Growing Up

Ugh. This is terribly written, I know. There's just such a lack of Brock/Misty stories on this site, so I thought I would submit one. Maybe I'll rewrite it someday.

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She always knew that she would grow up and that things would change. She couldn't always do the same things that she's done all her life, just like she couldn't always love the same person she's always loved. Misty kept believing that he would change – that he would grow up and rethink his priorities in life. Even after all of these years, he was still the same ten year old boy trying to make an impossible dream a reality. She was eighteen now and was starting to grow tired of the never-ending journey. Day after day, all they did was wander, humoring his childish desire to fight an endless parade of trainers.

She could tell that he was tired of it, too. Brock, her unrelenting source of support and comfort. He, too, felt the pain of their (or, rather, Ash's) quest. He was no longer a teenager, but a young man in his early twenties; he couldn't follow a young boy and his Pokemon all of his life. They both felt the ache of walking endless miles every day, the exhaustion of never being able to truly relax.

One thing, though, that Brock could never feel, was the sharp stab in her heart when she realized that Ash could never love her like she needed him to. The nights that she would lay crying in her sleeping bag, the one that never felt warm enough, were some of the most painful she'd ever been through. She would see Ash's sleeping silhouette, illuminated against the night sky, and feel another wave of sobs crash against her like a slap in the face. But then, every once in a while, she would catch the image of Brock's sleeping bag through the fire, and she would feel the sobs being kept at bay. Just the sight of him almost made her feel serene.

In time, the pain wasted away, and Misty could feel herself returning to the way she was before. She no longer gazed at Ash longingly, knowing deep inside that he would never look back. Now, she didn't even care that Ash paid more attention to his Pokemon's well-being than her own. She could finally feel free, not needing some guy to make her feel whole.

Still, Brock made her happier than she had felt in a long time. His consistency, stability, and general sweetness won her over. Not to mention that he was handsome, sturdily-built, and a good cook. However, she never let herself fall too much, for fear of being utterly rejected.

One day they found themselves alone at their campsite. They had a moment to relax while Ash battled the umpteenth trainer.

"He sure has a dedication to his craft," Brock carefully began while keeping half an eye on the pot of soup he was brewing.

Misty sighed, partially annoyed by the topic of conversation and partially because she knew it was true. "Yeah, I suppose so. I think that he could take a moment to chill out, though. I mean, he's seventeen, for God's sake. He's got the rest of his life to do this stupid quest. It's just so frustrating, how we're constantly travelling and we never get a break. And I know that I could leave at any time, and I don't know why I don't. God knows Ash wouldn't even notice. He'd just find some other Pokemon to catch or some other trainer to fight. I don't even matter to him." She could feel her face beginning to get hot, and her eyes began to fill with tears.

Brock stopped stirring the soup and looked at Misty with concern. "Hey, don't say that. I'm sure that he would miss you. I know I would…" He looked back at the pot while he said that. Misty blushed and chanced a glance at Brock's still form.

"Do you…do you mean that?" she managed to stutter out, watching the grass in front of her very intently. She could see the movement of Brock's arm as he was slowly stirring the soup.

"Misty, don't be silly. Of course I would miss you. Lately, you've been my rock. You provide so much support when I need it. I…really like you. I care so much about you." This time, he stopped his stirring and just looked at her. "I mean it."

She was stunned; she had no idea that he felt remotely the same way. "W-well, I care about you, too. I haven't felt this way since, well…"

"I know," he interrupted. The fact that she didn't need to say his name was a huge relief.

Misty stood up, wiped off the dirt from her shorts, and slowly walked over to Brock. She sat down next to him, next to the small fire they always had going. She put her head on his free shoulder and didn't have to say anything.