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[continues from previous]
"Are you doing anything later?" Runa said, standing beside him on the escalator. He didn't know; there was nothing to do, he felt, until Runa had finished interviewing the dragon trainers, found the few she wanted to help them, and even then he would only be helping Gaia, perhaps mentoring a student or two—easy enough with his teaching experience. "Well, remember Steven's here in a few hours. It'd be nice if everyone said hello. We wouldn't be here if not for him." Later, then, certainly, he thought—suddenly he couldn't bear to be near Runa. Perhaps he'd crack his head on the passing kanji stone, he thought—the one that said, Equal, split in two halves. Runa leaned back and put her arm round him—There was Gaia, in the lobby amongst the workers, looking up and seeing them.
Ah, he felt, as the winding platform reached the lobby, and he stepped off the path, Runa going off ahead to check the progress of the park. Only now did he feel how uncomfortable he'd been; as if another ten seconds to the trip would have passed his limits, spent his last reserve, so he felt it freshly returning like a cool pillow as Runa went; and yet, as usual, seeing her leave, he felt rotten, and wanted to follow—and suppose she didn't feel similarly? Having just spent a whole morning with him, having had the day's fill, as it were, it would be as if, in her mind, she needn't spend any more time with him, and … But she looked back, saw him, smiled. She didn't forget. She passed through the parkway entrance arch, went on to her business; but she'd continue, he knew, to think of him for a while.
Whereas Gaia, he thought, had been thinking of him already, even as she talked to that Machoke—Gaia who looked at him and stood waiting. The Provost Mon, Runa made her, in charge of all mon instruction, the most important position in the Academy, he felt, after Torus and Runa's dual leadership; she would have spent the morning with some of the assistant-heads-in-training, straightened out perhaps another dojo, and now occupied herself by checking the construction, perhaps had used the new conference rooms that morning which overlooked the park. As Head of Dragon Pokémon too, she'd do plenty of teaching, which always suited her; she liked to manage people; she would become a great icon of the Academy, a proof of what a Pokémon, under Runa's guidance, could accomplish; whereas he would be not even an assistant head under her, rather a simple mentor, helping very young dragons learn how to access their fire, as he had had such difficulty with when he was small.
"[How'd it go?]" Gaia said. "[Are you famous now?]"
He said, "[Oh … It was fine. She asked a lot of questions—you know, like the others. She followed up a lot. But she let Runa tell it properly.]"
"[Good,]" Gaia said, taking his arm and walking toward the elevators. "[So long as it's not another Goldenrod Gazette. Come with me—I want to show you upstairs. You can find a bin for that.]"
The Gazette! he thought, following Gaia back up the escalator with the tub of melted cream in his arm. Why didn't the Pondelores just buy the paper? Wasn't it in every release they gave that the Academy didn't choose based on connections or wealth? in every interview, as with Lily? Yet there they were, some made-up story about Runa supposedly bringing in stat-checkers from the Hoenn estate for consultations, as if they'd screen every student, as if her philosophy had anything to do with numbers!
Gaia was excited about the Academy—the making of their very own Goldenrod tower, their own miniature world for Pokémon in a human city: an enclave, as Hestia called it, looking out at all the towers. The Pokémon Centre, what they'd passed through with Runa heading down, would be open in another couple months; across the way, where she lead him, the big lounge would be ready at about the same time; then the gates would open, the tower still not yet done, and suddenly there'd be people, strangers. Didn't she think, he said, that the tower tried to do too much? Once complete it would be a virtual arcology, so far as Pokémon were concerned—medical centre, living space, lounge, and dojos; which was the point, as Runa saw it, that it should contain everything a Pokémon wanted independently of humans, even its own reserve, though the park would be open to humans. But the lounge! Gaia said. The floor was all fitted in firm wood, and in a few days the Ivysaur would sprout the plants framing the long balcony, and then it would be greater than anything in Goldenrod or Saffron City, fit for three hundred people and Pokémon at once.
Things evolved too quickly, he felt. Gaia would say that he was only being timid, that everything improved, but she had to feel that it was quick. Didn't she feel that Runa's parents put too much on her?
"[I don't know what you mean,]" Gaia said. "[Here—this'll be the tea room. They'll be serving all hours, so if you ever wake up and want a cup, we can just pop down here and sit on the balcony—and in winter, it'll be nice and warm inside. You see? Imagine having tea down here at night!]"
Seeing Gaia at the window with her arms on the frame, feigning interest the park below, as if she hadn't been waiting for him in the lobby to return but only happened to be working there and now gave him some time, what he knew for a long time showed itself as obvious again, and she had to know it, as her back faced him: she was still in love, though she denied it, and she didn't know how to quit. After Ever Grande, Caelus said outright that he loved her—began to imagine a life after Lance, he said, at which hearing such romantic language Apollo pulled Hestia and Red's Charizard into a tight embrace—and still she didn't know, found herself torn between two cases, still threaded, as it were, to a hopeless anthropohile. She thought the same about him, of course: If Shadow won't get over Runa, she reasoned, who had no possibility of returning it, then he had no business to criticise. She imagined them together, still; she collected photographs of them together. (So many times she'd slap him if she knew!) But why bother? They did not make her happy: she looked over them later, as he saw in her thinking, and after a while, she only felt empty and guilty, stuffed them away again. Even in the moment, grabbing his arm and standing for some camera, she did not enjoy it, felt him straining, thought that he didn't really want to be near, which made her feel rotten—told herself again that she mustn't, that she fooled herself, to hope that he might yet change. It was his fault, he felt: he didn't say the right thing at the time, perhaps, and so he let it happen, let her keep thinking such things were possible. She felt forced, as if past decisions or conclusions (didn't jump at once on Caelus, at his words) meant that she must stay, even though it was hopeless: her nature still wanted to fix on him, as dragons did, and see what eventually happened. For if he finally told Runa, she thought, and Runa rejected him, pushed him away, then she would go with him to keep him safe. Who knew what he'd do, if he was alone? she thought. She would take care of him, as he would have nothing else, and before long, perhaps, for such feelings couldn't just vanish, but had to go somewhere, he would fall into her arms. Nobody would interfere. Then if it was ever possible that he changed, there he would. She would throw away her dreams and family like a clutch of weeds, working to save the one sickly flower she adored, even as life, as cruel circumstance, wilted it entirely.
"[Look,]" she said—"[look, see the counters? That'll be the smorgasbord. Spring rolls and sauteed mushrooms, and your sweet and sour sauce …]"
It couldn't go on, he thought, standing beside her—he was a rotten friend to let it get this far already. If he really cared he would do something to end the pain, even if it was difficult in the moment: that was what Runa would do. It was different with him, for whom there wasn't any other option; but Gaia was normal—she could have other Dragonite. Caelus she was fond of, and he was after all the greatest Dragonite in the world, ranked first again, and Lance was getting old, wanted his dragons well, a love to last two hundred years … No. He had to be very clear. If it went on she would be miserable, possibly all her life, her whole happiness wasted, and it would be his fault, because he wasn't clear.
But having often decided a thing, he thought, seen its urgency and resolved to act, how often it only come out to others as a stutter or a blush! That he sometimes had great accesses of emotion did not help his putting it in words; and the psychic power, what ought to help in crafting such things ideally, only lead to further doubt by mixing strange perspectives, and the fragments of understanding which showed his own up as lacking. More than once he heard a thing that bothered him so greatly, some indescribably dark thoughts, perhaps, that he asked Torus or David to wipe it out, not having the nature, he argued, to tolerate it. What did he see? He didn't know: Torus and David had done as he asked, but said that, in time, he'd get over the need of it. Perhaps he would—psychics were always so calm, even seeing many things that should bother them—perhaps he'd quit feeling entirely. For now, he had only what feeling came to mind, and what feeling in Gaia she had to release.
He said, "[Gaia, can I talk to—]"
Something jabbed his side, and said, "[Touchback!]" It was Ken, he saw, probably wanting to play a game after finishing his morning exercises.
Gaia said, "[Shouldn't you be cleaning up for Steven's visit?]"
"[I'm clean!]" Ken said. "[I was just looking around a bit.]"
"[Fat chance,]" Gaia said—"[you came to climb the cranes like a little Aipom, didn't you? If you can't think of a way to make yourself useful, why don't you make some sandwiches for the crew?]"
Ken frowned and brushed where he had poked with his hand, as if correcting it. "[But, I really wanted to talk to Shadow,]" he said—always a terrible liar, he thought. "[Is he done?]"
"[No,]" Gaia said. "[We're going to the kitchen to pick some tea, aren't we, Shadow? Then we're meeting Steven at the Golden Palace across the park. Runa's probably already there—why don't you find her?]"
He didn't know Gaia's idea, but he'd play along. "[Here,]" he said, handing the tub to Ken—"[from Runa.]" And Gaia frowned, said something about spoiling his appetite and making a mess, though somehow the little Infernape succeeded in drinking directly from the tub as he walked without spilling a drop.
The kitchen was not so much a room as a semi-enclosed preparation area, where common beverages went out one end to the tea counter and rice and noodles to the other; by Runa's want, almost every doorway in the tower was large enough to permit a Dragonite—one a little over eight feet tall, he noticed. Gaia stood in the doorway behind him.
"[Well?]" she said at last. "[You were saying?]"
"[O— Oh!]" he said. Now, on the spot, he felt, only standing by the table where tea would be made, quite what he meant to say escaped him. "[Well, I … It's not that important—]"
She sniffed and folded her arms, and said, "[Something's been bothering you ever since you got back and I want to know what it is.]"
She pretended to be casual, he saw, but she felt uncomfortable—alone in a room with him, and now perhaps he'd talk about his feelings. How much better he'd be without it! Dragons, apart from a couple of legendaries, weren't meant to have that power: it destroyed the natural conversation, the private thought: all talks with a psychic were to some extent an artificial dialogue. But Gaia didn't feel herself any less guilty. He had to be clear.
"[We—]" he said, started again. "[We're good friends, aren't we, Gaia?]"
"[You have to ask?]" she said.
"[The bestest friends?]" he said.
"[The bestest ever,]" she said. "[Why?]"
"[And,]" he said—"[and you know you're my favourite mon there is, don't you?]" Now she felt rotten: she didn't speak. "[And you know I want you to be happy, no matter what, and, and you'll tell me if, for some reason, you aren't.]"
"[You say that like I'm not,]" she said. But she was looking at her claw now, took an interest in the wood of the doorway.
"[Are you?]" he said.
She looked at him; and after a long moment, as he couldn't bear it, he had to look away, and so she took the momentum. She said, "[I'm fine—you're the miserable one. You're really asking me if I'm not happy when you're the one—]" She stopped; she would start to say rotten things, she meant, if she continued.
"[But that's me,]" he said. He would go on. "[You … You're normal. You don't have to be sad. There are lots of dragons—lots of mon.]"
"[Meaning?]" she said, folding her arms.
"[M— Meaning,]" he said, "[that, Lance's Dragonite really likes you, and probably lots of others would too, and, and since it's impossible I'll ever change, there's no point hoping and not—]"
Oh! he thought, but it came out at once; and now she was cross, he saw, undid her arms: now she would let him have it, and deliver a speech, and turn away when she finished to hide her feelings. She said, "[You know, sometimes, you can be incredibly absorbed, Shadow. So I liked you that way once, a long time ago—and maybe once or twice, I took advantage a bit, when the opportunity came along. Can you blame me? That was almost two years ago, Shadow! You've got a fat nerve to think I still feel it, as if I'm as hopeless as you—and right after you just spent the morning with her! I thought you said you had to get used to keeping your distance, so that you'd never let it slip and then she'd leave you. How's going on day trips alone with her supposed to help? Talk about hypocrisy, saying I can't get over you, when every time I see you together you're pinker than I used to be.]"
But she lied, he thought; she was petrified that he knew; and she hated herself for thinking that he ought to love her, that he was rotten not to, after everything, as if his feelings were negotiable. And why, she wondered, did she have to feel it, this want to be with someone? for she was still young and had all sorts of ambitions, to become a great champion, a famous instructor—all that, and there was Shadow barging in.
"[D— Don't lie to me, Gaia,]" he said.
Evolution did many things to a mon, he thought, not uncommonest of which was to add its edge to temper or strength of fury; but while Gaia managed largely to avoid all that, even she had a basic rage, as all dragons did, which with the right triggers—saying she lied—even she found hard to control. "[Now look,]" she said, as she stepped forward, poking his chest with her claw, so that he backed into the table. "[You're tolerable when you're only deprecating yourself—at least then I feel pity and want to help. But I think a few too many walks with Runa and her constantly complimenting you has gotten to your head. Just because she likes talking to you, doesn't mean she's obsessed with having you near. And since you're obsessed—since you can't imagine thinking differently and don't even want to try—you can't understand that someone who used to like you maybe just doesn't any more. I'm done feeling that way, and that's the end of it. And since we're such good friends, I'll let it pass what a clod you are when we meet the rest for lunch. Just don't ever call me a liar again.]"
Now she would go, he thought, to simmer, let it all stew and, if not let such words harm her feelings, then perhaps let their friendship suffer. For he had to think little of her, she was thinking, if he'd say that, and treat her feelings like nothing; and then again she felt rotten for feeling it, wanted to hold him and apologise—and then again to slap him and to quit speaking for weeks.
"[Gai—]" he said; and now she waited, for this was the part, they both knew, where he would apologise, and all went on as usual.
Yet he understood, he thought, that air-tossed feeling; for just as he might imagine Runa, once aware of his condition, laying her hands on him and saying she was sorry, that if she could she might choose to be able to love him, so Gaia imagined his throwing his arms around her, burying his face in her neck and weeping—only to somehow show that he was sorry for not being as she wanted, for ruining what would otherwise have been a happy life together.
He should have let the psychic power fade, sat on a mountain for months until it evaporated; for how rough did he seem to Gaia, now, how mad to suddenly grab her, throw his arms around her neck, when she really believed that her feelings were hidden?
"[You fat rot,]" Gaia said, pressing her arm between them. "[I'll give you such a thump in a minute.]"
But she dug at the folds in his chest; tried to hear if anyone was coming, some construction worker gone wandering, who might see, yet could not, for she could hardly think. This was what it took, he thought, for Gaia to feel on fire—just as if Runa jumped up, threw her arms around his neck, and, as his hands moved to hold her in place, found the small of her back, not even an Electrode exploding he'd feel.
"[Don't lie,]" he said, putting his hand on her cheek, rubbing along her nose.
"Nnn," she said, and forget what she was saying; for she never felt this way, he knew, never felt such a heat, all unexpected; and directly, he saw, she imagined him turning, pressing his nose against her, just as Runa in his arms, if she loved him, might take his nose in both hands and, lifting up, kiss him on the lip. Was that what Gaia needed, he thought, in order to start to recover, some moment to let it all out? For at least then she would talk about it, would admit and take steps, and finally let go any thought of him. If that was what she needed, he would do it: so he kissed her, on the wick of her mouth.
Well, she certainly meant it about taking advantage, he thought: she threw him onto his back on the floor and then followed, landed on his stomach with her mouth covering his. For she decided that she would give in, let it burst—get everything out of her system until she fainted on top of him. Oh, he thought, but what did he think it would do? How was it helping Gaia to kiss her? as if he would get over Runa if she kissed him! He only meant to make her admit, to begin healing; now she only thought of how she'd have had this every day, if not for his selfish nature. And perhaps it was really worse for Gaia, as a Dragonite, for Runa could never, by any posture, smother him so much as this; her kiss, when she kissed his neck, his cheek, was like a little fond peck of light which melted right through him, turned his whole body, he felt, to air; whereas with Gaia, her tongue thick as a Watmel, slightly sweet, odd for all the sour foods she ate, laying on big squelching kisses, pressing her whole body against him as he looked at the wooden ceiling—suppose it affected him in similar proportion to Runa? He would expire; he would burn up in a puff of ash, under such contact; so perhaps Gaia felt now. Really the whole thing was a joke, him and Runa. It was like the story of the Diglett and the Wailord in love, who wanted eggs but could not work out how to touch one another. With Runa he had to be careful he didn't gash her, taking her hand. Supposing she lay on top of him, what would he do? As a Dragonair they could intertwine: as a Dratini she could lift him up entirely; but since evolving it was never the same: since evolving he became ridiculous, eight times her size, and twice Gaia's.
But Gaia wasn't letting go; she was getting very warm. Was there a part of her that she didn't feel burning? But much more of this, he thought, and there would be an egg! Was she actually rubbing against him, back and forth, or was that her breathing? She had to stop. But as he moved, she seemed to think again, realised all the rest that she was missing (for she would perhaps never get it again, she thought—that was good) and pressed lower, kissed his neck, his folds, stroked her nose against him, returned to his lips and kissed once slowly.
At length she leant back against the table, her stomach pressed against his as she sat on his tail, only breathing and looking far away at him.
"[Uh,]" she said. She kept breathing, looked around, as if she recognised the room again. "[That … that's not what you meant, was it?]"
She stood; brushed herself down, felt clammy, perhaps. "[Look, I—]" she said; but seeing him on the floor, flat on his back where she had thrown him, she stopped, and looked away. "[Look, maybe you're right, okay? Maybe I— Maybe there's still something. I shouldn't have said those things. But I can hardly just turn off my feelings, can I? And when you're so close all the time, and, and when you're spending all your time with her—]"
He couldn't help it: he covered his face. Even Gaia in her highest state of passion could see that nothing good would come of it, that to lose her feelings would have been better—not so lost and hopeless as him, whatever she imagined, where if he lost his love of Runa, he felt, he would lose his very identity. Perhaps that was why there were so few older dragons among humans: once they had human trainers, and other Pokémon for friends, and then they all died, one after another, and so they left to live out their decades in mourning. So Runa would die: her daughters, granddaughters, if she had them, would die, and he would linger on. It was hopeless to fix onto things, as dragons did; far better to remain a Dratini and never evolve, never feel more than a simple love, and die before Runa did. He should never have begun training; he should have swallowed that Everstone.
"[I'm sorry,]" he said, wiping up the liquids which came from his face. He had to look pathetic to Gaia, he knew, falling suddenly apart as if she broke him. "[I … I wish I could. I'm no good, but I wish I could make you really happy. You're such a better dragon than me … than all of us were.]"
Gaia knelt beside him and took his hand. "[What are you talking about?]" she said. "[The Corner?]"
"[They'd have loved you,]" he said—perhaps they did, all infatuated with her, jealous that he got her conversation. "[You'd have been better off with one of them. But instead you got me, and—]"
"[They were clods,]" she said. She pulled his hand very close. "[Listen—I liked you even then. Not like that, not yet, but I'd have picked you over any of them. I made Runa go back for you, didn't I? You were the only one worth anything, even if you don't believe it. If … if it was a choice, knowing everything, between staying with you or her … you know I'd pick you, right? Even knowing you couldn't like me that way. If you could only be happier … I mean, if she could feel that way you do—]"
At that, he couldn't keep it in: he buried his face in her arm. To the others, his loving Runa was like a joke, a quirk of character; to David it was an old amusement, and to Torus a mere technical problem, to be treated perhaps by some efficacious herb or meditative exercise. Gaia, however, always saw it truly: of all the family, for they were family, she was the only one who really understood. Dragons had to feel more than other mon, perhaps even more than humans, and it took being a dragon, not hearing about it, not seeing it through the psychic, to really know. There were others, no doubt, who felt more than he did, but never did he see one which loved so strongly—never was it so single-sided.
"[I don't know what to do,]" he said. And of course she didn't either, he thought, as she patted his back, kneaded the base of his wings, feeling helpless to help him; but it felt better to know that he wasn't alone, that Gaia understood some part of his feelings, and had felt the same, even if he was the cause of it. "[She'd send me away if she knew—she would. She'd say I deserve to be happy, and, and I wouldn't be if I stayed, so I ought to get over her and go, but I can't.]" Gaia gave him a cloth, from the counter perhaps, and he blew his nose, hiccupped, shook his head. "[I know that's being a hypocrite, when you feel the same, but I'm n— not like you. You're stronger than me … you can manage. I'm only even here 'cause I cried for Runa.]"
Gaia held his head in her arms. "[Hey,]" she said. "[Gummy. Don't you know you're strong too? Do you think that, if you were really weak, you'd be where you are today? You went from that guy laying about in the Corner to a Dragonite strong enough to fight Omega, and train a family, and probably win the championship if you wanted. Don't you think that proves you're strong? Don't you think my feelings had something to do with that?]"
She was wrong, he felt, but he didn't speak, only lay with his head in her arms, not looking. And in a minute Gaia said:
"[Runa told me how she feels about you, you know.]"
He felt his heart quicken, and his skin grow warm. "[Wh— What do you mean?]" he said.
"[About your growing up, and getting stronger,]" she said. "[I mean, we've always known you were her favourite. She didn't say it, but she knew that I knew. We always knew. So she tried to explain why she feels differently. With you … she just can't help feeling proud, I think. I mean she's proud of all of us, but with you, it's different—like you went from the worst extreme to the other, in terms of strength and quality, all because you found a drive to reach your potential. And she was strange, when she told me, the way she was acting—like I'd think maybe she was actually in love with you. She doesn't, I don't think—I won't say it's impossible, if there's others like you—but I think, because she knew how I felt, she just felt bad in talking about it, because she knows you really do like spending time with her … more than you do with me. And I think, if it were possible for her to love you, she would. Over all other Pokémon, probably.]"
His hands were shaking, he could feel, and he squeezed Gaia's arm. "[R— … Really?]" he said.
"[Only if she could,]" Gaia said. "[And maybe, by the way I sometimes imagine you changing, and suddenly not being how you are, maybe you think the same sometimes, so that me saying all this doesn't help, like it's just adding fuel to the fire. But I thought you should hear it, anyway.]"
The winter sun was low enough, he saw, that even in the early afternoon a ray cast through the inset windows, and a sliver reached the door of the tea room kitchen.
"[I'd love you too, if I could,]" he said.
Gaia said nothing for a minute; then, breathing in and letting go his head, she straightened him up and said, "[Of course, all of that's with her thinking that you've got some big plan to improve yourself. But we both know the truth,]"—and she poked his chest: "[you only improve when you think you'll disappoint her otherwise. And that's why you're afraid, if she finds you out, that she'll think you only did it all to please her, not because of some dream. But don't you see that, if it's your dream to make her proud, she'll say that's exactly what you did? She'll still be proud of you. The only thing that'll disappoint her is that you kept it hidden for so long, and stayed miserable, and pushed back the day when she could start helping you.]"
But this, She will—, he thought; this, The day—Gaia made it out as if she would know any moment, as though the time were nearly up. And why that unless she was trying to persuade him to act first, before, perhaps, someone else got to Runa? He looked at Gaia, and she looked at him, as if she said, I know you'll never do it—but someone must. Was that what she meant? The psychic ability left him again, couldn't make out anything, but wasn't that what she always thought, that if he wouldn't finish it, someone else would have to do it for him?
"[You don't know that,]" he said. "[She, she'd say I shouldn't be there, and, and it's better if I went and got over her, so she'd send me away—I know. You can't tell her! If you tell her that's as bad as making me die.]"
Gaia looked at him a long moment and said, "[Would you be happy if this went on forever, and she never knew?]"
He sniffed and said, "[I'd live.]"
"[Yes, but miserably,]" she said—"[forever.]"
"[I'd still be with her,]" he said.
"[Yes,]" Gaia said, looking away—"[and she'd be with you, being miserable. How happy would she be, then, knowing all the while that you're unhappy? Don't you see? It's a rotten case either way. Something's got to happen. You've sat on it too long moping already, and all you're doing now is hurting Runa.]"
There was nothing to say: she didn't understand. It was not just the doing it, actually approaching Runa—it was the look that would follow, the change in feeling, where even if he stayed she would always look and know. She would never touch him again, not like that. Then if Runa feared him—and why shouldn't she fear him, a hulking monster who every moment was a flick of her hair, she may imagine, from throwing himself upon her?—then he couldn't stay, and not by her choice but his own. He would survive if he left her, of course—none of that melodramatic rot of dying instantly; but still, he felt, he'd survive only in a technical sense, in some shut-away room in Viola Tower because he couldn't understand the wilds any longer. He would spend his days only meditating, trying to expand his power, and perhaps, if time really changed all feelings, if such a thing even were possible and feelings really could transplant, venturing out at last to find the sorts of humans like him that Torus mentioned, walking through Castelia Central Plaza … and then, after two hundred years, once all society had changed, seeing by chance the great, great granddaughter of Runa Pondelore he would split apart at the seams, all the guts spilling out as rotten as ever. No. There was no quitting Runa, not now or ever. If she'd only left him in the cage that morning, perhaps he'd have recovered, only remembered her as that wonderful girl: not now. Gaia thought that without her he'd only feel raw for a while, because despite her beliefs she wasn't ever completely set on him, and presently would recover—pick up Caelus next they met and say she may as well lower herself to his level. All Dragonite, after the Academy, would continue to live in cities after their humans, and Gaia would never feel alone; whereas the best he could hope for was to stand near Runa for the rest of her life, then to stand by Gaia for the rest of hers.
"[Shadow?]" Gaia said. She held his arms, had said his name once already. "[Look, come for tea, won't you? Maybe Steven's Metagross is there and you can talk about humans or something. Or you can just watch that Dyna doesn't spill something, I don't know. Won't you come?]"
"[Do you think you really need someone to be happy?]" he said.
The question caught her rather off guard, he felt; and now that his sense was returning, he knew that she wanted to avoid answering—truly she didn't know. "[I … think finding someone can be a part of being happy,]" she said. "[But it's not the only part. I don't know if it's a part that's big at all. Maybe it only feels that way.]"
If anyone could live without love, he thought, it was Gaia; or Dyna, perhaps, or Torus, or Runa—many people, really—but of those who did love, Gaia would do best. That was not the same as being happy without: even now as the Provost Mon, in charge of teaching Runa's philosophy to every Pokémon, perhaps the pin on which the future state of Pokémon depended—even though things had never been better, and she was never closer to her dream of doing something significant, she wasn't quite happy, no. The champions had guided her for months already, months again with Caelus in Indigo Plateau; if the ranks accounted for results in sparring, she'd be in the top five of all Dragonite, and still so young! They all knew in the cage that she was special, would amount to greatness: top-percent material, the number-one Dragonite, some day. But love was irrational; happiness was fickle. She only had to see her condition clearly (she would tell him the same, of course), appreciate her wondrous luck with Runa, and she would be happy, even without love; but happiness being a relative thing, she only felt for what was lacking.
He took her hand and said, "[Next time you see Caelus you should fly up and hug him. Tell him you're going to be number one, and if he's good, you'll let him hang around.]"
And she smiled, but looked away. "[Come to tea,]" she said. "[It's the Golden Palace, you know, with the kind you like. There'll be parfait and Watmel too.]"
"[In … in a minute I'll go,]" he said. He didn't want to move just yet; he would lie there for a while longer. And would this become a regular thing, he thought, breaking down in hidden places when it really struck him, toward the end of his life with Runa, as Gaia tried to comfort him, slowly lost interest, as she loved Caelus and defended her titles? But that was fair; the sooner she gave him up, the sooner things would improve. It was only that mission, this projection of purpose, retreated again, and left writhing on the shore he did not know what to do, how to act for himself or for Runa. He did nothing now, only trained to keep up, would never make a great teacher. He could be a mentor to a few mon, yes, and that would occupy him a little; but such occupations only distracted, anyhow, and didn't solve the thing. He had to find a plan and finish it, finally, end all of his confusion; and until then, he simply had to endure—take a minute to fill his reserves, and go to tea.
"[Don't forget what I said, Shadow,]" Gaia said, standing at the door. "[I won't let you wallow. Something's got to be done. Either you work out how to tell Runa you're a raging anthropophile this close to squashing her every day, or I'll take it into my own hands. Oh, I'll find a good way, don't worry—I'll ask David. Then you know it'll be a party.]"
She passed the tea counter without looking back, he saw, and in a minute he no longer felt her steps through the floor. The sun had gone behind a building, now, or perhaps one of the pillars. Perhaps David would help, if he only begged—David who only smiled as he heard him worry, as if his feelings were like a work in the Castelia Gallery of Postmodern Art. And Torus wouldn't do anything, he knew, aside from tell him again to train his power: both of them, these incredible psychics, tied to him only by accidents of birth and circumstance, having little really in common beyond that, he had no business to bother, to beg for help with Runa—he would not suck them dry. He would find his own way, with Gaia's help, and resolve the matter finally; for this movement away from Runa, he felt, once begun, could not continue for long before something happened, whether it involved his ruin or not.
There was a patter on the floor, someone trying to be quiet, a familiar mind—Ken looked in from atop the counter, seemed disappointed that his approach was heard. He leapt and landed on the table in a crouch. "[Is Gaia done?]" he said.
Now he must compose himself, he thought, wiping his eyes as though he were tired, yawning. "[Oh,]" he said, "[yes. I'm sorry.]"
"[She looked sad,]" Ken said. "[Did you fight? Did she slap you?]"
"[Oh, no,]" he said—was that really what Ken suspected? "[She was just helping me with something. What was it?]"
"[What's what?]" Ken said.
His tail was all numb, now, as he stood up. He said, "[You said you wanted to talk …]"
"[Y— Yes!]" Ken said, bouncing up. "[Yeah. What, um, what do you want to talk about?]"