We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry

*dodges rotten tomato*

Alright, alright; this was way too late, especially when my previous updates had been so prompt. And, yes, this chapter doesn't really have too much action in it, either. But I have an excuse in that IT WAS CHRISTMAS, you silly goose-muffins! GOOD NEWS, TOO! For Christmas, I got a laptop, meaning I don't have to worry about my parents and siblings hogging our computer anymore, so I might be able to type up the chapters faster!

About the action (or lack thereof) in this chapter: you should know that the next chapter will be probably the most action-y yet, by which I mean there'll be actual action rather than just a crap ton of angst, angst, angst, and more angst.

A big shout out to TheSpookster (See, Oneechan! I told you that I'd get this chapter out eventually!) and GuestWow (Thank you so much for the support! Just from your reviews, I can tell that you're a pretty stupendous writer, yourself. ^^) for the reviews! I promise that chapter eight won't take this long! ...I should not be promising that; this probably means that chapter eight will take several months or something. But I'll try my very best to get it out within a week; two at the most!

DISCLAIMER! I got a lot of awesome things for Christmas, but ownership of the Pokémon franchise was not one of them! That would be a nice present, though. GET ON IT, SANTA!


Chapter Seven
Of Somewhere and Nowhere

Steven hadn't gone into Brendan's hospital room for more than a few seconds yet, and he didn't plan on breaking that record any time soon.

Partly, it was because of his obsession with finding phone guy, as May had so eloquently named him. Enlisting the help of a Porygon he'd borrowed from Professor Birch, he endlessly toiled over the earpiece and flew rapidly between towns as necessary. At one point, he tracked down the children in Lilycove, all of whom had been identified after May went to the authorities, and apologized to them and their parents, but that was the only break he allotted himself. Other than that, he just raced around like a Ninjask with a Castelia minute to spare. Sleep was sporadic at best and nonexistent at worst.

It'd been four days.

Phone guy was probably laying low in Kalos by now, lazing around in Lumiose with a smoothie in one hand and a magazine in the other.

May, on the other hand, was much more focused on getting Brendan healed first. That wasn't to say that she was any more tranquil than Steven on the matter of phone guy; no, no. Anyone who wanted to incur her rage needed only to make a passing reference to him, although most found it to be an unwise decision. But she was almost as much of a worrywort as Steven was, so she was kept glued to the boy's bed by her hair. Steven would usually have been on her side, but this time, he was the cause of all this chaos, so he couldn't very well greet the boy when he awoke. Still, May practically demanded that he at least remain nearby in case Brendan did wake up and wanted to see him.

So, although he would much rather not be near his victim at all, and although he seriously doubted that the boy would want his attacker anywhere near him, he planted himself firmly in the stretch of hallway just outside Brendan's room at May's insistence. Several times, he would see a nurse glancing over at him in sympathy and, although anger always welled up at those glances, he would just smile pleasantly at them, always a gentleman.

He could never bear to look at Professor Birch or his wife when they came to visit, though. He ignored their looks constantly, afraid that, if he dared to glance up, their eyes would prove to be contemptuous. He'd barely been able to bring himself to ask the Professor to borrow the Porygon he was so proud of, even though May assured him that she'd explained the situation and the man didn't blame him.

Soon, he had a system. He'd wake up at maybe ten past midnight from a nightmare, having only gotten a few minutes of sleep; walk a half-mile to the hospital from the hotel room he'd rented for the time being; sit in the hallway with Porygon for the entire day, sometimes stopping to use the restroom and even less commonly pausing to devour something he'd hurled into his bag that morning; walk back to his apartment just before midnight at May's command; and get maybe ten or twenty minutes of sleep before startling awake once more and restarting the cycle.

The fifth day after the attack had gone down a little differently, beginning with the fact that he'd been making quite a bit of progress with Porygon today. In fact, for the first time since he'd started working, he actually was getting somewhere. The pink and blue mass of coding had been able to slip through a locked door in cyberspace and found an encrypted blob that would tell the location of the device on the other end of the call. Porygon working on decoding the numbers to triangulate a location. It wasn't exactly any sort of conclusive evidence; certainly not damning. But it was something. And he'd previously been mired firmly in a long marsh of "nothing," so "something" was quite the development.

But that wasn't exactly the highlight of the morning.

As he shifted uncomfortably in the unforgivingly stiff plastic of the chair, the serene environment of the room behind him suddenly fell into pandemonium. Startled out of his exhausted stupor, Steven blinked rapidly. 'What on earth...?' The former champ looked over his shoulder through the small swath of window he could glimpse past the half-closed curtains, the slightest bit of panic creeping through him at the ruckus. There seemed to be nothing amiss. Brendan was still laying limply, at least. In the unrelenting hospital lights, his pallid but not quite sickly skin seemed at least ten times worse; almost grotesque. But he was no more harmed than he had been the last time Steven'd seen him.

Then May rocketed into his small area of vision, tearing the cap off of a bottle of water, and those bright blue eyes, supposedly devoid of consciousness, weakly but surely fluttered open.


The first thing that Brendan became aware of was that his throat was about ready to crumble apart.

In other words, he was more than thirsty: he was absolutely parched. It was to the point where opening his mouth was difficult, as the small amounts of saliva on his tongue acted as cement between it and the roof of his mouth. He attempted to moan in pain as his throat cracked and disintegrated, but all he managed to produce was a barely audible wheeze.

May perked up in her seat, dropping the PokéNav on which she'd previously been fooling around. "Brendan?" she whispered under her breath, unsure if it'd just been her mind playing tricks on her and afraid she'd get Steven's hopes up. The brunette boy shifted visibly, once again letting out a raspy cough, and her spirits suddenly soared. Slowly, his eyes peeked out from under their lids, his wandering pupils landing finally on May's shocked face.

'Water.'

The thought occurred to her immediately and she spun around frantically, diving for her bag and beginning to dig through it rather noisily. Behind her, Brendan moaned and closed his eyes again, the light too blaring for him to withstand. He could just barely hear her fumbling around for something and tried to smile, but his lips cracked as they pulled tight, and he quickly reset his expression to its default. Anyone looking at him would assume he was asleep.

Then feet pounded back towards him and he forcibly opened his eyes, determination his ally but light his mortal enemy. Hovering over him worriedly, her caramel bangs hanging close to his forehead, May gently offered him a plastic bottle full of the most heavenly liquid he'd ever seen. Needing no prodding, Brendan hastily reached up and took it in his hands, sitting up partially even though his back twinged in response. Tugging it to his lips, he tipped it back and began to chug down the water, neglecting to pause for air but not really caring. He had been so dehydrated that it burned his throat, but, at the same time, it acted like the most soothing of balms.

Once his thirst was sated, he slowly pushed the bottle away, breathing heavily. May tenderly took it from his trembling hands, but he didn't take notice. His eyes were wandering dully around the room, taking in his surroundings without actually comprehending any of the information they received. A familiar life-sized Lapras doll was laying across the foot of his bed, keeping his toes toasty; no doubt, it had been hefted up by May. The numerous framed photos propped up on his bedside table and fluffy stuffed Teddiursas tied to huge clumps of balloons all around the room were also likely her doing. 'The hospital. I'm in the'

Suddenly, his eyelids once again slammed shut and he sucked in a huge gasp as everything came back to him, one fact by one. Waking up in the hospital several times before; the burning pain in his back; the suit jacket that had slipped innocently off of May's shoulders—

He writhed in agony, a scream tearing itself up through his already raspy throat; sticking there like shards of glass, because, by Arceus, it hurt, hurt, hurt. "Steven, please!" he sobbed, but it was a senseless thing to say. Obviously, this wasn't Steven. Even if it was Steven, it couldn't be... it just couldn't be... But it was. Yet another flash of pain fractured his trust and marred his back. As he screamed and cried, he knew that the one assaulting him was the same silverette that he so obstinately wished to believe had never entered the room.

Brendan tried desperately to regain control of himself, beginning to hyperventilate slightly. Eyes turning down on the ends in worry, May placed a frigid hand across his forehead and he jerked back. His eyes snapped open just in time to see a blur of silver, purple, and black dart away from the small bit of window that was unobstructed by curtains, but he brushed it off as paranoia. What use would it be for Steven to come here? He'd already fully witnessed the devastation he'd caused. Besides, he could just glimpse part of a Porygon near the edge of the curtains, and Steven most definitely did not have a Porygon; his father never stopped gloating about how he had one of the ultra-rare man-made Pokémon and how no one else in Hoenn did. Yes; it was probably his father.

He must have been so worried.

May's concerned face took up his vision. "Are you alright?" she fretted, placing a hand over his and squeezing gently. Just a simple glance at any part of her face was enough to see that she was sick with worry, and her clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, clearly having not been changed in quite some time.

Suddenly overwhelmingly guilty at how much she'd already sacrificed for his sake, Brendan looked down ashamedly at his knees. "I'm fine," he reassured, although May didn't seem convinced. Glancing back up to look her in the eyes, he offered a sincere, "Really. I'm okay. I just... remembered what happened."

May's face became suddenly analytic as she scanned Brendan's expression thoroughly. "I... see." There didn't seem to be quite the extreme reaction she'd been expecting from someone who'd been attacked by such a close friend. In fact, this was exactly how she would anticipate him to act if the same thing had happened, but by a complete stranger. Suddenly, her chest was simultaneously constricted with dread and ringing with joy. On one hand, this could mean that he didn't remember. On the other hand, if that was true, than he most likely would remember at some point—and then it would be ten times as devastating as his world crashed down around him for the second time.

Looking more closely at his eyes in particular, though, she could catch a hint of hidden torment. Phrasing her words carefully, she softly queried, "Do you happen to know who did this?"

'Steven.'

Steven: his best friend; the man who he'd, at one point, trusted beyond anyone else; almost beyond even May, although it wasn't quite that far. Steven, the former Champion who was ever-gentle and ever-patient; the man who never could bring himself to hurt anyone except for Brendan. His best friend who he trusted. His best friend—who he trusted.

In an instant, May saw a million emotions run rampant in his expression: anger, remorse, betrayal, desperation, uncertainty; even quite a bit of guilt, as if there was something he blamed himself for. Then, just as suddenly as they'd been let loose, they were contained and his face became apathetic. His gaze returned to his knees.

"It—it was just some kid," he muttered. "I didn't recognize him."

For a moment, there was nothing but a tense silence between the two. Even the rest of the world seemed to hold its breath, sensing the blatant lies that he'd just spewed. Because he most definitely knew Steven, and Steven wasn't a kid, much less "just some kid." Receiving no response, Brendan peeked up through his bangs, daring to assess her expression. He saw nothing but pure sorrow manifested there. A wistful smile plodded its way across her face, although it was too forced to light up like her usual grins and beams.

"You don't have to protect him, Brendan. I already know."

He froze.

Snapping his head up almost fearfully, his bangs falling out of his face, he appraised her intensely. She was dead serious. His face contorting, he whispered miserably, "But—but how?" He'd been so careful not to spill the beans. He didn't want his best friend to get in trouble, no matter how much his subconscious screamed that the man deserved it. No; even as he recalled the harsh blows and bouts of agony that the man had given him, he couldn't bear to hurt Steven.

Not even if Steven had hurt him.

May gave a humorless little laugh. "He told me," she answered simply but truthfully, her hands placed over the boy's own for comfort. When he only gave her a bewildered stare, she sighed quietly, leaning closer. "I want you to listen very closely, Brendan." She paused, looking deep into his eyes as if to show him the utter importance of his rapt attention. Although evidently a bit frightened by her sudden, uncanny seriousness, he seemed to understand, because he reluctantly nodded his assent. "Steven was forced to hurt you."

You could hear a Flabébé hit the ground.

"Wh-what?" Brendan choked out, his face just as distraught at ever but with a bit of realization slowly dawning across it, starting at his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, May recited the speech that she'd long since decided to tell the boy and rehearsed anxiously while he remained unconscious. "Steven got called by a man who threatened to kill a bunch of kids if Steven didn't hurt you. Once the kids were safe, he flew you here and called me." It was the cliffnotes version, but it was really all she had the patience to tell him before hearing his verdict.

For an unbearably long few minutes, the only sound was the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor at Brendan's bedside. His azure eyes stared blankly over May's shoulder as a million tiny memories rushed back to him.

The sweaty collar. The hesitant, jerking movements. The desperation on his face just before he was let in. The careful way he straddled the boy, his every action rehearsed. The faint sob he'd sworn that he'd caught as he screamed.

"He's scared enough as it is!"

He hadn't thought... How could he have...?

"What—but—" he stammered, struggling to breathe out even a word as his thoughts jumbled and tangled together like static-filled yarn. Finally, he stopped for a moment to collect himself, closing his eyes and rearranging his thoughts. "Are the kids okay?"

'Yes," May assured quickly, "they're fine. Shaken up and in therapy, but fine." She smiled bashfully, her eyes crinkling at the sides. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you as soon as you woke up; I thought that maybe you didn't remember."

Brendan allowed himself to reflect on that for a moment and consider just what it would've been like; not knowing the identity of his assaulter, only for his blissful ignorance to be torn away, dousing him in the sudden deluge of memories as if in boiling water... He shivered, for once glad that he recalled the incident crystal-clear. Even if it was painful, it was worth it. Almost.

"So...?" May prodded after a few seconds. Blinking, Brendan glanced up at her. She was looking at him expectantly and more than a little anxiously

"What?"

A faint, almost transient glimmer of desperation wavered in her eyes, only to be hastily extinguished. "What about Steven?" she muttered, clutching his hand like a lifeline to keep from biting her nails. He stiffened visibly at the man's name, and he seemed oblivious about the bone-pulverizing grip on his palm. "Do you want to see him? Are you going to press charges?"

That was all it took to startle him out of his stupor. "Charges?" he breathed incredulously, giving her the look one gives to a salesman who just asked them to buy a Potion for 1,000,000 Pokédollars. "Of course I don't want to press charges! Why would I even—?!" He cut himself off mid-sentence to gather his thoughts. Averting his eyes at first instinctively, then forcing his gaze to meet May's, he stated as firmly as he could, "It wasn't his fault."

The look on May's face was comparable to that of a kid getting his first Pokémon. The beam that dawned across her face was bright enough to rival a fairy-type Pokémon's Dazzling Gleam. She lunged forward, engulfing Brendan in an all-encompassing embrace. In most people's arms, Brendan would freeze up immediately and remain tense throughout; but, in the arms of his closest friends, he would only relax. This hug was no different. "I hoped you'd say that," she whispered, physically incapable of raising her voice, as his rigid shoulders easily yielded and went lax. "Oh, Arceus, how I hoped you'd say that." She gave a small, almost hysterical laugh. "Maybe Steven will believe you, at least."

He didn't respond. He just gently hugged her in return, cautiously avoiding any chance of breaking the delicate scabs on his back, and closed his eyes, allowing himself to melt into her arms. May was right, and he was right. It wasn't Steven's fault; he'd been forced. If anything, his actions were heroic; Brendan couldn't imagine how hard this must have been for the gentle-hearted man.

But it was so much easier to decide Steven was worthy of forgiveness than it was to forgive him.


Porygon let out a quiet electronic whine, its technicolor form gently ramming into Steven's shoulder, but he didn't react. He was too busy pressing himself into the wall so forcefully that, any second now, he was liable to crush himself into an archaeological pancake.

He was huddled against the door, knees drawn up to his chest to keep from tripping any passing nurses, and his head was planted firmly in his hands. Each inhale was shaky and uncertain, as if he was having trouble sucking the breaths in. He didn't know why, though; it was beyond his comprehension. After all, this was exactly what he had wanted. Brendan understood. Brendan knew, and he understood. And yet he couldn't stop himself from quivering in unconstrained emotions that he couldn't name but were most certainly not what he expected.

Maybe it was the way that the brunette had lied. He was the culprit of what appeared to be an unforgivable, reprehensible crime, and his victim had tried to shield him from the consequences, even without knowing that he'd been coerced by a truly detestable man. He'd been afraid that the boy would no longer even be able to stand the thought of him; he hadn't anticipated this.

In a way, this was so much worse, because it left him to wonder: if he'd decided to keep the incident under wraps, he would've gotten away with it easily. Obviously, if left to his own devices, Brendan wouldn't tell anyone, and, if Steven hadn't brought him to the hospital, May wouldn't have figured it out, either. He could have completely evaded punishment.

And he was already evading punishment.

Irritated by being ignored, Porygon slammed itself full-force right into Steven's chest, but the man didn't so much as flinch; if anything, he didn't seem to be aware of the slowly angering pocket monster. Growling out static-filled nonsense, Porygon suddenly crackled with electricity, then let loose a tiny zap. It wasn't enough to hurt the silverette, nor was it even enough to sting much; it triggered more of a tickle than anything. But it also made the former Champ shoot maybe a foot in the air with an undignified yelp.

Hissing urgently, Porygon motioned towards the PokéNav that now rested lazily on the man's black-clad knee.

Steven's heart skipped a beat.

In an instant, he was on his feet, snatching the machine faster than a Hitmonchan could ever hope to achieve. His hand hesitated centimeters from the doorknob. He needed to get the news to May now, but he couldn't risk Brendan seeing—

Without giving himself so much as a microsecond to debate himself, he turned on his heel and rocketed off towards the lunch court, where Professor Birch had recently relocated due to a nurse's scolding about bothering the patient. May was immune to such things, as the word of her terror-wreaking had apparently spread throughout the staff like wildfire.

Behind him, Porygon raised its head importantly, feeling rather pleased with itself.

At long last, it had results.


Brendan was the one who eventually broke away, slowly untangling his arms from around May's back. Still, her hands remained on his shoulders, the warmth emanating from her fingers enough to keep him relatively calm. This time, when they met eyes and locked there steadily, she initiated the contact, her expression serious; almost solemn. Anticipating the question before it came, Brendan winced, his expression clearly troubled, and almost shied away from her comforting touch.

She never got any further than opening her mouth, though, before Professor Birch burst through the door in a frenzy, his hair disheveled and his lab coat askew. Both Trainers' heads snapped around, eyes flashing, as they startled, but they didn't even have the time to register who it was before his jaw unhinged and words spewed out at an unimaginable speed.

"May, you have to come right now; Steven needs you and Lissa—we found phone guy!"


*chuckles nervously* Um... cliffhanger, I guess?

Please don't kill me!

Seriously, it's not really a bad cliffhanger at all, unlike the cliffhanger from the UNNAMED SHOW OF SHAME in the last episode of season 4. SPOILER ALERT: the unnamed show of shame is Criminal Minds.

ANYway, next time in Ultimatum! They've located phone guy! Steven and May are on the scene! Will they manage to apprehend the suspect? Who exactly is phone guy? Did anyone here not get the obvious FNaF reference? Find out in chapter eight of... Ultimatum! Goodbye, and Merry Christmas, everybody!