PENDING REWRITE: Because I liked the story I began with more than the story it turned into. Probably chapters two through four will be used in a different fic by me one day, but for now, I'm going to start again from chapter one.
I just have a lot of Pearlshipping feels, okay? Ash and Dawn are somewhat OOC here (and older - I'd say about sixteen, seventeen?), and Serena is probably wayyy out of character, but I have no grip on her personality right now, so that'll have to be excused.
I don't own Pokemon and never will, etc., etc.
Enjoy!
Her blue hair is longer than Ash remembers, worn up in a ponytail, and her eyes are quieter, that spark of cheerfulness absent.
"Dawn." The word – her name – has a strange tang to it as it leaves his lips. It tastes like an apology. He can't imagine why, but he wants to take it back, start again with something more…appropriate.
"Hello," she says, coolly. Her eyes – those quiet eyes – flit over Serena, and a hardness and a sadness comes to them. But she's still smiling.
She turns to Ash and Ash gets the distinct feeling that she is looking through him. Hurriedly, apprehensive without knowing why, he makes introductions: "Dawn, this is Serena; Serena, this is my old friend, Dawn."
Serena says, "Hi, I've heard so much about you," and offers her hand.
The smile freezes to Dawn's face. "Somehow I doubt that." She ignores the proffered hand, and awkwardly Serena lowers it. "Pleased to meet you," Dawn adds, and looks anything but.
Beside him, he feels Serena shiver at the waves of fury rolling off the coordinator. It's near tangible. Ash asks, "Have I…done anything to make you angry?"
Serena intervenes, with false cheer, "Right, so. I'll leave you two to catch up. Clemont and Bonny and I will, um" – she falters at Dawn's glare, then concludes in a rush – "eat. Or something! Maybe we can talk later," she attempts. "I mean. Ash, right. He can be pretty stupid. I don't know why you're mad – if you even are, he's kind of bad at reading signs, too, so you might not even be, I don't know you that well – but I completely understand."
Dawn slumps, and the false smile melts off her face. "No, you can't understand – but listen, Serena, I…I shouldn't have been so rude to you. I'm sorry. This" – she gestures toward Ash, hands flying so close to his face that her intention might be to slap him – "has absolutely nothing to do with you. Ash and I should be there soon."
Ash wonders how Dawn defines 'soon.' Her face is resolute, stony: he imagines the two of them talking – or, more likely, arguing – until the pier they stand upon rots into the sea. And as they drown, they'll still be arguing.
Relief is visible upon Serena's face, and she all but runs off.
"So," Ash begins. His tongue feels heavy, and strangely enough, so does his heart. It aches when he looks at her. He says the first thing that pops to his mind: "You look different – I mean, in a good way, not that your before-look was bad…never mind. How've you been?"
Dawn is frowning. She ignores the question and observes without malice, "She's pretty."
He bristles at the implications behind those two words, though her voice holds no emotion. "You say that as though it's a crime. What, are you jealous?"
"Don't you dare accuse me of that." She straightens her back, and in her posture is a clear protest. "I am not jealous, just pissed off. And, as always, appreciative of a good hairdo. Wonder what kind of conditioner she uses. Anyway, I brought some stuff for you." Dawn kicks at the box at her feet, forgotten in the earlier discussion. "Misty gives her regards. Do you ever call her, at least say hi every other year to your first-ever traveling companion?" She pulls out an envelope calmly, but her hands are trembling. "And this. This is from your mom. She sends her love. I'll bet you five bucks that you haven't seen her since you started travelling Unova."
That's true, though he tries not to think about it. His hands clench into fists at his sides. "Dawn, what –"
"And guess what!" Her face glows with a twisted, bitter sort of triumph. She's almost laughing as she continues: "Brock says hello, and Cilan and Iris – they're dating now, not that you'd care – send their best wishes. So do May and Max – remember them?"
She flashes that oh-so-familiar Dawn-smile, beautiful if eerily bereft of emotion. He's missed it, Ash realizes. And her. More than he realized.
He tries to tell her, but she overrides him with an incomplete (but still too long) list of all those who he has known, who he has forgotten, abandoned, forsaken: "Misty-Brock-Gary-Tracey-May-Max-Professor Oak-Iris-Cilan –" she breaks off, choking on her words and the weight of them. "For Arceus's sake, Ash. Your mother. Remember her?"
"Dawn." Again it's an apology, though now he knows what for. He rubs his neck, searches for the words that will make this right.
Of course, no mere words can. Actions speak louder, after all. But he's at a loss.
Dawn's gaze is not the only quiet thing about her: tears pool in her eyes, silent and heart wrenching. "And when you've finished this region, you'll ditch Serena and Clemont and Bonny, and the cycle will begin anew."
A half-laugh, half-sob escapes her. "Won't it, Ash? And Serena'll come to visit for a few days but you won't talk to her, not really, so she'll just bond with the new girl. Or pretend to."
The shame is backbreaking. Ash can't bear to look at her: Dawn is the embodiment of that shame, and her eyes are so damn quiet that he can't hear himself think over the silence they radiate. You're an idiot, he tells himself.
"I've missed you. Though I've tried not to. I've tried." She shrugs, the nonchalance of the gesture forced. "No one can say I haven't. And who knows, maybe my efforts will amount to something one day."
Ash hates her and understands her for that, for not wanting to miss him, and loves her for that, for the trying.
Sweet Arceus in the freaking sky. You're. An. Idiot. He wants to hit himself for his denseness.
He loves her. And he did then, too, in Sinnoh, and he never told her, and – inexplicably – never contacted her after the World Junior Cup came and went, even though his heart had leapt into his throat every time he'd tried to talk to her in Unova, and he'd choked on it. Cilan and Iris had teased him mercilessly about his inability to speak to her, what it meant.
Which was: he loved her; he loves her.
"You're too late," Dawn says, as though she's read his thoughts. (They have always been perfectly in harmony, but – unfortunately for Ash and his sudden realization – he had thought their more-than-friends-camaraderie, their togetherness, was limited to tag-battles.) "They've all moved on – well, not your mom, since you are her only child and all. But everyone else."
"You didn't mention yourself as a part of the 'moved-on' group. Dee-dee," he adds, in an effort to make her smile. He simultaneously hopes that she hasn't moved on and hopes that she has (though it seems as though she has – upon the first moments of her visit, before the meeting went sour, she showed off her ribbons from Kanto.) She deserves to move on, and he isn't sure he deserves a second chance with her. So he says nothing.
Actions speak louder than words.
She stares into the sea, the same shade (but lacking the depth) of her eyes, and says, "Misty used to like you. And when it was clear you weren't coming back, well. She continued with her life, unaffected. You were only a fond memory to her, but I'll bet that you haven't even afforded her that much, the remembering. She's with Tracey now."
"I missed you," he says, and although he means it, the words sound hollow, cliché. And of course they do. It's not as though he's exactly proven missing her over the past few years. Or today, accusing her of jealousy of Serena. Why did he do that? "Really."
"I should've taken a hint from Misty, huh," Dawn continues as though he hasn't spoken. "Whatever. Probably should've thought of that before I let you into my thoughts."
She sits down at the edge of the dock, crosses her arms. Scowls at the sunset and the sea it reflects on. "This has been a fun visit, Ash. Sorry about being so rude to Serena. That was pretty unnecessary. It's just that I feel bad for her – she doesn't know how forgettable she is to you, like everyone else you've ever met. But" – she bares her teeth in a grim approximation of a smile – "I guess ignorance is bliss, so don't tell her. Do tell Bonny and Clemont I said hi, though."
"Your boat's not even here yet," he says. It sounds like she's saying goodbye.
Forever?
Dawn checks her Pokétch, and Ash thinks about all the trouble they had gone through, traipsing around Sinnoh looking for the apps. He smiles and wishes he could make her do so, too. "Well, then," Dawn says, "I suppose I'll just wait 'til it comes."
Actions speak louder than words.
And while Dawn won't grant him forgiveness for anything he does today, but maybe he can voice his epiphany without speaking.
He sits beside her, and wipes at the tears, even though they've dried. She flinches at his touch but says nothing, and when he tilts her face towards his, she stares hard at his eyebrows, or forehead, or lips – anywhere but his eyes.
Ash hesitates for a second, then kisses her. Her lips are salty from the sea and her tears, and she's simultaneously kissing him back and pushing him away.
"You're too late," she snarls, and again come the tears. Dawn wipes them away furiously, and Ash considers saying it – I love you – but he's tongue-tied, again; because he's never been good at stating his feelings, because seeing Dawn actually shed tears without trying to hide or downplay them is so unlike her, because she kissed him back and he still needs to process that.
Dawn stands, paces. "So you think that somehow kissing me will make the last few years disappear? I'm only one of many you've abandoned, Ketchum. When you've apologized to everyone else and made it up to them – maybe you should talk to Dialga or Celebi, see if you can go back and fix things – then maybe we can talk about your alleged love. Damn you," she says suddenly, "it's not that easy, Ash. I'm not that stupid, or desperate, and I never will be."
"I –"
"Leave me be." She whispers it. "I'll tell your mom that you love and miss her, and will contact her soon. That message fell on deaf ears for me. Any other messages you want relayed?"
He can see that his actions are not going to work – nothing short of time to heal, thousands upon thousands of apologies (and not just to Dawn, or his mother), time to forgive, and a whole lot of luck will work. He sighs, and tries to ignore the burning tears in his own eyes.
"I'll miss you," he says.
"I'm so sure," she replies.
And they sit there in silence until her boat finally comes.
They do not say goodbye. When the boat is nothing more than a speck in the distance, Ash gives a little wave and resolves to write a few letters.
He tries to ignore the tears, and tilts his hat down because, eventually, he can't.
Jeez, that was rambly. I started with a plot-esque thing and it turned into a kind of rant. Ash didn't say nearly as much as I felt he should've.
And Dawn. ;_; Gee whiz, the girl needs a hug.
Read and review, please!