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I didn't know how much I missed home until I saw it.

My adulthood has been spent in the city. Giant spires of glass and steel reflecting and re-reflecting the sun. Heat clawing its way up from asphalt. The constant drumming noise; of people, of cars, of having so much life packed inside so small a place. But I grew up elsewhere; a quiet home in the country, the dirt lane like a ribbon to the door. Free-spirited pokemon wheeling overhead. Wildflowers poking their bright heads over the hills and the far-off fuzz of trees beckoning. When I was a girl, I would spend hours playing here; running, climbing, jumping. I would roll in the leaves and get stung by nettles; I would chase wild pokemon and scrounge up dirt and just laugh all the while.

And always, always with Oleander by my side.

It's been a while since I was that girl. Stained tank-tops and mud-shorn feet have given way to suit-skirts, designer heels. I'm CFO of a big, boring company that does big, boring things. I have a spacious apartment and I go out for drinks. When I remember those childhood adventures, it's with the wry head-shake of a woman who knows better now.

Or do I?

How many years has it been since I've been home, I wonder? I call my folks, do video chats, send mail. But it's been quite some time since I actually stepped through this door. Strange... the cluttered entryway makes me nostalgic.

Mother is the first to greet me, her face beaming. I remember her hair being like old copper, the same color as mine; now it's grey with a few streaks in it. Her face is slightly weathered. Yet she still has strong hands and a knowing smile. Father comes home from his work at the post a short time later, clapping me on the shoulder. And at nighttime, who should wander in but Oleander.

I remember we got him when I was eight--fresh-hatched from an egg, a quiet and burbling little Pichu. He was my eternal companion in those youthful adventures, scampering after me, his eyes wide and searching. He would pick fights with wild pokemon and run when his shocks would hurt him as well as they did his adversaries. In high school, before I left for the city to alter my destiny, he evolved into a strong, confidant Pikachu. He had that form when I left, and kept it the last time I'd visited, some years ago.

Now Oleander is a Raichu--the size of a small person, with smooth tangerine fur, a long whip of a tail, sail-like ears. He starts at seeing me and then bounds forward with a warbling cry, all smiles. I cuddle him, laughing, and it's like I'm a girl again.

How had I forgotten this? How had I not missed it?

Mother, father, and I stay up late into the night catching up, Oleander hovering at the edges, all smiles and interest. I make sure to pet the base of his ear. "Look at you!" I say to him. "All grown up, so big and strong! When did this happen, huh?" He burbles proudly, standing tall.

"Just came home like it one day," father says. "Must've found a Thunderstone in the woods somewhere... Mum and I, we were shocked, but it's clear he's happy. Still, amazing how fast they grow..." The twinkle in his eye tells me that those words are for more than just Oleander.

That night, I bunk down in my old room. It has the slightly-musty smell of a chamber that's gone unused for a while and has been recently cleaned. Mother and father aren't so soft-hearted to keep it kitted out with the same stuff as when I was a girl, but the bed remains; a lumpy old mattress that squeaks when you lay on it. It's nothing like the new foam one I have in my apartment, and oddly, it brings me memories.

Oleander has a pokemon bed by the living room hearth, but as I ready for bed, I see him hovering near the door, face inquisitive. I laugh and usher him inside, which he does with gratitude. When I was a girl, he would always sleep in my bed with me. As I cup his cheeks (making sure to avoid the dandelion-yellow electric pouches) and praise his new form, I can't help but reflect on how simple such a life had seemed.

When I'm ready for bed I crawl onto that old mattress and then pat it, inviting Oleander up. He bounds onto the bed and the poor thing sags. We're no longer a girl and her Pikachu anymore; both Oleander and I are older, bigger, different individuals than we used to be.

It's not just the bed's lumpiness that keeps me up. I cuddle with Oleander, like old times; basking in his warmth. I'm a larger woman, but then, he's bigger too. He was always my confidant, and I begin to spill everything--how I clawed my way to success at the company, how my single-minded pursuit of ambition left me without real friends, how lonely I feel. Not until it's out of me do I realize how true it is. Perhaps I needed these childhood haunts to bring me back, but I am lonely.

"Remember the good old days, Oleander?" I say, cuddling him from behind. His long tail thrashes and then coils around my leg. This is a new addition; he couldn't do that as a Pichu or Pikachu. But it's an intimate, comforting gesture that I don't mind. "Remember when you fell in the pond and accidentally shocked all the Poliwag? They chased us for half a mile, blasting water..."

He murmurs something, perhaps embarrassed I would bring up such an old memory. "Or that time we were supposed to be home by 6 but fell asleep in the meadow," I press. "We woke up at 10:30 and booked it home. I think mother was this close to calling in the rangers to look for us..."

His body shakes with a chuckle and I hug him closer. "Remember when you evolved?" I whisper. It was in early high school--I'd ranged farther than I should have and stumbled on a nest of Noibat. Fool that I was, I'd tried to pick one up. Their mother didn't like that, and for the first and only time in my life, I'd found myself facing down the wrath of an angry dragon. She had been furious; blasting rocks apart with hypersonic noise, spitting fire, her tail whipping through the air. To this day I don't think I've ever been so scared.

She cornered me in a ravine and I swear that I could see my death reflected in those murderous eyes. (As a child, I'd entertained ideas of being a trainer, maybe even a Gym Leader or Elite--but ever since that night, whenever I try to battle pokemon, I always see myself in those eyes, hear the Noivern's furious hisses. I can't. I can't. I probably never will...)

And then a yellow blur had launched itself at her face, scrabbling over it, shocking and biting and crying. I'd watched as the Noivern had flung Oleander aside; he'd smacked into a rock, limp and still, and I'd started to cry, thinking I'd gotten both myself and my best friend killed. But then he had shined, his form glorious, and the spunky little Pichu rose as a Pikachu, sparks flying from crimson cheeks, and he drove her back with a bolt of lightning that seared the canyon walls. With a hissing cry, she'd let loose one final sonic burst of warning and escaped, and then Oleander had collapsed. I'd carried him in my arms back to town, running with tears in my eyes, and stayed with him through the night in the small pokemon clinic we had, refusing to leave.

"You saved my life," I murmur, and I nuzzle into his fur. It's amazing... how warm it is. How soft. How comforting. "You could've died that night, you know." The Raichu just warbles something in response and then he shifts his position. His back is to me, but then he rolls over to face me--and then he touches his forehead to mine. We rest like that for a few long minutes.

And I'm reminded of another memory, of the time in high school when Bobbee cruelly pretended to date me only to dump me in front of everyone. I'd ran into the flower fields behind our house, crying and sobbing, and when Oleander had arrived to comfort me, I'd confessed that nobody would ever love me. Acting pugnacious, he'd babbled counterarguments to my self-flagellations. And then, seeming to think it was the only way to convince me otherwise...

Oleander had kissed me.

It had been so, so long since I'd remembered that moment; how shocked I'd felt, my own pokemon's lips against mine. The way his fur tingled...

We'd cuddled in the flowers after that, me holding him tight and sniffling. We'd never kissed again, or taken things any farther, but...

"Oleander," I whispered, "do you remember... that time in the flower field?" In response, his tail around my leg tightens, ever so, and I gasp despite myself. I find myself locking eyes with him. They're round and black, like pools of night, something I could lose myself in...

What is happening? Why is my breath shorter? Why does my face feel warm? Why... why is there a slight discoloration underneath Oleander's fur?

Small paws reach up to cup my chin and I lean into them, barely believing what I'm doing. Oleander trills something and then he ever-so-gently pulls me closer... closer... so soft, so tender, all I had to do was tense and he would stop. But I don't tense. I let him...

Our lips touch again and it's like that time in the flower field, the two of us leaning into one another, human and pokemon... fur tickles against my skin, static dances alongside me. I push back against him, moaning deeper, draping my arms over him and holding him tight. My tongue probes into his mouth...

We're both older now, and things are going so much further than they ever did in the field.

I rub my tongue along the roof of his mouth and he quivers. His own tongue dances against mine. My hand sweeps through his fur, marveling at the silky softness of it. He's so soft... so warm... so safe...

What is happening? Why am I doing this? Is this really okay? Why is Oleander's tail squeezing tighter and tighter around my leg? Why are his paws moving from my chin to cup and squeeze my breasts? Why am I moaning against him, why do I like this? Why do the two of us break the kiss, both of us flushed and panting, a tiny trail of saliva connecting us?

Why can I only watch, giddy, as his paws begin to peel off my clothes...

Why am I okay with being there, exposed and naked before my own pokemon? Why--oh Arceus, why is he hard? Why is his cock a slender, pink-red spire? Why can't I take my eyes from it?

Why are his paws on my thighs, angling me back... Why am I quivering, anticipatory, waiting for him...

And why, when he enters me, so soft and tender and gentle--why does it feel so good? Why don't I want it to stop?

Oleander and I rock together, me clutching him tight, my voice half-broken as I sob with bliss. He... oh, he is so very gentle, so loving. "Th-thank you," I whisper to him, my voice tremulous. I reach my hands to his face and pull him in for a desperate kiss, moaning and whimpering as he keeps rutting me. "Oh Oleander, I... I, I..."

He burbles something in response, his voice low and husky, and then he sinks into me. I squeeze around him and he pants in response, and I reach one hand out to his big ear and stroke it. "Good boy," I praise, "such a--kknnnnn, h-hahhh, such a g-good boy..."

He keeps at it for a few minutes, both of us shaken and wild, and then I can feel him tense up, see it knotting on his face. Grabbing him, I pull him in for a kiss, and he reciprocates; and the two of us are sloppily, passionately making out as he cums inside me.

The warm wetness of it all squelching inside me is unreal and I tense and buck and sob, and Oleander nuzzles me. Afterwards, both of us are tired and spent, and I cuddle him close... "Good boy," I murmur. His cock is shrinking, but he's still inside me. That's fine. I... I want it inside me. As long as I can... "Such a... very good boy..."

---

When I wake, the bed is messy and the two of us are still entwined. Oleander is snoring lightly. I wriggle my hips and pop free, wincing at the sudden emptiness and blushing at the fluid that seeps from me. Oleander blinks awake.

The two of us lock gazes, both of us blushing as if we can't believe last night's indiscretion. And then, with a girlish laugh, I sweep him into a kiss which he happily reciprocates--

And we mess up the bed yet again.

The next few days pass like a dream. I eat mother's cooking, which takes me back to my girlhood. I shed my designer clothes and heels for coveralls and canvas shirts and truck through the hills behind our house. I listen to the sound of Beautifly humming overhead, see the gleaming eyes of Oddish peering through the dark.

Oleander is with me every step of the way, of course. Out there, in the grass, with nobody around, he takes me a third time. Even as he's inside of me, I wonder--why am I doing this? The first time could be explained as an impulsive moment's decision, corralled by nostalgia and the shock of seeing him evolved, but this... this is after I've had time to consider it.

But his spire makes me tremble and I realize that I really, really do want him inside of me. After he's finished, we cuddle and I murmur something to him. Ah, I don't want those days to ever end...

But they do, of course. They have to. I'm not that girl anymore; I live in the city, work in an office. Eventually I wave farewell to mother and father and Oleander, each of them sad to see me go.

Back in the city, I fall into my old routine. It's simple; easy. I throw on slate-grey suit-skirts, pick out matching heels. Apply the best makeup. And as I sit in my corner office, taking calls and reading reports, writing and sending emails, the lovely days I spent back home seem far-off, almost imagined. Other than the janitor's Trubbish and a few Bug-types flitting about in the local park, pokemon aren't everywhere like they are back home. And even after only a few days, it seems I'm going to push Oleander and the others back in my mind once again...

But then it happens. A series of small, little things; feet sore in a different way than comes from wearing heels, a small yet noticeable spike in appetite, a queasiness when I wake that is far too regular to be attributed to food.

It can't be, I think. There's no way. I haven't had sex lately. Only with...

Oleander fills my mind and I shake my head. No, no. It's silly. One day I pick up a pregnancy test, expecting it to vindicate me.

But the test doesn't lie: I'm going to have Oleander's children.

The revelation hits me the night before I'm to spend a weekend away from the office. I kill my phone, dim the lights, and sit by the gas fireplace, rubbing my stomach, thinking--thinking. It's still flat and trim, so maybe it's just in my head... but I think I can feel them inside there. Not with my hand, but a feeling more intimate. An internal sensation of budding motherhood.

Motherhood. I... I'm going to be a mother. To baby pokemon.

A parade of emotions wheel through me. Distress, disbelief, worry, defiance, resignation. Yet after hours by the fire, I slowly come to smile. This was unanticipated, yet the more I think of it, the happier I become. I rub my stomach continually, hoping to give my little ones some comfort, and I laugh in a way that's both familiar and not. It's a way I used to laugh, a way I stopped laughing here in the city. I didn't start again until...

Until Oleander. What a parting gift he's left me.

My pregnancy doesn't hinder me; far from it. I ride my happiness and my glow of health with aplomb. Day after day, I can feel the weight of my children settling in me; as weeks pass into months my stomach begins to grow. It's small at first, but the curve of it can't be ignored. I'm the talk of the office. I know what they're all thinking; I don't have a husband or even a boyfriend. Some of the other woman wrench up the courage to ask who, and I smile and respond--not untruthfully--that it was someone from my hometown. I can see the spark in their eyes hungering for more, but they won't get it.

When I arrange to visit home again, I'm about seven and a half months along--well into the third trimester. By now, the babies are active, constantly keeping me up with their antics. Sometimes I can feel their power sparking against my womb, like static on my insides. That was quite the shock at first, and it never fails to wake me up. My ankles are swollen, my face softer and plusher, my breasts round and tender. Mother and father fawn over me and they, too, want to know who the father is. Again, it's not a lie when I tell them that the father is simply an old friend of mine. Oleander, watching from across the room, beams with pride--but they don't notice.

That night, as we cuddle back in my room, I apologize to him. "I can't let anyone know our babies are pokemon," I tell him. "Only my doctor knows." She had shot me a severe gaze when the ultrasound came back, but still did her job. "I... when our children are born, I'm going to fake having a stillbirth, and then I'll say I adopted a bunch of Pichu to cope with the emotional loss." I can feel our babies squirm as I confess, and I sigh. "I wish I could tell the truth," I said. "Work is one thing, but lying to the folks... I just don't..."

Oleander just nuzzles me closely, cooing. He understands. I thank him, and he babbles a response.

That night we fuck so slow, so tender, so gentle. I sigh with release as he helps stroke my needs. I have one hand up to cradle his chin, the other cupping my belly. "I wish..." I begin. I don't know what I wish. It's okay; Oleander doesn't seem to care. He just fucks me till I'm soft and sleepy.

---

The Pichu are born healthy. A trio of little kits. The nurses and doctors tut-tut-tut, but they've all signed confidentiality forms. The cover story seems to sell itself well, and I devote a lot of time to raising my babies. They quickly grow spunky and energetic, like their mother, and wrangling them is a hassle. I become one of those oddballs who carries her pokemon with her to work and, more curious still, lets them out of her poke balls instead of keeping them capsuled. The whispers reach me, but I ignore them. My work doesn't suffer--far from it, in fact. I push myself for their sake more than ever.

I make it a point to visit more frequently. The folks are glad to have me, and Oleander absolutely adores the little ones. Mother and father smile to see him scamper and play with them. "He's a natural," says mother.

"You'd almost think they were his," father adds, chuckling at the unlikelihood of it--how would Oleander's offspring find their way to an adoption center hundreds of miles away? I tuck a strand of hair over my ear, saying nothing, and smile.

The Pichu love our visits to the folks--they scoot through the fields, explore the forest, play good-natured games with wild pokemon. I watch them with the warm love only a mother can provide. Oleander often accompanies them. I'm finding more and more reasons to come home, more reasons to stay, for longer and longer--mother and father have dropped hints they'd like to have me back. I'm considering using my money to set up a tidy little shop in town, something pokemon could help me with...

And then, one day, I know it--I know that it's what I must do, what I have to do. I'll buy a little cottage at the edge of town, with a yard open to the wild spaces. I'll set up that shop. I'll make frequent visits to the folks, and to Oleander as well. I'll take care of my babies...

...and their siblings.

I settle my hand on my stomach, newly gravid again. Oleander is bountiful; he keeps giving. When I realized I was pregnant a second time, there was no hesitation this time. It was simply the happiest day of my life.

And now that I am swollen and flush and maternal, my decision is made up for me. I can hear it in the way the wind tickles the grass, feel it in the warmth of the sun on my skin, hear it in the laughter of the Pichu as they play with Oleander out in the fields. I can sense it as a weight, settled happily in my tummy.

My days in the city are done. I'm coming home... and I've never, ever been happier.