A/N: Well, this is my latest offering. It's not that great but at least I did something. ((shrugs)) It's the sequel to 'No More Happy Endings', which is stupid 'cause I was never gonna do a sequel. But that's the way it is. The song is an old European one called "Those Were the Days" by Mary Hopkins, which most people have never heard of. Well, now you have, so you're a little bit smarter than you were two seconds. Be proud.
*
Once upon a time, there was a tavern,
Where we used to raise a glass or two...
*
"Hellooooo listeners, this is Connor Nelson on NBL .FM., bringing youuuu the best tunes in the chaaaarts. NBL, South Kanto's number one radio station! Tell our listeners what's coming up, Bill..."
"Weeeell Connor, we have our resident agony aunt Ask Annie coming up in just a mo, and she's going to be taking your calls aaaaall morning!"
"Yes siree, Bill, but before that we have a very special guest in the studio..."
The annoyingly chipper voices of the two DJ's blaring out of the alarm clock/radio pierced the silence of the bedroom, the noise completely drowning out the distant rumble of traffic that could be heard from the streets below.
There was the sound of rustling fabric as the single occupant of the double bed beside it shifted, the blue and white striped bed sheets tenting as the sleepy owner rolled over. The clock-radio persistently continued its banter of irritating chatter as the occupant made attempts to ignore it. After a few seconds silence, he finally admitted defeat and slammed his hand down on top of the alarm, silencing the radio mid-sentence.
Brock sleepily rolled over once again, his arm automatically reaching across to the other side of the bed. His eyes opened sleepily to see his hand had hit only cold mattress. He stared at the vacant expanse of sheet beside him, his expression changed from confusion to sad realisation. He remained motionless for a few moments, swallowing deep gulps, staring at the empty spot beside him. There was a wistful sense of sadness about him, pain in his eyes. Sighing, he tore his eyes away and sat up, wiping his eyes blearily as the room around him came into focus.
Boxes stacked up in piles, still taped up and untouched. Half stripped, outdated wallpaper, hanging ripped from the painfully empty walls. Bare of all personal touches, anything that would indicate a person was living there, the only exception being the bed and chest of drawers. It was obvious that he was in the process of moving in, but to him it still resembled a prison cell. It was lonely, empty and cold. Seemed fitting, considering the situation.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Brock threw back the covers and attempted to untangle his legs from the sheets. Flicking the radio back on, he wove his way through the boxes and picked up the clothes that he had folded neatly and meticulously on the chair last night. Old habits always died hard. As he busied himself getting dressed, he threw a casual glance to the clock. 11:32am. He was going to be late again. Did he really care anymore?
He listened absently as the radio drummed on in the background, new voices joining the insanely happy ones of the DJ's. It hurt his head to listen, but until the TV was unpacked, this was the only thing he had to look forward to each morning. Which was so pathetic, it made him want to cry.
"Sarah on line three. Sarah, are you there?"
"I'm here, Connor." That voice was high pitched, girlish, with a hint of hysteria in it.
"Hello Sarah, and what's your problem for Annie?"
"Well, uh, this is kind of stupid, but... um, my boyfriend's moving across the country, and... and..."
That emotional edge in her voice finally broke loose and an outburst of hysterical sobbing burst through the radio, accompanied by a strange sniffling, snorting noise.
"I'm a-afraid he's going to find s-s-s-someone... someone else!"
Brock rolled his eyes, letting out a bitter snort of laughter. Dear God, if that was her biggest problem, what was she crying about? He finished knotting his tie as he listened, a wistful smile on his face, tinged with sadness. He wished he was a teenager again, when the most important thing to be concerned about was who was dating who. But nope, couldn't be that carefree anymore. Bills to pay, work to do. Settlements to discuss.
He wondered whether he had time for breakfast, then spotted the box labelled 'FOOD', still untouched and packed away. It seemed to dishearten him even more than he had been. He decided against it, knowing it was only the tasteless dried stuff that couldn't go off anyway.
As he pulled on his white lab coat, his eye caught his left hand and he stopped, holding his hand up to the light of the window. The tanned skin contrasted with the stark whiteness of his coat, but that wasn't what had caught his eye. He stared at the thin, pale tan mark that stretched around his fourth finger like a band. A regretful sorrow flitted across his face as he stared at it, sighing deeply. It was only for a second though, as he seemed to realise he had lost himself in morbid, unwanted thoughts. He shook his head, trying to shrug off the painful memories, and grabbed his car keys from the sideboard.
He stopped just before he stepped out of the door, and took another look around, disappointment etched deeply into his face. Was this what the rest of his life was to be? He had it all planned out. What happened to the life he was going to have? When did he become... his father?!
'You had the life you wanted. It's just been and gone' a small voice in the back of his head whispered to him.
There he was. Thirty and a has-been.
Brock shook his head again, unable and unwilling to be thinking such heavy thoughts at the moment. If ever. In the idealistic days of his youth, he and his friends had it all planned, used to discuss the great things they would do. He winced again. That was another sore point. No thinking of old friends today. Especially -those- old friends.
No sooner had he stepped out of the door, the phone starting ringing. He stood and hesitated a moment, unsure of whether to ignore it and go on his not-so-merry way, or to answer. The latter was finally decided on and he dashed back in, grabbing the phone before whoever was on the other end hung up.
"Hello? Hello?" he asked urgently, before realising he was holding it upside down. He hastily turned it the right way up. "Hello?"
A pause.
"Yes, this is he. Who's speaking?"
*
Remember how we laughed away the hours?
And dreamed of all the great things we would do?
*
"Honey! Honey, are you ready yet?"
Receiving no reply, the heavily pregnant woman that sat on the couch sighed, shaking her head. With some difficulty, she managed to lift herself out of the sea of plush cushions that she was sat on and stood, momentarily trying to get her balance, the extra weight making her wobble on her feet slightly. Placing a hand on the small of her back to support herself, she waddled rather than walked to the foot of the stairs. She placed a hand on the bannister and looked up, blue eyes scowling.
"Honey! If you want to get to school -on time- this morning, I suggest you get going NOW!"
Silence. Then a gangly figure started running down the stairs, two at a time. The woman winced. It looked as though he'd trip and fall head over ass at any second.
"Ok, ok, I'm ready, I'm ready." The second figure panted, papers and folders spilling from his arms and onto the plush red carpet of the bottom step.
"Oh, look at your tie, Ash." the woman tutted, straightening the red tie that was flipped over his shoulder.
"Sorry Carol, I was in a rush." Ash grinned sheepishly. "I don't want to be late for my class again. They have their exams coming up, and I don't want those kids to be stuck with the supply teacher again."
"Well get a move on, then!" His wife smiled. "God, Ash Ketchum. Sometimes I think I'm your mother."
"Well, you're gonna be one soon at any rate." Ash grinned, patting her bump. He leaned down. "See you later, Junior. See you tonight, Carol."
He kissed his wife, who mock-glared at him in envy. "I can't wait to have this kid and get back to the office." She shook her head. "Men. Don't know how lucky you are."
Ash smiled and watched his wife snatch up an extremely large slice of double chocolate fudge cake. His smile faded and became an expression of concern. "Shouldn't you be eating healthily? I mean, a woman in your condition..."
"And you've been pregnant since when?"
"Right. Enjoy your breakfast." Ash grinned, shutting the door behind him.
Ash's eyes were dead set on the road in front of him as he drove to work, though maybe they weren't quite seeing. He just didn't get it. It was a perfect day, no different from the others. Then why was he so... restless, this morning?
Thoughts kept bombarding him as he drove, niggling little thoughts that he just couldn't seem to push away. He found himself thinking about everything. His life up until this point. Everything he had. He wondered why. Self-evaluation had never been his thing.
To the casual outsider, he and his life would have seemed a success. Maybe not the non-stop party and glamour he had once thought it would be. He didn't have the fame and glory that everybody wants. But he was still a success, in a conventional sense. Nice house in the suburbs. An attractive wife. A respectable job. Kid on the way. All at twenty-six years old. Maybe he had it a little early, but that was ok.
And yeah, he wasn't a Pokemon Master. He was a biology teacher for twelve year olds in Veridian City. Not the way he had planned it. But though Ash had always been good at Pokemon training, others had been better. It just wasn't enough to be 'good'. You had to be... outstanding. So he had gone to college, caught up with his education, got a nice fat degree in biology. Of course he still had his Pokemon. But they were more a hobby to him now. His life wasn't glitz, it wasn't glamour. But he had been given a lot, enough to make another person envious.
So why was he thinking about it all? Ash had never been one for all that deep thinking. He had done a lot, especially for a guy who most people thought was a little on the... 'dim' side. He had no regrets....
Well, except for one.
His mind drifted back to one summer, when he was fifteen. A particularly nasty incident concerning two people he had thought were always going to be part of his life. That incident had cost them their friendship, which he had once thought was unbreakable. So much for that theory. But it saddened him to think of all the major events in his life that they had missed, that they never shared. His graduation, his engagement, his wedding, the news that he was going to be a dad. Brock had never been his best man, Misty was never going to be the child's godmother. It was saddening, and it made him feel wistful.
He couldn't even remember what it was about. Must've been bad though.
What was it his mother always used to tell him? Ce sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.
Ash's absent state of mind was shattered by the musical bleep of his mobile phone. He reached out and looked at the screen, searching for caller ID. Recognising the number, he smiled slightly and answered.
"Hello?"
*
Those were the days, my friend,
We thought they'd never end...
*
Bright sunlight streamed through the french windows, illuminating the spacious room and reflecting off the crystal glass. Through the windows, which took up nearly the whole wall itself, the sparkling azure waters of Cerulean City shone, as did the glass and steel structures of the city itself.
However, Misty preferred to look elsewhere today.
She was laying on her expensive blue couch, her arms behind her head and her legs crossed. Her blue eyes watched the ceiling, in particular, the white ceiling fan which propelled above her. It seemed to fascinate her, despite her having seen it every day for the past... God knows how many years.
As she watched the blades rotate in super fast speed, she half listened to the various sounds going on around her. The murmur of the TV, the shrieking of the seagulls, the sound of kids squealing on the beach below her apartment window.
The telephone ringing brought her back to reality, and she glanced to the table beside the couch where her telephone lit up on each ring. She stabbed the speaker phone button.
"Williams."
"Miss Williams?" A deep, male voice she hadn't heard before. "This is Tony calling on behalf of the League..."
She tutted and rolled her eyes at this.
"How nice for you." She grunted sarcastically, crossing her arms.
"We were wondering why your gym hasn't been opened for business today, ma'am." He ignored her comment, an accusatory tone to his voice.
Misty rolled her eyes again in irritation more than anger. "Because I decided I need a day off."
"Well... uh... You can't just --"
"Hey, I think I can -just-." Misty announced, anger flaring up. "I haven't had a break in ages, working my butt off for you guys. I'm taking a break." Her tone was challenging, daring him to protest.
"Of course, but Miss Williams, you can't just decide to not go in one day." The poor man stammered.
"So what are you going to do?" Misty asked. "*Fire* me?" The amused tone in her voice suggested that she knew this was impossible.
"Well --" The man began. Misty interrupted him.
"I'll be in tomorrow, normal time. Until then, don't call me."
"But --"
She slammed the speaker phone button down, cutting him off mid-sentence. She gazed across at the TV, where a day time soap opera was on. This wasn't enough to hold her attention, so she crossed across her tiled living room, grabbing a bottle of beer on the way. Stepping through the French windows and out onto the balcony, she rested her hand on the rail and looked down at the beach below. Families were sprawled out on the sand, children shrieking as they ran away from waves at the sea's edge. Friends stopped to chatter along the palm lined walkway, their laughter drifting up to where Misty stood.
She sighed as she watched them. When was the last time she had stood with a friend and just joked and laughed? When was the last time she just talked to a friend? Come to think of it, when did she last -see- a friend?
So it was true what they said. The higher up you get, the fewer friends you have.
She thought back to the man on the telephone and felt a pinch of guilt. The guy was only doing his job. And it really wasn't necessary to snap at him like she did. And she knew that she'd have been granted a day off, if she'd only just asked. But she wanted to keep that feeling of self-importance, didn't she. She knew that she was important enough to do whatever the hell she wanted and not get in trouble for it.
Her people skills really needed some working on.
She knew what they called her behind her back. A prima donna, self-absorbed, big headed, cocky. And some less pleasant ones too. She sighed and leant her elbows on the cold marble railing, letting her head rest on her free hand.
'Here's to being another year older' She thought, taking a large swig of the beer. It was her birthday, but what did she have to show for it? Nobody to wish her a happy day, no family to speak of to lavish her with love and best wishes - well, none which she had any interest in knowing. All she had to distinguish this day from any other were a few hastily bought cards with scrawled, empty messages inside. Old friends who had obviously forgotten until it was almost too late, then posted because of some sense of duty rather than affection or friendship.
Twenty-eight year's old. And she already felt like her best years were behind her. Sure, to anybody else it looked like she had it all. She had the kind of life people dreamed about. She was rich, she was important, she had a great job which she loved.
But it wasn't enough. Her job was the only thing in her life. She had got so involved in it, it took over such a huge part of her life, that she forgot the other things. Being a gym leader was a tough job anyway, but her ambition wouldn't allow for compromise. As it took more and more of her time, her friends and the people who really meant something to her got pushed aside. She consoled herself by believing that she couldn't have everything, and the loss of her friends were just part of the deal on the road to success.
But still, telling herself that didn't make her feel that much better.
She exhaled slowly, shoved her hands in her jean pockets, and walked back inside. Flopping down onto the couch, she absent-mindedly flicked through the channels, stopping on each one only two seconds at most. She stopped, letting her hand drop back down onto the couch. The TV had stopped on the Shopping Channel, and the streaky tanned, peroxide blond presenting was currently showcasing a set of Victorian porcelain dolls. She never knew why people like those things. She just found them creepy.
She slouched further into the chair in defeat. She couldn't focus on anything today. She was too upset. And she had no idea why. Her eyes moved restlessly around the room before landing on a heavy black book in the bookcase, at the other end of the room. Desperate for something to do, she shuffled across the room and picked it up, taking it back to her chair. With her fingertips, she traced the gilded words 'Photo Album' that were emblazoned across the front of the black leather biding. She opened it slowly, sending up a cloud of dust from its pages. It had obviously not been looked at in a long time.
She turned each page, looking at friends, family and people who's faces she had already forgotten. She was surprised in herself for reading this. After her parent's death, she had tried to avoid bringing up the past by any means necessary. That obsession with letting bygones be bygones had remained with her until the present day. Once it had happened, it was done, over, finito. No point in dragging up the demons of the past. Yet here she was, looking through them all and of her own free will.
She stopped on a photo of Daisy, Lily and Violet. A scowl crossed her face as she peered closely at their faces. The relationship with her sisters, never an easy or comfortable one, had all but disintegrated now. Now she had no family whatsoever.
She slammed the book shut, sending a fresh plume of dust into the air and tickling her nose. She stood, and had only taken two steps when a small photo escaped from the album and fluttered down to the floor, coming to rest face down on the shiny white tiles. Misty blinked down at it, uncomprehending, before setting the album aside and bending down to pick it up. She brought it up to her face, tilting her head. Her eyes widened as she took in the three youthful faces which grinned up at her, their expressions betraying nothing but the enthusiasm and carefree attitude of childhood. She felt a stab of sadness as she looked at it, tears suddenly pricking the back of her eyelids.
She let herself fall onto the couch, her eyes not leaving the photo she held in front of her. How had this photo even got into the book? She thought she had got rid of all their photos after... after... well, after the 'incident'. A lump forced its way into the back of her throat as forgotten memories started to fill her mind.
She flipped over the photo, and read the scribbling on the other side. In her own messy handwriting, she had written, "Danson Woods", the place they had been when the photo was taken. Misty gazed at it, as if trying to piece something together in her mind. She remembered how uncomfortable it had been travelling through that forest, she remembered how Ash had sprained his ankle tripping over a tree root, and she and Brock had to virtually carry him the rest of the way. But above all, she remembered a strange conversation she had with one of the guys while she was in there. Something she couldn't seem to quite remember, but which seemed oh so relevant to her life now.
She took a shaky breath, looking deep into the face of her former self. Where had all her dreams gone? She thought she was going to make a difference to the world, that she was going to be great, have the perfect life. Maybe it seemed that way to anyone else, but this wasn't the way she had seen herself end up. Then again, maybe all people thought that way when they were young and idealistic. But she seemed so happy there, surrounded by her friends. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed, or was really, honestly happy. Where had it all gone wrong?
Eleven years, gone by in the blink of an eye. Gone. She hadn't even realised how fast they went.
The ringing of the telephone brought her attention to the phone again and she frowned, wiping her eyes fiercely as she grabbed the receiver from the cradle.
"I thought I said not to call me ba-"
She stopped mid-sentence, listening, her face registering surprise.
"Uh, yeah, this is Misty. Who's this?"
*
We'd sing and dance forever and a day,
We'd live the life we choose,
We'd fight and never lose...
*
tbc....