Morty stared out of the window. The sky was clear, today there wouldn't be a storm like the one Mahogany Town had yesterday. Some bird Pokémon flew over the view, too far away for Morty to recognise them. Falkner's pouting face popped into his mind uncalled and he smiled inwardly as he imagined the young bird-keeper giving him a lecture of the different flying styles of bird Pokémon.

"What's making you smile, care to tell me?" Oh, so his smile had been visible to the real world, too. He let it widen as he turned to look at the old man who was tucked in beneath heavy blankets, looking weaker than ever. What was the point in being as secretive as he had been his whole life?

"Just imagined Falkner lecturing me of how to recognise bird Pokémon." Pryce huffed amusedly. His voice was thin and barely above a whisper as he spoke up again, laying knowing eyes on Morty.

"He's a sweet boy." The ghost-user shrugged slightly.

"He indeed is. A bit immature for me, though." The old man looked like he let out an 'ahh' but no sound was heard, only his face twitched and lips moved.

"May I ask: who's mature enough for you?"

Morty clearly saw what Pryce meant and chuckled good-heartedly.

"I don't know if he's any more mature than our lovely fledgling, but do you remember Eusine?" The ice-user nodded weakly and slowly.

"The guy who wears white and claims to be an expert of legendary Pokémon?" Morty grinned amusedly at the description.

"That's him."

"Oh, I do remember. I've always wondered what actually is between you two, but I have to admit that I didn't see that coming. Truth to be told, I thought you just were stuck with him because of some odd reason." His hand made a small movement as if he wanted to grasp Morty's hand that was placed beside him. The younger male offered his hand to the older and stopped the shiver that wanted to go through his spine because of the weakness Pryce's once firm grip had developed. Or maybe that was the wrong way around: it'd be better to say that the old man had lost the strenght he once posessed.

"You're rather incredible", the ghost-user mused out loud. "Still talking. Never retreating. You were a gym leader until your death." Pryce tried to smile, but only managed a weak rise of the corners of his lips.

"When one loves their occupation enough, they will take care of it until their legs crumble from under them. Believe me, my mind could still be there, out in the battlefield..." Morty saw the tired eyes get moist and shimmering.

"Maybe it will", he said, still smiling. "Stranger things have happened." The old man didn't move and for a second Morty thought his words had been to dead ears, but the he felt a weak squeeze in his hand.

"Maybe..."

The breeze from the open window moved the white curtains gently and blew the sweet, flowery scent from the roses under the window to them. Pryce inhaled and sighed almost contently. But Morty's eyes had gotten an absent look that told the world he was spacing off, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Pryce asked, startling him out of his slight daze. He shook his head, pulled his smile back.

"Just... Falkner is afraid of death." The old ice-user sighed.

"Figures, I think. He's so young and fierce." Morty tried to force his smile to stay, but decided that there was no point in keeping his always-smiling image up. It felt a bit like he was looking down at the other by doing so, even. He let it fade into a fine line.

"He says he's afraid that one evening he goes to sleep and never wakes up."

"Silly thing", the ice-user commented weakly. "He's at his best age. Just like you are."

"Mmh", was all Morty could muster.

They fell quiet again, listening to the gentle flutter of the curtains that hit occasionally against the light yellow wall. Pryce's hand was cold in Morty's, but it still felt living with the slight twitch it did at his every unstable heartbeat.

"What do you think afterlife is like?" the ghost-user suddenly asked. Pryce raised his eyebrows slightly, looking like he should've raised them more but could not find the strenght to.

"Happy", he anserwed curtly, maybe not having enough strenght left to describe. "Happier." Morty nodded, his eyes sliding shut and the smile stretching over his face again.

"That's good. Because it is. Do you want to hear about it?" Pryce graced a smile, too, looking like a proud, loving father would when looking at his son.

"Do tell me."

Morty let his head fall back and leaned against his chair. His hand never left the other. As he spoke again, his voice was slow and soft.

"Close your eyes and imagine. See the white shores, endless white shores with turquoise sea reaching its waves towards us. The boldest of them reach your toes as you slowly approach without your shoes on.

"You kneel down on the white sand. See me standing beside you, waiting with you for something we have never seen and never known. The breeze blows our hair haphazard, bringing forth the salty scent of the serene, pure sea.

"And then, a ship arrives. It is there in seconds, swiftly and quietly. It is beautiful: gracefully white and untainted. It's not very big and has no sails nor rows or motor. See Lugia craved onto its side, its wings protective around the ship. I help you up, my skin feels warm against yours. I lead you to the waterline by hand and let it go.

"Slowly you get on the ship, your toes touching the water again: it's warm and soothing. You step on the white floor and sit down and the ship starts to move on its own. It rides over the small waves without the slightest efford put in it. I stay on the shore and smile at you. You wave at me: I wave at you. No tears: we both are smiling.

"The journey is long but feels short. You find yourself at a shore that looks just like the one you left. And someone is there looking for you, waiting for the ship to bring you home."

Morty opened his eyes and looking at Pryce.

"I have never been futher. You go and figure out what awaits you." The old man's eyes were teary and he gave Morty's hand a weak squeeze again.

"Thank you", he said. "You're a great escort..."

The blonde reached over to wipe a single tear from Pryce's eye. He wiped it into the sheets and smiled.

"You should go unafraid. It's a brand-new adventure, after all."

A light squeeze: Morty could've sworn it was weaker than the one before. He brought his hand back to the older's face and touched the side of the pale face gently, laying his hand against the wrinkled cheek.

As something wet fell on his cheek he realized that he himself was crying, too.

Pryce craked a smile.

Morty widened his own.

The old man inhaled deeply, wanting to say something, but then he exhaled all of the air out and fell limp like a balloon that wasn't popped but that got a hole somewhere safe and emptied of air. His hand twitched many times a row and stilled.

Morty closed is eyes, his ever-so-eternal smile being replaced by a grimace that told the world he tried to keep his tears inside. Slowly he got up and laid Pryce's hand on the bed. He watched the thin frame a bit longer and went to the door.

Seven pairs of eyes were looking at him when he opened it: even Lance was there, which Morty was oddly grateful of. Whitney was trembling in tears, being held by Jasmine and Bugsy. The two had tears in their eyes, too.

Falkner got up like someone had pushed a sharp object through his seat. Chuck, on the other hand, sat down and buried his face into his hands. Clair was staring out of a window, not wanting to let her tears to be seen. Lance was leaning against the wall and looking grave.

Morty ruffled Falkner's hair, fully aware of the fact that he was still crying silently. The weakest member of them looked at the ghost-user in sheer despair and rushed by him, into the room he had come from.

Bugsy let go of Whitney in favour of going after Falkner. The pink-haired woman got up with a little help from Jasmine and followed the bug-user. Chuck followed the crowd slowly, gravely.

Morty looked up and saw that Lance was looking at him. The dragon-user shook his head and walked towards the gym leader and past him, leaving him alone with the blue-haired woman. Soon the said woman walked after the others, too, leaving Morty all alone into the corridor. He knew he should pull his pokégear out and call nurse Joy like he had promised to do when Pryce perished, but he just needed a bit longer time to think. He would pull himself together soon but not right now.

He exhaled, letting his shoulders slump.

So, hello. Daddy finally fixed my small laptop and I got to e-mail these things to myself, yattaa.

I don't really feel like rambling here, I'd only want to say that I can't survive writing a story without referring to SacredShipping. That's just stupid, but I need it for my mental health. :D

Please please please, tell me if you like it or not and why you (don't) like it. I know grammar can be odd and wrong because English is not my first language, so, by all means, correct me!

And, one more thing, I HATE the manga drawers for making Pryce a bad guy. :''(