disclaimer: i don't own pokemon!


Misty stood next to Gary, holding two ice cream cones, one spiraled high with a french vanilla flavor and the other cookie dough. As she absently licked at the cookie dough flavored one, she heard the gentle metallic jingle of Gary sorting through his key ring, fumbling for the correct key. A soft string of swears wove through the key chimes.

"What the hell are all those keys for? To make you look important?" Misty questioned through a clump of half-chewed cookie mush.

"Wow Red, you want to sleep at the Pokemon Center, dontchya?" Gary chuckled darkly.

Misty snorted.

"Is that supposed to be a threat? You're the one that asked me to sleep here. Just to remind you," Misty paused for a minute, thinking, and then added, "You're not a janitor, are you? That could explain the keys I guess. But–" she snorted dramatically–"that'd mean having two jobs. You're way too lazy to even manage the one you have."

That was a stab at him closing the shop early for her. She had helped Gary clean up the little coffee brewery while trying to convince him that she was perfectly content and they could leave once his shift was over, but he denied at once, his voice jumpy and his actions swift from eagerness. Misty had assumed he was eager because he had an excuse to ditch work early, but upon thinking about it, she wasn't sure if it was that or because the excuse was her. Either way, the little coffee shop was abandoned early despite Misty's stubborn refusals.

The door they now stood in front of was a glossy mahogany. Highly intricate, antique-styled ferns swirled their way up through the doors design and a brass door knob, cold-looking in its sudden blunt nature, stood alone on the right side, a keyhole etched into its surface.

Pretty ritzy, Misty had thought when she had first seen it only three minutes before.

In fact, from what Misty had seen since she had arrived at Gary's apartment complex, that's how the entire building was–luxurious, but completely unnecessary. They had parked in a very lonely parking lot, consisting of only five other cars besides Gary's, all equally or–dare she say it–better in appearance than his precious red convertible. She had carefully balanced her ice cream cone and thermos in one hand while she threw her bag over her shoulder and had quickly ran to catch up to Gary. The building itself was a deep mauve (Misty had laughed at him for this, to which Gary had kindly responded with a raised middle finger thrown back at her from over his shoulder) and had a wrap-around porch encircling its body. It was adorned with cutesy little white shutters, and the upstairs apartments were gifted with individual patios which could only be accessed by going through those individuals' rooms. Windows of various shapes and sizes decorated the exterior of the house, some occupants even lucky enough to have massive, semicircle-shaped ones that must have taken up an entire wall inside their actual room. Vines twisted and clung to the outer woodwork, clumps of clematis, vibrant in their ripe amethyst hue, very nearly falling off from the barely-attached curls of vine. Misty had to bite down on her tongue to stifle a gasp. The place was beautiful. And Misty could hardly contain herself when they had walked up a flight of stairs, which meant he had a patio all to himself.

Lucky bastard, was the exact phrase that ran bitterly through her mind.

Misty heard a soft click and Gary threw a quirky smile at her as he rotated the door handle, pushing it open.

The apartment wasn't huge, but it definitely wasn't small either. He held the door open for her and she stepped inside, switching which hands the ice cream cones were in and dropped her bag beside her as she slipped off her shoes. On her right, rays of moonlight flooded in through the crystal backdoor,–which she understood would lead to his personal patio–scattering glimmering little rainbows off the elaborately carved glass. Right beside the door to the right was a big screen television and a white couch positioned six or seven feet away facing it. On the left side of the room was a tiny kitchen which was only disconnected from the living room by a tiny half-wall divider, and through the space the wall didn't hide Misty could see a refrigerator, a counter, a sink, a partial stove...and then her vision got cut off abruptly from the subdivide. Straight in front of her was an archway which contained an ajar door. The light was on in this room, and she could tell right away that it was a bathroom from its shining purity–everything was white, from the tiles to the walls to the toilet to the shower curtain. There was one more door, to the right of the bathroom door, but it was closed. Misty assumed this was Gary's room. It seemed as though shelves filled in all the empty spaces a wall could possibly provide, filled with collections of books and movies and Pokemon trinkets and everything else in between.

Gary had stepped away a few feet to turn on the light, and when it turned on in its harsh wrath, Misty was shocked to see that he actually kept his home clean. When Misty imagined any male teenager living on their own, she pictured their surroundings being an utter destruction site–clothes thrown this and that way, pizza boxes stained with splotches of grease and used, soggy tissues littering the floor, rotten food fermenting on dirty dishes that were left to decompose on a kitchen table or a shelf...but no, nothing in there was like that at all. She quickly cast her vision downwards and was shocked even further to see that he even swept; she couldn't find a single stray hair on the white-carpeted floors–not even a stain.

"Wow," Misty found herself saying before she could control herself.

"Yup. No more cracks about my career now, 'kay?"

Misty snapped her eyes back from her sweeping investigation, placing them on his dark brown eyes.

"No promises," she said simply, a note of sarcasm on her tongue.

Gary just laughed again, and stepped over to one of the shelves, running a long pointer finger through horizontal rows of DVDs until he found whatever he was looking for. He pulled it out and held it up, waving it at her.

"Night of the Living Dead!" she exclaimed, immediately recognizing the cover, "You're not bad at this host thing Gary. I'm surprised," she said, grinning.

He walked over to her and retrieved his ice cream cone, a mutual smile on his lips.

"So I've been told," he said, his smile twisting into a mischievous grin as he took a lick off of his ice cream cone.

Misty rolled her eyes, "Save your Hustler act for another night. We have an agreement."

"Killjoy," Gary muttered, pursing his lips.

An hour later they were both sitting on opposite hemispheres of Gary's white couch, ice cream completely finished off and lights off once more. Gary sat at the very edge of the couch with his elbows propped on his knees, leaning into the television, his brown eyes glassy and wide. Misty could almost watch the movie through those orbs, they were so mirror-like and so very absorbed in the movie. She, on the other hand, sat inside the curve of the couch, hugging her knees to her chest as her eyes languidly flicked between the screen and Gary. Eventually deciding that Gary had never seen the movie himself, just owned it for years without getting around to really viewing it, her eyes flickered back to the screen until Duane Jones was successfully killed off and his body burned. Her eyes returned to Gary once more as the credits rolled down the screen in paragraphs.

Gary's mouth was slightly ajar, his eyes somehow even wider than when the characters Tom and Judy had died in a combusting truck. Misty had almost laughed out loud at the expression on his face then, but now, his eyes were peeled even further back, possibly at the furthest possible extent at which they could be open.

Finally, he spoke.

"You like some fucked up movies, Red."

She couldn't hold it in anymore, a fresh bucket of giggles pouring from her.

"You–you-ouuu w-were so–s–so–," Misty said between gusts of laughter, "scared!"

"Was not," he said simply, brushing a hand through the air in dismissal of her accusation.

Her giggles died down a bit, and she clutched at the sudden pain in her ribs that was a result of her bout of laughter.

"Come on Gary, I'm surprised you didn't pee your pants, honestly."

He shrugged, going for the non-caring cool kid approach, saying nonchalantly, "Whatever. It was a good movie though."

Misty beamed a smile at him belonging to a five-year-old who just won a lifetime supply of bubble gum, "I know."

Gary allowed his muscles and back to relax slightly as he leaned back into the couch, draping one arm over the length of the frame. Misty examined him further then in his distraction, taking in once more just how much he had grown up since the last time she had seen him. His jaw had definitely sharpened, masculine and jutted in its shape; his cheeks, however, still had a bit of baby flesh to lose–though they were slightly carven in the upper apples, his face shape retained a childish, almost cherubic quality to it in its oval shape. His eyes were a harsher version than the set she had secretly memorized throughout the years: they were a brooding russet, and unlike Ash's so visible twinkle, you had to narrowly search his eyes to detect even a shimmer. They were a mile-deep in depth, and looking at them was like looking through a telescope backwards–they just sucked you in.

He glanced at her then and Misty blushed from being caught in her stare.

He brushed the hand that wasn't wrapped on the couch through his hair, a cocky smile setting across his lips, "It's alright to stare. I mean, it's understandable."

Misty furrowed her brows at him and set her mouth in a straight line, her blush intensifying.

"You're so full of yourself Gary Oak. Really."

He just laughed in response.

A minute passed in silence, the credits still meandering down the screen and Misty's furious blush dissipating, when Gary spoke.

"Hey Misty" he said with excitement, turning to her suddenly, the usually undetectable glint sharpening devilishly in his eyes, "Truth or dare?". He had taken his arm off the couch and brought it forward with his other as he leaned into them, bringing him closer to her by a foot.

Misty squinted her eyes in skepticism, turquoise penetrating dark chocolate.

"Truth."

"Tch," Gary verbalized, "Wimp."

Misty shrugged, "Not necessarily. If you play the game right you can get some good information out of me."

She immediately regretted her words and averted her eyes from his as they turned even more diabolic at that information. Shrinking into the couch, she braced herself for whatever he might ask.

"Okay...," he trailed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him bring a finger up to his jaw in thought.

"Are you a virgin?"

Misty rolled her eyes and began, "Gary, you're–"

"Nope!" he cut into her sentence, "It's truth or dare. You gotta answer."

"Ugh," she groaned in irritation.

"I knew it."

She brought her eyes to him again, the corners of her mouth tipped down in anger.

"Knew what?" she snapped at him.

"That you're not." he said, his tone soaked in victory at whatever discovery he figured he'd made.

"It's none of your business whether I am or not," she said, separating each word slowly to clarify. Venom rolled off her tongue with every syllable harshly.

"So you're not."

He was openly smiling now in some sort of giddy triumph. Misty felt the heat rise to her cheeks once more in a blood-cooking frustration. She came out of her physically defensive state, unhugging her knees and turning her body to him, crossing her knees Indian-style.

"It's none of your business," Misty said, louder and more slowly, an angrier edge to each word.

"But it's truth or dare, for one. And for two, you're not," he said, all smiles and rainbows in his confident manner.

Misty wondered in some back part of her mind if smoke was coming from her yet. Her cheeks felt red-hot and she bore her teeth slightly against her will. His confidence pissed her off–especially when he was so confidently wrong.

"How would you know?" she spat.

He tipped his head inwards and curled his upper lip up, as if to say "duh".

"You went everywhere with Ketchum,", he said, " It was obvious you guys had something goin' on," Gary snickered at the end of it, implying that the very idea that they didn't have any type of relationship was absurd.

Misty brought her knees up to her chest once more and leaned her head on them, facing her gaze on the wall opposite Gary, breaking their stare.

"That's stupid," she muttered.

"Is it?"

It was more of a condescending "I win" than an actual question.

"Yeah," Misty replied, trying to make the word as scissor-like as possible, drenching it with satire as if to insult his intelligence.

"Yeah? So...yeah you're a virgin or yeah the idea of you and Ash dating is stupid?"

A razor-bladed huff came from her throat in defeat.

"Both," she finally admitted, squishing her eyes shut as if somehow it would help lessen her hearing. She didn't want to hear whatever asshole thing he had to say back to that.

"You're lying. You can't lie in truth or dare, Red."

Misty turned to him once more, anger reignited, "I finally give you an answer and you fucking accuse me of lying?"

There was a short silent break.

"...So then you are a virgin?" he asked incredulously.

"YES," Misty yelled, turning back to him and throwing her arms out in annoyance.

"And...," he said, eyes wide from the breakthrough in information, "You and Ketchum didn't have anything going on?"

Misty honestly didn't know how to reply to that one. Particularly because she didn't really know the answer herself.

"I...I don't really think so...?" she answered slowly. She felt an odd, sharp obstruction pinch into her heart at her admitted words. No, they didn't "have a thing going on". They never did. She questioned whether or not to take into account the fact that she carried an ever-existent love for him–until she decided that two joint feelings from two people were required to "have a thing going on". But because she was the only one who felt anything, she didn't bother taking it into consideration.

Gary didn't need to know that, anyways.

He was staring at her, his face for once gentle and the snide sneer that was usually there absent.

"You don't sound real certain of that," he said, not accusingly or pryingly...he almost sounded understanding, nudging her on with a feather instead of a prod.

Misty shrugged. She didn't want to continue the conversation. Something in her was churning darkly in a potentially devastating hunger. The walls she spent an entire year carefully gluing and sculpting and stapling felt like they were being slashed at, her numbness retreating and emotion slowly replacing it. Misty had noticed it earlier in the day–the skip in her step, the emphatic strut, even the elegant edge in her wrist as she held her ice cream cone–she never even knew she had held ice cream in any specific manner until now. Her blushes, her sarcastic wit, her sighs and frowns and smiles–all back within a day. She was starting to feel passion come back to her, fear, anger, joy...all of which had been absent from her soul for forever...or so it felt. She could feel the embers of a feisty zest burning in her, the need to dance, the need to fight, the need to cry...all of it was rushing back to her, the emotions she'd blocked out so many months earlier.

She wasn't sure yet if it was a good or bad thing. It certainly had felt good earlier when she had joked with and teased and had just been happy with Gary...but now she was even more apprehensive about seeing Ash, especially now that she was certain sorrow and rage had too returned. Hadn't her emotions returned to her, she could have remained an empty shell, devoid of feelings or responses, a void that emitted a rather evident message to stay away. But now...what if Ash actually did talk to her? Started a conversation? Hugged her?

She wasn't sure if she could handle the latter. Upon thinking about possible upcoming events once more, she really wasn't sure if she could handle even seeing him. Him. Ash. Her stomach knotted at the thought of him as butterflies searched violently for an exit, ripping and scratching in their haste.

Butterflies. She had forgotten what those had felt like, too...and she was quickly reminded that she had absolutely hated them as heat rose to her cheeks and a sensation to vomit tore at her esophagus.

"I'm not sure of it at all," Misty finally choked out in response to Gary.

"Well...," Gary said, still soft in his demeanor, "Did you guys ever kiss?"

Misty was going to try to lie, to try and pretend she forgot about the last time she had ever seen Ash, but she knew she couldn't. She was once good at lying and at controlling emotion from tainting her face, for an entire year, actually. But now that her soul was being polished and resurfacing once more, she wasn't sure lying would be as effective as it once was. No, her face would give her away in a minute.

"Uhh...," she began lamely, clearing her throat and attempting to configure a comprehensive response quickly in her head, "Well...I mean...umm...," –she sighed, beat– "Yeah...kinda...."

"Kinda?" Gary asked, "There's no 'kinda' in these situations. It's a yes or no, A or B, true or false."

"Yes. A. True."

"Then you had a thing," Gary stated conclusively.

Misty looked at him.

"To have a thing, both people need to feel a mutual likeness towards each other," she said finally.

Gary groaned.

"He kissed back, didn't he?"

Misty sucked in her lower lip, biting it nervously, before answering: "Yeah, but–"

"Ah!" he put a finger just in front of her lips to stop her, "Here's a better question. Who kissed who?"

Misty withdrew her thrown out arms, pulling them into her ribs. She put her full concentration into threading them together, retreating each finger individually, then threading them once more exactly six times before she answered.

"He kissed me."

Should I even be telling him this?

She wasn't sure just yet how much she trusted Gary.

"Then you definitely had a thing. Unless it was you who didn't kiss back."

Misty found the thought of she being the one to reject a being as perfect as Ash almost comical.

"...I did kiss back," Misty said, softly.

"Then, as I said before, you had a thing."

"It was a pity kiss," Misty rushed through her defending argument, her words splashing together frantically, "He didn't really like me. It had no meaning to him."

Gary rolled his eyes in seeming annoyance, "And I thought Ash was stubborn! Ha! You, on the other hand...," he sighed, slanting back into the couch comfortably, still facing her.

"How would you know anything about the way Ash thinks? He could've done that to ten thousand other girls! I'm sure May and Dawn have gotten a mouthful of him, and they've known him even shorter than I have," Misty's tone turned bitter towards the second half of her sentence. She realized immediately that her jealousy-caused spite for the two girls had unfortunately come out of hibernation.

"May...and Dawn?" Gary asked, confusion brimming on his voice and face. His brow was slightly furrowed and his lips turned down in incomprehension.

Misty looked at him in disbelief.

"May. And Dawn. M-A-Y. D-A-W-N. The two other girls he's traveled with. Am I ringing any bells yet?" she said sarcastically.

"Oh," Gary said, then as the light bulb visibly flicked on, "OH. I remember them now! But God, no way. He never even talked about them, maybe twice in passing. But you...ugh, I could write a friggin' novel from how much shit Ketchum has said about you. He was like a lovesick little puppy, his eyes would get all sparkly and he would smile before he even said anything about you. That was always my cue to turn the radio up or change the subject before he got a chance to begin it," Gary winked at her as she frowned.

"He talked about me?"

Gary nodded furiously as he said, "Ohhh yeah. Too much, if ya ask me. Kid was head over heels, though he obviously hid it well."

Misty felt as if she had steel wool in her throat. Her mouth was dry and felt sand-filled as she tried to painfully swallow down whatever lump had lodged its way there.

Head over heels?

...for her?

She was quiet for a few minutes. A sheen of what she believed to be tears glassed over her eyes, and she had to concentrate extremely hard to prevent any more from puddling into the reservoir. Misty didn't even know why she was almost crying. Was it because of the irony? The regret? The realization that she and Ash did, as Gary phrased it, "have a thing"? Was it because she took his supposed emotions and had unknowingly threw them on the grating curb of the street they had last held one another on? Because, in Ash's eyes, it was she that walked away from him?

"I'm tired. I think I'll sleep now," Misty said, her eyes unfocused and her voice robotic in her preoccupancy to not let Gary see her cry. She was such a baby. She hated it.

Gary was examining her now, his brows pulled together, but he remained silent as he went to his room and returned to her with a blanket and pillow in hand. He dropped it beside her on the space he had sat no less than a minute ago and said softly, "Alright, I gotchya."

When she muttered a thank you and made to grab her bag, Gary continued, "You know, if you wanna talk, I'm here all night," he said through a chuckle at the last bit, "But you know that. Just knock on my door. You know I do love ya Red, as a friend, and I'm here for you if you want to talk or just need a hug or something."

"And I appreciate you tons for that Gary. Really. But I just need sleep now, I'll be alright by morning. I just have a lot on my mind I guess," it took a lot for her to muster up that sentence without letting a quiver run into her voice. She swallowed it down hurriedly.

Misty smiled gently up at him, and Gary returned it, touching a gentle hand to her arm.

"Night Mist."

That nickname.

Evacuate.

Now.

"Goodnight Gary," she said, turning her body to hide her face in case any tears accidentally fell.

She could feel his eyes on her back, but didn't turn around to meet his gaze. Eventually he left, switching off the light for her. Misty laid down on the couch, the blanket wrapped around her snugly. Nuzzling her face into the pillow, she was comforted solely by the scent that clung there of Gary's hair. It was masculine and fresh and arboreous, and it lulled her slowly but surely to sleep as she breathed it in through a tear-clogged nose.

Misty awoke the next day by the twinkling rainbows that softly danced across her face, and, opening her eyes, she remembered they came from Gary's crystalline patio door. She stretched her back, reaching her hands to the ceiling and arching her back in a yawn. Standing slowly, she meandered through the living room to the back door, tracing her hands along the ridges of carved crystal. Her hand met the handle, and she turned it slowly in case the door emitted some sort of unnecessary concert of creaks. It kept quiet though, and she stepped through onto the patio, shutting the door behind her. The September air hit her cuttingly, a frigid breeze sparking up the hair on the back of her neck. It seemed to swirl around her for a minute in a sudden investigation to see who was invading its immaculately fresh atmosphere before it swept off in another direction. Hugging her arms to her, she stepped to the edge and leaned against the wooden railing, breathing in the autumn air, letting it arctically recycle through her lungs. A few sighs from the wind stole three or four locks of her hair, twirling the flaming ruby past her porcelain-like face.

She nearly jumped out of her own skin when she felt a cup against her hand. Swirling on her heel, she was greeted by a disheveled, half awake Gary, two cups of coffee in his hand, one withdrawn from her and his eyes wide from her swift movement.

He cleared his throat.

"Uh," he said, his voice crackling and croaking in fatigue, "I brought you some coffee. Figure you'd need it. I know I do."

Misty graciously took the cup from his hand, sipping at beverage, feeling it unthaw her chest as she swallowed. It was extra sugary and barely creamy.

Surprised, she looked at him, saying, "Hey...you made my coffee pretty decently, Hustler."

Gary smiled–it was apparently much too early to laugh–and said, "I do pay attention, ya know."

She looked at him, the confused look pushing him on to say: "Yesterday, at Brewed Awakenings. You got a coffee. I watched you put in creams and sugars. Remember?"

Her heart secretly melted a bit at that. Ash had never memorized her coffee-drinking-patterns. Hadn't it been Gary that she was talking to she probably would've awwed out loud. But she instead took the approach she knew best.

"I knew you were creeping on me," Misty said, smiling at him slyly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Gary returned the grin as he sipped at his coffee delicately.

The two stood there, leaning against the decks wood, quiet in the pumpkin-ed breeze of autumn for nearly a half an hour before Gary led her inside, showing her how to work his shower and what shampoos to use. She showered quickly, scrubbing her head with a boyish-scented soap and let the hot streams of water unknot her back and shoulder and neck.

After she was dressed in a snug, yellow long-sleeved shirt and a jean skirt splattered with bleach marks and tears and shreds, she let the bathtub fill half way with a lukewarm water and pulled three Pokeballs from her bag. She watched the scarlet beams from each one as they shot towards the bathtub, unleashing first Horsea, then Goldeen, and last but certainly not least, Staryu.

"You guys have been stuck in there for so long," Misty whispered to them, her voice soaked in a mix of sorrow and sympathy as she pet Staryu's edge, "I'm sorry, I've just been busy I guess. No more lengthy breaks, I promise."

She rotated from Staryu's arm to the back of Horsea's neck to the top of Goldeen's head, scratching favorably behind the horn, smiling as Goldeen cooed lovingly.

"I have to finish getting ready, though. I'm sorry," Misty apologized once more, a frown pursing her pink lips, "But you guys can still play for a bit while I finish up."

All three uttered soft cries of what sounded like sadness, and Misty felt her heart tug painfully as she looked at their downcast eyes. She ran a hand through them once more, repeating, "I'm really sorry. I am."

Misty spent extra long straightening her hair for her Pokemons' sake, smoothing through every curl and crimp and expelling any trace of barely-there frizz. She spent even longer on her make-up, swiping mascara through her long lashes and sweeping different shades of brown on each lid, and finally she laid a small layer of a peach blush on her apples and a clear coat of brown-sugar-scented lip gloss on her lips. She sprayed herself with the perfume she had forever been in favor of since perhaps the age of fourteen or so, and gave herself one last self examination in the mirror. Feeling satisfied, she turned back to her Pokemon, smiling softly at them as they splashed and sang and swam.

"Alright guys...we gotta go. I'll try to let you out tonight, okay?"

Horsea sang a treble noted cry of appreciation, Goldeen glubbed a suave "Goldeen", and Staryu just gave her an affirmative "Hai-ya!".

Misty put them each into their Pokeballs, kissing each on their forehead–for Staryu, a kiss on its fuchsia jewel was instead given–and placed the Pokeballs into her bag lightly, whispering once more another apology through the ruby and ivory spheres. She pulled her bag over her shoulder and switched off the light in the bathroom.

Misty was a bit stunned to see how nicely Gary cleaned up. Perhaps it was because the only recent image she had to compare him to was him in that awful maroon work uniform, disheveled and stressed, his hair creased from the cap he had to wear into work. He was now laying on the blanched couch looking admittedly handsome, his hair in clumped, barely-airborne spikes, wearing a green and white flannel unbuttoned to reveal a white undershirt and a pair of plain blue jeans. She could smell the woodsy scent on him of his cologne–the same one that had clung to his pillow–except much more strong in potency. She sucked in a savoring breath of it before she sat on the arm of the couch that he was leaning on. Gary was watching some strange wildlife show featuring what she supposed was the host nearing himself to a Hippowdon, stating facts about the animal in an Australian accent before the Hippowdon whipped up a grating sandstorm. The camera lense, in a panicked frenzy, switched to face this direction and that, searching for the host, before the program cut into a rainbow of boxes and the only noise heard was a monotone beeeeeep.

Gary leaned up and pointed the remote at the television, shutting it off. The TV sizzled for a few minutes as the electricity sparked out of it, progressively quieter, until there was no sound but their own hushed breathing.

Chuckling finally, he said, "I think that's our cue."

He stood and stretched while facing his crystal back door.

Misty stood as well, digging her pale ocher canvas shoes from her bag, and pulled them on. When she faced Gary once more he was very openly examining her, his eyes drifting up and down her body. Feeling suddenly self conscious, she crossed her arms fragilely over stomach.

Gary dog-whistled at her before he snickered and said, "Lookin' good, Red."

Misty blushed and swore at herself mentally for doing so before she said, "I could say the same for you. You clean up pretty nicely for a regular grease-ball."

She stuck her tongue out playfully as he pushed out a quivering bottom lip.

"Grease-ball?" he said, his voice drenched in a false grief.

"Oh shut up, you know I'm kidding," Misty said. His puppy dog pout immediately disappeared and was replaced with a snide smile.

"I know," he said, his omnipotent cockiness once again back.

She snorted and began a slow clap on her tiny hands, saying, "That was truly academy-award winning. Really."

Gary snickered while he pulled his keys from his pocket, swinging them noisily around his pointer finger, "You ready?"

Misty let out a sigh and said softly, "Yeah...I think I am."

"Alrighty then, let's go," Gary said, catching the swinging keys in his grip. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her to the door, he added in, "Talk to him, 'kay?"

Misty was a little shocked–by both the gesture and what he said, but she agreed to do so in a nod. His arm around her surprisingly didn't feel strange, it felt comforting and nice to her. She wasn't repulsed or aching to rip it from her shoulder. It made her feel as if no matter what she did tonight, whether it be talk to Ash or not talk to him or ignore him or fight with him or anything at all, she had support in doing so.

Misty leaned her head into his neck and whispered a gracious, "Thank you."

He squeezed at her shoulder snugly and said, "That's what I'm here for, Red."

She felt his jaw tense slightly in a little smile against her nuzzled-in head, and she sighed, never before expecting to feel so thankful for Gary Oak.

askasldkjasldjask AGH!

sorry the end is kind of rushed, but tonight is the only night i've had a laptop charger all week! mine broke and i don't know when i'm going to get a new one, currently i'm broke and i'm assuming they cost around forty bucks or so. which sucks. i also intended to make this the chapter that misty FINALLY saw ash...but then my laptop died everywhere so i couldn't type, and i wanted to get a chapter up, since it's already been ten days. plus i also don't know when i'll be able to get my hands on a computer again to even put up a new chapter. so here it is.

hopefulllllly i'll have it in ten days or less...but i just don't know.

sorry in advance if it takes forever to update. blah blah blah.... :/

P.S. reviews will motivate me, even if it means frantically writing down chapters on napkins with a broken pencil. D;

xoxo