"Son of a- aah!"

Butch lurched backwards at the shock of the antiseptic liquid on his broken skin, thrashing out and nearly kicking his partner in the process.

"Shut up and keep still," Cassidy told him stonily. She advanced to dab at his wound again, but Butch held up his hand.

"Stop!" he cried out, cupping his fingers over his side. "I'd rather it got infected!" He screwed his eyes shut, a little of his composure returning now that the immediate threat of further pain was gone. "You must be doing something wrong. It hurts like hell."

"It's meant to hurt like hell," Cassidy rejoined, "and you're meant to grit your teeth, wince, and let me get on with it."

"No- but- that rag's dripping with disinfectant," Butch argued. "What if it gets into my bloodstream, or something?"

Cassidy scoffed. "You're talking shit," she said, but relented and dropped the cloth. "Fine. I think I got most of it anyway."

Relaxing at this, Butch nodded and picked up the roll of bandages by his feet. His eyes took in a brief shimmer of crimson, which he was mortified to realise was a fresh coat of blood on his hand. Dread settling, he looked down at the spot below his right ribcage, watching the trickle of blood that rolled down his hip and pooled in a line at his belt.

"Oh crap- Cass-"

"Let me," Cassidy interrupted, taking the bandages from him. Hastily, she wound a few strips around his waist and tied them off, covering the injury. "How's that feel?"

"Better," Butch answered, not entirely truthfully. "It's just weird. It's like I can feel the blood moving under my skin- oh man, it hurts."

The two Rockets both spent a few moments assessing the effectiveness of the fresh bandage. Mercifully, it seemed to be doing the job. While Butch tested the dressing, rolling his right arm in its socket and prodding gingerly at his concealed wound to check that he wasn't about to start bleeding again, Cassidy moved over to the kitchenette on the other side of the room, and filled a glass with water from the tap. She then took a box of painkillers from the first-aid kit, and handed them to Butch.

"Take two," she instructed as she set the glass down on the floorboards; Butch complied eagerly, pushing the pills through their thin encasement and downing them with a swig of water. "I still don't get why she'd shoot at you," Cassidy said, frowning. "I know we're not exactly on great terms with her and her idiot team, but attempted murder seems a little radical."

"Tell me about it," Butch groaned. "Plus, I thought if Jessie were to try something like that, it'd be on you." His voice broke up at the end of the sentence as he wheezed in agony. "Aah- damn it!" he cursed, slamming his palm against the floor and rocking back and forth restlessly. Cassidy's expression stiffened with concern.

"How bad?" she asked succinctly.

"Bad," Butch gasped. "I think I might need to go to a hospital."

"There's no blood on the bandage yet," Cassidy noted. "Showing our faces in public should only be a last resort, if it comes to major blood loss."

"It's past major blood loss!" Butch protested, holding up his reddened hand. "I don't think I can lose much more."

"You're being dramatic, Burt."

"You're not the one who got shot- and you know that isn't my name!"

"That bullet just grazed you," Cassidy said dismissively. "I'm not risking arrest until it's life or death."

Butch scowled, but then let out a sigh, realising that she had a point. He wasn't too keen on the idea of calling Giovanni to beg to be bailed out again, either. "Fine," he grumbled.

"What exactly happened, anyway?" Cassidy queried. It took longer than usual for Butch to respond, hindered by both the pain in his side and the task of trying to rub some of the blood off of his hands with the already bloodied cloth.

"I dunno," he said eventually. "I was walking back here, and I just see Jessie going into this building- she looked real scared- and I look closer and see that her head's bleeding."

Cassidy raised her eyebrows. "Think someone attacked her?"

"Dunno," Butch repeated. "Maybe. But she could've just fallen over. She looked pretty hammered. Anyway, so I follow her into this building to check if she's, y'know, all right, and as soon as she hears me behind her she turns 'round and shoots. Bitch..."

"You're sure it was her?"

"Have you ever seen anyone else with hair like that?" Butch snorted. "Yeah, it was Jessie. Definitely."

They both stayed in silence for a minute or so, Butch nervously watching his side for any hints of red and Cassidy merely trying to take in the situation. She paced around the room briefly, cutting through the irregular streams of sunlight that passed through the windows.

"The gunshot," she blurted, turning back to her partner with trepidation written on her face. "Did it get reported? Did the cops show up to investigate?"

"I didn't stick around to find out," Butch said wearily. "But I didn't hear any sirens the whole way back, and we haven't heard any from here. The building was pretty secluded- I reckon if anybody did hear it, they figured it was probably something else."

"We should get moving, nonetheless," Cassidy muttered. "Our last mission went well- the last thing we want is to screw it all up now."

"But I-"

"It's okay. I didn't mean immediately," she said, gesturing to his wound. "Sleep it off and then we'll see if you're up to it. And if it gets worse, I'll drive you to a hospital, but you're on your own from there."

Butch rolled his eyes. "You don't have to be quite so selfless, Cassidy," he told her sarcastically.

"What? No sense in both of us getting busted. Besides, maybe the boss will take pity on you, since you got shot. He'll probably send for your bail."

"Stop talking like I already got caught!" Butch complained. His look of annoyance ebbed away suddenly as he stared ahead, as if fixated on the wall. "Ah, damn it." With that he fell back, unconscious.

Startled, Cassidy walked apprehensively over to him, scared at what she might discover. If he was dead, she'd hardly be able to totally shake responsibility of the fact, and she wasn't sure she could survive such a thing. But, to her great and reluctant relief, she saw his chest rise and fall in slow but steady motions.

"Butch?" Cassidy asked, making sure that her voice was clear of worry. Hell, she was worried, but she'd be damned if Butch were to make that happy little discovery. He'd never stop yapping about it.

Keen to prompt some movement from him, she prodded his leg with the toe of her boot, repeating the action with repeating force every few seconds until she was just short of kicking the young man.

"Uhh," Butch murmured drowsily, finally reacting to her. As if suddenly aware of what had happened, he jerked upright, stopping halfway at the flare of pain that rushed up his side. He looked to Cassidy, confused. "I passed out?"

Cassidy nodded her confirmation. "Only for a minute, though."

"Shit. I think it was just, uh, the shock, y'know? Everything's happening at once and I just sorta- yeah."

"Do you think it'll happen again?" Cassidy questioned sincerely. "Because if so, maybe you should see a doctor. Getting recognised would suck less than dying."

Butch smirked. "No. I'm okay. It feels a little better- the meds are probably kicking in."

"That or your organs are shutting down," Cassidy chuckled facetiously.

"Don't say that!"

"Oh, shut up. You lost half a bullet's worth of flesh and a cup of blood."

"And you were almost sympathetic a second ago," Butch sighed.

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind."

Attention was something that James was never sure of his stance on. On missions with Jessie, under the relative mask of bravado and uniform, it felt exhilarating to be the focus of whoever was around, to know that he was recognised as an enemy. In those moments, any threats of consequence seemed to dissolve; he was villainous.

Not here. Without his accomplices, wearing a hastily-thrown-together disguise consisting of casual clothing and a hat he'd stolen on his way to the station (one that didn't match any part of his outfit), he felt utterly defenceless. Here, he wasn't James of Team Rocket. He was just James. And the bored stare of the grey-haired detective sitting across the table certainly didn't give him any kind of thrill.

"Missing-person report- is that right?" the older man asked, chewing a piece of gum with his back teeth.

"Yes," James answered. He clasped his hands together on the table's plastic surface, but realising that such an action would be indicative of nervousness- and possibly, by extension, guilt- he quickly moved them back to his knees.

"Okay," the detective said. The man uncapped the ballpoint pen he'd been holding and flicked open a notebook. "Your name, please?"

"Philip Dyer," James replied, taking extra care to say his alias unwaveringly. Despite being fairly-well versed on the reactions police interview rooms were meant to provoke, he still felt himself succumbing to unease at the bright lighting and uncomfortable furniture. He had to remind himself that in the eyes of the cop opposite him, he wasn't a criminal, just someone filing a report. A time-waster maybe, but not a perp.

"Dyer..." the detective repeated, his pen scratching against the paper as he wrote in a slanted scrawl. "Okay. And the name of the missing individual?"

James swallowed, immediately tense again. "Er... I don't know her full name," he stuttered, wishing he and Meowth had come up with a better cover story beforehand. "Her first name is Anna."

Now the detective was frowning. It was the first time during the interview that his expression had displayed anything other than disinterest. "How do you know she's missing if you're not familiar enough with her to know her last name?"

"We only met recently," James told him, ducking his head to avoid eye contact. "She and I met up at a bar last night- it's the second time we've seen each other- but she disappeared sometime around midnight when we were getting some air. I wouldn't have worried so much but... She was intoxicated."

"Right," the detective said as he wrote something down. A trace of a smirk was forming on his lips, and James couldn't blame the man for the reaction. The story he'd spun sounded more like he'd been ditched by his date than anything sinister. "Could you provide a description of this woman?"

"I..." Standing up suddenly, James glanced at the door. "I'm sorry, I made a mistake," he said, much to the surprise of the detective. "I remember where she is now. She's fine. I must have forgotten because of the alcohol." His words came out as a jumbled mess, but he'd long given up any kind of steady composure.

The police officer looked increasingly suspicious. "Mr. Dyer-"

"Excuse me," James blurted, heading to the door as fast as he could and leaving the room. He rushed down the corridor, past onlooking cops who seemed unsure if they should stop him or not, if there was a reason to. After James had made it back outside, however, he checked behind him and saw that no one was on his tail. He kept walking, and Meowth soon joined him, walking on all fours by his side.

"What's the deal?" the cat Pokemon hissed.

"I didn't go through with it," James mumbled back.

"What?"

"I couldn't!" James said. "They wouldn't take me seriously if I didn't give them anything of substance- and what do we have of substance that wouldn't incriminate her? I couldn't even give them a description without someone realising that the exact same woman is next to me on the wanted poster on their wall! All that was going to come of that interview was a one-way ticket to jail- for Jessie as well as me, if they did find her."

They turned a corner, and Meowth stood up on two legs again, looking straight at his human companion. "Ain't ya worried they're our only hope?" he demanded.

With a trembling sigh, James slumped against the side of the building and raised a hand to his forehead. "Of course I am," he choked out. "I want to find her more than anything else. But Jessie would never forgive us for going to the police so soon on the slim chance that they'd be of any help. We can't decide for her that it's worth the risk of disrupting her whole life- not at this stage. For all we know she's fine." Another voice pressed, one James didn't speak aloud: "For all we know she's not."

"Yeah. Okay," Meowth said quietly. "But if we don't find her soon, we've gotta do it, dig?" He smiled a little in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Even if I gotta make some crazy robot to break the two of youse out."

James smiled back. "Deal."

Reaching the cabin took less time than Jessie had thought it would. She walked a good distance, past well-dressed mannequins shielded by glass panes, the open doors of restaurants flooding enticing aromas into the street that, under more desirable circumstances, would have tempted her to stop and eat.

After finding the right station, she waited a few minutes for the bus to arrive, flashing a square gum wrapper she'd found on the pavement at the driver in lieu of a genuine ticket. Luckily for Jessie, the driver nodded at her without paying the 'ticket' a second's glance. Jessie took the first seat she came to, silently grateful for the woman's ill-placed trust, and spent the duration of the journey trying to shut out the seemingly deafening noises around her. It was impossible, however, to ignore the queasiness that sat stubbornly in her abdomen; as soon as she was off the bus again, Jessie raced to the nearest trash can and vomited. When there was nothing left in her stomach to heave up, she collapsed against a wall, retching for around a minute before the bout of sickness finally eased.

She stood up again, gripping the leather satchel so her nails pressed half-circles into its surface. To suddenly possess so much money was unreal to her, even if she was too scared to open the bag- let alone think about spending any of its contents- at that particular moment.

Without any further hangover-induced-obstacles hindering her, Jessie made her way to the Team Rocket cabin that she, James and Meowth were currently taking residence in. It was situated at the very outskirts of the town where grass and dirt started to override concrete. Naturally, it was hidden from public view by a wall of foliage; only someone with prior knowledge of the shack would think there was anything behind the line of bushes other than thicker brambles.

Neither of her team mates were inside, she quickly discovered. Nothing around her suggested that anything out of the ordinary had taken place, however, which was a mild comfort, though she still felt a little jolt of dread take hold.

Weary, Jessie set the satchel down on the coffee table, and sank onto the red sofa beside it. She reasoned that if she was going to take any further action, she'd have to shake off her hangover first, at least so it wasn't quite so crippling. The sleep that eventually came was light, frequently broken by her semi-conscious anxiety, irregular impulses to go and find her partners. Not long after the thought entered her head, she found it impossible to ignore, and pushed herself off the sofa, striding to the door without any kind of plan in place other than to find them.

She had barely opened the door when she heard voices, distant but getting closer- hushed tones. Familiar. Theirs.

"James? Meowth?" Jessie called out, her own voice much more hoarse than she'd expected it to be.

"Jessie!"

They appeared before her almost immediately, both grinning from ear to ear with relief. She laughed at their reaction, feeling a similar one take hold of her as the two of them pulled her into an embrace.

"We were so worried!" Meowth exclaimed, verging on tears- all of them were. The three clutched each other, letting down their defences for that moment, silently admitting the care they held for one another. When they moved apart again, James caught sight of the blood on Jessie's head, his happiness not fading but now accompanied by concern.

"What happened?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

"A little hung-over," Jessie replied, smiling, "but fine."

Meowth saw the injury that had taken James' attention and blinked in mild shock. "How did-"

"No idea," Jessie said. "But there's something I need to show you two." She turned to the cabin. "I think... I think I might have done something."