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It had fell. It had broken. It had cracked. Glue would not put it back together. While that statement could apply to both her spirit and heart, it was not a metaphor. At the moment, even if she was skittish and just a bit apologetic, she was not in too bad of a mood. The pain in her back had faded into a dull ache and a night without the rattling of a broken furnace had allowed the ginger-haired girl a decent night of sleep. Most people would disagree that three hours was a good night's rest, for Aubre it was a rarity. Most nights, she was lucky to have an hour or two without interruption. The three hours might have been more, if not for the thing cracking into a hundred pieces of terracotta.

The vase, with its tiny little orchid, once rested upon the windowsill in the kitchen. A gust of wind had rushed through the open window and smashed it to the laminate tiles. Besides the tiny little plant on the balcony, with its oddly spaced five leaves, the orchid had been the only piece of greenery in her apartment (unless you counted her Breloom); it was now resigned to a tiny plastic bag. The tiny roots were wrapped in dampened napkins. Her grip on the small thing was gentle and firm. She felt like an ambulance driver on the way to the hospital, stopping at a restaurant, as she wandered the menagerie of booths. Where were flower pots when you needed them? Without one, the orchid would die before shriveling up. It seemed like bad luck waiting to her, it was not a good omen for her future. Besides that, she wanted to save something.

While there was a perfectly good dollar store across the street, its owner had begun to bother her with what seemed to be harassing comments. The sheltered girl also wanted to be somewhere different today. She had a few days off and wit the beautiful weather, before winter returned with a vengeance, she wanted to take advantage of the good weather. She had always enjoyed these things. It seemed like a good place to get a vase, it was usually quite cheap.

Each time she grabbed a vase, to examine it, the price tag sent her scurrying in another direction. Most of these appeared to not be for plants, but to take up room in the corners of wealthy citizens. The woman kept her head down as she moved through the aisles, rushing past each time a merchant called attention to her. The noise, along with the exorbitant prices, made her scurry like a frightened rabbit to the next stall:
"I remember coming to these with daddy, they weren't this expensive back then. They used to be cheap I guess I can understand it, the infection changed a lot.."
The woman was speaking to the bright-eyed Mudkip currently held within the crook of her free arm. Seena, distracted by all the items, shouted out a question to her frustrated "mother":
"Can I go look at the coffins,momma? I saw coffins!"
"Seena, there aren't any coffins he--"
A tiny blue paw jerked toward a stand a few aisles over heavily sagging with freshly cut wood. The thing leaning against it, certainly looked at a coffin. She would not be going near that stand. The man behind it had a scruffy chin and, oddly enough, lollipops. Was he measuring that woman for one of those boxes? Aubre shivered.
"Momma, can I please? I'll be right there!"
Green eyes moved fearfully around the crowd. There were far too many people liable to pick up the tiny amphibian, including the 'undertaker' at that shop. Mordbid or not, it seemed to be doing quite well. She just shook her head in response to the begging and shifted the Mudkip into a more secure location.

Each time she saw a flower, or even a vegetable stand, she would sigh. The stands reminded her of Joel McKenna, her father. These places were somewhere he frequented. He loved nothing more than hunting down a rare plant species or fruit to grow in his backyard; a few times he had jokingly commented about curing the infection with some new variety of eggplant. Her eyes lingered on a stand brimming with exotic fruit. The owners of those stands soon shattered the resemblance, that did not stop her initial moment of nostalgia. Most of the farmers looked far too surly for the shy girl to approach; a few were too close to rusty rakes for her liking. From what she could see, the ones around her only offered lattice and chicken wire. None of them offered the cheap pots that she was looking for.

Keen eyes were primed for a color of orange similar to the her hastily brushed hair. As usual, they focused on the cobbles beneath her feet instead of the people around her. Shoulders were drawn downward as her eyes moved from flash of orange to flash of orange. With it two feet above her head, she missed the head of the tall man at the next shop. She did see his shoes coated in planting dirt, and the pots beside him. The Venusaur was also greeted with a nod of her head, but not overly familiar. With him likely dead in the garage, she never once thought to compare him to Beau; if she felt that over every one of her parent's Pokemon, she would end up sad nearly constantly.

The young woman, not even noticing the man besides his shoes, walked toward the pots at the end of the flower-coated stall. The Venusaur's comment was missed in the crowd and her quick glances for any threats across the aisle.

The Mudkip was a bit slow to the party and commented loudly:
"Momma! I see one of the funny pots! It's gotta be a clone of your old one, it looks the same!"
"Seena, they're just mass produced, clones are living, anyway."
"How do you know if that pot has consish-ness? It could be alive!"
Aubre just sighed and shook her head. In the next moment, she nearly ran into the vase being offered.

The calmly smell of lavender, found in everything from her pillows to bathwater, swam into her nostrils. Scarred fingers took the tiny flower gently from Dunnelon with a quiet noise of admiration. In a soft voice, she offered her gratitude and began a polite refusal in case the free sample came with pressure to buy:
"Yes, I r-really like lavender; it happens to be my f-favorite, thank you very much for the offer si--"
As usual, manners dictated, she turned to briefly look at the shop tender. Her voice caught in her throat. The ability to speak had vanished.

Green eyes widened. Had she finally lost it? The nightmares had become hallucinations, right? Her heart pounded in her chest. The bag dropped to the ground to be trampled by an errant foot. The Mudkip dropped nimble to the ground as her perch shifted. Scarred fingers grasped at empty air. With a vigorous shake of her head, her hood fell off. The hair was the same. The eyes were the same. She had the same curl to her ears, the same smile (if she ever showed it), and many of the same sorrows. That voice, acknowledged for a brief moment, was his. She saw that face in her dreams (and nightmares). Aubre knew that laugh. She knew each callous upon that hand nearly as well as her scars.

There were so many questions. So many things left unexplained. The paranoid girl normally should have worried, but she didn't. Aubre didn't care. Even if it was a hallucination, Aubre didn't want it to end. She also didn't care how much her back hurt as she threw herself at Joel. Her arms did not even touch on the other side; she felt so safe and sheltered with the big man.

Tears poured down her face. But the shout that came from her, even if it was filled with sobbing, was sheer glee. It had been a while since she sounded that happy; she didn't eve recognize her own voice.

"Daddy! You're alive!"

In that moment, when her hands wrapped around that muscular chest, everything was okay.

It was all fine. She was safe. Her back didn't hurt. Her daddy was here. Nothing could hurt her. He wasn't dead. Joel McKenna was here, she had nothing to worry about now. Nothing.

It was okay.

How had she ever been friends with this man? The pair were quite a bit different. The matter of servants, the way Leon thought about the people who worked for him, would have bothered her. The young auburn-haired woman had never treated another person that way; the closest she had to a 'servant' was the physical therapist that came to treat her father's leg and her back. The woman was not thought of as working for them or treated any differently from a friend. No servants helped raise her; that was seen as a family job. The old her had been a lot more accepting and sometimes naive; looking back, it was hard to tell what he thought ofher.


Had Aubre even been a friend? Had she just been a diversion? A way to avoid work? Something to laugh at during downtime? A funny little curious thing that followed him around? If he thought of Narcissa as a servant, after spending his whole life with her, what exactly had Aubre been? Why had the bothered returning that jacket that night? Would he have done that? Her Pokemon were her crutches, her new family; they would never be her servants. The relationship was not close and not one of distance, such as his family preferred. The scar beneath a beautiful green eye, covered on occasion by cheap powder, was a sign of this difference. No servant would hit their 'master' and keep their job. Achilles had been furious; she had deserved it then, now she wished she had succeeded in that hanging attempt.
[hr]

Had she offended him? Her face flushed with embarrassment as the ladder with that possibility. Aubre just shook her head, cheeks flaring up as an anxious noise of denial was heard:
"Sir! I promise, I d-didn't mean to imply anything about you or your Pokemon. I work at the P-Pokemon center as both a tutor for children and nurse; I've seen m-many Pokemon die because a trainer had no idea about having additional responsibilities, such as vaccines I w-was just v-venting a t-tiny bit."
It was true, most trainers never thought of their Pokémon's health; they thought they were immortal. Aubre had seen many elderly Pokemon die from a case of the flu due to a lack of examination; she was just commenting on how easy that was not to avoid.


Diagnosis was not her job, even if she had a fairly good idea of what was plaguing Narcissa. The woman was intelligent and enjoyed using her knowledge to help as long as it wasn’t showing off. Her teeth chewed at her inner cheek as she debated between playing the part of ignorant clerk,not drawing attention to herself, or offering a diagnosis; she chose the middle-road:
"I have it narrowed down to one or two diseases, both ex-extremely uncomfortable; I'm not a doctor,though."
Aubre had taken a few classes in treating Pokemon illnesses; she had found the subject fascinating. She knew this disease from a few books she had read; she could always be wrong.

Was she being mocked? Aubre figured it was just her paranoia that added a teasing tone to his laughter. She was not very adept at 'clambering'; the man had a reason to make fun. She clung to the shelf like a frightened cat to a curtain, her a** was stuck out at an odd angle, the damn thing wiggled beneath her dangerously. At the moment, there was plenty for the big dog to mock the little yapping Chihuahua for:
"We do have ancestors far better at c-climbing; most of those are far better than most people --to think I used to do gymnastics."
It didn't help that she was short and forced to stand on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf. Her head kept jerking to the side with each noise behind her. One glance caught him looking at a watch more expensive than anything in her house. She fretted. Was she taking too long? Did he have somewhere to go? The woman moved to hastily dismount the ladder, her paranoia forcing her to count the expensive bottles upon the top shelf before they vanished from view. She sighed:
"I think the issues with the e-economy have a lot more b-behind them then improper shelving, sir. I will a-admit it is poor a-advertising."
For every moment she contradicted this customer, Aubre tried to add another word of agreement and praise. Most of the time, she wished she had never spoken at all. When she saw the bright blue eyes staring at her, she wished she had not spoken at all.


A pharmacy was a good place to be injured; there were thousands of bandages within easy reach. She would never just take them; she did not steal. At the moment, the injuries did not even hurt; shock was an amazing balm. The only reason she knew she was bleeding, besides the stains on her uniform sleeves, was the wetness on her fingertips and the Leon’s shocked. When he finally moved back to his feet, without any recognition she felt her chest continue to heave nervously. The diversion to the backroom stopped her from shattering—for a few more minutes. The water dripping from her hair was enough to reassure her; she knew it would do nothing in the long run and did not help her look sane.

Minus her facial expression, her pacing was actually quite standard; she usually threw in some quiet humming to pass the time. Her look of sheer rage added a psychopathic light to the eccentric actions. Even in her state of distress she followed procedure to the letter; she was good at what she did. Then again, even though she did so well, there was a reason Aubre worked here instead of a larger pharmacy; her new temperament, shy and paranoid, came at a lower price. The only benefit of this short diversion in the long run, aside from her damp hair, was that Leon could not read lips.

From miles away Narcissa made her life a living hell. The woman just assumed, wrongfully, that it was known to many people in the region. The woman had prayed the mistake went unnoticed; it didn't. Her eyes gradually widened as the silence wore on to a point of discomfort. Fingers gradually fell away from the crimson-streaked buttons to rest at her side with no knowledge of what was to come.

[hr]

Twisted minds altered people's faces sometimes; in that sense, though they reacted differently to these changes, Leon and Aubre were the same. None of those people she saw had ended up dead; most of the women that reminded him of her did. If she had known about those women Aubre wouldn’t even be staring at Leon; she would have killed herself.

The nice single father,cursed with the same hair and eyes a brighter blue, had left her screaming in the park. Her guilt had overwhelmed her as the man's young daughter screamed in response. Aubre requested a new delivery boy for the newspaper because the other one, with a tiny Growlithe, sent her into fits. Her classes were small due to her odd bans on people that looked like Leon and all things resembling dogs. White hair turned friendly old men into wicked demons. Worst of all, this man had left her best friend, a dopey Arcanine, sitting outside for a year in the cold. The woman resisted the urge to scream at Leon for these memories. Her ember-locks shook with a mixture of anger and terror.


[hr]

She pleaded with this mad man for safety for a few moments. Stutters emerged from her mouth relaying her true fear even as she fought to hide it. Her feet trembled within her shoes as she stared into eyes like a bright summer sky; storms were soon to follow. Aubre was too pessimistic to believe otherwise.

The counter was painted red as Aubre drug herself to her feet.

The nickname rubbed her the wrong way; it terrified and annoyed her. That name was the one always spoken in her nightmares and it had always been said in a mocking manner. It was never her name she heard when she spoke to this man. Maybe she had never woke up this morning? The pinches she delivered to her arm reassured her that this was no dream. It was a nightmare.

A slim eyebrow rose when he finally spoke.

If she wasn't Aubre, who did Leon think she was? Emerald green eyes peer up at the much larger man in confusion. It was interesting seeing them juxtaposed against one another. The man was obviously wealthy, her clothes were obviously old and worn (she only had two work-shirts). Her hair, while the same length as his , was obviously poorly cut. While his eyes were warm, clear, and angry, Aubre had a fearful gaze. Only pain and fear kept her flashbacks from taking over. Her posture was slumped, submissive, and fearful; his posture was confident. The words that he whispered, devilishly sweet, made her shake fearfully. What did anything he say mean? Had he really not recognized her? Had she given herself away by using her name? Was Leon truly insane? Aubre was not sure what his words meant or if she was just being toyed with:
"I'm n-not K-kitty either L-leon, you know I hate that nickname; y-stop pretending you d-don't know who I am. S-stop it, please."
Why was he so close? The smell of his expensive cologne and laundry detergent were easy to pick up from where she stood. Even as she told herself not to run her feet slid away from him. Her breathing grew ragged as the room around her flashed between the dreary little shop and that alley. Leon remained in both visions.
His words made her question herself.

Was she Aubre? This shirking woman, tempted to kiss his feet if he let her live, was nothing like the pretty girl Leon knew. The one that looked through those binoculars, loved standing in the rain, and would fight this man had died. What would happen if he knew that? Would it help her? She shook her head at her own question. Her voice started out loud and slowly lowered into a whisper:

" I'm not y-your anything. Y-you don't want to end up in a cell again; y-you should leave, this won’t end well for e-either of us."

It would not end well, for her. No doubt he would leave her corpse in a rubbish bin with no more worries. Eight Pokemon and two children would wait for her to come home; no one else would care.

When those gloved hands reached for her cheeks, she forcefully jerked away. Tears continued to stream down her face as her emotions overwhelmed her. The woman had been expecting red-hot anger, death, laughter, and slaps--this reaction her confused and lost. None of her plans would work, she wasn't even certain she could hurt the man if she wanted to. He had not hurt her? Her voice grew in volume until it slowly sank back into a frantic whisper:
"B-bad dream? This is a nightmare! M-my whole life since then has been a nightmare! Y-you didn't hurt me!? Y-you, t-that knife and N-narcissa laid a lot more than a finger on me..... a lot more.."
Sobs began to distort her words. Green eyes flickered down to his jacket where a knife might rest in terror. The scars on her back had now flared up in pain at the thought; those sickly sweet comments only made her back tense further.

No one else knew what he had done and she realized that was wrong. When she should have told the whole damn world, Aubre stayed silent.She had used her last few moments on Earth to apologize to this man instead of painting his name black. While everyone thought this man was a hero, untarnished by his deeds, she had been pitied, ridiculed behind her back and hurt. How much of it was really his fault? Aubre would lie when she gave that answer

Pop! With a white flash, the plastic wrapper disappeared; the glass grew dark and opaque. Old memories took over for a moment as the room staggered back into that alley. A noise snapped her out of her memories.

The man laughed at her request; now what she was supposed to do? Leon had already passed where she had to defend herself; why wasn't she doing it? Why did she freeze up? The old her would have faced him head-on; she just quivered.

Maybe he wouldn't hurt her? Couldn't this be a misunderstanding? What if she was just looking too deep into innocent questions? This time it was Aubre that barked out a laugh; she knew better.

Aubre shifted away as if shot as the grass cracked. Green eyes began to flicker with uncertainty as her powers weakened. The laughter echoed in her ears as the shelves turned into trashcans. Blood from her hand now coated her arms. His laughter began and grew steadily louder.

The noise echoed in her head repeatedly turning her tremors into shakes. Items began to fall back to the floor. Reflected within her green gaze, the fire began to eat away at any intelligence in her gaze. Her head began to shake as he finally turned toward her. His crown of hellfire shifted like a nest of snakes all of aimed at her.

She was powerless. What was there that he couldn't turn to ash?

Leon moved forward, leaving scorched tile in his wake. Glued to the spot Aubre's nervous movements grew more erratic. Her hands balled into fists as she closed her eyes and fought an impeding flashback. Her breathing grew ragged as repeated a mantra of courage in her head. She would stand her ground, she wouldn't die a coward; the old her would never let that happen. She relayed her plans in a frightened squeak in an attempt to reassure herself:

"W-well, I'm not g-going anywhere; you can't hurt me w-without being caught. There a-a-are cameras, alarms--a l-lot of them. P-please d-d-on't. throw what you have away again, Leon? Please.."

Would that logic work? Was he shallow enough to think of things in that way? Maybe shining a different light on it would save her?

All of the reasons the ginger-haired girl felt safe were lies. The cameras? Only one of them was real, the rest just deterrents to thieves. The sprinklers? The things were old and decrepit only made to detect large amounts of smoke. The woman didn't know that.

The fire and heat wore at her defenses even as it made him more intimidating. It terrified her more than death. A flame licked at the tip of her shoe, scorching her big toe. Her body, automatically retreated, from the advancing monster, and bumped into the wall behind her. Fingers reached out, against all hope, to prod at the hard wall; some part of her hoped some secret room would appear.

Aubre was cornered. The wall at her back and left-side. The counter was up to her chest, on the right. In front of her was the devil. He was just as impossible to move as the walls and twice as dangerous. The woman constantly reminded herself that she was safe here. Aubre could not run unless she wanted to be defenseless; she needed to fight all her instincts and stay rooted to the spot. She couldn't do it.

She decided to do the illogical:

Just like when the therapist had asked hard questions..

Just like the times her mother and father walked into the room to talk..

Just like how she hid in her apartment like a scared rat...

Just like when she refused to voice her true opinion....

The work-apron, made out of flammable polyester, dropped to the scorched tiles. It instantly began to melt and blacken. Her muscles tensed.

Just like when she threw in the towel after a few months of physical therapy...


Aubre did what she did best:

She ran.

[hr]

A shelf, finally free of its restraints, began to levitate. The products on it slid to the floor as it tilted wildly; her current emotional state made it difficult to hold. With a burst of power, one that left her ears ringing and her head aching, the metal beast slammed into the wall near Leon, bolts flying out in every direction. It was not meant to hit him, she could not kill him, she just wanted to make him stop. Products rained upon Leon's head offering a distractions of a sort. Aubre just needed a few seconds.

The room spun as her powers vanished.

The sudden telekinetic burst made her eyes see double; she had seriously strained her abilities with that stunt. The woman knew that she needed to run. The heat was scorching her hair now.

Aubre attempted to vault over the nearby counter top.

She didn't get far.

Her frantic movement, coupled with her distorted vision, slammed the counter-top into her chest. Air erupted from her lung in a pained gasp. Her back screamed as her body stretched toward the edge of the counter. Her legs remained stubbornly on the other side as she began to claw and pull at the counter.

There went her few seconds.

"s**t!"