Chapter Text
There was never any doubt that Delia was a Ketchum through and through. She smiled at the elderly, volunteered at hospitals, and rescued orphaned or abused pokémon whenever she could. She had strong morals and was intelligent in a practical way. She was average at school, and took a while to realise things. She could be oblivious to the point of ridiculousness, but that trait only seemed to endear her to others.
Delia had many traits that were considered traditionally Ketchum. Her childhood neighbours would always comment on her good deeds, and her father would ruffle her hair proudly, stating loudly that she was most certainly his daughter, that he was proud of her, that she was just like her grandmother. Delia was a Ketchum because she was a good person and loved very deeply, very quickly. But like all Ketchums, she never allowed anyone to push her around.
Delia displayed Ketchum traits from a young age, and as she got older, her father could only worry as her love of pokémon grew. Because everyone knew that Ketchums simply could not battle.
“No, no, Nidorina!” she crowed as her pokémon was hit by a water gun. “Dodge across – no, across!”
The boy across from her was probably around ten years old, if she gauged correctly. He was grinning smugly, with his stupid cap on backwards and his stupid trousers were all short and silly but his horsea was soundly defeating Nidorina regardless.
The boy shouted a swift command at his pokémon to finish her off with a focus energy and bubble combo. Delia froze as she saw the water type narrow its eyes at Nidorina before unleashing its attack. Nidorina gave one last pathetic growl before falling to the ground.
Delia returned her silently before walking up to the boy. She stood at least two heads above him – seventeen to his ten – and handed over the prize money after counting it out tersely. The boy grinned and saluted her before returning his own pokémon and running off.
She looked down at the pokéball in her hand before walking in the opposite direction towards the pokémon center in Vermillion.
Delia had only walked a little ways out from the city to train, and had ended up losing to the first kid that challenged her. A kid who had probably only been travelling and training for a few months – Delia had been training for years, ever since she was allowed to have her own pokémon at age five.
Her father had taken her out to the National Park just outside of their hometown of Goldenrod and held her hand the entire time. Even when one little nidoran decided to come up to her and make friends, she continued to hold her father’s hand tightly. He didn’t even need to take out his own pokémon since Delia simply set down the pokéball she had clutched tightly in her other hand. The female nidoran walked straight up to the pokéball and nudged it. Seconds later, a bright red light shone and when it disappeared, she had caught her first pokémon.
That was twelve years ago. Her nidoran had evolved into a nidorina, but not much else had changed. Even when she turned ten and had the opportunity to leave on a journey, she refused. She had told her father that she wanted to train more, to let nidoran get stronger, to get more experience before they left together.
In truth, Delia was scared.
A year after she caught her nidoran, her next door neighbour left on her journey only to return home three weeks later alone with a broken wrist. She didn’t leave her house for a month afterwards, and a year later her parents moved them all to Fiore.
So yes, Delia was scared. She liked pokémon, and travelling, and even battling but the thought of being out past the walls of Goldenrod at age ten terrified her. She didn’t want only reach Azalea before getting hurt. She didn’t want her nidoran to be stolen from her, and she certainly didn’t want to become so terrified of battles that moving to a preservation region was the only answer.
As Delia got to the doors of the pokémon center, she could see the boy that had just beaten her in another pokémon battle with an older boy further up the road. The older boy’s rhyhorn looked particularly vicious as it tackled the horsea. Delia entered the center before she could see the rest.
The pokémon center was relatively empty, which surprised her. There was a sleeping trainer of indiscernible gender curled up uncomfortably in a booth and an older man in the corner who was reading the paper. Aside from them, there was a nurse at the counter. Delia walked up to her hesitantly, noting the lack of pink hair, and greeted her.
“I, um, need help?” she asked slowly, and handed Nidorina’s pokéball over with a hesitant smile, attempting to ignore the nurse’s disapproving look. Fruitlessly, it would seem, as the nurse began to berate her.
“One pokémon, I see? How old are you, dear?” the nurse asked as she placed the pokéball into the slot behind her. “You’re lucky she’s just knocked out. If you had done any more damage it would have been a very different story, young lady.”
Delia simply nodded as the nurse continued on, not paying attention to what she was saying.
It was something she got everywhere she went: how irresponsible she was, how old she was, how reckless she was. By the time she had made her way to Kanto she had heard it all, and then got to hear it all over again. She should have more pokémon – stronger ones, probably – and she really should’ve started when she was ten. If she had done that then she could have a big, strong team, she could have gotten all the badges, or be in another region. She could have moved on and taken up nursing or breeding or coordinating. And if pokémon training didn’t work out she could have gone back to school.
‘Could haves’ made up most of her conversations with those older than her. The generation before hers, the ones who had participated in the war, were the ones who seemed to have it out for her. She thanked a higher power every day that her father’s life long limp saved him.
And if she was honest with herself, battling ten year olds – no matter how humiliating when she inevitably lost – was still better than battling adults. Adults were mean. Adults told the truth. She learned to ignore them.
It wasn’t just that Delia started late due to fear. It wasn’t even that she only had one pokémon. The root of Delia’s problem was that – like all the Ketchums before her – she simply could not battle. Her daddy owned pokémon, raised pokémon, loved pokémon: her daddy did not battle with pokémon.
(Her mother had died when Delia herself was three, and she refuses to think about it. She doesn’t think about the accident with the giant, multicoloured bird. But she likes to think that her mother could have battled it. Maybe Delia had her mother’s talent for battling? Maybe it was just dormant? Delia usually stops herself from going any further.)
Delia, simply put, was not good at battling. She froze as soon as she saw another trainer lock eyes with her, quavered when the opponent struck first, and was near tears every time Nidorina fainted in battle. Delia knew it was not her pokémon’s fault. Nidorina did excellently in wild battles – Nidorina took the reins then, tackled and bit and swiped with all the fury of a pokémon protecting her trainer from a threat. But the second the two of them entered into an official battle where there was no danger, where there were rules and regulations, and where Delia was expected to give verbal commands as per league policy – she froze up. She failed, and her best friend was reduced to an exhausted, battered mess simply because Delia got stage fright.
“If it is clear that you cannot win a battle, you should immediately forfeit. You’re probably too prideful, aren’t you? Well, that is simply too bad, young lady. Really, being this reckless,” the nurse continued. Delia stared at the back of her head blankly as the woman operated the machinery. She was hoping that if she stared hard enough it would turn pink, that her words would turn sugary, and the nurse would turn around with blue eyes and a lollipop.
Seconds later the nurse turned around with the same peppered brown hair – not pink. She was not smiling like nurse Joy usually did – she was scowling. She held out Nidorina’s pokéball, but pulled it away when Delia went to take it from her.
“No manners, either?”
Delia looked at the nurse with a horrified expression, and just like in her pokémon battles, completely froze up.
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted from behind her. Still silent, Delia spun around. It was the older trainer with the rhyhorn from before. “As a medical professional, you are not in any position to lecture a patient, nor a patient’s trainer. As a professional employed by the league of Kanto, you have no right to withhold a pokémon from their trainer unless you have proof of negligence. Return her pokémon back to this woman immediately, or I will be forced to report you.”
Delia could only look at this trainer with an open mouth. He was tall, much taller than her. He must have been over twenty, with sharp eyes and a lined mouth. He wore a simple white button down, dark slacks, and polished shoes: an outfit a travelling trainer wouldn’t wear. At his side was a regal persian that was looking at her curiously.
She surveyed her own appearance mentally – messy pigtails, with a dirty plaid top, jean shorts, roughed up sneakers with only a recovering pokémon to her name. She was hardly the picture of success; she didn’t even have a single badge to her name. She was certain this man had at least one.
The man, who had had his eyes trained on the nurse, quickly shifted his gaze to her. Silently, he leaned closer to her. One hand was in his pocket, but the other one was reaching out to her. She could’ve move, couldn’t speak, and could only watch with wide eyes. Her hands were clutched to her chest like some innocent goddamn maiden and he was getting closer and closer. Just as they were about to touch, he reached behind her and held something out to her.
“I believe this is yours?”
Delia looked down at his hands, where Nidorina’s pokéball sat. She gaped like a fish for a few seconds behind taking it back quickly.
“Ah, well, yes – yes, she’s mine.” Delia stuttered out as she pocketed the pokéball quickly.
The man sent the nurse behind her a levelled look before shifting back to Delia. He gestured towards the door.
“Would you like to go and get something to eat?”
Delia wasn’t unattractive. She was a lot of things, but modest was not one of them. She had been asked on dates before, lots of them – especially in Goldenrod. Not so much now that she was travelling, but there was still the occasional older trainer who thought she was worth getting shot down. She didn’t usually accept, however. She could hardly stand herself while she was on the road – dirty and messy, no showers in sight, and only the barest necessities for hygiene – let alone a boy who cared far less about his appearance than she did hers.
But there was something about this boy – this man. He was dressed sharply, and acted sharper. He was bold and confident and he’d come to her rescue. Delia felt a blush creeping up her neck, and nodded. The man held out his arm like a gentleman allowing her to slip her hand into the crook of his arm, and led them out of the center. Delia didn’t look back once.
It was only when they were sitting down at a local diner that she realised she didn’t know his name.
Delia looked up from her half eaten meal to look at him, but it was as though he had predicted her question.
“I apologise for not introducing myself sooner – I suppose I was distracted by your beauty,” he crooned, a smirk placed firmly on his face – it hadn’t left since he’d escorted her from the pokémon center.
“Oh! No, no. I really should have asked, I’m such a ditz,” she said quietly as she looked away from him, flushing deeply. “My name is Delia Ketchum, from Goldenrod City in Johto. What’s your name?”
The man across from her smirked wider and she felt herself smiling in return.
“Giovanni, from Viridian City here in Kanto.”
Delia looked him in the eye and raised an eyebrow, “Just Giovanni?”
“Just Giovanni.”
“Okay, ‘Just Giovanni’,” she teased as she popped a chip into her mouth. “What’s brought you here to Vermillion? You look too old to be a new traveller.”
“So do you,” he retorted from behind his coffee cup. He laughed when she blushed again, but she found herself unwilling to care. The sound of his laugh was deep and resonating; it captured the room and entranced her. She’d never heard a man laugh like that before.
“Yeah, well. I just started a little late is all. Plus, I battle like a new trainer,” she said and pointed at him, “You battle like a pro – I saw you.”
“Did you now?”
Realising how that sounded, Delia coughed awkwardly. “Yeah, just quickly though. Your rhyhorn was really strong. Strong enough to be a rhydon, even.”
Giovanni waved her compliment away. “We’re not there yet, and even if we were I would hold him back from evolving for as long as possible.” Delia raised an eyebrow in question. “It’s easy to have your pokémon gain strength from evolution,” he explained. “Their stats automatically increase substantially and they’re often physically bigger and stronger, and can withstand heavier attacks. But in our own lives, accomplishments do not come so easily. No one becomes a millionaire overnight. No one achieves their lifelong dream within a week. Getting what you want takes hard work and commitment.”
Delia played devil’s advocate, “But pokémon aren’t humans. They don’t have the same societal systems we do; a pokémon will never have to work to earn money to survive.”
“Don’t they?” Giovanni retorted, smiling slightly. “They might not work to earn money for themselves, but they do work to earn money for their trainers so they can survive. And the methods of the trainers will always reflect onto the pokémon. Other trainers might battle for money or power or fame, and that will always reflect onto the pokémon and those pokémon will always be evolved too soon. Those who battle for reasons that are pure will go the slow route – they will train their pokémon carefully and slowly.”
“Oh, like that old children’s story? – The Torkoal and the Bunnelby. My father used to read that to me.”
“My mother has always been very busy with work – too busy to read to me, of course – but the sentiment is true. It is why I am still a travelling trainer despite being twenty two. There is no rush to finish training – if I have my way, I will be training until the day I die. There is always more to learn, more to discover. The same goes for your pokémon – why evolve them when they are only young? They will only be at that evolutionary state once after all.”
Delia smiled wistfully as she stuck a hand into her pocket to stroke Nidorina’s pokéball, “That makes sense. I don’t think I ever want to use a moon stone on Nidorina, even if it would help me win more battles,” she laughed to herself. “It would almost feel like cheating, you know? Like capturing a pokémon just because you know it’s strong and could help you defeat your opponents – it’s just wrong.”
Giovanni nodded along with her. “You share my sentiments, Delia. It pleases me.”
Delia smiled at him, her disastrous battle a few hours beforehand forgotten. “It pleases me, too, ‘Just Giovanni’!”
—
THREE MONTHS LATER
“I think you should come home, sweetie. It’s dangerous out there at the moment and you’ve been sounding sadder and sadder every time I’ve talked to you.”
Delia listened to her father’s warm voice from the other side of the dirty floor of the payphone booth. She had always been a sucker for someone asking what was wrong – especially her father. One kind word and she was a basket case. But she was eighteen this time, not ten. She was an adult and in Viridian all by herself during her very own pokémon journey. She wasn’t going to start bawling and ask her daddy to pick her up just because she had hit a bump in the road.
She touched her stomach. Okay, it wasn’t quite a bump in the road yet but it was going to become a road block given enough time.
“I’m fine, Daddy. Really,” she stressed over the phone. “I’m just a little homesick is all, and I’m not going to give up just because I miss your homemade casserole. I’m a big girl now.”
She was going to be a really big girl soon enough, but her father didn’t need to know just yet.
“I know, honey. I’m just missing you – it’s lonely around here. Poké-sitting Mrs. Ling’s snubbull while she plays bingo at the department store isn’t as rewarding as making you lunch every day.”
“Firstly, ‘poké-sitting’ isn’t a word – you just made that up. Secondly, you haven’t made my lunch since I was fifteen, daddy. You really don’t need to baby me anymore.” Delia winced at her choice of words, but continued on regardless. “And thirdly, Snooku*ms is a delight and you should be grateful that Mrs. Ling finds you – you of all people – trustworthy enough to look after her.”
Her plan worked, and her father was quickly distracted away from his original train of thought.
“I’ll have you know that I am a very trustworthy person.”
“You killed Aunt Veronica’s goldeen and her houseplant! Truthfully, I’m surprised you kept me alive, and I was a baby who relied on you one hundred percent.”
Delia’s father laughed over the phone line. She could almost see him rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
“Yeah, well, Veronica wasn’t too fond of that goldeen anyway.”
“And what about the houseplant?”
“That houseplant was suicidal.”
“Uh-huh, I’m sure it was. Wrote a note and everything.”
“Hey, my sister believed me and so should you.”
“Still doesn’t explain how you raised a baby.”
“Your mother did most of the groundwork,” he joked and laughed for a few seconds before trailing off. Delia also fell silent. “It’s the anniversary next month, Delia.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“Well, maybe you could come home and spend a week or two here? I bet she’d love to hear about your travels – and that boy you keep mentioning, too.”
The light hearted conversation with her father had managed to distract her father momentarily, but it also distracted her. Now, the full weight of her actions was crashing over her once more. She couldn’t go home in a month – she didn’t know what she’d look like in a month, whether her belly would be any bigger or if she would be throwing up or craving weird food at three in the morning. She also wasn’t entirely sure she could stand in front of her mother’s grave and tell her about what she’d gotten herself into. She didn’t know her own mother well enough to gauge what she’d do if her eighteen year old daughter told her she was pregnant.
Delia’s mind ran away from her, easily cooking up scenarios where a faceless woman with ash blonde hair berated her for being so irresponsible. Her father was behind her with sad and disappointed brown eyes – identical to Delia’s own – his arms crossed across his chest.
In reality, on the cold and dirty floor of the payphone booth, Delia blinked back tears.
“I know, Daddy. I want to come home, really,” she lied. “But I’m totally into my journey at the moment. I think I’m finally ready to challenge to Viridian Gym leader, but I hear she’s really tough so I’m going to need to train a lot more.”
“If you say so, honey,” her father resigned. “At least go and visit your grandparents in Pallet Town – you’re close enough, and their graves haven’t been cleaned since before you were born.”
Delia winced, “Gross.”
“It’d be a nice gesture to them and to your mother.”
“Jeeze, when you say it like that, how could I refuse?”
“Good girl.”
Delia sighed as they said their goodbyes, but didn’t get off the floor of the booth.
With weary limbs, Delia reached up and inserted another coin into the payphone slot before punching in a number she’d used numerous times before. Not as many as her father’s, but close enough for her to remember it off by heart.
She didn’t even know if he’d be home. Actually, she doubted that he would be. Giovanni was a trainer like she was–
(like she used to be)
–and it was highly unlikely that he would be at his apartment in Saffron City. She knew he was from Viridian, and looked out of the phone booth at the cheery ‘welcome to Viridian City’ sign uneasily, but she didn’t think that he’d be here. He was too restless to stay in one place for too long, too ambitious to settle down with a family. That thought alone made her heart seize up, just as the telephone on the other side clicked.
‘This is Giovanni,’ his voice repeated mechanically. ‘I am not currently in at the moment, and I am unsure when I will return. If it is an emergency, you can get in contact with me at the following number.’
Delia mindlessly scrambled for the pen in her pocket and dutifully copied the number he recited onto her forearm. The ink was still wet when she hung up the phone, inserted another coin, and called the number before she could think – running on the adrenaline of hearing his voice.
She held her breath as the phone rang again, only this time she didn’t have to wait long.
“Hello, this is the line for Team Rocket Incorporated, Sandra speaking. How may I help you?”
Delia, momentarily speechless, fumbled with her words, “Oh, I was – ah, um – I was told to call this number?” she said stupidly. “I mean, I’m looking for Giovanni. I was told to call this number to get to him, you know, if there was an emergency – and this is an emergency, I promise! Well, not an immediate one, but it’s close enough,” she let out a breathy, panicked laugh. “I’m not even sure if I’ve got the right number!”
The pause on the other end of the line said enough. Delia waited with baited breath as she could hear the woman – Sandra – move around on the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry, miss, what was your name?”
Delia let out a whoosh of air. “Delia – uh, Ketchum. Delia Ketchum, thanks.”
Sandra made a humming noise and Delia heard a number of clicks and clunks. A few moments later, Sandra was back on the line.
“Madame will speak to you now,” she said brusquely.
“Wh–wha? Who?” Delia fumbled with the phone, almost dropping it, before another woman’s voice spoke.
“This is Madame,” she said. Her voice was smooth like melted dark chocolate, deep and warm and almost comforting with a slight lilting accent – Delia felt herself relax for a second, before: “What the hell do you want?”
Delia jumped. “My name is Delia Ket–”
“–I know who you are,” Madame responded, “I want to know what want.”
“I rang Giovanni’s house,” Delia continued after a hesitant beat. “His answering machine said I should call this number if there was an emergency.”
“He did, did he?” Madame said slowly. “I wonder what the brat is trying to pull this time.”
Delia cringed, “Ma-Ma’am?”
“It’s Madame to you,” she said sharply. “What is this emergency that you deemed appropriate to interrupt my day with?”
Delia reeled, amazed at the conversation’s direction.
“I thought I’d get to speak with Giovanni – it’s important,” she managed to say steadily, “Important and only between us.”
Madame sighed, as though everything Delia said was a mere irritation.
“I have no clue where the brat is. If he isn’t at his apartment and if he isn’t here, he could be anywhere from Kanto to Kalos – it’s useless trying to look for him if he doesn’t want to be found. Too much of his father in him,” she remarked scathingly. “You really should just tell me, I’d be much more useful.”
“With all due respect,” Delia replied slowly, “It’s between us.”
“I’m his mother,” Madame revealed, “Anything that concerns him concerns me.”
With that out in the open, Delia felt all the air leave her lungs and the enormity of the situation fall onto her shoulders.
Delia was pregnant, her father was oblivious, she had ten dollars in her pocket, Giovanni was AWOL, and her child’s grandmother was a bitch.
She felt tears gather in her eyes.
“I’m pregnant.”
Madame is graciously only quiet for a moment.
“I see,” she said levelly, as though Delia had just told her it was going to rain the following day. “I assume it’s my son’s?”
“Yes,” Delia choked out.
“Here is what we’re going to do,” Madame said slowly. “I am going to hand you back over to my secretary and you are going to tell her your bank account details. After you have done that, you will hang up the phone and never contact my son again, alright?”
Delia found herself yet again speechless in the company of Giovanni’s mother – Giovanni’s thoughtless, conniving, horrible evil mother – and stuttered out a response.
“I-I’m sorry, I–what?” she asked dumbly.
Madame repeated what she said before, and paused. “You’ll be looked after – you and your child,” she said, almost as an afterthought. “I’m not a bad person, Miss Ketchum, but my son has a future that does not involve a wife and child this soon. I apologise if I seem crass or impolite, but this is the way things must be done.”
Delia felt rage bubble up in her stomach, reaching her lungs and her heart and her head in one big rush.
“You can’t do that!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want your money, or your help, or your charity,” she spat. “I want Giovanni!”
“We don’t always get what we want,” Madame said coldly. “If you do not give up this notion of finding my son, I’m hesitant to think about what might happen to you and your child. Or your–” there was the sound of keys being tapped, “–father. Taylor is such an unusual name for a man.”
The tears Delia had been keeping at bay fell down her cheeks and onto the ground as she herself slipped back down onto the cold pavement of the phone booth.
“Well, dear?”
Delia breathed in a shuddering breath. “I... yeah, okay.”
“Excellent,” Madame replied. “Remember to give your details to Sandra – again, I’m not evil. You are your child will want for nothing.”
A few minutes later all Delia could hear was a dial tone and the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Only then did it occur to her that she didn’t even know Giovanni’s surname. She couldn’t even give her child their father’s name. She burst into tears.
The tears did dry up eventually, but by that time the sky was dark and even then she didn’t move until an officer made her.
