angst, baby!
When she thinks about the months following their sudden break-up, Crys remembers most strongly many lonely weekends and a lot of ice-cream. Green had been no help in the sussing-out and over-analysis of her emotional tumult, and Silver — awkward, loving, confused Silver — started splitting his time like a child with separated parents. She hadn't realized it then, had only felt abandoned and distressed, but she gets it now and it's okay.
At least there aren't any more wonderful banquets to avoid. They aren't just teenagers with all the time in the world on their hands. Not anymore. The Sinnoh kids have taken over the leadership roles, pulling in the Hoenn trio when they need to pull rank or terrify the newbies. Somewhere along the way, everybody grew up and now they all just keep growing.
So Crys stops waiting around for someone who stopped wanting her. It is not worth it, that rejection, and, par the course, she indeed dives straight back into work. It isn't like Gold is going to play the hero and fly in through her window!
She pauses.
She looks at her window.
Nothing.
Well. It wouldn't have been the first time he caused intense structural damage to her dwelling, but those days are over now. She goes on dates and dresses up at functions and walks home alone and it's okay. Let Gold be someone else's hero.
She sets the book down on her coffee table — she'll go back through it this weekend, she knows, but stifling a few more memories for a few more days won't hurt — and, simultaneously, three knocks thump upon her front door. Even through the backyard door, she hears Arcanine woof at her just in case she hadn't heard it.
Crys goes for the door and, upon swinging it open, puts one hand on her hip. This is no neighbor visiting for a cup of sugar, and if she has to tell another wide-eyed kid that they've got the wrong Dex Holder, that Red doesn't live around here right now, she might yawn at them by accident.
"How can I help you?" she asks, putting on her ready-for-the-press smile.
The dude pauses, much as she just did, before grinning widely.
"Looking for Professor Oak's assistant," he says, all swagger, tucking both hands in his pockets and peering over her shoulder.
"Which one?"
The dude stops again, opening his mouth a couple times before answering her.
"Uh. Blue sent me." His voice is deeper than she'd expected, and he's taller. Maybe not a kid, then, but it's hard to tell under the dude's sunglasses and weird hat and hood and big winter jacket.
"Uh-huh, great." Crys tries to keep her patience. She's had a rough afternoon, and she's used to interns who are a bit more put-together than this. "But did she say who she wants to talk to? There are two of us. Four if you count the interns. Sixteen, really, if you want the breeders and admin and trainers, too. So if she gave you a name, that would be helpful in getting your message where it needs to go."
"You know me," the dude says, casual still but also now confused, and Crys folds her arms.
Then he laughs, short and quiet and so familiar, and her eyes go wide and her mouth drops because that laugh has been ringing in the back of her mind like an echo for the last hour and now it's coming from this, this guy standing on her porch and the dude finally takes off his sunglasses and if Crys was holding anything, it would be shattered into two million pieces right about now.
"At least," Gold says, sounding sheepish and charming and so very much missed, "I hope so. It's kind of been...a while."
Crys sits on her couch, ankles crossed and fingers fidgeting, across from the ex-boyfriend and ex-best-friend she hasn't seen in at least three years — the ex-boyfriend she had loved until the last day of their relationship and probably an unhealthy amount of time afterwards, especially since he was the one who broke up with her. She takes a bracing sip from her tea and he mimics her, though the face he makes in response is unavoidable.
"I'll get you something else to drink," she concedes, taking mercy — pity? — on him before heading into the kitchen. As soon as there's a doorway between them, Crys runs a hand underneath her faucet water before smoothing down her hair and straightening out her clothes and making sure that her fingers are clean.
The only surface upon which she can see herself in here is that same faucet, and it's not exactly a confidence-booster to see the misshapen reflection looming back at her, but that's all she's got to work with here. Which is fine; she's always been good at making do with not much. So that's what's gonna happen.
Nevertheless, only after a few minutes of patting herself down from head to waist does she rummage through her fridge for something less leafy.
When she comes back out, Gold has the photo album in his lap. He hasn't so much as shouted since she left the room, and it's weirding her out. Yeah, everyone's supposed to be an adult now, but somehow she hadn't gotten much farther in seeing Gold as adult.
Maybe if she had allowed herself that, she would have recognized him messing with her on the doorstep.
He closes the book when she enters the room and she forces her face back into something neutral. She's been told she has a tendency to look rather aggressive when she's feeling...well, aggressive.
"It's all I've got," Crys says, setting a short can of soda pop on the table between them. Her hand is long gone before he reaches for the drink and replaces his tea. "Unless you're suddenly into veggie smoothies."
"That sounds too much like hot leaf juice for my taste buds," Gold remarks, cracking open the soda pop noisily. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Crys says, her throat dry. She clears her throat, only afterwards deciding that to sip from her perfectly good and respectable tea would be more efficient. She folds her arms, uncrosses her legs. It's silent, save the swirling of soda in the can.
She uncrosses her arms, folds her legs beneath her.
"What did Blue want?" Crys asks finally. She's desperate for answers, for some sort of launching point towards the questions she doesn't know she has. This is her only lead-
Gold blinks.
"What?" he asks blankly.
She just looks at him, waiting.
"Oh. Uh. Nothing, really. You know how she is." Crys sighs, unsatisfied with that, but they've long since learned that Blue will only be as forthcoming as she pleases. He nods, pursing his lips and looking from corner to corner in her living room before settling on the book. Again. "So you just, ah, keep this. Here? To look at?" He asks awkwardly, and Crys's face can't tell whether to blanch or burn.
"No," she says, fast. Defensive. "I never do. I. It just fell out of my closet today. I was about to put it away."
"So do I," Gold gets out before she's done, and then he's the one whose face is a hot mess — literally. He looks dazed and his cheeks are bright red. "I mean. I thought you were gonna- Never mind." He laughs shortly, shoving a hand through his dark hair. There are colored streaks in it now, Crys notices, hints of blues and reds that weren't there last time she'd seen him. But lots of things had changed since then — since that ugly exchange outside the lab that started with We have to talk and ended with a mutual double-escape, never to be heard from again.
Until now.
"Of course," he says, and she finds that she does not remember what they were talking about.
"Of course what?" she asks. There is exasperation growing inside, and it makes her uncomfortable. She doesn't really have enough information yet to be so frustrated — but then again, maybe that's what bothers her so very much.
"Of course you didn't miss- it. The adventuring, I mean. Classic Dex Holder stuff. You know."
"I do," she starts, puzzled. No, wait. "I do miss it."
"Oh. Well, I've been hanging out with the kids lately," he says, leaning back a little. His face is still red. He's not looking at her. "Emerald said hi."
"I talked to him last week," Crys tells him, "and he didn't mention anything."
"Oh."
And before she can consider trapping it first, the question that's been hounding them both bursts free from her lungs, edged with a keen desperation:
"Why are you here, Gold?" Crys asks, and her voice halts right in the middle of his name. He shrugs, setting the soda on the table so he can stick his hands in his pockets. If he's trying to go for a comfortable vibe, it's not working.
"I don't know, Crystal," he says at last. The name makes her twitch. He's never called her that, not really. "I, uh. How, how are you doing?"
This is the most poorly-enunciated conversation Crys has ever taken part of.
"I'm fine," she says. She tightens her lips. Still unsure of how she feels about this all, her default is coming on strong and she doesn't think she knows how to turn it off.
(Gold can only nod again, wishing for words that'll dig him out of this disaster. Legends' sake, he sounds like an idiot in so many more ways than one.
Someone help him. Please. This is getting intolerable.
There, see? he wants to say. Ta-da! Gold knows a big word.
How had he thought she would be happy to see him, after all these years? What is he expecting, a hug and that smile and the fast-paced exchanges they used to pass back and forth as easily as breathing?)
"Great," he says after a long moment. "Good. Well. That's good to hear. I'll- I was just in the area, you know, and I, uh, I have stuff to do. So. You know. I think I'm gonna take off."
They stand at the same time.
"You don't have to." She doesn't know why she's saying that.
"Oh."
(Please stop saying that. C'mon, man, aren't we supposed to win her back? We don't know what it is that you're doing, but it's definitely not winning, his brain provides helpfully.)
"Crys, look," Gold says, sighing so deeply and loudly that it takes her aback. "It's almost six o'clock. You busy tonight?"
"I might be."
"Thanks for the specifics. I-"
The kettle goes off in the kitchen.
"I'll be back," Crys promises. She walks slowly to the kitchen, knowing full-well that he might very well be gone as soon as she takes three steps. And it would be as if today never happened.
Is there ice-cream in the freezer right now? She's going to need some soon. Really soon.
She takes the kettle off the stove and turns the thing off before taking a moment to wash her hands. Then, leaving over the ledge with her fingertips dripping, she inhales as deeply as she can, until she can feel it in her toes. It comes back out slower, shakier, a gust of nerves expelled.
"I'm sorry, Crys."
Her spine stiffens, chin tilting up, hands curling, eyes closing.
"I'm- I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asks, too shaky for her own comfort.
"For everything. I should've called you. Or come sooner. Or...or done anything else but wait. Crys, look-" And she does, she turns and she looks at him and it is only after he freezes in place that she realizes he meant it merely as a figure of speech.
It takes him a second to get off the ground again.
"Crys."
His eyes are so, so bright.
"That's me," she says, leaning back against the sink, trying and failing to add some levity.
"Crys." She doesn't think he knows he's said it about fifty times in the last thirty seconds.
(Why does he keep saying her name? He needs to stop that, too.)
"I'm an idiot. Always have been, straight out of the womb. Dumb as a stuck doorknob."
(Oh, yes. This will certainly win her back.)
"I didn't want to break up with you."
Her eyes sting like an army of Beedrill have taken personal offense. Here she is, a great young adult with a preteen's problems still rattling through her kitchen like tumbleweed.
"I," he starts, then tries again. "I. Crys, you could do better. I mean, you were the better of us. Are. You always had a plan, always knew where you wanted to go and how you were gonna get there. I— I was the detour in your plan — the distraction. And I knew it even then, but I was selfish. I never wanted to give you up. But then. I mean, you said it yourself, that same day that...it happened. I'm all jokes, and you're all serious, and responsible, and mature. I was just the dummy who-"
He swallows audibly and it breaks the nightmarish reverie long enough for her to swallow too.
"You deserved more than what I gave you," he says quietly, and it hurts her viscerally to hear it.
"You were a klutz and a spaz, Gold," Crys says, and he cracks a grin even though internally she cringes at her subconscious for pulling that out of the hat. "But I never thought you were anything less than brilliant."
He gapes at her.
"Really?" he asks, higher-pitched now and too curious to stay suspended in his confession.
"You didn't do a thing wrong until that day," she tells him. "Not a single thing."
"Not even the stupid fondue thing?" His grin dips, self-deprecating now, and she doesn't like it nearly as much.
"I liked that place."
"Right. And I got us kicked out permanently. You're welcome." Crys shakes her head, but it's...fond, this time.
"I didn't care."
"No?"
"No."
cartoon suggestion of the day: Star Wars: The Clone Wars! it's a tv-series that aired in 2008 and that i love. the much-anticipated season seven comes out this autumn!