Ash sat on a bench in the corridor wretchedly, leaning back against the cold wall with his eyes closed. There was only the gentle hum of hospital equipment breaking the silence but even in the near quiet his mind was assaulted by the sounds of Misty screaming, shattered glass raining down around her, and the roar of Giovanni's Pokémon rising up from underneath the balcony. Ash hadn't expected it, but Giovanni had certainly expected them, ducking out of the way of the beast's claws as it swung its arm at them.
Tracey had sketched from Ash's unenthusiastic description of the unidentified Pokémon, faxing it to Professor Oak to work from. Yet Ash found himself too dispirited to care about the outcome. What would once have been an exciting prospect, the discovery of a new Pokémon, paled into the distance of his mind. Replaced by thoughts of only Misty and the rip in her shirt where the beast caught her in its grip; the look of pain on her face when it dropped her on to the hard stone floor.
He opened his eyes wide when Brock finally emerged from the doctor's office and realised with a strangled sigh that the tears were flowing full force down both of their cheeks. While Brock simply wiped his eyes and frowned Ash found himself weeping like a child, yet couldn't bring himself to care. Not when he had nearly got his best friend killed.
"She's alright, Ash," Brock put a hand on his shoulder, "Misty's going to be fine. Just a bit shaken up, that's all."
"This is all my fault," Ash whispered, his words directed at the empty space in front of him, "She'll blame me."
"No," he felt Brock give his shoulder a squeeze and looked up to find tears rolling down his cheeks again, "Go. Talk to her, you owe each other that."
He gestured to the door on the right hand side of the office and Ash stepped slowly through into Misty's room and found her propped up in bed, looking physically exhausted but in one piece. He watched her from the doorway for a moment with a sudden unwillingness to show that he had messed up, until she looked up at him with tired eyes and he ran to her side, his pride forgotten.
"Ash," she smiled at him with relief evident in her eyes and he sat on the side of the bed so he could hold her.
"I was so worried," he whispered into her hair, "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," she whispered, but it sounded half-hearted to his addled brain and he gripped the fabric of her nightgown tighter.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, so softly he wondered afterwards if she had even heard him. She made no movement even if she had; simply burying her face into his shoulder. His gaze ran down the curve of her slender neck, left uncovered by the large nightdress they had dressed her in, and he sighed, prompting her to lift her head slightly. They'd been dancing around one another for weeks now, growing closer and closer until he could convince himself that it wasn't all in his head. Then they'd run across Team Rocket, again, and all those thoughts had been pushed aside. Now, this close to her, he felt his skin tingling and his heart pounding.
"Do you hurt anywhere," he said softly when he realised he'd been staring. She shook her head slightly and offered him a weak smile.
"I ache a little," she said, "But nothing's broken."
Ash looked down at her slim body on the bed; the red marks on her calves that he was sure would bruise in the morning; the tiny cuts on her arms caused by the window pane in Giovanni's office shattering behind her; all the little reminders that his stupidity had put her in danger. She'd never been weak, and he'd never felt the need to protect her, but now he wondered how he could ever let her be in danger again.
In the silence, she fiddled absent-mindedly with the buttons of his shirt, hastily thrown on when he had been discharged an hour beforehand, and he watched her brow furrow slightly.
"What's wrong?" he whispered, reaching out to hold her outstretched hand in his own. She said nothing, but held his gaze steady with a hint of sadness in her eyes. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and leant forward, cupping her cheek in his palm. If he breathed deeply he could smell faintly the perfume she had put on that morning, the scent that always made him stop when he caught a hint of it. He let his hand fall from her cheek down to rest on the blanket in her lap and gently stroked material that covered her hips and thighs.
"Please?" he whispered suddenly, looking up at her as earnestly as he could. She was looking back at him, confused, and he took the chance to show her what he was thinking. Slowly, he leant in, pressing his lips to her own as softly as he could with his growing arousal, and pulled her to him. She made a soft squeak and for a moment he thought he had hurt her and pulled back to apologise.
"I- I'm sorry," he whispered, dropping his hands from her waist as if she had burnt him. Yet he saw no pain in her eyes, only a sorrow reflected from him and spreading rapidly into her entire demeanour. She let out a sob as she reached for him, tugging at his shirt to pull him back to her.
He obliged without question, pushing her down onto the bed and kneeling between her thighs. When he reached under her nightdress he found her skin bare and she helped him to unzip the fastenings of his jeans and pull them down to his thighs.
He entered her with more force than he would have dared under usual circumstances, felt her sharp intake of breath and buried his face into her hair. He felt her thighs squeeze his hips and pushed into her roughly, pausing only when he felt her chest heave under his own. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down at her.
"Sorry-" he began but she arched her back to kiss him, bringing him back down to rest his head on the pillow next to hers. Her hips moved eagerly against his own and he turned his head to kiss her.
Their encounter was embarrassingly brief; he half-conceded when he gripped her clothes tighter and moaned loudly in her ear. Yet she held him close without complaint, kissing his neck tenderly as his body trembled on top of her.
"I'm sorry," he cried in her ear, "I'm so sorry, Mist."
She would understand both meanings to his words, he knew, but he had a feeling she would only address the one. He felt her reach up to wrap her arms around his back, clasping lightly at his bare skin and it wasn't until she spoke that he realised she had been silent the entire time.
"It's alright," she whispered, and he pushed himself up to look her in the eye, "I'm okay, we're both okay."
"I could have lost you today," a tear ran down his cheek and fell on to her own, he wiped it away tenderly, "I've been so stupid."
"Shh," she breathed gently, guiding his face down to her own. Her leg was still wrapped around his calf as he kissed her and he held her close against him, unwilling to pull away from their embrace and the warmth of her body that assured him she was alive.