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Emmet starts the day just as he usually does— with a smile.
Some days it is harder to do than others, but today was one of the easier ones. He’s so full of energy that he pops out of bed as soon as he’s awake, though that might just be because of the electricity Galvantula had been pumping out in her sleep. After taking a moment to fondly watch her legs twitch and her fur bristle with static, Emmet leaves his bedroom.
He keeps his eyes trained steadily ahead as he makes his way down the hallway, ignoring the flashes of stony half-smiles that appear in his peripherals. It would be easier to take the pictures down, but he shouldn’t. Tucking the memories away wouldn’t do him any good. Besides, blank walls means filling them up with something else and he can only tolerate so many photos of Elesa in his house. She doesn’t need a bigger ego.
Stepping over the slumbering form of Excadrill at the end of the hall, Emmet makes his way into the kitchen and busies himself making coffee, stopping just barely before he reaches for a second mug. Ignoring the way his heart sputters, Emmet tosses a handful of grounds to Garbodor, who lets out a delighted sound before chowing down.
Emmet sinks down onto the couch and listens to the house as it comes to life. The tell-tale thunk of Galvantula rolling off of his bed and falling to the floor; the skittering of Durant and Crustle’s many legs against the hardwood floors; the twinkling cries of Chandelure, as it wakes and floats out of Ingo’s room— all of it working together to make the perfect morning. He smiles wider, hiding it behind his cup.
Breakfast is quiet for the most part, though Archeops almost shatters his mug by stuffing her face into it, trying to lick out the last drops of coffee for herself. In retaliation for Emmet taking away the mug, she steals his tie as he’s getting dressed, flying all around the house and crashing into walls as they play keep-away.
Eventually though, everyone is fed, Emmet is dressed, pokémon are returned to their pokéballs, the house is locked up, and Emmet is off to work.
The walk is refreshing, with Elektross bobbing along beside Emmet because he’s spoiled and escaped from his pokéball after only two blocks of walking. He shoots out playful sparks at every Pidove they pass, which the Pidove do not appreciate. Chandelure comes out to defend the poor birds, and Emmet doesn’t have it within himself to call her back, so the three of them travel together.
Arrival at Gear Station goes swiftly, and Emmet must admit he is slightly concerned to see Jackie is already present. The write up Isadore delivered personally about ‘Use of existential conversation topics which are frightening to coworkers’ flashes through his head, but the thought is quickly swatted away. Isadore has dealt with Jackie for this long, so he will continue to until one of them retires.
“Mornin’ Boss. Nice night?” they greet with a lazy smile. Chandelure’s flame glows eerily and she starts to trail after Jackie, waving her arms in slow circles.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. You?”
“Oh you know, same thing day in and day out.”
Emmet whistles sharply and Chandlure floats back over reluctantly. Jackie may or may not be a ghost, but workers such as them are hard to come by and he will not be losing them to Chandelure’s curiosity. Besides, he does not want to go through the interview process alone. Hiring someone without Ingo’s stamp of approval as well is not something he wants to be doing.
The two branch off and start work. It is monotonous in the most comfortable way, running a track he’d traveled hundreds of times before. Every dip, curve, shift and hiccup engrained so deeply into his mind it becomes a part of him.
The rest of morning is rather uneventful, even with Cameron spilling coffee down the front of Cloud’s shirt. He looks so much like a kicked Lillipup that Emmet almost considers giving him the day off. Instead, he sends Cloud off to get changed and attempts to comfort the poor boy before Ramses intervenes.
It’s Thursday which means the Doubles and Super Doubles lines are running, so Emmet leaves Galvantula and Archeops in his office to stand guard, though they’ll probably just end up wandering around the station. At least they are good with lost children.
There are a few challengers, but not nearly enough for his taste. None of them beat him, either, which is verrrry nice. Cloud stops by around noon with cookies, looking very pleased with herself when Elektross eats one right out of the palm of her hand. Emmet tells her to stop spoiling him, but Cloud tosses one to Elektross right as she’s leaving. The traitor.
His next challenger arrives when he is sorting through his pokéballs, the familiar click of the cabin doors shutting announcing their arrival.
“Yoo-hoo!”
Emmet recognizes the voice instantly, and will say nothing to if the huff he let out was of annoyance or affection.
“Good morning, Emmy!” the voice coos, and Emmet can hear the delighted grin on her face.
With a quick breath to ground himself, Emmet turns and beams at her.
“Hello, Skyla!” She waves and grins back cheekily, like the Purrloin who got the cream. Something about it unsettles Emmet, and he wonders if this is what Ingo and Elesa were talking about when they said he can be worrisome. “What brings you here?”
“I can’t stop by just for a nice battle?” she pouts a little, but Emmet doesn’t let himself be swayed. Skyla is a master of trickery, no matter what Elesa says about paranoia.
“You have a gym for that.”
“You don’t challenge my gym.”
“Of course I don’t. I finished my Gym Challenge years ago.”
Skyla snorts. “I came all this way to your underground fight club just to say hi and you shame me. Real great business tactic, Em.”
“You could never operate an underground fight club better than me.”
“You’re right! I’d make one in the air. With planes.” Skyla giggles behind her hand and Emmet huffs again. “And that one would be better than yours.”
“Are you here just to bother me?” he asks, foot tapping impatiently.
“Nah. I’m here to steal trade secrets so I can open the first ever Battle Airline.”
“And where are you getting these trade secrets?”
“Ramses.”
Emmet clicks his tongue and wags his finger, disappointed. “Ramses would never betray us. You’re better off convincing Isadore by giving him better medical insurance.”
Skyla giggles again and Emmet takes the opportunity to slip Crustle and Klingklang’s pokéballs into his hand. “Now, are you here for a fight, or not?”
“‘Course I am. Can’t find challengers like you up in Mistralton.”
“Of course. I like winning more than anything else. Not many other trainers can say that and mean it.”
“Maybe a loss will brighten your attitude a bit.”
“I am perfectly bright!”
She laughs again and they throw out their pokémon, quickly losing themselves within the ebb and flow of battle. Skyla gets a little too big for her boots, heckling and jeering every other hit, but Emmet must commend her for fighting until the very end.
They disembark together, Emmet shivering the whole way because someone’s Swanna decided that hitting the opposing trainer with Ice Beam would be a good use of her last turn before fainting.
“How’s Elesa doing? I haven’t seen her in awhile.” Skyla corkscrews a lock of hair around her finger. “Maybe we’ll grab dinner.”
“Elesa is my dinner date for the night. Get in line.”
“She likes me better.”
“No she doesn’t.”
Instead of arguing further, Emmet takes a sharp left and heads towards his office. He can hear Skyla laughing at him, but chooses to ignore it.
Archeops and Galvantula are waiting for him, curled up in the corner and chirping softly at each other. He sits down at his desk and flicks open a manilla folder full of verrry boring files, skimming over them with tired eyes.
Time inches along at a Sewaddle’s pace. Archeops and Galvantula have fallen asleep, leaving him alone with only the sounds of their soft breathing and the scratching of his pen on paper. It was never quiet before. Ingo was always in his peripherals, humming a tune under his breath or rambling about changing movesets for preparation of the wave of challengers that would be coming in the spring. It’s an itch he just can’t quite scratch, one that only Ingo could fix.
Sitting in their office alone makes his skin crawl. Knowing that one half of the room has sat unused and barely touched for two whole years makes it burn like he’s on fire. He tries his best to leave things just as Ingo left them, but it is hard. Police had moved everything on the desk and in the drawers, searching for clues. The strange men in dark suits had shattered the frame of one of the pictures on his desk while looking for ‘trace elements,’ whatever that meant. They didn’t seem to like Emmet very much.
He doesn’t know how much later it is, but there’s a sharp knock at the door, clicking of dress shoes against tile, and a thick packet of papers is deposited in front of Emmet.
“Isadore! You have verrrry good timing.” Emmet claps his hands and allows himself to revel in the way Isadore pales the slightest bit. “You will transcribe these reports for me.”
Isadore looks down at them and grows even paler. “Why is Furze still allowed to write reports?”
“That is none of your concern.” In reality, it is a combination of not wanting to tell Furze no because they just look so happy every time they get to do the safety reports, and forcing Isadore to translate the horrific handwriting is immensely satisfying.
Isadore glares down at the papers, but says nothing as he turns on his heel and leaves the office. Emmet is tempted to make a face, but he doesn’t. Faces were only fun because Ingo got so huffy over them. Now it just seems mean.
He gets more work done once Isadore leaves, even with the unscheduled stop that had to be taken for cleanup after Durant ate and exploded one of his pens. Emmet doesn’t look up again for hours, not even when someone new enters the office.
Elesa raps her knuckles on his desk, giving a cloy smile when he looks up.
Emmet sets down his pen and smiles up at her. “Oh. Hello Elesa. What are you doing here?”
“Because I know that you’ll ditch our dinner plans by accident by working too hard.”
Emmet takes the opportunity to glance down at his watch. He doesn’t particularly like the time he sees though, so he turns back to his paperwork.
“Emmet.”
“I will be finished soon!”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Do you have no faith in me?”
“Not much.” Elesa cracks a smile, pausing for a moment before crossing the room and sinking down into Ingo’s chair. Her posture is stiff, but she kicks her feet up on the desk anyways.
“Ingo will not like that.”
“Then he can come back and yell at me for it.” Emmet chuckles to himself. If only it were that simple. Elesa smiles too, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. None of her smiles did that much anymore.
Emmet half expects her to get bored and leave after a few minutes, and while she does get bored, Elesa doesn’t leave. She takes her feet down from off of the desk and stands, heels clicking on the tile as she starts to wander around the office.
“You still keep old stuff like this around?” Emmet glances up and sees Elesa is back at Ingo’s desk, staring down at the row of delicately organized photos propped up on it.
“No. They are Ingo’s. He is sentimental like that.”
Elesa hums in agreement before letting out a sound of surprise. “Dragons, I forgot this picture even existed.”
That draws his attention enough for Emmet to look up. Elesa shows it to him, and a pang of nostalgia hits him in the gut. It’s an old one, taken back when he and Ingo were only around seven or so. They’re standing next to a young Elesa, hugging her from either side, all with smiles on their faces.
“I forgot you were ever this tiny.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “I still can’t believe the first thing you said to me was making fun of me for being short.”
“I can.”
“And the Peanuts thing?”
“That was funny. And also Ingo’s idea.”
Elesa rolls her eyes again and takes the photo back, setting it gingerly back down on Ingo’s desk and picking up another, mischievous smile creeping onto her face.
“Drayden looks the exact same in this, what the hell.”
“He hasn’t changed much over the years. His beard just gets bigger.” Emmet scratches at his cheek. “Maybe one day he’ll be nothing but beard.”
With another laugh, Elesa sets the photo back down and leans against the desk. “I think he and Clay are talking about us at brunch again.”
“They go to brunch?”
“Yeah. With Lenora and her husband. Brycen too, apparently.” She squints down at her nails. “I tried to get myself invited but Brycen just laughed at me. That means they’re definitely gossiping about us.”
“He is a willing fifth wheel?”
“I’ll never pretend to understand him. Movie stars weird me out.”
“You’re a model.”
“Exactly.”
Emmet doesn’t get it, but he has reports to file so he lets the conversation stall and turns back to his paperwork.
Elesa is content with this for a while, heading into the corner where Galvantula crawls up into her lap and headbutts her shoulder until Elesa starts to pet her. The serenity doesn’t last, with Elesa clearing her throat awkwardly and refusing to look at him.
“Have you put in your request for time off yet?” Her voice is quiet and soft around the edges. “It’s getting to be that time of year, you know.”
Emmet does not know how he could forget, but he stops himself from saying anything particularly bitter. Elesa is just worried. He cannot blame her.
“I am the boss. I do not have to do that.” She gives him a semi-stern glare. “I am joking! Yes, I did.”
“Good, good.” Elesa adjusts her headphones and tugs at her sleeves. “Are we going to have breakfast with Drayden like we did last year?”
“I think he would like that.”
“Yeah. I would too.”
Emmet wonders how long they’ll end up doing this song and dance. Year after year, taking the day off and spending it surrounded with as many people as possible, trying to mourn without slipping and losing themselves to the grief.
He exhales through his nose, long and slow.
“Do you really believe that he will come back?”
Elesa is quiet. Her mouth opens a few times, ready to give an answer, but she closes it, still deep in thought. “I don’t know. But it makes me feel better, so I say he will.”
“Can it really be that simple?”
“I don’t see why not.”
It is at times like these that he envies Elesa. She is so sure in herself, so steady in her ideals that she never wavers even during the worst of times.
They sit in silence, but it is comforting. Like a warm blanket draped across his shoulders. He doesn’t get much more work done, but Emmet doesn’t mind. Coming in early tomorrow will just have to do.
There isn’t even a knock at the door before Cameron comes bursting into the office, face flushed and almost sparking with nervous energy.
“Uh, Mr. Emmet?”
“Yes, Cameron?” he tries to hide the irritation in his voice. Cameron needs patience.
“There’s something happening.”
The panic in his voice has Emmet rising to his feet and grabbing his pokéballs off of the desk, not bothering to wait for Cameron to show him the way as he storms out of the office.
And there is certainly something verrry wrong. The entirety of Gear Station is empty, the only voices Emmet can hear belonging to the depot agents and he has to hop over the tops of the turnstiles because they refuse to respond to his station master card. Perhaps most strangely, every screen he passes has gone dark, arrival times and ticket stations replaced with a strange yellow symbol that burns his eyes to look at.
From somewhere behind him, Cameron shouts for him to head to the Super Singles, so he does, pulling a sharp left and launching over another line of turnstiles. When he arrives at the platform, the rest of the agents are already there, standing at the ready. Emmet hears the issue before he sees it, the harsh sound of metal on metal that he recognizes instantly as a train moving too fast, trying desperately to slow down.
It comes into view and suspicion immediately rises within him. That is not one of his trains.
The model is old but it looks brand new, like someone plucked it right out of a photograph and sent it careening down one of his tracks. The strange symbol from the screens is emblazoned on one of the sides, pulsating with a light that makes his eyes itch in their sockets.
The train comes to a stop and they all approach with caution, Elesa standing beside Emmet with Zebstrika’s pokéball in hand as the agents fan out and surround the doors. He flicks Elektross’s pokéball into his hand and keeps his eyes fixated on the train.
Through the darkened windows, Emmet watches the silhouettes of two people stand and make their way to the doors, pausing for a moment before they slide open and reveal the people on the other side.
One is a young girl, no older than fifteen. Her clothes are… strange. Verrrry strange. They’re old, both in style and wear. Emmet can see multiple places where large rips had been patched with unsteady needlework, and the scarf wrapped snugly around her neck is something far too warm for Unovan weather this time of year.
Her face is framed by dark hair, pulled back and tucked out of the way with a white bandanna. She looks tired— tired in the way no child should look. Face etched with lines too deep for someone so young, alert and wary of her surroundings that speaks to dangerous experiences.
One of her hands is linked with that of the man next to her and when Emmet turns his attention to the other mysterious passenger, he can feel the blood drain from his face.
Time has changed his brother, but Emmet would recognize him anywhere.
He’s still wearing his uniform, tattered and sun-bleached as it was, though his dress shirt and tie had been replaced with a tunic embroidered with a strange circular symbol. His posture is slumped, shoulders hunched down and in, as if to make himself occupy less space. Despite that, he stands with a sense of sturdiness Emmet had never seen before.
All Emmet can do is stare, tension coiling in his gut before a spark of recognition lights itself in Ingo’s expression. Then Ingo is dropping the girl’s hand and rushing forward with quick steps, tears shining in his eyes.
Elektross’s pokéball is clattering to the ground and tears are already falling from his eyes as Emmet dashes forward, slamming into Ingo with enough force to send them both to the floor. He can’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his ears but he doesn’t need to, he’s never needed words with Ingo.
Emmet doesn’t know how long they sit on the platform, crying and clinging to each other and trying desperately to make up for nearly three years of lost time in just a few moments.
He ends the day with the brightest smile he’s worn in years, and his brother by his side.