Your Warmth
By xxkoffeexx
Disclaimer: I don't own.
Summary: She thinks he is cold because he always wears a scarf. Resistanceshipping. WhitneyxMorty.
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Whitney doesn't like rain.
She doesn't like ice or clouds either. Come to think of it, she doesn't like any weather besides bright sun and blue sky. Her clothes are short and ready for summer. There is not a single scarf in her closet because she dislikes the cold.
She doesn't welcome purple winter.
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Whitney visits the Ecruteak Gym when she becomes a Gym Leader. The battle field is normal, typical almost, but there is something eerily quiet about the air. She waits for Morty, or anybody, to come in.
Something does.
Silent and slow, a purple Gastly drifts through the ceiling as if it owns the place. She feels the temperature drop in the room, and she wonders if the sun has disappeared as well.
The Gastly spots her. It floats down teasingly.
Whitney has walked through a fog before. She remembers the cold, vapor-like mist clinging to her skin like a moist veil. It is an uncomfortable sensation, because it is neither dry or wet.
It feels that way when the Ghost Pokémon drifts past her, its death-like breeze almost a caress. She tries not to shiver, but her body betrays her.
As if knowing, Gastly grins widely out of the corner of its slanted eyes.
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His body is cold, she thinks.
Morty is talking but she's not paying attention. She is watching the purple Haunter that is hovering near the Ecruteak Gym Leader, swirling and fading. The Ghost Pokémon drapes itself over his shoulders, long, disembodied arms embracing its master, almost possessively. Morty doesn't seem to think anything is strange. Its grin is wide and satisfied.
She cannot look away.
"Whitney? Are you okay?" Suddenly the blond and his Pokémon are looking at her.
The pink-haired girl blinks. "Y-yes! Sorry."
He nods. Haunter continues to wrap itself around him.
Whitney thinks Morty is secretly a ghost.
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She is a little gloomy because she and the Ecruteak Gym Leader are paired up to check the routes between their cities. It is their duty to make sure the path is not damaged after the big storm last night. Whitney is gloomy because she wants to be with Janine, or even Falkner—anyone but him—however she hides this under a smile.
It is absolutely silent. Morty isn't one for small talk. She grows tired of smiling and wishes it is sunny instead of cloudy. She wishes to be paired with someone else. She doesn't see the point in working together with him.
She doesn't see the stupid rock until she trips over it. And falls hard.
He is at her side even as she catches herself with her hands. He is offering a hand to her when she glances up. She doesn't want to take it.
"It's okay," she tells him, quickly standing up. "I can handle this kind of—ow!"
"You okay?"
A stabbing pain in her hand prevents her from replying, and she looks at it. There is a sliver of rock embedded in the soft skin. It hurts.
He blows out a breath and reaches for her hand, "Let me see."
"No," she blurts out, shying away from him. Cold, cold. "I-I'll pull it out myself. Really." She manages to smile, but it turns out like a grimace.
"…You don't trust me?" he queries calmly.
Whitney blinks. Does she trust him? Of course she does, but— "It hurts. A lot," she admits, looking down at her white shoes.
There is a pause. "I know," he says with a smile in his voice, and her eyes flicker when he holds out a hand again. She glances up at his violet eyes, and then back at the extended hand. Reluctantly, she draws close to him, bracing herself for the shock of icy cold fingers that will touch her skin—
Warmth. His hands are warmer than hers.
She almost starts in surprise, but luckily his firm hold on her wrist prevents her. He doesn't notice because he is telling her a childhood story about climbing a tree, falling, and breaking both his arms.
He is trying to distract her, she realizes, as he carefully extracts the rock from her palm. She holds a slight breath when he leans close, intent on cleaning her injury. Blond hair falls into focused violet eyes and his warm breath hits her temple. Whitney swallows.
His warmth is plenty distraction.
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Later, when her hand is bandaged and they are walking back to Goldenrod, she asks him curiously, "Why do you always wear that scarf?"
"Hm?" Morty slants a glance down at it and shrugs. "Oh. Well, I guess it's a fashion statement." His voice is casual, but there is an undercurrent of humor that she catches.
She stares, and then laughs. "You're weird, Morty."
"Thanks. I try."
He reaches out a hand to ruffle her pink hair. She protests high and loud, but doesn't pull away.
His touch makes her feel warm.
END
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A/N: …I am hopelessly and deeply in love with this pairing. Not more so than YamaxHaru, but a very close second. I didn't know Whitney and Morty were so fun to write!
I apologize for any OOCness. Whitney is still a little hard to grasp her character, and I can't seem to get Morty's vague sexiness down. XP
Thanks for reading! And special thanks to greenteamoose for lighting up my resistanceshipping world when it was dark and lonely. And teaching me how to spell Gastly. :3