Samiya

With no concept left of the time, Paul had extracted himself from the nest they'd slept in before she woke. Lost in the maze of the temple, he knew better than to go far from her last fit of grief when she'd woken alone. Instead, he located one of the temple's many chapels and found a place within to sit, and wait, and think.

The chapel was beautiful, he could not deny the overwhelmingly aesthetic nature of the temple and the way the People of the Water had used the concept of beauty as an aid in their worship here. The stone walls were marble, white with soft edges of black, like smoke. A fountain bubbled in the center of the circular room, leaving thin individual streams of sea water to flow from the core of the room and etch out sections of the floor like a web. Rows of slick benches were in place, solid and formed of the same material as the flooring, looking as though they had been carved out of the rock carefully by hand as opposed to made elsewhere and carried inside. There was an altar over the fountain adorned with white lace and holding a blue, matte artifact that reminded Paul of the rocks that May had bound to her wrist.

The thought of telling her about his scars, the expectation she would wake up with, was leaving an unsettling, sickly feeling in the base of his stomach. Paul had grown so used to the open, admiring look she gave to him, his place on her pedestal, trusting him mindlessly as a default state. He wasn't blind to how she had redirected her grief into a more apparent attachment to him - and he knew she was aware of it as a conscious choice. The thought of admitting his faults, his regrets, and his mistakes to her would be too humanising. He'd lose that glow in her stare, the flush in her cheeks, the brush of her fingers in his hand.

Manaphy appeared long before she did, swimming up the slipstreams and emerging before him with cheerful greetings. Paul watched the mythical being with fascination, drawn to him curiously. Manaphy bubbled his greeting, hopping up to sit by Paul and wiggling the base of his torso as though they were legs dangling from a swingset. Paul grunted a soft noise, intending it as a greeting, and Manaphy's antenna swam in front of him curiously.

This was his other concern. The power of those antennas intrigued and worried him to the point of avoidance. Manaphy had the power to open him up, draw out every memory he was so determined to keep from her and showcase it in a matter of seconds. There was no questioning Manaphy's loyalty to May, and if she asked she would receive. Paul's chest hammered unsurely at the thought, the total vulnerability that would come with that so jarring and foreign he began to break out into a runny sweat.

"There you are," May greeted from behind him, her voice a little thin. Paul's lip twitched; she'd have been nervous to wake up alone again, but he wasn't willing to concede every moment he had to placate her. "Did you sleep well?" She joined him casually, cautiously, as though approaching a wounded Pokemon that was nervous to receive treatment.

"Fine," Paul lied. He'd been restless, and he knew she'd know that. As May took a seat next to him, he felt the way her eyes scanned across his face and took in all the signs of his exhaustion. Her smile was kind and her eyes were blue and soft, and Paul remembered everything he stood to lose; the girl who brought the impossible to life. She scooped up the mythical Manaphy into her arms and babied him, her instinct leading her to brush fingers under his chin and leave him in fond giggles.

"Me too," she said quietly. For once, he knew this was true. During the night, every time he awoke, she was in the same place, her arm still draped towards him as though she reached to him, her eyes shut tight. Manaphy had slept flat across her chest, at total peace. May slept like the dead, but it was a comparison he wouldn't make out loud. "So we're here, huh?"

In the light of a new day, or afternoon, or evening - time really did escape them - the temple felt oddly new. They'd spent hours upon hours uncovering its secrets before they slept but awaking in it and finding it all still here was oddly unsettling, like the first time you wake up in a hotel when going away for a trip. The temporary nature of this paradise was so present in Paul's mind. He knew he could not stay here long.

"We're here," he confirmed in a quiet grunt. Manaphy trilled his own confirmation, happy and content. He had brought his favourite person to his favourite place, and this finally settled the anxiety he had felt in the months prior.

"You doubted me," she reminded him, trying to inject some humour into their conversation by forcing it in her tone, giggling at her own victory. Paul bowed his head, knowing what this tangent would lead them to.

"I did." His voice was tight. "You won the bet."

"So," May cooed leadingly, drawing the sound out for fun. Manaphy laughed in her lap and the sound rang between. "Do I get the story then? As per my request?" There was a shimmer of mirth in her eyes but it didn't mask the genuine intrigue, the eagerness to learn more of him, the willingness to be open and vulnerable with her thoughts with him at a moment's notice, and the near desperation for him to be ready to do the same. Paul pinched the bridge of his nose, and moved his hands out to dig his fingers into his eyes, rubbing them as though waking himself up.

"No." His voice was firm, and May knew better than to argue with him. She slumped a little, her eyes flickering towards where her own scars were concealed. "I'm sorry. You need to pick a different request."

"You know how I got mine," she sulked quietly, her face turned away from him. Paul winced. Manaphy glanced between them, his antenna quivering, and Paul felt his hands grow clammy.

"I was there," he reminded her stiffly. "My story isn't as noble as yours." At this, May looked back to him, unwavering in her empathy.

"It doesn't have to be," May replied gently. "I just wanted to know more about you."

"Drop this," Paul asked, his tone much kinder, "and I'll give you whatever else you want for your request." Manaphy's head tilted, looking between them curiously.

"Anything?" May's voice lilted. Paul nodded. "This isn't my request… but can I ask why you don't want me to know about this?" Paul tensed for a moment, reluctant, but she held herself so open to him, and he had only so recently realised how much he valued that.

"I don't want you to look at me differently," Paul admitted, holding her eye contact. May's breath hitched. "I like the way you look at me."

The sound of May swallowing thickly cut between them.

"I like the way you look at me too," May whispered, and Paul wondered what she saw.

Viridian Forest

Afternoon light dappled through the gaps between the thick foliage of lush green trees overhead and patterned the overgrown ground in soft white glowing patches. The skitter and creak of bugs hiding amongst the trees echoed cacophonously in the air around him, overtaking the noise in his head and distracting from the constant ache that had accompanied him for the past few weeks.

Drew remained seated, his back resting against a nook in the trunk of a tree. This was a place he'd come to frequent, a place of respite from feeling as though he hovered as a burden imposing upon the private family life of Soledad, who had been the picture of grace in hosting and caring for him.

Roserade cooed in front of him, splayed out with her flowers embedded in the ground beneath them, a flush of vivid colour in a landscape of green. She had been a constant presence, a warm familiarity in an unfamiliar place. He'd been to Pewter many times before, sometimes while traveling and often when visiting Soledad. He'd never stayed so lingeringly though, or without a purpose that drove activity through day by day. So often when he had been here, May had been there with him, her laughter loud and her eyes bright with enthusiasm. Sometimes Harley would be there too, but he didn't quite leave the impact that she did.

Thinking of memories he was desperate to suppress, he lolled his head back against the bark of the tree and let out a short, pinched sigh.

"So this is where you've been hiding out," Soledad's warm voice cut through his thoughts. "Nice spot."

Drew tried not to show his discomfort visibly. "Took you long enough to track it down." He scanned the view to his left, sensing her on his right. "I'll have to find a new spot."

"Ha ha." Soledad's intonation was dry. "You don't need to feel so uncomfortable here, you know." Pointedly, she took up space next to Roserade, kneeling down next to the grass type who sat upright to greet her, wiggling petals by means of greeting. Fondly, Soledad ruffled the white flora on her head.

"I'm not uncomfortable." Drew's denial was clearly amusing to Soledad, because she tittered in response.

"Sure," she drawled appeasingly. "Well, then I guess I don't need to tell you how my parents are glad you're staying with us, and how my little sister has a crush on you." Her eyes glowed as Drew glared at her. "Really, I think having you stay with us for a while might be earning me the most brownie points with her I've ever gotten."

"Glad to be of service," he scowled. She smiled at him in that fond, sincere way that often brought his walls down, and relentingly he nodded at her, trying to relax.

"You don't have to hide from it you know," Soledad prompted, crossing her legs underneath herself and looking up at the roof of leaves that sheltered them. Drew arched an eyebrow, silently inquisitive. "The heartbreak."

"Don't do this," Drew groaned, his face warping into mild disgust. "Let's really not do this."

"No, I think we need to." Soledad's patience was wearing thin, and Drew knew not to test it too much. Her eyes bore into his, and he shifted his weight a little to sit up straighter. "You're allowed to feel these things."

"I know." He was visibly tense, and Soledad sighed.

"Then feel them." Her gaze sharpened. "Stop trying to distract yourself. Let yourself be sad, and talk about what you're feeling. Trying to force it away doesn't actually do anything but delay it, or make it come back worse."

Drew swallowed down his first, defensive, reaction. Then, he nodded. "Every contest loss, every doubt, every… thing." Unsure what else to add to his list, all of it paling in the comparison, he shrugged. "Nothing has ever been as hard as this."

"You love her." Soledad said it simply and softly. "It's not supposed to be easy."

"I wish I didn't." He closed his eyes, not able to look at her. "I wish I'd never met her."

"You don't mean that," Soledad chastised quietly, a smile in her voice. "She's not just the girl you wanted to be with romantically, she's also the girl who's been the foundation of your growth and your strength for so long. She's more than just a romantic object to you, even if it's hard to remember that right now. There was more to who you two were than that." Drew let her statement linger between them, hurt by its truth.

"You speak with such authority," he muttered, his voice dark. Soledad let out a long breath, petting Roserade for something to ground her.

"You're not the only person in the world to ever experience heartbreak," she told him deftly, her eyes momentarily unfocused. Drew tightened his lips. "I had a May, once. Long before you came on the contest circuit, I met her at the very first contest she entered. I'd already done a circuit in Kanto before then, so I had a good bit more experience than her, and I called her out on her battle technique because she was so forceful and so without… grace, in her performance." Soledad smiled a thin, tight smile, like the memory still left her chest aching. "That was in Hoenn, a lifetime ago. She hated me at first, she was so… defensive, so unwilling to listen to what I had to say. But then the second time I met her she'd already grown so much, and we learned a little more of each other. She'd been a gym trainer the year before, so her approach was pretty typical and I'd been harsh for her first time. Then every time I saw her she'd gotten a little more skillful."

"She got under your skin?" Drew prompted. Soledad nodded.

"The next season, we went on to Sinnoh together." Soledad pursed her lips. "Then she beat me out in the Grand Festival. Then she followed me to Kanto, and I won that round of our little war, but not before…" Soledad brushed her fingers against her lips, lingering on a fond memory. "For a while, our feelings were the same. So we went on to Johto together, but…"

"It didn't work." Drew said it with a hollow finality.

"No," Soledad said quietly. "She took off after that season in Johto and didn't come back to contests for a long time. She won against me in the Grand Festival but she knew I hadn't battled her as well as I could have and it bothered her. She didn't want our relationship to come before either of our dreams. So off she went. I've seen her more recently, and she's happy with where her life led her from that point, but…" Soledad gave an empty little smile that told Drew everything he needed to know. "It'll never fully go away. That feeling. That nostalgia and that ache for when the possibility of it all was still so real."

"And you don't regret it?" Drew prompted. Soledad gave an awkward laugh.

"No," she assured him quickly, easily, as obvious to her as breathing. "I hated her for leaving, at first. It was so irrational a response in hindsight, to be so overwhelmingly… angry at her, for making a choice for herself that hurt me. And I know she cared then, and she still cares now. I know she…" Soledad trailed off, plucking grass from the soil distractedly. "I know she never wanted to hurt me, but she also didn't try to avoid it. And why should she? Why should she have edited her priorities because of my feelings? It would be wrong of me to impose that. She needed to live the life she wanted to lead, and I loved her enough then to support her once I got past the pain."

"So the pain goes away." Drew summarised this neatly. Soledad paused, humming over the concept.

"Yes and no," she told him softly. "One day, you wake up, and it's easier. But I don't think you ever truly get over the hurt of your first heartbreak. It's usually not even about the person, it's about this… shattering of the nice innocent way of looking at the world." Her eyes unfocused and she embraced her own hurt. "We're taught in fairy tales, childhood stories, movies, books, everything… that love is perfect and powerful and once you find it, you become complete. But it's not real, it's not practical. When you have your heart broken for the first time you learn that love is so much worse than that. It's brutal and messy and complicated, and never quite so simple as two people meeting and finding their place in the world. It's just… harsh and unforgiving, as well as this blissful euphoric…" Soledad's voice gave out and she gave a frustrated grunt, not finding her words match up to what she wanted to express.

Drew stared at her limply, wishing her words weren't ringing in his ears.

"I wanted to spare you this," she admitted quietly. "I really thought May was… I thought you two were going to be the exception to the rule."

"We aren't." Drew's reply was feeble. "I'm sorry it wasn't the case for you and that girl. Sounds like she meant a lot to you."

"Yeah." Soledad's eyes became glassy with memories left untold. "The point is, though, that this is something that will stay with you. And if it is, you might as well start adjusting, and getting used to it." She reached out to him, her fingers splayed open in invitation. "You have to open the door, and let those feelings in, and let them crush you a little bit. And once you get used to them," Soledad's voice dropped to a murmur, "you get to let them go a little bit."

Slowly, Drew reached out for her hand, and let her grip his fingers in a quiet show of solidarity.

"You're not alone," Soledad reminded him. Drew closed his eyes.

"Neither are you." His face felt heavy. Soledad squeezed his hand.

"Focus on all the gifts you got from having her in your life. The inspiration, the growth, the friendship, and the memories." Soledad's lip wobbled, more emotional than she wanted to be, flushed by simply witnessing his pain and the reminder of her own. "One day, you'll realise that it makes it all worth it in the end."

Samiya

"I can't believe people lived here," May murmured, awed. They walked the temple corridors, their hands close but respectfully distant. Manaphy hopped ahead of them, leading them through his big empty home, excited for the company. The walls around them showcased engravings and markings left by past inhabitants, ancient lettering scribed across the walls that looked grand, but every time they paused for Paul to translate them from the runes in his notebook, they found them deceptively human. "What does this one say?" She pointed to a small inscription surrounded by carved Luvdisc adorning the walls. Paul flipped his notebook to the appropriate code breaker and began to break it down letter by letter, spelling it out word by word.

"We… were… here," he sounded out, squinting a little as he worked through the letters. "The… future..." the last word eluded him for a moment, but finally he grasped it, "glows."

"That's so sweet." May's voice was milky with the possibility of it, and Paul didn't look at her. "Imagine, a whole community here, thriving and traveling the ocean together."

"I wonder why they stopped," Paul voiced unsurely. May shrugged. "They must have stopped on land now and again unless there were generations of inbreeding."

"I'm ignoring that statement," May said quietly.

"I would if I were you," Paul agreed. "The implications for your own genetics are unpleasant." May pulled a face, performatively grumpy, and Paul swallowed down an amused grin. "We need to figure out our next steps. What happens from here."

"We're not in a hurry," May evaded, not meeting his eye. "Why can't we stay here for a while? A few weeks maybe. Take a break from everything going on out there."

"That's uncharacteristic," Paul told her deftly, and May flushed. "You're the same person who called me out for not wanting to help others, correct?"

"Yeah, that was me." May seemed much more reluctant now. "Huh. Me and my big mouth." Paul scoffed derisively, and she looked away, her eyes following Manaphy further down the hall.

"We still need to conceal the orb," Paul reminded her. "Then, we find our way back to land."

"Mm hm." May was politely disinterested.

"Aqua are pretty neutralised with no path to the orb, or Manaphy," Paul pocketed his notebook, falling back into step with her as she followed her child down the walkway. "It's Magma that is the problem."

"They have an orb," May agreed quietly. "For all we know, Groudon could be rampaging up there right now." Her lip curled, thinking of fire and smoke. "Hopefully the league are on them."

"I don't trust the league," Paul told her quietly. "Do you?"

"Not since they let my dad die," May replied coldly. "No, I don't."

The admission was frank and bitter, and plunged them back into the reality of the past month. May's gaze lowered, hovering on the rushing water around them, and Paul sucked in a breath, unsure how to proceed.

"So we don't have time to waste," Paul finally voiced. "Let's be practical. We need to track Magma."

May shuddered, not prepared for the fight. Feeling suddenly colder, she hunched further inside of her father's jacket, desperate for it to give her the warmth she'd lost. Curious, Paul watched her expression shifting from the corner of his eye, waiting for her default to return. It did; she shuffled closer next to him, her hand reaching for his, and she sapped the physical warmth from his body like a comfort blanket. The rush of his allowing it left her smiling again, and slowly, Paul realised how deeply unhealthy that was.

"You're not up to it," he stated. May swallowed, and slowly, shamefully, she shook her head.

"I think I could be," she admitted, brash. "When I think about those two Magma admins, the two girls, and especially the blonde one who admitted… she did it." Pausing to collect herself, May swallowed back a round of tears to continue emotionlessly. "I can summon enough… just, just rage, that I could tear the world in two looking for her and bringing her to justice." Her fingers twitched in his palm, and her expression was enough to haunt him.

"But?" Paul led her on quietly.

"My priority right now is family," she decided, her eyes trained upon Manaphy once more. "I come all this way to keep him safe, just to drop off the orb here and leave? That doesn't feel right."

"What are you suggesting?" Paul could anticipate her answer but it left him incredulous. Despite his tone, May stopped their walk, tugged on his hand to force him to face her head on, and she met his eye unwaveringly.

"I think," she told him authoritatively, "that I have to stay here."

Meteor Falls

Gary's mind was only half focused on the task at hand, of reorganising his pack and pulling the fastenings tight, of checking his supplies and preparing for departure. There was an irritableness in his motion, stuff, jerky and forceful, and hovering next to him uncomfortably, Ash was giving him an odd look.

"Hey man," he said quietly, "are you trying to break your bag or something? You're gonna ruin your zip."

"This from the guy who nearly broke down Zinnia's door last week," Gary snapped back, his brow creasing. Ash stepped back, hands raised in the air in surrender, and returned to checking his own belongings. Pikachu snuffled his nose into Ash's bag, investigating, and gave a thumbs up to confirm he hadn't forgotten anything. Ash gave his partner a grin.

"Thanks, Pikachu," Ash murmured gently and rubbed his fingers along the top of Pikachu's head. Pikachu gave a soft, contented smile, and wiggled his tail back to return the sentiment. Gary softened at the sight.

"Sorry," Gary grumbled, not looking at them. Ash gave him a lingering, slightly sad, smile and clapped a hand to his friend's shoulder, bolstering his strength.

"You and I go way back," Ash reminded him, oddly fierce. "If you're having a bad day and you need a target, I can take it." Gary inadvertently smiled and shook him off.

"I'm just trying to think of where we go from here." He raised an eyebrow, thoughtful. "I have an idea, but I'm not sure if you'll go for it."

"An idea?" Ash brightened, his face warping into his usual childlike flurry of enthusiasm, yet tinged by the severity he had affixed to the situation. "A different Dragon Tribe? Or a temple somewhere?"

"Not quite," Gary gave him an awkward grin, brushing him off. "Let's wait for Dawn. She's just as riled up as you, even if she's better at hiding it."

"Yeah," Ash looked behind him, glancing at the door. Dawn stood outside with Wallace, discussing things not meant for their ears. "That sounds like her." Ash's eyes swiveled back towards Gary, curious. "You and Dawn seem closer friends than before."

"We're traveling together," Gary shrugged, "it's natural." Ash smiled, as though lifted by this, and he wrapped an arm around Gary's shoulders, crushing him into the side of his chest. Gary flushed, caught off guard.

"I'm glad we're traveling together, too," Ash said brightly. "It's what I always wanted."

"We've come a long way," Gary admitted quietly, "you and I." Once more breaking out of Ash's embrace, he picked up his bag and slung it over his back. Ash watched him, grinning obliviously, his eyes bright. Gary faltered, but then straightened his back and gave his oldest friend a firm nod, holding his gaze. Their moment was swiftly interrupted by the creak of the door opening and Dawn peering in before she entered, as though nervous to intrude. Seeing them stood apart, she stepped in with more confidence, Wallace following close behind.

"Ready when you are," she told her companions with a smile. Piplup cheered from atop of her head, waving to Pikachu, who waved his tail back with a grin. "No need to worry!" Placing Piplup down on the floor, Dawn looked back at her friends with all of her usual confidence, lifted by whatever conversation she'd had with Wallace in the moments prior. Pikachu scurried across to his friend, and together Piplup and Pikachu began their own conversation, bundled together with giggles and boisterous chatter.

"Where will you all go next?" Wallace prompted politely, leaning on the doorframe. Dawn's face fell for a moment, haunted by their lack of plan, and Ash looked to Gary expectantly. He cleared his throat, awkward to address a champion so directly, but found his feet.

"Petalburg City," Gary declared, grounding himself. Dawn and Ash both frowned, immediately confused, but Gary gave them each a reassuring grin. "We aren't descendants from these tribes, it's like Zinnia said. It's not our burden to find these legends and protect them. That's a job for fate to assign. I think too many historians and researchers have fallen into the trap of claiming stories from the past as their own, and not respecting the heritage that comes with them. I, for one, won't do that."

"Well put," Wallace nodded slowly.

"Instead," Gary looked to his friends, "let's do something practical. Ash," he turned to him specifically. "I know you want to help Max. So let's help him. Let's go start rebuilding the Petalburg Gym." Ash's face dropped all traces of confusion and softened into a glow.

"Petalburg Gym," he said reverently, his voice hushed. "Yeah. After his family and his Pokemon, I don't think there's anything in the world Max loves like he loved that gym."

"Rebuilding…" Dawn processed, before smiling. "By the time May comes back, and Caroline is ready to be discharged, we can have something ready for them. A home." She placed a hand over her heart and nodded. "That sounds good to me."

Wallace smiled as the three of them settled on their plans. "I'll call into the League," he offered lightly, "and have them send over workers and volunteers to help organise the effort."

"Thank you!" Dawn beamed, "we don't know much about construction, so that would be a great help!" Wallace nodded, his hand at her shoulder as he encouraged her.

"We'll head back down through Rustboro, and check on Max along the way," Gary decided. Ash nodded, brightening. "Then, south to Petalburg, and we'll start by clearing away the debris."

"Then, with the help of the League workers," Ash continued, "put back together the gym!" Filled with purpose and the solidarity that comes with friendship and a shared goal, the three companions came together. Dawn linked her arm around Gary's left, and Ash did the same with his right. Pikachu perched atop Dawn's shoulder and Ash scooped Piplup into his free arm. They bid Wallace farewell and stepped out into the light, ready to do their part in healing the wounds of Hoenn.

Samiya

Of all the picturesque settings for their dialogue to take place, they elected to argue in the corridor that linked them together, shrouded in blue and with no space to back away without giving the impression of leaving. He stared down at her, his lip curled, and she looked right back up at him with an unwavering determination.

"You think," Paul repeated dryly, "that you should stay here."

"Manaphy," May turned away from him for a moment, looking to the Prince of the Sea. "Don't stay here now, hm?" She gathered him up in her arms and he cooed unwillingly as he watched them, curious. "Head out for a swim, and I'll come find you later." Reluctant, but obedient to her always, Manaphy leapt from her arms into one of the many slipstreams that covered the temple floors and darted away and out of sight. Once confident he couldn't hear, she turned back to Paul with a brash force. "He shouldn't hear us talk about this, about, whether or not I leave him. It's not fair."

"You treat him like a toddler," Paul sniped. "That's a mythical Pokemon, responsible for guarding the ocean, and you act like he can't cope without his Mommy."

"Don't." May looked a little wounded. "Please don't talk to me like that. I know you're upset, but you don't have to act like this."

"Why would I be upset?" Paul challenged, his eyes narrow and defensive.

"You don't want me to stay here?" May returned back, falsely confident as she stepped forwards. "You want me to go back to the mainlands with you, to chase down Magma, to finish your part in all this."

"My part?" Paul's nose flared, the concept riling him. May's eyes didn't leave his, cautious but firm.

"You went to the Pyramid when they broke in," she narrated crisply, "and you came to Petalburg and fought those admins, and I could tell it wasn't for the first time. You've been on their back, just like Aqua has been on mine." Paul didn't respond, his eyes twitching from restraint. "You've got a little voice in your head, prompting your next action, involving you in all this without you ever wanting it to. Don't you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Paul dismissed, stepping backward as though to disengage with her, but his back met the wall of the corridor and he was restricted.

"You do," May continued, emblazoned. "Because I do too. I had an instinct that it was time to take to the sea and find Manaphy, and thanks to you and thanks to fate I was able to. And I have that same instinct now, telling me that right now I'm supposed to be here."

"Don't do another one of your emotional speeches," Paul scorned. May flinched. "I don't need another lecture on the power of the universe, thanks."

"What a surprise!" May's face crumbled a little, but she held it together with a tight bite to her lip. "Paul, backed into a corner, dismisses me. What a shocking character development!" Her voice rang between them, unforgiving as it echoed around the hall, and Paul looked away.

"Stop putting so much stock in what I think about you," he told her quietly. "It makes you weak."

"I'm not the one here that's scared of weakness," May returned fluidly. "I'm not afraid of being weak to you. I just don't want you to think less of me for it, and I don't know if that's possible." Her admission was stark and brave, but she trembled as she said it, and for once she was unable to meet his eye. They lingered in an adrenaline fuelled silence, waiting for one of them to break the seal of the growing understanding they had, the knowledge that there was an element to this bond they now shared that they hadn't put voice or action to just yet.

"I'm not scared." Paul's words were awkwardly staccato, like sharp rocks protruding from a cliff May didn't know how to climb. "You're just full of… I mean," finally, his voice broke in frustration, and Paul was pinching the bridge of his nose to keep himself from shouting. "Do you not see how stupid your ideas can be?"

"Stupid?" May echoed quietly, sad.

"Before I spoke to you at the hospital," he challenged, "what was your plan? To hire a boat and just surf into nothingness?"

May remained quiet, watching him with large, quaking eyes.

"And now this," he continued, his voice rigid with tension, "to sit here and guard this place from something that will never find it."

"What would you have me do instead?" May challenged in a frail voice. Paul sighed, exasperated.

"We have one orb," he replied factually. "Let's hide it here, and go get the other. Then, Magma and Aqua lose." He honed in on her, driven in a way she didn't often see. "We deconstruct their organisations, either alone or in conjunction with the league. It ends."

"And then what?" She pressed. "Where does that leave us?"

"Wherever we want." Paul's eyes became unfocused for a moment and May did not miss it, always far more observant than he wished she would be.

"Getting the other orb…" May nodded, her neck craning slowly towards him. "Why is that your job?"

"It's not my job," Paul retorted, defensive.

"Then why do you want to do it?" May continued, suppressing her hurt for the point she would do anything to make. Paul scowled.

"Because I am strong enough to," he told her sharply. "And didn't you say yourself that the point of strength is that it has to mean something?"

"So this is just a hero exercise," she summarised, her eyes focused on him tightly, "nothing more?"

"No," he countered. May stared him down. "I…"

"Have a voice." She interrupted him fiercely. Paul audibly groaned. "You have a voice, in your head, telling you to do this!"

"What if I do!" Paul shot her down. "So what? I had a voice in my head telling me to be stronger! I had a voice in my head telling me to bring you here! I'm pretty confident," his voice sharpened at the corners, "that this voice you're so obsessed with is just a logical thought process." His voice was escalating, rhythmically rising in volume until he was giving way to his temper. "I'm going to do this because I want to, not because I'm supposed to!"

"Coward," May accused, jabbing him in the chest with an outstretched finger. "You're a coward for hiding from the truth."

"I'm hiding from nothing!" He roared back, feeling his spine straighten against the wall behind him. "I've nothing to run from!"

"Then how did you get those scars?" May accused, her lips tight. Paul silenced at once, his chest throbbing and his head spinning. "If you don't have to hide, you can be honest with me. Right?"

"I don't have to waste my time," Paul muttered back, quietened, "justifying myself to you."

"Then why are you here?" May replied weakly, lifting her arms to gesture to the temple around them before letting them fall limply back to her sides. "Why did you bother coming all this way? What does it matter to you if I stay?"

"Don't." Paul's response was low and warning, but May was never one to shy away from a risk.

"What happened," she continued, her tears now dripping thick and fast, "to liking the way I looked at you?"

It echoed between them uncomfortably, and Paul looked up at the ceiling to avoid looking at her crying. The roof above them swirled with inscriptions, with history, with messages traded from one to another to give along with the passage of time. Without his permission, his mind returned to the inscription they'd found earlier.

We were here; the future glows.

Reluctantly, he looked at her again. Her loss was so apparent, her pain was still so tangible, like the air around her tasted like grief and death. It carried in her movements and it echoed even in her laughter. Every moment he'd been with her since the incident in Petalburg, each of her actions had been in some way defined by it. From open mourning, to clinging to the family she forged with Manaphy, to her joy at the success Norman would take pride in, to the longing stares she'd hoped Paul would ignore. They were coloured in it.

Her heritage wrapped around them here, the history of her ancestors emblazoned across the walls and ceilings.

"I can't stay here with you," Paul finally voiced, his voice low and yet pointed. "You'd be alone."

"I know," May replied quietly. "You have an instinct guiding you somewhere, too."

"You would wake up alone here," he reminded her stiffly, "every day." He emphasised his words, saying so much with so little, and May shook at the prospect.

"Maybe that's good," she told him gently. "Maybe that'll be good for me."

This was not news to Paul. Reluctantly, he could accept that her coming to terms with her grief alone, to not needing to throw herself into whatever they were becoming in order to survive a day, to learning to wake up and face a day without the existence of her father without someone there to draw her attention, would be a painful but ultimately healthy path for her to take. She clearly knew it as well, from the shine in her eyes and the way that tears pooled around the base of her eyes. She sniffed, and he swallowed down words he didn't want to say.

"Okay." He conceded to her; she sniffed. "Stay. It's the right thing to do."

"I'm sorry I won't go with you," May told him meekly, "but I know you'll take down Magma."

"I'll…" Paul wasn't sure what he was going to say. "I'll be quick." It was an oddly pointless statement, but May nodded along, either way, smiling as salt water dribbled down her cheeks. It carried meaning for her: meaning that he would do all he could to end the conflict between Magma and Aqua and leave the world safe enough that she could leave her guard, meaning that he would do so as quickly as possible so that she might not be alone for too long, and meaning that he would miss her. It was his odd, unsettled apology and she could see the regret soaking through dark, shaded eyes.

"I know," she told him sweetly. She pressed down her hurt from the harsher things he had said and decided to let them go. It had been her greatest regret, to not let go of these things when her father had been there for her to forgive. Gently, bravely, she placed a hand to his chest. "Let's get you ready to go then, hm?"

Lilycove City

Colour bloomed around her in every shade. Lilacs and pinks, blues and reds, oranges and yellows. The darkest crimson to the lushest green, the creamiest beige to the inkiest black.

"How did you get a key?" Madison said dumbly, staring at the man surrounded by flowers. Axel grinned back at her, winningly. The bruise on his face had faded to a sickly puce, making up the last of the colours missing from the assault of flora that had overtaken her apartment.

"I belong to a criminal organisation," he reminded her slickly, his voice rising and falling as he strode towards her and offered her a hand. There was music playing - she didn't own a radio. Her head tilted, confused. "I've never needed a key for anything." His eyes flashed at her, a silent challenge. "Oh, for the record? Your apartment sucks."

"I…" she didn't reply to him immediately, or take his hand, but she spun on her heel as she absorbed the sight of her home dripping with life. "I moved here years ago, as a grunt. I just never bothered to, um, upgrade?"

"Makes sense," Axel replied charmingly. "I still drive a two door car."

"Why are you here?" She asked quietly, a sense of dread filling her. "You can't be here."

"I've fallen for you." He said it as though it was obvious, a fact of the day, a commentary on the weather. "Isn't that obvious?" So to drive his point home, he moved his hands to his pocket and retrieved a small, flat grey case. He clicked it open, and offered it's innards to her as a gesture of his affection. A small scale, painted as though it were the rainbows, every colour perceivable from the scale reflected somewhere in the flowers that overtook her home. "I know you're scared of the ocean. But look what beauty it produces." He was enchanting.

"What's that?" Madison asked numbly, staring at him like he was about to pounce and drain away her blood, leaving her lifeless and limp on the floor to be absorbed in petals and vines.

"It's a heart scale," Axel replied simply, his smile too easy, "to show what you own of me. My heart."

Madison faltered, her soul too weak.

"Alright," she breathed, taking the jewel of the water into her hand and adopting it as her own. She placed it on a counter, a small space between vases, and then took her fingers to his chin and kissed him. Madison was strong enough to weather anything, but never enough to be practical.