A/N: Fill for the meme over on LiveJournal.
The prompt was: "Brock/Misty, game or anime canon. Rock types are weak against water."
This is very introspective, and slightly angsty. It's the type of non-dialogue fic that I write all the bloody time, as anyone who has seen my journal would know.
Also, kind of weird given I'm usually an Ash/Misty shipper, but oh well.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognise does not belong to me.
In the end, it's a bug Pokémon that does it.
The night is crisp and cold, but Brock isn't bothered by it, warmed by the thick wrappings of his sleeping bag and the remnants of their fire, low and smouldering, as he is. He hasn't bothered to put it out yet – he knows he is still a ways from sleep – and the flames flicker and dance calmly in the still of the night, casting shadows that shift and meld into one another. Idly, he watches the patterns the light and shadows create on the plush side of his sleeping bag, content just to lie there and relax.
Around the fire, Ash, May and Pikachu sleep peacefully; Pikachu is curled up into his trainer's chest, evidently revelling in the extra share of warmth, and Ash snores softly occasionally. May has tucked herself completely into her sleep bag, so that all that is visible are tufts of brown hair and the top half of her face. The sight brings a quiet, involuntary chuckle to Brock's lips.
The forest around them hums with night-time activity – but it is a peaceful sound, and it reminds Brock of Viridian Forest, of taking his younger brothers and sisters exploring through the woods, teaching them about the large variety of Pokémon to be found there. Petalburg Forest is different, and yet so similar at the same time. There is the sound of rustling leaves to his left, and Brock turns his head sharply, scanning their surrounds. However, he relaxes when he realises that the source of the noise is merely a Wurmple, and a smile spreads across his face.
"Hey, little guy," Brock murmurs, and reaches for the jar of Pokémon food left by the side of the fire. He carefully unscrews the lid, and offers a piece to the tentative wild bug. It's a waiting game, the breeder knows, but he is patient, and soon the red caterpillar inches closer. It eyes the food suspiciously for a moment, before reaching out lightning fast and then retreating to nibble its morsel, eyeing Brock with curiousity and wariness.
He laughs, and spreads out a little more food on the ground, before settling himself down once more.
It's in that moment, listening to the quiet sounds of the wild Pokémon beside him and revelling in the feeling of being in the midst of nature, next to the creatures he loves in their natural habitat, that he realises something feels off – wrong. Brock takes a little while to catch on to the fact that he's far, far, too used to the squeals of horror and disgust that previously would have accompanied the sighting of a bug, and he has to stifle a laugh, lest he disturb the little fellow who is munching away to his left.
Images flash in his mind's eye, memories of a lean, whiplash of a girl with a shock of bright hair – her screams and howls of terror that, despite her utter rage later, sent he and Ash into peals of laughter. Sure, he could understand someone being uneasy around Pokémon like Pinsir, but he'd never understand the fiery-tempered young woman's aversion to sweet, harmless Pokémon like Caterpie and Wurmple. Brock's mouth twitches in a fond smile, and with a pang he realises he misses it.
He misses the laughs, the moments the three of them had, the camaraderie they shared – he misses Misty. Brock's not entirely sure he could go so far as to say he misses her temper, and then reflects that he could, provided it was the moments where it was directed at someone else.
There is a slight bump at his side, breaking him out of his thoughts; he looks down to see the Wurmple turning to leave, and he realises that it was the Pokémon's way of saying, thank-you. He extracts a hand from his sleeping bag and sends a small wave at its retreating back, before pillowing the hand behind his head and gazing up at the night sky. It's not a startlingly picturesque sky, that night; the clouds hide the stars, and the slip of a moon that is left peers down at them all, dimmed by the haze of the clouds. He wonders idly if rain looms, however, thoughts of water and the sounds of bug Pokémon rustling in the undergrowth bring his thoughts sharply back to Misty, and he bites back a sigh.
He's not entirely sure when he developed a weak spot for his fellow Gym leader, and it's a wry smile that twists his lips when he muses that it is, after all, somewhat of a cliché – she, a water Pokémon trainer, he a rock specialist, and his hidden affections creating a weakness to parallel those of his Pokémon against hers.
It could have been any time along their travels, Brock knows. It hadn't been a startling moment of revelation, either, like he realises it probably was for Ash, that night at Maiden's Peak where Misty looked positively stunning and his young friend woke up to the fact that hey, Misty was female. Instead, he had been caught somewhat unawares by the affections steadily growing for his erstwhile companion – used to caring for so many younger siblings at home, Brock had almost immediately slipped into that same older brother persona with Ash and Misty, and unbeknownst to him, that sibling affection had snowballed and he had realised that the way he thought of Misty was anything but. And not long after, Brock had resolved that it was quite definitely Better For Everyone if he kept his mouth firmly shut.
He's never assumed she was simple or unattractive – even though she wore her hair up in a scraggly pony-tail and wore tomboyish clothes, there was more to a woman than that. Brock can't help but laugh to himself as he realises, should anyone hear him say that, how positively hypocritical that would sound. However, fool was the boy who failed to ignore Misty's feisty, lovable personality – yet she was more than that, too. Sensitive and caring, coupled with a dash of bravery and a definite fiery side, that was who Misty was.
Brock knows she had a great capacity to love and care, and equally, that he was on the receiving end of that side of her personality. However, in a platonic way, and that was how it would stay.
Even if Ash was a blind twat, and would put his career and his ambitions first, one day he'd wake up, and if he was lucky, Misty would still be waiting for him to do just that. Brock knows he'll be there on that day, too – but as her friend.
"It's a lot harder liking someone who doesn't like you back."
He's not sure that those were her exact words, but Brock remembers with clarity – and a small laugh – how prettily she'd blushed when he'd teased her about that. At that point, she had still been Little Sister, and he'd imagined that was how she would stay. Obviously, he'd been wrong.
Despite the fact that Brock misses her sorely, he is, in some respects very, very glad that Misty is no longer travelling with them. He may be a sentimental, soppy bastard where she is concerned, but he's still male – and thinking very, very bad thoughts about his blossoming, far-too-young friend and love interest would not be good for anyone.
And even though his affections for Misty haven't cancelled out his appreciation of other fine womanly forms, he knows that if he is around to watch her develop into a young woman, it would only be a matter of time before he slipped and, true to his nature and reputation, said something. Probably flirtatious. Which would definitely be Not Good for anyone.
Brock determinedly focuses his thoughts in another direction, away from the thought of Misty as a woman, with gorgeous womanly curves and— stop it, he chastises himself. Those are bad things to be thinking in present company.
He sighs, and forces himself to shut his eyes tight and attempt to drift off.
His last drowsy thoughts before sleep claims him are how he is still wryly amused by the parallels between Pokémon and humans. And then, with the sound reasoning that comes in that fog between sleep and wakefulness, he wonders if he really should have been so surprised, in the end.
After all, everybody knows rock types are weak against water.
A/N: For a change, this one hasn't been posted on my personal LJ, although it certainly is on the meme, but as anon.
Hope it was enjoyed. ;3
Much love,
Naranne.