A/N: One reader has admitted they're getting bored with this storyline. Guys, if you're finding the pace boring, or too slow, or repetitive, or ANYTHING, please let me know so I can do something about it! Thank you so much to that reviewer for speaking up; I'm going to work to move the storyline along a bit more.

Also, I've started another fic: Renegade (spies, traitors, schemes, romance, Pokemon battles, etc). So if you feel like exploring Team Magma with me, I'd love to have you on board! ;D

~ Thirteen ~

On Making Progress and Gender Bending

"Rex, Water Gun!"

Two days later, we're taking an impromptu lunch break after coming across an ill-fated Trainer along Route 39. Zeke, suddenly determined to defeat every single Trainer on the planet, ever, promptly challenged him to a battle, without consulting anybody else first.

Selfish brat.

"It's only ten thirty," Chloe comments, pulling a face and folding her arms, "I'm not even hungry yet."

We're sitting by the roadside, watching on with significant disinterest.

Seriously. This is the fourth one in two days.

It's getting old, fast.

I look up into the blue sky, squinting at the sun. "Fingers crossed it'll be a short one this time."

On the makeshift battlefield, Rex's fierce Water Gun is deftly avoided by the agile, opposing Sentret, who retaliates by scratching its claws in the dirt path and flicking dust everywhere in a Sand Attack that's extremely inconveniencing to those who are attempting an early lunch.

I spit out my mouthful of sandwich in disgust. There's more dirt in there than bread.

Gross.

I want to tell Zeke to hurry the hell up, but we're still not speaking. The silence has stretched into a five-day vendetta, and I'm not about to let my pride suffer the condemnation of breaking it.

Beside me, Jess stretches out his long legs and sighs. "We're wasting so much time." He mutters under his breath, so only I can catch it.

"Frustrating," I agree.

He nods. "We should be making more progress than this."

I flick my eyes to where Zeke's standing firmly in the dirt, conviction painted on his features. "We'll get there eventually."

Jess glances at me hesitantly. "It's not fair – the quicker you get it over with, the quicker you can return, right? Surely the procrastination is bothering you."

Actually, I haven't really been thinking about it – the reason behind this whole stupid thing. I get all nervous and tense when I do. And I don't know what to think, anyway. It's all too complicated.

I shrug one shoulder lazily. "It's fine. I'm in no rush. Let him have his stupid battles."

Jess is quiet for a bit.

"Question Nine?" he offers eventually, shooting me a small smile.

I grin. "Ready when you are."

"Okay," he says, rearranging himself so he's facing me, and sitting up a bit. "What was your childhood dream?"

Ooh, good one.

"My childhood dream…" I murmur thoughtfully, casting my mind back all of ten years to a time when I was much smaller. Memories play across my brain like flickering slides, the colours too vivid in the ones that are stronger. "Well, obviously you know I always wanted a Pokémon. But that wasn't like my dream career or anything." I chew my lip for a second, my cheeks reddening. "It's kind of silly. I wanted to be a ballerina."

He gives me a '… really?' sort of look. I raise my hands apologetically. "Hey – give that look to my five-year-old self. It's not my fault she was so unrealistic in her goal-setting. It's not like she knew how uncoordinated she'd be later in life."

He grins. "Next time I converse with your five-year-old self I'll tell her she should rethink her dreams. Don't worry – I'll let her down gently."

I laugh lightly, but sober quickly, glancing at him in a fleeting moment of inadvertent self-consciousness. "Actually, I had one dream that I always sort of hoped would come true one day."

He fixes me with an astute look. I can guarantee he already knows what I'm about to say. But to humour me, he says, "What was that?"

I glance down at my gritty sandwich triangle. "Even though I never knew her, I sort of always fantasised about my mom coming home – that she and Dad would get back together and we'd be a happy little family, and stuff."

When Jess just waits expectantly, I obediently continue. "I was so naïve. I truly believed that if my mom came back, Dad would spend less time at work, and more with me." I laugh shortly. "I don't know where I got that idea from. But once I'd come up with that theory, my brain just latched onto it and wouldn't let go."

Jess is watching me very seriously.

I clear my throat uncomfortably, cheeks blazing. "But as I got older, I became more indifferent to my dad. So my mom started to matter less. Eventually, she didn't matter at all." My mouth twists around the words, forming an expression that feels unpleasant. "That sounds terrible out loud."

Jess reaches up wordlessly, without warning, and gently brushes a piece of blonde from my eyes. "The terrible part, Grace, is that she wasn't around to be able to matter to you."

Suddenly my brain has turned to fuzz; I'm so tongue-tied I can't put two words together. My heart is thumping like crazy in my chest.

Jess drops his hand, returning it calmly to his pocket, like he has no idea that it's just set my face on fire and my chest on overdrive.

Seriously. How can he not hearmy pulse thumping? It feels so violent in my chest it's a wonder the whole clearing isn't echoing with the rhythmic pounding.

"It's not your fault, you know," he says quietly, so the others don't overhear. He glances at me, sees me not understanding, and elaborates. "The way you feel about your mom. It isn't your fault. I hope you don't feel like it is."

Honestly, when it comes to my mother, I really have no idea what I feel – if anything at all.

I nudge him with my foot, my eyes fixed determinedly on the brawling Pokémon. "Your turn."

Like always, he seems unhappy about the change of topic.

But, like always, he complies. "Now, I mean it this time. Don't judge."

My mouth twitches into a smirk. Evidently, this is going to be good. "When have I ever judged you?"

He rubs the back of his neck with one browned hand, his cheeks suddenly brighter than usual. With a bashful sort of glance in my direction, he divulges. "I wanted to be a super hero."

I grin delightedly. "But that's a perfectly legitimate childhood dream!"

"If a little unoriginal."

"At least you wanted to help people."

A boyish smile stretches across his cheeks. "I was going to have a squadron of Fire-type Pokémon fighting evil by my side. I was going to be the legendary Fire Man."

"Original," I reply, mouth quirking. "Though I don't really think you'd be able to claim all the glory if it was your Fire-type heroic Pokémon partners that were the real fire power."

"I didn't really think that far ahead," Jess admits. "But I did have a cool cape in mind."

I laugh.

"Of course," he continues, "Eventually I had to acknowledge that fighting crime all by myself wasn't a realistic enough approach to life."

"You could have joined the police force," I say, watching Rex snap his jaws on the Sentret's tail. "Officer Jenny fights evil every day."

"Yeah," Jess replies. Something in the way he says it sobers the mood. I glance at him, but he's watching the battle quietly.

"Jess?"

"Mmm?" he turns his head before dragging his eyes to me. "What's up?"

Do you really want to run the farm for the rest of your life? The question plays across the front of my mind in bold, neon red letters, practically screaming for me to voice it. It rolls to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it hastily.

I don't want to say something that'll cause an argument. And who am I to stick my nose into the traditions of his family?

"Grace?" Jess' eyebrows quirk in concern.

"Nah," I reply, shrugging it off. "It's nothing."

He watches me, probably thinking it's something to do with me, and not him. "Are you sure?"

I want to say: No. I think you're unhappy, and I think you should do something about it.

But I don't.

"Yeah."

I already wish I'd said something. God, I'm such a scaredy-Abra.

The frustration of regret courses through me long after Zeke's battle ends, long after we've packed up and set off again, long after we've stopped to make camp for the night.

In fact, it's still gnawing at my insides as I curl up between Chloe and Ebony and try to sleep.

Well. That's what you get, Grace. Next time, speak up.

If there is a next time.

XD

According to Jess, we're under a day's walk from Olivine City.

Thank the merciful lord.

We've stopped for lunch (again), and I'm gnawing away at the crust of a bland, carrot sandwich.

I know, right? Carrot.

Unfortunately, our food supplies are starting to get low, so there's not a whole lot I can do about it.

I now know more about Chloe than I would ever have desired at any stage of my life. I know her favourite colour is purple, her favourite food is banana split, her favourite Pokémon is Seel, her favourite place is Lilycove City, her favourite hobby is shopping, her favourite pastime is shopping, her favourite sport is shopping, her favourite accessory is her hair ribbon, her preferred Pokéball is Great Ball, her most frequently used Item is Super Potion, and she doesn't like avocado.

Oh, and she wants to be the Johto League Champion. Or a pop idol, alternatively.

Sadly, if you ask me in six months time, I'll probably still be able to reel off all those mundane little facts.

I've discovered the getting-to-know-you game is really not as fun with Chloe as it is with Jess, which is unfortunate, as Chloe rather seems to thoroughly enjoy talking about herself.

All the time.

"If I had to go into battle against a Ditto," she babbles away animatedly, ever the over-enthusiast, "I'd probably choose a dual-type like Relicanth. That way at least one of the Types would have some sort of advantage in battle."

I really don't care.

"Unless the second of its dual-types negates the effects of the first," Jess replies. He's always the one to humour her. I'm losing interest, and Zeke hasn't exercised his voice in about six days.

"Yeah, but which Pokémon has a dual-type like that?" Chloe retorts, folding her arms.

"Shedinja," Jess replies instantly. I detect a hint of smugness oozing from him when Chloe is appropriately stunned by this unexpected piece of knowledge.

Jess continues. "If you pitted two Shedinja against each other, neither would be able to use Bug-type moves, as Bug-types have no effect against Ghost-types. Therefore, they'd only be able to use Ghost-type moves against each other." Ngaw, he's such a smartie. "But then, Shedinja is a particularly special case, in that the match would be like a quick draw; the first to attack wins by default."

"Why?" Chloe asks curiously.

Ha. Who's a know-all now?

"Because Shedinja are susceptible only to moves that are super-effective against either Bug- or Ghost-types," Jess explains. "Not only that; any super-effective move is a KO by default, which means Shedinja only has to be hit by one super-effective attack to lose the match. All other moves have no effect, making Shedinja otherwise literally untouchable.

"But Ghost-type moves are super-effective against Ghost-type Pokémon, and since Ghost is one of its dual-types, Shedinja is basically super-effective against itself." He smirks a little into his sandwich crust, shooting me a furtive smile. "So, in answer to your question, in a battle against a Ditto, I would probably pick Shedinja."

Humbled, Chloe stuffs her face with an apple that is possibly more bruised than her ego.

Jess settles back comfortably.

I lean close to his ear. "You know, you're kind of smart. Just thought you'd like to know."

I can tell when he grins; his cheek moves and lightly brushes mine. He clears his throat, then says under his breath, "Is it mean that I sort of wanted to shut her up?"

"No," I reply immediately. "Thank the godly Cresselia you did. I think I would have muted her with her stupid apple if you hadn't intervened."

"Well," Jess says, fighting laughter, "That was fortunate, then."

"Rather," I agree amicably.

Before us, Zeke is training Rex.

Sort of.

In the last few days he's started this weird exercise regime, which involves him running drills for Rex every time we stop for a break. Right now, he's got the water lizard running timed laps of the clearing.

On top of his consistent demands for battles, it's a wonder Zeke's Pokémon are even able to stand at the end of each day. The poor things must be utterly exhausted.

In my opinion, he really seems to be pushing them a little too hard.

But then, what the hell do I know about training Pokémon?

In the far corner, under the shade of a tree, Santos is curled in a ball. I watch Zeke hit the stopwatch and signal to Rex to take a break, then call to Santos, who doesn't show any sign of response.

"Bear-thing!" Zeke calls again. The nickname he's adopted is utterly appalling. How demoralising. "You're up."

Santos ignores him.

Frowning at the refusal, Zeke stomps over to the tree, reaching down to pick up the Teddiursa. "Come on. Don't think you're getting out of your exercises."

"Ursa!" Santos protests, straining out of Zeke's grasp. He scuttles gingerly closer to the base of the tree, curling into a tighter ball.

"Maybe he's intimidated," Jess raises his voice to suggest casually.

"Shut up, Applesap," comes Zeke's standard, snappy response to anything Jess says.

"Maybe he's hungry," Chloe offers.

"He's not," Zeke says shortly. "All the Pokémon just had lunch."

"Maybe he wants to digest his food before exercising," Chloe offers instead.

"He's had plenty of time to digest," Zeke retorts. He reaches again, cursing loudly when Santos lashes out at him with sharp little claws. "Mother–!"

Sucking angrily on his hand, he stands from the tree, his good hand clenched tightly around the stopwatch.

I turn my attention to Santos, who is making little bleating noises and clenching up his little face. It looks like he's in pain.

I voice this observation to Jess.

"If that's the case," Jess replies, frowning, "Zeke shouldn't be exercising him."

"Try telling that to Mr. Stubborn over there," I scowl.

"Zeke," Jess calls in a serious tone, "Santos looks–"

"Shut up, Applesap!"

"–LIKE. HE'S. IN. PAIN," Jess says loudly, enunciating each word in a clipped tone.

Zeke makes no indication that he's heard, or that he's even listening. Instead, realising that he's not going to get anywhere with Santos' exercises this afternoon, he recalls him, and orders that we pack up and move out, not looking at any of us.

Ugh, I swear to god, he can be such a dickhead sometimes.

XD

By nightfall, Santos' condition has worsened.

After refusing his afternoon exercises when we stopped for a mid-afternoon rehydration, proving unwilling to participate in battle (effectively forfeiting the match for an extremely pissed-off Zeke), and blatantly ignoring his helping of dinner tonight, we're all sufficiently concerned.

"Stop whispering about him," Zeke snaps suddenly, causing me to jump and break off mid-sentence. I lean away reflexively from where I'm muttering collaboratively with Jess by the fire.

Zeke's eyes are a sharp, icy glare fixed on Jess. "He's fine. And it's not even any of your god damn business, any of you."

Switching his furious glare to me, he storms away.

My cheeks flaming, I glance at Jess, who shrugs and says, "Ignore him. And if he's not going to do anything about it, it would be irresponsible for us not to step in. Therefore, it technically is our god damn business."

He's right. I'm getting pretty worried about Santos. Casting my mind back to lunch time, I'm doubtful that he actually did eat anything then, which means he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast. Even then, I'm pretty sure he only picked at his food.

Does that mean Santos is sick?

If he is, what in the world can we do this far from Olivine City?

"Do you have anything in the first aid kit that could help him?" I ask Jess, concerned.

He frowns at the fire, the shadows dancing across his furrowed eyebrows. "It's hard to know what to give him when we don't know what the problem is. Even then, most of the stuff left in the kit is for human first aid, not Pokémon. Somehow, I don't think this could be cured with a Potion."

Santos groans pitifully, the sad noise echoing across the campsite to where we're sitting.

"I feel sorry for it," Chloe says presently.

"Me too," I agree.

"Are there any towns between here and Olivine City?" Chloe asks Jess. Funny how she's also started turning to him for advice now. Obviously she accepted his intellectual superiority after the Shedinja trumping.

"One," Jess replies. "But it doesn't have a Pokémon Centre."

Judging by the troubled expression painting his features, Santos might be in quite a pickle. I don't know what the consequences could be from not getting him medical help fast enough.

I don't want to think about it.

I get up from the fire and scrounge in my pack for a cheese stick. If he rejects the cheese stick, we've got a serious problem.

"Santos?" I call gently, approaching his shady little corner apprehensively.

"Ursa…" he groans quietly. To my inexperienced ears, it sounds like a mix between 'DON'T COME ANY CLOSER, I'M IN PAIN AND WILL EAT YOUR FACE IF YOU TOUCH ME', and 'just make it go away'.

But I'm probably completely off the mark.

"Hey, little guy," I coo, bending down so I'm on his level. He's curled up again, his back to me. This is a little disconcerting; I have no way of judging if he's about to whip around and bite and/or scratch me.

"You okay?" I ask, edging closer carefully. I'm totally not cool with having my hand mauled like Zeke's.

"Ursa…"

To be honest, that really does sound like a response in the negative.

"I have something for you," I say, adding a bright edge to my voice. His ears prick a little. "Why don't you have a look?"

"Teddi."

I produce the cheese stick. Immediately, his nose goes off, sniffing away mentally. "Ursa!"

Well, he sounds excited.

With what seems to be a great amount of effort, Santos turns around to face me. His eyes are fixed on the cheese stick in my fingers, and he leans his head forward to sniffle at it enthusiastically. Eventually, he reaches out his little paws – I don't miss the shadows of pain that haunt his eyes as he moves – and grasps it, putting the end of it decisively in his little mouth.

I watch for a moment as he gnaws at it.

Eventually, he puts the stick down on the grass. "Ursa..."

He gives it a forlorn, confused sort of look. Then he bestows that look upon me.

My heart bleeds. It's like he can't eat it, but he can't quite understand why, because he obviously wants to. I wonder if he has a forced loss of appetite.

Poor little guy.

"What's wrong?"

He paws at the cheese stick. "Ursa."

"Why don't you eat it?" I ask, troubled.

He just gives me that terribly sad look again. I swear to god, he's going to break my heart.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Ursa."

Uh. I guess that's a 'no'?

"Is there anything you want?" I try instead.

He puts his head back down on the grass, curling up again. "Ursa…"

I bite my lip worriedly, wishing I knew what was wrong so I could at least try to help. His little mouth pulls down into a grimace of pain; he whimpers quietly.

I reach out and stroke his fuzzy back with gentle fingers, tentative in case he strikes out.

He doesn't.

Heartened, I caress his fur rhythmically, in slow, gentle movements. He snuffles a little into the grass, shuffling closer to my hand, pressing his fur against my fingers, apparently enjoying the affection.

Cute.

"How's he doing?" Jess calls a few minutes later.

"Okay," I reply, with a degree of honesty. "He doesn't look like he's in quite as much pain."

Actually, he's gone a little dozy; my tickling has got him relaxing, I think. He's making the most adorable little snoring noises against the leaves, his nose pressed into the earth.

I shoot a smile over my shoulder at Jess. "I think he's sleeping."

Jess gives me a thumbs up from the fireside.

Unfortunately, my legs have fallen asleep; they're getting mighty uncomfortable. Retracting my hand carefully, I shift quietly, struggling to clamber noiselessly to my feet.

The moment I move, Santos protests.

"I'm still here," I say soothingly, tickling his fur again. "See?"

He gives me a look of objection. "Ursa."

When I don't get back down, he slowly attempts to push himself up from the earth.

"Don't hurt yourself!" I exclaim, almost tripping on my pins-and-needles afflicted legs. His face is warped with pain, but he ignores me.

With a half-growl, half-sigh, I stoop and scoop him up. Good god, he's heavier than he looks. He doesn't complain about the close contact – on the contrary, he snuggles close to my neck, making himself comfortable in my arms – so I carry him over to the fire.

We plonk down next to Jess, who gives me a praising look. Apparently, managing to win the bear-Pokémon's trust enough to pick him up is a major feat of achievement.

Considering my still-volatile relationship with El Scorchio, I suppose this counts as my first real bond with a Pokémon, so I guess it kind of is.

Santos twists his furry head to look over his shoulder at the fire, then drops his butt decidedly in my lap and, with an almighty yawn, buries his face in my chest.

Eep! Too cute! I want to hug him really tight, but I'm scared he'll die or something if I do.

So I just resume stroking his back. Within minutes, he's snoozing away.

Making a cheerful excuse about joining Ebony in the tent, Chloe gets up a few minutes later and makes her grand departure, leaving me to watch the fire slowly dying with Jess.

Zeke is nowhere to be seen.

"I'm worried about him," Jess confesses eventually.

"Who?" I ask reflexively, my mind still on Zeke's whereabouts.

"Santos," Jess replies, giving me a weird look. He reaches over to toy with one of the Teddiursa's round ears. Santos snuffles against my collarbone, his leathery little nose rubbing against my skin.

"Me too," I reply, glancing down at him.

"I'm concerned that we don't know what's wrong with him," Jess continues in a low voice. "And I'm worried Zeke isn't bothered enough by it."

I'm quiet for a moment, my gaze circling the campsite slowly, scouring the tree line closely for any sign of him, or Rex.

"What bothers me most," Jess continues, a trace of bitterness seeping into his tone, "is that he should really have pushed on through the night tonight, rather than stopping for camp – any good Trainer would have, if they had a sick Pokémon. He'd have made the city outskirts by dawn – but at this rate Santos won't get proper medical care until tomorrow afternoon." He exhales sharply through his nose. "Zeke just doesn't seem to care enough about his Pokémon."

This triggers a tiny spark of indignation; a conviction I voice without hesitation. "That's not true."

How I know that is beyond me, but I find myself believing my own words with solidity.

Zeke may be a jerk to me and Jess, and he might be difficult to get along with in general, and right now I might hate his guts beyond belief, but when it comes to his Pokémon, somehow there's absolutely not a shred of doubt within me that he truly cares for them. Sometimes, the only thing on the whole damn planet he actually gives a damn about is Rex.

Jess snorts beside me. "Could've fooled me."

"Look," I begin, "Zeke's a douchebag. But he'd do anything for Rex – he absolutely adores him. I don't know what his problem is right now – whether it's because Santos is new and they're not used to each other, or because of the whole in-love-with-a-boy-Teddiursa thing–" There, I said it "–but I'm sure Zeke wouldn't ignore his Pokémon if it was suffering. Who knows – maybe he's looking for something to help Santos right now."

"You're rather charitable towards him," Jess observes, "considering you've been refusing to speak to the guy for the past week."

My cheeks warm. "There's not a whole lot I'll give Zeke credit for. But I'm sure of this. I know he wouldn't be cruel to his Pokémon."

"Really?" Jess replies doubtfully. "Because you guys don't really seem to understand each other all that well."

"Granted," I reply, ignoring the tiny sting of indignation lashing in my chest. After all, I have lived with the guy for the past two years. "But I know him well enough to make good judgement on this."

Jess gives me a long look. For some reason, I can't hold it; I stare into the dancing flames instead.

Eventually, he says, "If you say so, Grace."

I get the absurd feeling I've managed to offend him, though I'm at a loss as to how, exactly. My suspicions are further exacerbated when he gets up quite abruptly from the fireside and shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

With a fleeting glance at me, he says, "'Night, Grace."

"Goodnight," I trail off as his loping strides fade away from the campfire.

I sit there for a moment, listening to the fire crackling quietly and Santos' rhythmic, peaceful snores, then get up, looping my arms under his fuzzy butt so he sits in my embrace like an infant.

Time to find Zeke.

Really, why am I the one looking after his Pokémon? Yes, I'm concerned for its health. Yes, I care a crap-ton about it. Yes, I've thoroughly enjoyed cuddling it, and it'll probably take a wrench to prise us apart.

But when it comes down to it, it should be Zeke sitting by the fire nursing Santos.

And now that my sticking up for him has pissed Jess off, I'm not feeling quite as charitable towards him as before. Wherever he is and whatever he's doing should hit the back-burner in favour of the more pressing matter of Santos being unwell.

The trees surrounding the campsite are shadowy and quiet. I walk with caution, my shoes cracking against twigs and dead leaves. Somewhere nearby, a Hoothoot whoos softly, startling me half to death. I spot its faintly-glowing red eyes peering at me from the higher branches of a mountain ash several paces away.

I bite my lip so sharply it hurts. No screaming, Grace. You'll wake Santos.

Hugging him a little closer to my chest, I continue on, drawing comfort from his warm little body and steady heartbeat, throbbing calmly against my sweater.

Sound pricks in my ears and I stop, listening.

Water.

And a faint voice that can only belong to Zeke.

Weaving through the moonlit trees, I cut across the forest and hit a downward slope, which flattens as I descend, the sound of rushing water echoing through the trees. Finally I spot something thin and shiny ahead; it gleams suddenly in a bright patch of silvery moonlight. I make out the snakelike form of a small stream, twisting its way through the forest.

And Zeke's sitting by the bank.

It's a pricelessly opportune moment. He hasn't heard me coming; I could sneak up and scare the living daylights out of him. And it would be totally worth a few more days of dirty looks.

Instead, I let the thrill drain away, and clear my throat; even that makes his shoulders jerk in surprise. "Hey."

Wow. That felt weird. First time I've addressed him directly in a week.

He doesn't look around. He also doesn't respond.

Rude, much?

"Look," I say awkwardly, my voice tense with standoffish discomfort. "I'm not here to bother you." I roll my eyes even though he can't see. "I'm just here to give you Santos, 'cause I'm going to bed."

"Alright," Zeke says shortly.

Um… now what?

"So, uh…" I say, awkward as hell. "Are you going to come take him?"

Without a word, Zeke gets up from the ground. Keeping his eyes firmly downcast, he stalks over to where I'm standing and gives an awkward little gesture with his arms, like he's attempted an uncomfortable, jerking hug, but changed his mind halfway through.

"Oh. Right. Um… Santos?" I say, nudging the Teddiursa gently to wake him. He scrunches up his little face, trying to ignore me. "No, Santos, come on. Wake up. I'm giving you to Zeke now."

"Ursa…" He tries to snuggle closer to my neck when I pull him away from my chest.

Squee! He's so cute!

"Why don't you just keep him?" Zeke asks gruffly.

"Because he's your Pokémon," I reply with a scowl. "Otherwise, I totally would."

Eventually, after much protesting and determined struggling, we manage to successfully transfer Santos from my arms to Zeke's, where he sits, looking a little uncomfortable and staring at me with wide, I-don't-understand-why-you-just-did-that eyes.

We stand there for a tense moment.

I really should just turn and leave now.

I don't.

"He's really sick, you know," I say eventually.

Brief, intense irritation flashes in Zeke's icy eyes. "I know that."

I shrug and back off.

Whatever. If he thinks he's got the situation under control, sweet. I won't interfere any more.

"Okay," I say awkwardly. "Well…"

I meet his eyes for a split second, during which I marvel that the expression in them maybe suggests that he might actually have something he wants to say.

And that he might actually be contemplating saying it.

But no, he's wordless as ever.

And that was his chance for conversation. With a glance serving as a tentative farewell, I back towards the trees, swivelling and heading into the darkness.

XD

Around mid-morning the next day, we crest a grassy hill to discover a sight most desirable for sore eyes. I nearly whoop for joy at the sprawling buildings forming the lip of civilisation that crawls to the beaches of the crescent-moon, white-sand coastline. The blue-green ocean glitters invitingly. And the weather couldn't be more perfect if a legendary Pokémon tampered with it.

From there, the rest of the hike to Olivine seems to blur past. What feels like ten minutes later (but is actually more like forty-five) we're walking on asphalt instead of dirt path, through the impressive gateway to the city and into the apartment-complex-lined streets.

I quickly deduce two things: Olivine is about a billion times bigger than I remember it being, and without Dad's chauffer, we're in serious danger of winding up completely insanely lost.

"I vote we stop," I say, keen to ditch my pack for a while. "I'm starving."

"We should really find the Pokémon Centre first," Jess says, chewing the inside of his lip. "For Santos. That's our biggest priority right now."

Zeke says nothing.

Jess is right, of course. I feel a stab of guilt for my selfishness. Then my stomach gives an almighty rumble.

"The Centre could be miles away," I whine. "My shoulders hurt, my feet are sore, and we have no food left, so we can't even snack. Either way, Santos won't be getting medical help until we find the Pokémon Centre, so why can't we quickly stop?"

When Jess glances at me, the resolve in his eyes weakening, I pout.

Terrible, Grace. You should feel ashamed.

"There's a bus stop up ahead," Chloe interjects, pointing. "Our house is on the other side of town, in Zone Three. We can ask the next bus driver which way we need to go, and where he's heading."

And that's how we all end up cramped along a metal bench clearly meant for a maximum number of three, our packs sprawled at our feet. The sun overhead is baking hot; it's burning my hair. In the distance, the heat simmers off the asphalt, blurring the horizon.

When the bus finally trundles up and whinges to a stop before us, only Jess has enough motivation to get up and ask directions from the driver.

"Okay," he reports, as the bus wheezes off up the road. "So we want West Main road. There's a bus that leaves from stop twelve and takes us to Area Five in Zone Three… Is any of this making any degree of sense to anyone?"

"Sure," Chloe replies, though she sounds alarmingly doubtful. When I glance worriedly at her, she adds hastily, "Look, I'm pretty sure I know West Main – it's the main street in the Western districts. And once we get to Zone Three I'm pretty sweet. It's the getting-to-West-Main-road part that we might have some trouble with."

"So we need a map of the city," Zeke says shortly.

"That might be a good idea," she agrees sheepishly.

That turns out to be much easier said than done. We're in the business district; surrounding us for blocks in either direction are imposing, glass-faced skyscrapers, crouching on the sidewalk.

They're neither friendly nor inviting.

And there's not a single convenience store. Anywhere.

We walk until conversation runs dry. Eventually, the tension is so palpable Jess' shoulders are scrunched up in frustration.

"Guys, stop," I say finally. Immediately, they all comply. I groan, dropping my pack and massaging where the straps have cut into my shoulders. "This is ridiculous. We're getting nowhere."

"We need a new plan," Jess agrees. "Clearly, we're not going to magically stumble across a map anytime soon."

"Yes, thanks for that, genius," Zeke interjects snidely.

"You could actually be useful, for once," Jess retorts sarcastically, "And do something."

Zeke's eyes flash dangerously.

"Cool it, everyone," Chloe says, exasperated.

"Pun," I point out, unable to help myself. Everyone looks at me. Suddenly, I'm fighting a smirk. "Get it? Because today's so hot…"

Jess catches my eye. A curl twists his upper lip.

Zeke bestows upon me an icy look of disdain and runs his fingers through his hair in agitation. Actually, he's looking pretty flushed; he could probably do with a haircut. He must be boiling beneath that mop of fluffy black.

I suddenly wonder if I've still got some water. Without thinking, I reach for the side of my pack.

No, Grace! Let him take care of himself. Stern face.

"Chloe," I say instead, "is there any way to the Pokémon Centre from here? Any way at all?"

"Maybe," she replies doubtfully. "I'm not sure."

"I think there's a station," Ebony interrupts. We all stare at her. She blushes faintly, shrugging casually, and points lightly. "According to that sign…"

Ha. Well aren't we ignorant?

Thankfully, she's right. Within minutes, the wide steps leading to the below-ground station are coming into view.

I've never been happier to see an underground in my life. Swear to Arceus.

Wait, I sound like Zeke. Creepy.

Swear to Cresselia.

That's better.

Anyway, that's how we end up crammed in a stuffy, snakelike steel carriage, speeding our way through Olivine's underground network towards Central Station. It's not peak hour, so the train isn't packed and we have room to spread out, but somehow it's still way too hot inside, even with the windows open.

None of us says much; I think we're all too hot and bothered to find the energy to make conversation.

Finally, after a ten minute streak through tunnelled darkness, we screech to a halt at the platform of Central Station. A breath of stale but cool air whips my bangs from my face as the electronic doors slide open; we haul our packs from the carriage and huddle on the brick platform to regroup.

"Has everyone got everything?" Jess asks, peeling his jacket off.

I really wish he wouldn't do that. He clearly has no idea what he looks like in a loose shirt. I watch him push his sleeves up to the elbow, the muscles contracting beneath his browned skin, and force my gaze away.

"We're not grade schoolers on a field trip," Zeke snaps scornfully. Without a backward glance, he walks off with his pack.

Jess sighs. "Come on, guys, before we lose him."

We pack onto an escalator that takes us up to ground level. To our fortune, and my immense delight, the Pokémon Centre is right across the road.

"Well, thank the lord for that," Jess says, hitting the button at the pedestrian crossing. Zeke doesn't wait; he strolls confidently into the busy street, weaving between the cars as they whiz past.

"Hey!" Chloe calls, astonished. "What are you doing?"

"He's an idiot," Jess mutters, frowning. "He'll kill himself if he's not careful."

"He's not usually this dumb," I reply. "I don't know what his problem is."

"What's with the immaturity?" Chloe asks, propping her hands on her hips. "Does he think he's cool?"

Jess shrugs. "He'll grow up someday."

"I'm not hopeful," I say sourly, watching Zeke's stuffed pack disappear into the Pokémon Centre. His attitude problem is getting worse; it's seriously bad right now.

The Centre interior greets us with a breath of cooled air and the bubbly sounds of friendly chatter. It's busy inside; busier than I've ever seen a Centre. We take a number and wait in line behind a kid who just challenged the Olivine City Gym Leader, Jasmine.

"She's so powerful," he tells us, his eyes wide with emphasis. "And her Pokémon are so tough. My Cyndaquil was no match for her Steelix – and it had a type advantage!"

"Is your Cyndaquil okay?" I ask, concerned.

He nurses its Pokéball with both hands, looking forlorn. "I hope so. He's a pretty determined little guy, but he took a pretty bad beating. I wish I'd trained harder – I feel like I've let him down."

Ugh. That look on his face – that is why I'm glad I'm not into battling.

Finally, the defeated Trainer's Cyndaquil is examined and transferred to the critical care unit on a white stretcher steered by two fat Chansey nurses.

Then it's our turn.

"Nurse Joy," Jess begins, "we're here for a general check up of all our Pokémon, but first, please take a look at our Teddiursa–"

"My Teddiursa," Zeke interjects sourly.

"–We think it's really sick," Jess continues, ignoring him.

"Of course," Joy says, her soft blue eyes serious. "May I see the Pokémon?"

While Zeke digs in his pocket for Santos' Pokéball, Joy picks up the phone and dials. "Louise, could you send Sarah to come and look after the desk for a few minutes?" She pauses, listening. "That'll be fine. Thank you."

She replaces the handset, taking Zeke's Pokéball. "Come with me."

Glancing at each other, we traipse after her, down a short, clean corridor and into a private consulting room with a patient bed, and shelves stacked with medical equipment. Joy takes a seat at a desk with a computer, clicking away for a few seconds.

"Okay," she says finally. "Please take a seat, everyone."

"Nurse Joy?" Jess speaks up. "I was just wondering. Why didn't you examine Santos at the front desk, like usual?"

"Well," she replies, her eyes on Santos as he shakes his fur out and promptly curls up on the floor, whimpering. "If your Teddiursa really is quite ill, we have to be careful to isolate any germs that could spread to other Pokémon in the Centre. It's just a precaution. Now…"

We watch and wait, obediently quiet, as she gives Santos a check up. She looks into his ears and throat, checks his pulse with a stethoscope, measures his temperature, and checks his blood pressure with a strange Velcro pad she straps to his arm and puffs up with a hand pump.

"Well," she says, frowning slightly as she unhooks the stethoscope from her ears. "There doesn't appear to be any of the usual symptoms for a common illness, like a flu or virus. Teddiursa's chest is clear, and there are no infections in the sinuses."

She appears baffled.

"So there's nothing wrong with Santos?" I ask, disbelieving.

"It's actually a very healthy-looking Teddiursa. But I wouldn't say that," she replies and looks to Zeke. "Your Teddiursa is very obviously in pain. I think we're going to have to keep it here overnight, so we can give it a more thorough examination. I'd do it now, but I just don't have that kind of time. I'm sorry."

Zeke looks about to argue, but I cut him off. "That's perfectly fine. Thanks so much for your help."

She returns Santos and hands the Pokéball to Zeke. "I'll send these notes through to Sarah at the desk; leave your Teddiursa with her. She'll also give your other Pokémon a check up – just tell her I sent you."

"Nurse Joy?" I can't help asking, as Jess and Zeke make for the door. They pause, and she gives me a pleasant smile, indicating for me to continue. I feel a bit foolish for asking, but I really want to know her honest opinion. "Is… is Santos actually going to be okay?"

Her smile now is very kind. "I'm confident she's going to be just fine. Don't worry – we'll figure out what's going on soon. I'm sure it's nothing too serious."

"Wait," Zeke says incredulously. "Did you just say 'she'?"

Nurse Joy nods amiably. Then her blue eyes widen. "Don't tell me you thought it was a boy all this time. Its small body and larger ears are quite obvious traits of a female Teddiursa."

"You're kidding me," Jess says, amusement lacing his voice.

Zeke is speechless. This means Santos isn't gay, after all. He's gotta be happy about that.

I want so badly to say, "I told you so!", but I fight the urge. Instead I say, firmly, "Thank you, Nurse Joy."

The silence is thick and heavy as we walk back down the corridor.

Someone needs to say something. Right now. Something has to be said. It just can't not.

I glance sidelong at Jess, who glances back, smirking hugely.

"So…" I say, clearing my throat, resisting the broad grin twitching around my lips. Zeke shoots me a reluctant, sideward glance, and my smile cracks. "Santosette?"

He sighs heavily. "Shut up, Grace."