Three minutes before the time Brendan was supposed to meet her at the Lilycove City Pokémon Center at her request, May dawdled in the empty bathroom washing her face with cold water over and over again. With every splash of water against her numbing face and stinging eyes, May wondered if she could wash herself away, so that parts of her would melt down into liquid and follow the water running down the metal of the sink into the drain and flow far, far away from here.

She didn't even have to melt away. She would have taken washing away the outside of Margaret Ismay Gracie until she revealed whatever her true self was. Maybe she was adopted. That had to be it. Norman and Caroline Gracie adopted her when they initially couldn't conceive a child of their own, and then kept her out of pity, because neither of them were like her, weak and wanting to procrastinate the inevitable. They didn't like being in bad situations – no human did – but if it was a situation they were responsible for, then Norman and Caroline would have been upfront about it and taken responsibility.

May, on the other hand, just wanted to run away from it all like she usually tried to do. At heart, she was a coward who didn't want to deal with the questions that had no correct answers, the dilemmas with no proper solutions, the reality of life that had no happy ending in sight.

The water, pulled by gravity's unavoidable call, dripped off her face and hands, and the parts of her shirt that had gotten splashed in her attempt to 'man up' was damp and cold against her stomach. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a teenage girl with bags under her eyes that couldn't be hidden by the browned skin of her tanned face. Her clothes were rumpled, and smelt slightly sour from sweat. There weren't perspiration marks, which was a blessing, but the water stain that stuck the front of her shirt to her stomach was visible.

Nowhere in that reflection did she see a hero. She saw instead a failure.

Her PokéNav said that it was one minute past the promised time. Hoping he was punctual so she wouldn't have an excuse to flee, she wiped her wet hands on her thighs and opened the bathroom door so she could step back into the center's lobby.

The nurse receptionist was chatting with a young man May didn't find familiar, and there were a few people scattered around in the seats waiting for their Pokémon to be returned, but she didn't find Brendan.

Well, here was an excuse to flee, the weak part of her mind offered. It wasn't too late for her to stick her head into her pillows and pretend that none of this was happening. She could still choose to hide away from the world and let it go on without her.

Shoving the temptation into a deep, far corner somewhere far back in her mind and placing it under strict lock and key, May went to an empty seat and plunked her butt down on it. She tapped at her Poké balls, considering detaching one from her belt and just tossing it out to release the Pokémon within out in front of her. Having Pokémon out of their ball inside the center wasn't illegal, but it was frowned upon unless it was an emergency or extenuating circumstances. For sanity issues or something. And sometimes people could be allergic, or sensitive to a scent, or have a phobia.

Besides, most of her Pokémon would be considered 'too big' for the lobby, except Darjeeling – and maybe Chamomile. Although some people might pick a bone over Darjeeling, or be creeped out by Chamomile's presence.

May raised her left thumb to her mouth, but paused before biting her nail. There were no whites left on the nail at all for her to bite on anymore. In fact, there was a significant dent in her once-square nail. Now it looked like a pink stepladder, with nearly a quarter of the nail picked away, revealing the soft skin under that wasn't supposed to be revealed. While she had been washing her face, the scab previously set in must have been washed off, because there was a drop of fresh blood squeezing out. The right thumb wasn't much better off than its left counterpart, either.

Even though it was a bad habit she was supposed to drop like a Slugma, May began picking at the edge of the remaining nail again, peeling thin layers away with stubby nails. She wasn't a masochist or a pain-lover or even a self-harmer by her standards, but there was just something about picking at her nails that was therapeutic. Even the pain that came from it could feel cathartic, in a way, although she did regret it when it hurt to touch pretty much anything later on.

She'd never ripped up her nails this much, though – especially not the tougher nails on her thumbs. Maybe it was because someone hadn't seen fit to remind her not to.

And speaking of that same someone . . .

"Stop mutilating your nails," said Brendan as he sank into the seat next to her. He frowned at the feeble cushioning of the cheap, brightly coloured seat, but didn't complain about the furnishing of the Pokémon Center or how good seating was critical for postural health or whatever was healthy.

Like magic, the urge to pick at her nails disappeared with his presence. May slipped her hands under her thighs so she could sit on them and keep the urge from coming back just in case.

"Thanks," May said, for both his reminder and for him coming here to meet her.

Brendan nodded, and then glanced around, eyes searching for a presence that he had expected to see with her.

"Where's Ray?" he asked, looking for the younger boy she had been travelling with the last time he ran into her. He was good with younger kids – especially boys – and younger boys usually loved him because to them, he was easily the nice, cool, good-looking older brother figure that they could look up to. Sure, his own younger brother was sometimes terrified of Brendan, but other than the occasional 'demon face' and the filthy mouth he got cussing out people when he was angry he was a cool guy to be around. Even if Ray had never fallen to his charms like other boys, Brendan was just the kind of person to care and be the one people could rely on in times of need.

Well, she would have liked to know where Ray was herself, because all she knew was that he was –

"Gone," she said.

The slight curve up Brendan's lips were wearing as usual slipped, and his handsome face turned worried.

"Is he . . . ?" Brendan began warily, forming ideas on why she called asking him to come and meet him here, and looked like utter crap.

"He's fine." Physically, anyways, he was fine. Mentally, May was pretty sure Ray was the very opposite of fine. Despairing. Demolished. Devastated. Very un-fine.

Brendan relaxed slightly. "What's wrong?" he asked instead, deciding to let her talk instead of making wild guesses. He was always such a good person – a great friend – willing to listen and give. May was lucky that he was her best human friend, because she hadn't been such a great friend back to him recently.

The urge to pick at her nails came back. It was never the pain or that she felt satisfaction at seeing ruined nails on her hands. It was all about running away – not dealing with whatever she was supposed to be facing. Turning inwards, focusing on something else all so she could plug her ears and avert her eyes and hope that it would become solved without her having to do something about it.

But she couldn't run away – because that method had made her problem so much worse, and now all she could do was tell Brendan so that she could at least save him and his family. It was the least she could do, now.

"Remember how you asked me what was going on with me?" May asked instead. That had been, what, back in Lavaridge? Or Petalburg? When had she started breaking down, yet stubbornly tried to deny it, turning a blind eye and a deaf ear and doggedly going after her goal? When had she lied to Brendan by omitting the truth from him – who only wanted to help because he was concerned for his friend?

Brendan nodded.

"And how I promised that I would explain everything later?"

Another nod.

She laughed shrilly. There was nothing funny about anything in this situation. She was just nervous, and laughing was better than crying or screaming. "Promise me you'll believe me, even if I sound insane?"

Brendan blinked, like he hadn't expected this. "Should we go somewhere private?" he asked in a low, measured voice. There weren't that many people, but now that he said that, May wasn't sure if she wanted to be overheard. Call her selfish, call her proud, but she didn't want to open up to anyone else, even if that information could possibly save their lives.

While Brendan went to borrow a key for a bedroom from the receptionist so they could talk privately without worry, May gave herself one last chance and glance towards the exit.

She didn't take it, and he came back to lead her into a room. It was small, with a bunk bed and closet, but like other center rooms it was soundproof – to a certain degree – and it was enough for them to talk privately without interruption.

May took a deep breath. She still wanted to hide under her covers and close her eyes and let everything pass over her. She still wanted to go back to picking at her nails – and turn to maiming her toenails if there was nothing left on her fingers to rip apart – and just let someone else deal with the storm coming that she had failed to get rid of properly.

But she had been the one to make everything worse. While Ray might have played a part in it, she had also been a major contributor to the perfect, unavoidable storm coming – a storm that was inevitable, and would swallow everyone. Even the hate.

And if May couldn't save everyone, she would at least save Brendan.

So she began the story from the beginning, without twisting words or leaving things out. Even if it sounded insane, the truth was the best way.

"I met Ray on the night of my sixteenth birthday in my dreams, when he told me that he was Rayquaza and he needed my help to save Hoenn from a disaster in the near future."

It sounded insane, even to her, but that was how it started.


AN: putting Titanium on hold and starting on Hoenn because writer's block. Cover image credit goes to かねる (Pixiv ID 210476), who was kind enough to give me permission for use.