbs, “There… there…”

Was this about the island thing? Had to be. “Listen, Howard. Um. I know you meant well, at your apartment. I hope. And I’m sorry for sort of just. You know. Dumping my, uh, what’s the word. Uh, my ‘parent issue', or whatever, on you. Not something to whip out of the blue.”

Dad was never an easy topic to bring up. Even the mere mention of it made her eyes water. That, or Howard’s grief was rubbing off on her. Hard to tell as he wept like a child.

“I don’t think you made me pass out there– I don’t think I’ve been taking care of myself this last week. That was probably it. So… you don’t need to cry into the bed. And make it all wet… and awkward," June finished her pep talk with an out-of-place chuckle. Arceus, this was weird. Maybe if she just comforted the man long enough, he'd calm down. That always worked for her. She continued her circular motion and felt his hand muscles. A lot tougher than she thought. His skin as rough as the sand he worked with. 

---

howard slayte

There was still a chance to back out. There was still a chance to step away from this and come out the other side as an unbroken man. He could be unmarred by the time this was over, and his spirit would remain together.

Ah, but that was a lie. Eventually, it would break under the strain. There would eventually come a point where Howard wouldn't be able to see June again without breaking into a million pieces. Grigori would hate him, and the process would repeat again. If he left June alone, and never spoke to her again, the two would move on.

They'd move on. Two unbroken spirits versus two shattered ones. Logically, there was only one decision to make: not say a thing.

Doing so would confine his soul to Rocket forever.

"Stop that. Stop!" His rough hands jerked away from her softer ones. He looked up at her, eyepatch undone. The Key Stone embedded in his eye gleamed at her, and tears welled up around it. "How can you be so blind?"

Harsh. Be harsh. Let her hate him. It was the easiest way to do this. If he became the direction of her contempt, then she would be able to hold herself together. There was no finer vintage to sup upon than contempt.

"June." He rose, still weeping, though his functioning eye was as hard and primal as his Aerodactyl's. He worked his mouth, as if trying to utter something. His trudged through his memories for a moment, looking for the precise one he needed to make this work.

Yet a historian's mind was an iron trap, capable of remembering everything that happened.

"Another Team Rocket member struck you down with their Clawitzer. You're lucky to be alive." He looked at Matchstick. "I have potions. Don't move."

---

june sleigh

“Hey, I heard that… on…”

The island.

The armored one. Hard on the outside, yet with an impossibly soft center. How they knew her name, how they acted so strangely. Once those words were said, it was impossible to unknow, impossible to forget. The last lines connected, and the picture was complete. Nothing could nag at the back of her head now.

Matchstick looked at him unexpectedly. This information was a surprise… but what? June had once said that ‘Rockets, sometimes, just did what the job told them to’. Sure, that included murder and death. It meant that every day wasn’t a guarantee. Nothing ever was. Maybe, perhaps, after time… she could learn to accept what happened. Make amends. Forgive.

But June. Her. In all her flaws and conflicting emotions. First, it was confusion. Then, loss. Then anger. Then frustration. A whirlwind of feelings, it only took moments for her to stick her chin into her chest. Tears flowed freely now, down onto her gown.

If it had just been her? Whatever. Death was around the corner there. Hell, she’d nearly died three times– she said it herself. The same thoughts inside the mind of her precious Pokemon were there as well, but with that all important caveat. If it’d just been her… then maybe, there’d be something to salvage here. Something worth keeping.

But as he’d predicted, Howard’s Shirley was her Matchstick. And Aceus help those who dared her their precious, beloved best friends. Two halves to a whole. Without them, theyd’ be hollow. Husks.

Howard had almost succeeded. And if he had… if he had…

“Get out.”

She didn’t look up, nor did she raise her voice. One crisp, dark command. Her only desire as violent thoughts invaded her mind.

---

howard slayte

"Yes. That's right." His stare was predatorial, much like the Aerodactyl he loved so much. Without the helmet or armor, it was impossible to compare... yet it was him. Her assailant had been by her side all along. "I'm from Team Rocket. I'm one of the four admins who run it."

His pupil dilated as it bore into her soul. It met the maelstrom of emotions bubbling up and bore through them. It was the gaze of a man with nothing but contempt in his body, unlike the fragile archaeologist she had comforted moments ago.

Why, then, did his gaze look so sad?

"Do not meet with Rocket again. Do not speak my name again. If you speak of me to anyone, I'll show you what happens when my Golurk doesn't miss."

Wear the mask. He'd wear the mask that he wore while dealing with the other members of Rocket. Instead of using it to fit in, he'd use it to save another. He felt like trash. Garbage. Worthless dross that had been filled into the ranks of Team Rocket, individuality abandoned in favor for uniformity.

He'd become another cog in the machine.

Yet before he did that, he would save this woman. Save her the pain of ever being hurt again. For Grigori. For herself. That was the only gift he could give her.

Besides that, all they would share were memories of a brighter time, when things were better. Until then...

"If you tell anyone about me, I'll snap Matchstick in two."

It broke his heart to say it. He liked this woman, but he would fulfill the vow he had made. He turned away and opened the door. His footsteps clattered down the hallway. As he did so, he felt... free. It was like a weight had been lifted off of him. Only now, it was draped over June.

Hopefully she found it more comfortable than he had.

---

june sleigh

Matchstick was the one who bit back against the threat of action. She raised her wings high, and fixed her glare upon the archeologist. The temperature rose several degrees as her wings shed embers. If a Talonflame could make facial expressions, this one would be full of murderous intent. There was no longer any understanding.

Try me, it'd say. Even if that Aerodactyl could escape its ball, it'd be too late to save the man before she took his other eye.

But he retreated just as fast as he shed his hidden identity. She kept her eyes locked on him for minutes, long after his physical body left the room. His cowardly smell lingered, and his words even longer. Even if intentions were noble, and his heart pure, they meant little to the hawk. The road to hell was paved with good intentions.

All June could do was grab onto Matchstick as tight as she humanly could and bury her face into her feathers. He'd done it once, he'd certainly do it again. She'd already lost dad and the shop. She couldn't lose Matchstick. Even if her gown gained black scorch marks and the bed smoked, she'd hold on for as long as she could.

June learned what happened when she didn't two years ago. 

Happy anniversary, Dad.

---

howard slayte