Darkness decended on Pallet Town as a ragged-looking Murkrow fluttered down from the sky with a hoarse, bitter, “Raooowww.” It landed in an old beech tree and began to prune itself impatiently.

Its trainer approached it, his gait uneven, his face emotionless. He sucked in a wheezy breath and thrust his elbow into the cold air, beckoning his Murkrow forward. It flew down and gripped his arm with brutally sharp talons, but the man did not flinch, did not acknowledge the pain. He simply lumbered on down the dusty path, slowly, resolutely.

As he limped over a small rounded hill, he caught his first glimpse of his destination.

He smiled.

***

Forty-eight minutes.

Tracey Sketchit hauled himself out of bed with a rather unnecessary amount of fuss at the sound of the doorbell. However, perhaps he had a right to be a bit cranky, as he had only been able to nab forty-eight minutes of sleep so far tonight. It was well past two-thirty a.m., and, of course, someone had to come calling.

What on earth could be so important? Tracey wondered.

He rubbed his eyes, and quietly contemplated the best way to safely navigate the dark lab. The place was a marvellous maze of books and tables full of more books, and frankly Tracey couldn’t see himself reaching the front door without at least a bruised shin and an aching backside.

DiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIng-DONG!

Tracey cringed. He hated that bell.

“What the blazes -”

Tracey sighed. It seemed that Professor Oak had decided to take care of this matter by himself. Tracey watched the old man’s slouching silhouette slowly hobble past his bedroom door.

“Sir, I could answer it for you -” ventured the young pokemon watcher, but Oak grunted and said, “No matter, I’ll get it. You go back to sleep, Tracey.”

Tracey nodded obediently. He settled back down on his creaky bed with the intention of eavesdropping a bit to determine what all this commotion was about, but the idea of lying in a warm bed without sleeping was rather appauling, and the boy was out cold before Oak even made it downstairs.

The researcher lumbered toward the door. He had only the slightest inkling as to who might be standing behind it. Oak had only met two men who liked to make visits at such obscene hours of the night, and he had seen neither of them in about fourteen years.

He grasped the door handle. He pulled it open.

A man around Oak’s age stood before him, wearing a warm smile that looked somewhat lost and out of place on his tough face.

“Hello, Sam,” said the man.

Oak blinked. He had been right.

For this man was Rey Ketchum - a wizened old trainer who still travelled around, teaching the younger trainers what was what in other regions such as Hoenn and Johto. He also happened to be the grandfather of one of Pallet Town’s greatest prodigies, Ash Ketchum. Oak scarcely believed that Rey was here - there had been some sort of falling out between Rey and Delia Ketchum after Dan Ketchum had died, but the researcher never had been privy to all the details. All he knew was that Delia never spoke of him, and Ash was hardly aware of his existence.

“Rey… I… What are you -?”

Rey shook his head. “D’you mind if I step inside and explain. It’s a somewhat chilly out here.”

Oak stepped aside, and Rey ambled in. His Murkrow squawked and alighted on one of the many desks placed around the room. Rey wiped his boots on the mat and Oak offered to take his coat.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Oak was silent as he hung the coat on one of the pegs near the door. He knew better than anyone that you should never rush Rey Ketchum, or you wouldn’t get one word out of him. He decided it would be best to have a cup of tea and settle down on the settee before any in-depth conversation arose. Rey’s sudden appearance in Pallet Town brought years of memories back to Oak. A few were sweet, many were bitter, but most were such an inseparable mixture of the two that in all these years of trying to forget the bad, he had lost most of the good as well. Standing, staring into the clouds that hid the lab on the hill, his home for the past thirty years, he let the old images play in his mind without knowing whether he welcomed them or not.

At last, he shook himself out of his reverie.

“Tea?” he asked. “Or coffee?”

“Coffee. Black.”

Professor Oak smiled. That was something that hadn’t changed. Rey Ketchum had always been fond of a good cup of strong black coffee; Oak had never understood it, but he was happy to oblige.

Once they had settled down on the sofa and Rey had wrapped his chilled fingers around the warm mug, Oak decided now was as good a time as any to wrangle some answers from the old trainer.

“So, Rey, what brings you here?”

Rey sipped his coffee and grinned with satisfaction.

“Well, I just surfed up from Cinnabar Island and was on my way to Pewter City. I’ve been so removed from Kanto lately, I thought it would be rather nice to see some familiar sights.”

Oak turned his own mug in his hands as he absorbed this information. “And…” he hesitated. “Have you any intention to go and see Delia while you’re here?”

“About as much intention as you do of winning a thumb wrestling match against a Voltorb.”

So, there it was. Oak didn’t want to press the matter, but he was still curious. He fell silent for a moment and the two stared wordlessly at their drinks until finall Rey said, slowly, in a hoarse whisper:

“How is Ash?”

Oak smiled, but did not look up at his old friend. “He’s doing well. He’s made tremendous progress in his four years as a trainer.”

Rey pushed some of his grey hair out of his face and leaned back into the soft sofa cushion. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s so much like Dan, but he doesn’t know it,” said Oak reminiscently. “His determination would make you so proud. And sometimes when I watch him battle, it’s like I’m watching Dan.”

“Ah, Dan never had much of a knack for pokemon battling,” said Rey with a wave of his hand. “I think it skips a generation.”

“What I mean is, the way he battles. He’s so unconventional; not at all like you. You were always for strategy. Plain, straightforward strategy. Ash has a tendency to deviate from the norm, but it always works out for him in the end. It’s really a treat to watch him and his Pikachu.”

“Pikachu? Now, Sam, don’t tell me you saddled him with one of those glorified rats -”
“It is not a rat. It’s a loyal companion and I’ve never regretted giving it to the boy,” Oak remarked crisply.

"All the same, what have you got against a traditional Bulbasaur, or Charmander?" Rey brooded, regarding his mug with a dark stare.

“Nothing whatsoever. Your grandson was exceptionally late that day. Overslept, I believe. There was not a single Squirtle, Charmander, or Bulbasaur to be seen here. So Ash was stuck with that ‘glorified rat’ as you call it.”

“I see.” Rey sighed. “I must say I’m shocked that his mother didn’t take the initiative to wake the boy up herself.”

Oak, who had been about to gather up the two empty mugs from the table between them, froze and stared at Rey with a knowing expression.

“No, you’re not shocked at all.”

“She never wanted Ash to succeed… She wanted to steer him off his rightful path just like she did his father -” Rey’s voice was now a growl.

Before now, Oak had never dared to ask for the whole story, though he had a basic idea. But now, strangely, he felt that he needed to know more. Before now, he had never considered the Ketchum situation as so grave, so tangled and bitter. Before now, he had been content to mind his own business.

Presently, he felt different.

“She’s one-hundred percent behind him now,” Oak informed his friend. “And you must consider… No mother likes to part with their only child.

"Rey," Oak whispered, unable to admonish someone who had been his friend, unwilling to. "You should talk to her."

The old trainer, missing for years, stared back in an expression of frozen incredulity. "D-don't suggest that to me," he stuttered, holding his hands up. “I’ve no business…”

“You have,” Oak broke in, gently. “Please. She can explain everything more than I can.”

As the eastern sky turned from black to darkest blue, Rey Ketchum departed from the Pallet lab and took the winding path to the Ketchum residence. It had been a productive evening; he could only hope that the morning would not prove to be as unsettling as that night, thirteen years ago…