"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."-Anaïs Nin

There is always a beginning. A gold foil wrapped around every exquisite thought ever created; every dream ever imagined held deep within someone's soul; waiting, hoping, scratching at the surface trying to break free of its confinements. One day, the red regal ribbon securing the awaited treasures will be cut. But it always has to start somewhere. That's just human nature.

She reasons with this a lot. In fact, she wonders when her story will begin or if it already has. She thinks very intelligently for a girl her age, but then again the double digits of a child's statue seem exalted in the mind of a ten year old. She leans against an old beech, the grass tickling her legs and the sun filtering through the openings of the foliage. Her hair is like fire, as red as the flames of the dragon like creature she's seen from her books. Freckled face, with a determined scowl she herself is as fierce and fiery as all of gym leader Blaine's most prized companions. And yet, she chose her polar opposite, water. For a moment the ripples in the once tranquil water stir. She seems to feel it, her heart buzzing with unknown excitement. The reed pole in her hands gives a tug, alerting her of its catch. Her blue-green eyes open. Adrenaline.

"I think I caught something!" she exclaims, jumping up with glee. Her heart is palpitating, setting the pace as she begins her challenge. With a great burst of energy she pulls, her muscles straining. With a profound strength she didn't know she possessed, the figure egresses from the waters grasp, flying through the air as the force draws it out. Panting, she focuses in on the figure beside her, before her smile drops with disappointment. "Aww, it's just a kid."

The kid, as she refers to him, is just that, with wide innocent eyes, and a round fade. His clothes are sopping wet, and his visage contorted with worry. Her eyes travel along the length of the damage until she spots a tuft of yellow fur. Her gaze softens. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he vacuously replies, rubbing the back of his swollen head.

"Not you! Your pokemon!" she snaps at him her hands on her hips and eyes wild. It's irresponsible of him, painfully so. The small rodent like creature gives a strained 'chaa' his head lolling. He looks horribly banged up. What kind of trainer is this kid, she thinks. She scolds him for his stupidity before pointing him in the direction of the nearest pokemon center.

Suddenly there's a strident cry overhead that catches both of their attentions. The blood thirsty calls of the birds screech loudly as they soar above, their visions locked on the raven haired child, talons outstretched. He yelps, stumbling to his feet and darting off. Before she can even register it, he has mounted her discarded bike and is taking off.

"That's my bike!" she fumes, fists clenched at her sides. With a half apologetic look he turns back.

"I'll give it back someday!" She watches in disbelief as his figure slowly disappears down the path toward the pokemon center as the spearows chase after.

The gold foil of her story was more of a cheap ball of tin foil discarded into the nearest trash bin. But it was a beginning, nonetheless.

Fast forward.

The bell jingles in the doorway of the restaurant, its chimes alerting the people of his arrival. Around him, customers are chatting about, enjoying a steaming cup of coffee or stew, their faces relishing in the rising steam's heat before they must surrender back into the cold once again. He shrugs off his coat, letting the flurries of snow slowly melt into the fabric. He can't remember a time when Cereaulean got this much snow. Her hair stands out in bright contrast with the rest of the room making it easy to spot her. He hurriedly makes his was over to her and tentatively places a hand on her shoulder, swooping down to give her cheek a gentle peck. "Sorry I'm late Mist, I..." She silences him with a glare.

"I know you're busy. I get that. But just once I wish you'd take time away from your schedule to even once show up on time. You know, you could at least try to show a little effort." He doesn't answer. But then again, she doesn't expect him to. His glove clad hand drops to his sides while he runs the other through his messy locks nervously. He looks around the small restaurant searching for the words that seem to escape him, as if they are hidden among the room's soft glow, or in between the fire's embers crackling intermittently. There is nothing. He settles instead for a trite answer, the real one lost beneath the bevy of strangers, their voices carrying it far away from his grip.

"You know I care about you Mist."

"Do you though?" Her words sharp and precise, questioning.

"Hey, come on now."

"Well what do you want me to think, Ash? I hardly ever get to see you anymore. I mean seriously, do you know how hard it is not to see your boyfriend for months at a time? Because I know damn well you can come here whenever you feel like it and just drop by. But when I want to see you I have to get a boat and sail half way across the fucking ocean!"

"I never said it was fair Mist."

"You never say a lot of things." There's a sudden silence that falls between them. A tension in the air that suddenly cools the warm atmosphere. Her eyes grow a dim glaucous color that drowns out her once youthful glow.

"Well I came, didn't I?" he begins, eyes fixed on her own, "So tell me Misty, what do you want me to do? Because you know damn well that I can walk out of this room and never come back. Is that what you want? Or I can join you at this table and try to fix it. And you know that I'd do anything to try and fix it." Her face is pensive as he says this, her lips a thin neutral line. The faces and voices in the background seem to fade around them. The smell of burning wood and warm food filtering out of the air. Her voice is small, like a child's.

"Stay."

She remembers a time when love seemed like a lifetime away. When the only thing to worry about was getting to the next town on time, or figuring out what was for dinner that night. She never needed to worry about something so silly and unattainable. But of course love just had to come along and hit her like a truck. It was certainly as painful as one if not more. Because love is hard for a girl so young. A girl who has yet to develop the metal barrier around her heart. When feelings are raw and real, and words can cut like daggers. It's hard for anyone who has grown up in the shadows of another (others) and constantly degraded for being the black mareep of the family. Of course, she had learned to live with it. It was common practice for her. She hid her insecurities with harsh words of protest, defensive walls, and trembling hands under crossed arms. Satisfying her hunger with cheap romance novels and midnight wishes on blinking satellites. She learned to hide her feelings with imperceptible masks, attempting to silence her own heart's cries, while her mind was screaming and clawing at her attempting break free. But most of all, she learned how to suppress her fears. Of course, time had to grow on still, as well as herself. Love grew angry, and Love decided to punish. She was separated from her heart's desires and forced to return home. Forced to leave without so much as a simple goodbye, the tip of her tongue burning with unsaid secrets and regret boiling down her insides.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" He asks her as the two of them stumble into her car. The snow has picked up, the flakes joining together and falling in clumps now instead of individual pieces. She sighs, and turns the key.

"I think I can handle it. It's just a little storm, nothing to worry about." Her fingers fumble with the buttons on the car dash, attempting to turn on the heat. For a second he sees her eyes send him a sideways glance, her lips beginning to form words, but eventually she shakes her head and pulls out of the parking space. He focuses on the turning windshield wipers instead of the growing silence between them as it barricades him from her like an invisible wall.

"So how's the gym doing?" He asks nonchalantly, attempting to break the ice. Her eyes are a deep green color, concentrated on the road, but they seem to light up a little when he says this.

"Fine. Same as before you left. Two of the tanks could use some repairs soon though. I've asked Tracey to take a look at them on Sunday, but with Daisy there I think he might get a bit sidetracked."

"Ha, that's right. You know Brock is still pretty mad about that."

"I guess she likes the struggling artistic type," she snorts, "if you can even classify Tracey as struggling. Professor Oak practically raises him." They both laugh at the thought. The snow is coming down harder now, the once tranquil pieces icier and sharp. They fly down to the earth like bombs, their contents exploding against the window shield. "Shit," Misty turns the brights on, "it's getting harder to see."

"Are u sure you don't want me-"

"Yes! I can handle it."

"But Misty I just want you to-"

"Damn it Ash, stop it already! I told you I can handle it." There's another silence that falls over them again, and he suddenly hates her for it. He hates the way she always yells at him. How she always talks to him, like he's trash, hates he way she's always so stubborn, the way she always has to get what she wants. He hates the fact that he does so much for her and yet she never appreciates it. It makes his blood boil. He looks over at her profile, face contorted into rage. Her eyes are a bright jade color, piercing and dangerous.

He growls. "Why are you so angry at me all the time?"

"Why am I so angry?" she scoffs, "why do you always insist on being such an idiot?"

"Don't you turn this on me Misty. You treat me like trash!" he throws his hands up in rage. "I'm just trying to help you!"

"No, you act like can't do anything myself! Like I'm worthless!"

"I never said that!" he retorts.

"Oh please. Do you even hear yourself? I mean, Arceus you act like I'm a child!"

"That's not true."

"Oh really?" she looks at him accusingly, her bright eyes narrowing. Her voice has risen profoundly her face reddening with anger. "I can handle driving through a little storm Ash. I can handle getting you home. Just like I can handle myself every day at the gym," with each statement she gets louder, her voice practically straining, "just like I handled being alone all those years when you went off! When my sisters left me, and you left me, when everyone left me! I handled that, didn't I!?"

"That wasn't my fault and you know it!" His voice has risen to match hers. He looks forward momentarily to catch the glimpse of another car. "Misty watch out!" Her eyes widen as she sees the bright lights. She turns the wheel, desperately attempting to avoid the collision. Their bodies lurch forward as the car swerves, the icy road sending them into a ditch. The screeching of the wheels bore into his ears, before the impact jolts him forward. His eyes catch sight of her as her strangled cry cuts through the air, stopping short as it gurgles in her throat. All around them is white.

If he were being honest, Ash Ketchum could probably tell you everything about Misty Waterflower.

Because their connection goes far beyond a simple day to day hello and brief nod of the head. He knows so much more about her than what her favorite pokemon is (tentacool) or what her favorite color is (yellow). For example he knows that she hates the dark just like she hates peppers, and carrots, and bug pokemon; and he knows that it's not because of what she can't see, it's the idea of not being in control, like anything could come out in the blink of an eye and grab you while you are too powerless to do a single thing. And he knows that she once dreamed of becoming a water pokemon master, but couldn't because she had to manage her gym instead; he knows that she never regretted it, because she's been able to become stronger for it every day; and that she'll never blame her sisters for it as long as she lives. And he knows, trust him, he knows, that she was tough, and stubborn, and bitter and anything butwhat a little girl should be. (What more could you expect from someone who wanted to be different then her carbon copy sisters with their perfect smiles and their sweet girlish attitudes). And that she was angry, and terrible and defiant, and everything they said teenagers were supposed to act like, the only difference being that she never grew out of it. Because Ash knows he knows he knows, that Misty Waterflower is on the verge of cracking, and no matter how many walls she builds up, and how many false façades she puts on she will always be a fragile, broken, scared girl who's ten year old self never got a chance to grow out of her fears (They never went away). Because she had to grow up, bulk up, and stay up, when in reality she was falling.

Ash promised he would be there to catch her.

When Ash recovers there is a throbbing in his head and one in his side. He's a bit disorientated but of course that doesn't matter to him, he has to take action. Especially when there's a girl next to him, when there is Misty next to him, who is injured and hurt.

"Misty," he strains, touching her arm, "Misty are you okay?" Her eyes open one by one, the familiar pools of green meeting his. He has never felt such relief.

"Ash?" Misty says, groggy and scratchy. He thanks Arceus that she had her seat belt on, and that the airbag deployed. Her eyes well up with tears. She hit her head, and he is wondering if she has a concussion but it's hard to tell because his own head hurts like hell. A splatter of blood runs the length of her forehead from the pieces of glass that had shattered along the window shield. The car hood is smoking, and in a ditch, but none of that matters right now, it's irrelevant.

"Mew, Misty are you all right?" He wraps his arms around her protectively. She holds on to his shirt desperately.

"I'm so sorry Ash. I'm so sorry." She repeats over and over again. Her head is buried in his chest, her mantra humming against his skin and bones. It breaks right down to his core.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

The faint sound of sirens break through the atmosphere, scarcely heard amid the sobbing girl beside him.

I'm so sorry.

Ash has always loved his friends. But he wasn't in love with them. He knew that Misty was no different. Because he was sure he loved her like everybody else. And he was even surer that he wasn't in love with her. Even when he got that fuzzy feeling in his gut that he had mistaken for hunger, or when his hands got real clammy, and it suddenly became harder to breathe. He was sure that it didn't mean anything. Even when there were days when he missed her terribly, when he felt more depressed that she was gone than disappointed. She was the first person he ever met. That hardly goes undetected. Because he could never share a story about his beginning without somehow mentioning her. She was forever imprinted in his mind. There was a piece of her in every piece of him.

So why wasn't he in love with her?

Because at ten years old you don't know what love is. At ten years old you are focused more on your dreams and ambitions than those around you. Because at ten years old you are supposed to think that girls are yucky, and that there are better things to do than chase after one. At ten years old you would rather run for miles in tall grass fields, dirty up your jeans in knee length mud, go swim in swampy lakes, and just plain live because you can. There is not a ten year old in the world who ever sat down and truly knew in their hearts that they loved someone. Ash was no exception.

But time takes a toll on each human being. Humans are vulnerable to everything and anything, love included. Love doesn't wait around, it doesn't play by anyone's rules except its own. Love is, and always will be, unpredictable. When it hits you, it hits you; fast and hard, and with no warning. Love is unforgiving, frightening, angry, and far beyond the fake lies of beauty we invoke upon it. Love causes heart break, and tears, and days when you feel like curling up in a ball to avoid it; because we fear it so much more than we embrace it. Because love is a storm and we are a ship, and when it crashes upon our tiny little lives we sink. We will drown.

When Ash was hit, he sunk alright. Right to the damned bottom.

The paramedic shines a light in Misty's eyes, moving it in way that they will follow it's movement. A blanket is draped over her shoulders, and her head is being wrapped up. Ash had been cut by the glass on his forehead, and is getting stitches.

"You guys sure are lucky that you escaped with minor injuries," the medic tells them, finishing up with the bandages. His breath floats through the air, all fog and newly forming clouds that disparate into the atmosphere, rising up towards the heavens. The air is cold, and biting, but the chill has left Ash's body, replaced with a feeling of relief.

"Yes sir we are," Ash replies, thanking Mew for the thousandth time they were all right.

"You don't seem to have a concussion, but the glass did cut both of you up quite a bit. I'm sure you'll be fine though. Miss. Waterflower, I'd be happy to give the two of you a lift back to your gym." Misty gives him a smile, a weary tired smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Thank you so much. That would be great."

"It's the least I could do. I mean, if word got out that the Cerulean Gym Leader and Kanto's own Pokemon Master got in a car accident well, the press would go crazy."

"It would be best to avoid that," Ash agrees shaking his hand. They thank him immensely, and clamber into the van, ready to get home. Misty leans her head against Ash's as the engine starts. The ride home is silent.

The Cerulean City gym lies a bit always from the town, planted on the grasslands on the outskirts of town. Its oversized seel is always protruding from its side, warm and inviting.

After saying their thanks one again to the paramedic, they enter the gym's maw, their bodies meeting warmth. The atmosphere is layered with things left unsaid. They float through the air, right In front of their eyes. But they both stare at each other instead, like it's for the first time, that crackle of intensity flashing between them, like something is born. The heated look is incandescent and bright, and so terribly alluring that they cannot look away. There, in that moment, the same silent thought runs through both their heads. In the back of their minds they wonder, why so many things went wrong. They are not impervious, to heartbreak, they are not impervious to hurt. Overtime, these things have built up, and they know that one day they will break. Actions can be detrimental, they can cut like daggers on an open wound. Life is hard, love is harder. When two people are already broken, love is nearly impossible. And yet, for the two of them it was already inexorable, it was going to happen. It was a recipe for disaster. But they were trying to get through it. They were trying.

And suddenly everything breaks loose. Their lips find each other in a craze of hunger, restlessness, and need. They claw at each other, desperately, like deprived pokemon. He pushes her against the wall, his hands moving across her skin, tracing her bones and her being, feeling her presence. They explore each other, their eyes glazed over in a sheen of lust. In that moment they want what they had been deprived of for so long. In that moment there was no more fighting, there was no more being apart.

"Ash," she moans his name, the sound humming against his skin, resonating throughout his bones. She claws at him with fever, as if he is her own life source. As if he is the only way she can fill the hole that has crawled it's way into her, eating at her from the inside. It's all teeth tugging, and tongues clashing, and heat radiating off of them. Her heart is palpitating, going a hundred miles an hour. His hands slide underneath her shirt, the coolness of his fingers caressing the warmness of her skin. They travel upwards, stopping in the right places. She helps remove it to give him better access. She takes off his shirt as well, feeling the taut muscles that he has gained over years, molded by endurance. Her fingers flip idly over the waistband of his jeans, tugging it. His own slide somewhere under her own. It's a whirlwind of intimacy, really. Words have been replaced by touch, and thoughts have been replaced by action. Their kisses go deeper, become harder. Their hands trace each newly made wound showing that they made it, showing that they're okay. But they are only human, and humans need that tiny little thing called air, so they stop to catch their breath. The rising and falling of their chests are in sync, their foreheads resting against each other.

"Whoa," he says breathlessly. She smiles at him, her cheeks flushed red, the color as bright as her hair.

"Yeah." And they stay like this for a long while. Both of them searching for what comes next, as if it is hidden beneath the colors of their eyes, or underneath their discarded clothing.

"We should get some rest," he finally says, "I think we both need it."

"I don't think I can get a wink of sleep after what you just pulled, Mr. Pokemon Master." She gestures to herself, the flush of her cheeks, the exposed skin, the love bites on her neck. He blushes more, his arm flying to the back of his head.

"Guess we got carried away, huh." She smirks at him playfully, and presses her lips to his own.

"Maybe. Not that I didn't enjoy it." A smirk dances across his own features, before he picks her up bridal style towards the bedroom. She giggles, and presses her body against the warmth of his chest. He sets her gingerly on the bed, the springs creaking with her weight, and crawls in with her. His arm wraps against the dip in her hip, and along the flatness of her stomach. When they're settled, and that sigh of contentness exits her mouth, he shuts the light off, and room goes dark.

They lie awake for a while, adrenaline still coursing through their veins. He'll try and listen to the imperceptible sound of her heartbeat, and she'll act like when she presses into him, it isn't because he makes her feel safer. And they'll both fall asleep eventually, relying on each other's presence to keep them at bay. But tonight is a bit different.

"Hey Misty," he says quietly, the whisper tickling the back of her neck. It rumbles against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"Mmhmm?"

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you lately. I'm sorry I haven't been the best boyfriend either, but I'm trying to get better, I swear. And I know it can be hard for you, but it's hard for me too. There's not a day when my heart doesn't ache for you, terribly. But you have to understand that I'm trying. I truly am." For a long time, she doesn't answer. For a long time she thinks. And when he comes to the conclusion that she is ignoring him, the silence having grown from the time the words had exited his mouth, she finally speaks.

"I know Ash. I really do. I guess I'm just, tired of being alone. When you left me, I know we were young, but I felt almost betrayed. It was like everything that I had ever...believed in was sucked right down from underneath me. I was exposed, Ash. There were nights when I felt like breaking down and, and...and screaming because no one was here. If it weren't for my pokemon then, I don't know what I would have done. When you left again...I just lost it." She pushes herself closer to him, as if she's afraid he'll leave. As if she's afraid that she's just imagining him, like his body is a wisp of smoke disappearing through her fingertips, or grains of sand that fall through the gaps of her outstretched hands.

"I came back, didn't I? And you know, there's nothing stopping me from returning. I promise you. Misty, when I finally became champion, I realized just how much I had been neglecting you guys, not just you though, it was everyone. But for some reason, the one person that I knew I had neglected the most...was you. When I saw you in the crowds, cheering me on, it was the best feeling in the world. You gave me that shimmer of hope, Mist. And...you know what I realized in that moment?"

"What?" She says breathlessly.

"That you were the most beautiful person I had ever laid eyes upon. I think that if you weren't there I wouldn't have...even stood a chance. I don't know what I would have done," he pauses for a split second, digesting what he had said, "I realized I loved you Mist." She turns to meet his eyes in the dark.

"Really?" He presses his lips onto her own, the words dancing across their mouths.

"Course."

"I really love you Ash Ketchum."

"I love you too Misty. You have no idea." And thy both fall asleep in each other's arms, like it's the most normal thing in the world to them.

They aren't perfect, and their relationship isn't perfect. Nothing about them is. It's not quite tarnished, not yet anyway. Love doesn't allude to such predictions. The two of them know, as well, that this is not the end. Their story is still coursing through them, as endlessly as the blood that courses through their veins. It hangs in the air, over their heads, waiting. And just like there is a beginning, there will be an end. Just not yet.

And they will wake up the next morning by each other's side, and the next day, and the next. And they both know that he will have to leave eventually. The wild scenery pulls him towards it, beckons him towards its mighty grasp. He lives for the world outside confined walls. She once did too. But she has a responsibility that holds her back, it has overtaken her. His spirit has been set free, while hers has been locked to the ground forced to watch on as he soars above the mountain tops that kiss the skyline. She curses him sometimes.

But in all honesty, she knows, that sacrifices need to be made. Love must be fed. Love must be taken care of. You can't ignore the things that kindle love, and expect them to work out in the end. Because they won't. She can't expect him to give up his dreams and ambitions to come and see her. But he also can't expect her to wait for him, as he runs his world, as he creates the gap, as he sees new travels and cultures and worlds while she is confined to the four corner spaces that cage her. He can't. They both can't. Love is a two way street. And at the intersection of love there is going to be collisions. They knew this when they signed up for it. Love is a fight, and an endless battle between the two of them. But they haven't given up yet. They won't.

And maybe that's the only thing keeping them together.