the things that remain (an ArcherxJasmine fic)
Jasmine couldn’t go anywhere near knives anymore. Whenever she did she would remember dying, something that she shouldn’t be able to remember, and she would hear that voice, sickeningly sweet and still mocking her, trying to coax her to open her eyes to see the veins, her veins, in her arm, exposed for the world. She would flinch and show her discomfort, if only in a small amount, when around others, but by herself she would scream and hide her face in her hands, feeling herself breaking down as her body twitched due to muscle memory.
It took her weeks to recover, for her to move and function properly, even after coming back to life; but the scars still remained, ones that she consciously tried to hide now. Her legs, where the hamstrings were sliced, have thin, white gashes that were easily hidden by her dress. The gym leader’s arm was more of a problem; sliced from elbow to wrist, she had to get a whole new coat to cover it, in order to pretend that none of that happened, that she was a normal girl of seventeen-no, eighteen, just beginning her life and not for the second time.
Of course, it wasn’t something that she could completely cast aside. How could one forget something as monumental as losing your life?
Much to her discomfort, she knew she was not alone in this sentiment. Her killer, the Silver dressed in Rocket garb, would always remember his deed. He was proud of his actions, wasn’t he? There seemed to be little sign of remorse during their faithful encounter . . . but one never knew. Deep down, she wanted to know, but at the same time she knew there was no way to ask. The thought lingered but was always left ignored.
Rusty, her beloved Steelix, would now stay a little bit closer to his trainer after failing to protect her in the moments when she needed it most. Lance, her friend, the champion of the Johto region and the one who took care of her Pokemon while she was away, would never be able to let himself live it down. They both swore to protect and be by her side, but also made her promise to seek that help more often. (She reluctantly agreed.)
And . . . there was also Archer. The Rocket executive. A man who loyally followed her once-murderer. Jasmine wasn’t so sure about him. He was no doubt in her life now. There was no doubt that he cared; she could still recall how, after beating him in a fair match on that one day, he had told her to be careful, a desire to see her climbing down that mountain again laced somewhere in there.
But she never did. The next time he saw her was in the CMA weeks later, breathing only due to a miracle. He was upset with her. It was obvious. It confused her and Lance and Rusty, but no explanation was ever provided.
“Why” was a question that always seemed to remain when it came to Archer. She tried to ask this in various forms (“Why are you so close?”, “Why do you even care?”, “Why are you here?”, or just simply “Why?”) but always met the same answer: a moment of hesitation, as if trying to decode what he was even thinking, before giving up and uttering an “I’m not sure.”
Even as time passed, she was still asking that question.
---
Winter, spring, summer; warmer weather replaced the cold. Flowers replaced the snow.
Jasmine refused to leave home. How could she? There was something things that she was trying to hide, but she could only deal with a few of them. Bandages and little white lies could only cover up so much. Everything else, she tried to ignore.
One of those things? The source of it? Knocking on her door now.
She jumped slightly, casting a nervous glance toward the wooden frame. “Wh-who is it?”
“It’s me. Open up.”
The gym leader’s heart sank. Of course she knew who it was; for whatever reason, she couldn’t get away from them for long. “J-just a minute!” Grabbing a roll of bandages, she quickly wrapped her arm then undid the lock and tugged the door open. “D-did you need anything?”
Archer, standing at her doorstep, shook his head slowly. “Not really. Just wanted to check on you.” His expression was blank, as it usually was. That was one of the many ways she could tell it was this Archer, not one of the other two-or was it three? -on the island.
Jasmine smiled sheepishly, fighting back the urge to blush. “O-oh. W-well, um, I’m okay-”
“Did you hurt yourself again?” He asked, his eyebrow quirked as he pointed to her quick bandage work. There was a hint of . . . worry, or something along those lines in his voice, but the Rocket executive was always good at hiding that sort of thing; it would come and go so quick that it would leave Jasmine doubting if she even heard it in the first place.
She shook her head slowly, adjusting it, tightening it, and then loosening it again. Anything to avoid eye contact. “N-no. . . . It’s just, um . . .” The brunette gym leader trailed off, letting Archer fill in the blanks.
Fill them in he did, as he stepped inside (without asking) and closed the door behind him. His hands wrapped around her wrists to stop the fidgeting, and for a moment he’s surprised at how easy it is for him to do that. She was so much smaller than he was, and very thin. . . . He wouldn’t be too surprised if he could carry her, and he wasn’t even that fit. Did she even take care of herself? Or-
“U-um . . . A-Archer?”
“There’s no reason to wrap this.” He replied quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, releasing one of the grips in order to get rid of the bandage. Archer could feel her tensing, trying to pull her arms back as the white scar she was trying so hard to hide was becoming visible once more. His fingertip traced the line from her elbow down to her wrist. It was a perfectly clean cut, expertly done. . . . He couldn’t help but imagine how painful it was on top of everything else (he vaguely recalled she had other injuries besides this), and he almost flinches himself.
A hand, smaller and softer than his, rests on the back of his hand. He tilts his head to see Jasmine staring at him with saddened eyes, though he knew that gaze was not solely on him. Her attention flickered between his face, studying his expression for a few seconds (he was hoping he wasn’t showing anything; she was hoping he would), and the Rocket insignia he wore so proudly on his chest.
She opened her mouth to speak, but it took several seconds before a single sound came out. “. . . Wh-why?”
That one- technically two, with the way she stuttered-syllable word held a lot of weight behind it. This was obvious, a fact that they both could catch onto. It always did.
As usual, there was a moment of awkward silence, Archer wearing a puzzled expression while Jasmine kept her eyes locked on him. But this time he sighed, moving his free hand to rest on his chest, over that insignia, over his heart. “Do you trust me, Jasmine?”
It was her turn to hesitate, and hesitate she did, before her hand found its way to the back of his hand once more, her touch barely present but still there. “. . . I-I do. O-of course I do. . . .”
A faint smile appears on his face. “I’m not sure why.”
“H-huh?”
“Why would you trust a member of Team Rocket if you are well aware of what we’ve done, to this island, to Johto, to you?” The last part he didn’t want to say; it simply slipped out without him realizing.
“. . . B-because you’re more than that.” Jasmine replied softly and hesitantly. The puzzled expression returned to Archer’s face; she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, trying to ease some of the tension there. “A person’s more than what you see on the outside. I . . . I know you care, Archer. Even though you are a member of Team Rocket.” She looked away sheepishly, a light blush on her cheeks. “. . . Y-you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care. . . . You wouldn’t have tried to stop me the way you did if you didn’t care. You know the risks for being caught . . . a-and yet you’re still here, because of me. That’s why I trust you.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “. . . Did that just go straight over your head?”
“H-huh?”
“‘A person’s more that what you see on the outside’. You acknowledge this, you give people chances, you give people second chances, but you don’t see it?” Archer looked at her, studied her expression, and saw nothing but confusion. He sighed, leaned down, and left a light kiss on her wrist, right where the scar is. “You’re included.”
The Olivine gym leader blushed furiously, tugging her wrist back. “I-I-”
He caught her hand, pulling her forward into a kiss. They’re both shocked by the sudden move, more-so her than him, but he wouldn’t pull back now. When the thought of doing so crosses his mind he felt her hand gripping the back of his shirt and her lips pressing back against his, though with the hesitancy and gentleness that he found endearing.
When they pulled back to breathe, genuine smiles were on both of their faces and she couldn’t help but hold him tight and murmur a quiet “thanks”.
The question of “why” disappeared from her mind; an answer was no longer needed.
It took her weeks to recover, for her to move and function properly, even after coming back to life; but the scars still remained, ones that she consciously tried to hide now. Her legs, where the hamstrings were sliced, have thin, white gashes that were easily hidden by her dress. The gym leader’s arm was more of a problem; sliced from elbow to wrist, she had to get a whole new coat to cover it, in order to pretend that none of that happened, that she was a normal girl of seventeen-no, eighteen, just beginning her life and not for the second time.
Of course, it wasn’t something that she could completely cast aside. How could one forget something as monumental as losing your life?
Much to her discomfort, she knew she was not alone in this sentiment. Her killer, the Silver dressed in Rocket garb, would always remember his deed. He was proud of his actions, wasn’t he? There seemed to be little sign of remorse during their faithful encounter . . . but one never knew. Deep down, she wanted to know, but at the same time she knew there was no way to ask. The thought lingered but was always left ignored.
Rusty, her beloved Steelix, would now stay a little bit closer to his trainer after failing to protect her in the moments when she needed it most. Lance, her friend, the champion of the Johto region and the one who took care of her Pokemon while she was away, would never be able to let himself live it down. They both swore to protect and be by her side, but also made her promise to seek that help more often. (She reluctantly agreed.)
And . . . there was also Archer. The Rocket executive. A man who loyally followed her once-murderer. Jasmine wasn’t so sure about him. He was no doubt in her life now. There was no doubt that he cared; she could still recall how, after beating him in a fair match on that one day, he had told her to be careful, a desire to see her climbing down that mountain again laced somewhere in there.
But she never did. The next time he saw her was in the CMA weeks later, breathing only due to a miracle. He was upset with her. It was obvious. It confused her and Lance and Rusty, but no explanation was ever provided.
“Why” was a question that always seemed to remain when it came to Archer. She tried to ask this in various forms (“Why are you so close?”, “Why do you even care?”, “Why are you here?”, or just simply “Why?”) but always met the same answer: a moment of hesitation, as if trying to decode what he was even thinking, before giving up and uttering an “I’m not sure.”
Even as time passed, she was still asking that question.
---
Winter, spring, summer; warmer weather replaced the cold. Flowers replaced the snow.
Jasmine refused to leave home. How could she? There was something things that she was trying to hide, but she could only deal with a few of them. Bandages and little white lies could only cover up so much. Everything else, she tried to ignore.
One of those things? The source of it? Knocking on her door now.
She jumped slightly, casting a nervous glance toward the wooden frame. “Wh-who is it?”
“It’s me. Open up.”
The gym leader’s heart sank. Of course she knew who it was; for whatever reason, she couldn’t get away from them for long. “J-just a minute!” Grabbing a roll of bandages, she quickly wrapped her arm then undid the lock and tugged the door open. “D-did you need anything?”
Archer, standing at her doorstep, shook his head slowly. “Not really. Just wanted to check on you.” His expression was blank, as it usually was. That was one of the many ways she could tell it was this Archer, not one of the other two-or was it three? -on the island.
Jasmine smiled sheepishly, fighting back the urge to blush. “O-oh. W-well, um, I’m okay-”
“Did you hurt yourself again?” He asked, his eyebrow quirked as he pointed to her quick bandage work. There was a hint of . . . worry, or something along those lines in his voice, but the Rocket executive was always good at hiding that sort of thing; it would come and go so quick that it would leave Jasmine doubting if she even heard it in the first place.
She shook her head slowly, adjusting it, tightening it, and then loosening it again. Anything to avoid eye contact. “N-no. . . . It’s just, um . . .” The brunette gym leader trailed off, letting Archer fill in the blanks.
Fill them in he did, as he stepped inside (without asking) and closed the door behind him. His hands wrapped around her wrists to stop the fidgeting, and for a moment he’s surprised at how easy it is for him to do that. She was so much smaller than he was, and very thin. . . . He wouldn’t be too surprised if he could carry her, and he wasn’t even that fit. Did she even take care of herself? Or-
“U-um . . . A-Archer?”
“There’s no reason to wrap this.” He replied quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, releasing one of the grips in order to get rid of the bandage. Archer could feel her tensing, trying to pull her arms back as the white scar she was trying so hard to hide was becoming visible once more. His fingertip traced the line from her elbow down to her wrist. It was a perfectly clean cut, expertly done. . . . He couldn’t help but imagine how painful it was on top of everything else (he vaguely recalled she had other injuries besides this), and he almost flinches himself.
A hand, smaller and softer than his, rests on the back of his hand. He tilts his head to see Jasmine staring at him with saddened eyes, though he knew that gaze was not solely on him. Her attention flickered between his face, studying his expression for a few seconds (he was hoping he wasn’t showing anything; she was hoping he would), and the Rocket insignia he wore so proudly on his chest.
She opened her mouth to speak, but it took several seconds before a single sound came out. “. . . Wh-why?”
That one- technically two, with the way she stuttered-syllable word held a lot of weight behind it. This was obvious, a fact that they both could catch onto. It always did.
As usual, there was a moment of awkward silence, Archer wearing a puzzled expression while Jasmine kept her eyes locked on him. But this time he sighed, moving his free hand to rest on his chest, over that insignia, over his heart. “Do you trust me, Jasmine?”
It was her turn to hesitate, and hesitate she did, before her hand found its way to the back of his hand once more, her touch barely present but still there. “. . . I-I do. O-of course I do. . . .”
A faint smile appears on his face. “I’m not sure why.”
“H-huh?”
“Why would you trust a member of Team Rocket if you are well aware of what we’ve done, to this island, to Johto, to you?” The last part he didn’t want to say; it simply slipped out without him realizing.
“. . . B-because you’re more than that.” Jasmine replied softly and hesitantly. The puzzled expression returned to Archer’s face; she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, trying to ease some of the tension there. “A person’s more than what you see on the outside. I . . . I know you care, Archer. Even though you are a member of Team Rocket.” She looked away sheepishly, a light blush on her cheeks. “. . . Y-you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care. . . . You wouldn’t have tried to stop me the way you did if you didn’t care. You know the risks for being caught . . . a-and yet you’re still here, because of me. That’s why I trust you.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “. . . Did that just go straight over your head?”
“H-huh?”
“‘A person’s more that what you see on the outside’. You acknowledge this, you give people chances, you give people second chances, but you don’t see it?” Archer looked at her, studied her expression, and saw nothing but confusion. He sighed, leaned down, and left a light kiss on her wrist, right where the scar is. “You’re included.”
The Olivine gym leader blushed furiously, tugging her wrist back. “I-I-”
He caught her hand, pulling her forward into a kiss. They’re both shocked by the sudden move, more-so her than him, but he wouldn’t pull back now. When the thought of doing so crosses his mind he felt her hand gripping the back of his shirt and her lips pressing back against his, though with the hesitancy and gentleness that he found endearing.
When they pulled back to breathe, genuine smiles were on both of their faces and she couldn’t help but hold him tight and murmur a quiet “thanks”.
The question of “why” disappeared from her mind; an answer was no longer needed.