Chapter Eleven

Ash's whole body ached as he craned his neck, stretching out the kink that had developed from sitting in a chair for hours on end. Since she'd been rushed to the hospital, he'd kept vigilant watch over Misty, never leaving her side, even though he knew she had no recollection of him being there. Their other friends had come and gone, pushing him to leave and get some rest or a bite to eat, and the nurses had tried to kick him out, but he'd bargained and pleaded with them to let him stay long past the posted visiting hours. In the end, they'd given up arguing with him and allowed him to stay, so long as he continued to let Misty rest.

She had been in and out of consciousness due to the powerful drugs the doctor had given her to force her to rest so her body could heal. Her sedated state also helped to prevent her from pulling at the chords that crisscrossed across her body, attaching to the various machines that were monitoring her heart rate, blood pressure, and slowly releasing medicine into her body, or whatever else they were supposed to do-Ash had lost count of each machine's purpose long ago. At first, their incessant humming and beeping had driven him crazy, but after a few days, they had become nothing but white noise.

As he held her hand and watched her chest rise and fall in time with the beeping of a nearby heart monitor, he suddenly felt her start to stir. She groaned as her eyes slowly fluttered open, and she stared at him with a far-off look on her face. It took her a while before she registered that it was him, but when she finally did, her eyes narrowed in disdain.

"Why are you here?" she snapped at him. Her voice was rough and crackly from disuse, and her words were ice-cold. He opened his mouth to answer, but she jerked her hand away and whipped her head around so she didn't have to look at him. "Haven't you done enough already? Get out of here, Ash. I never want to see you again. I hate you."

He reached forward to grasp her hand once more, but she yanked it away, yelling at him about how much she hated him and how he was dead to her.

"Misty, please!" he cried. He knew he deserved the treatment she was giving him, but he didn't understand why she couldn't just talk with him. Given a chance, he was confident he could put a small dent in the canyon-sized hole between them.

"Get out!" she screamed, tears now streaming down her face.

In her fit of distress, she began gasping for air, and her eyes fluttered shut as frantic beeping echoed through the room and alarms sounded around him. Ash was shoved aside as doctors and nurses rushed into the room, surrounding Misty's bed as some barked orders and others grabbed nearby equipment. One of the nurses grabbed Ash's arm and started shoving him out of the room, ordering him to leave immediately. As his mind caught up, he stood steadfast, refusing to move. He couldn't leave. Misty needed him. He couldn't let things end like this.

"Misty!" he shouted as he tried to push past the nurse. He craned his neck to try and look past the nurse's shoulder at the scene unfolding before him. "Misty! She needs me!"

"Sir, you need to leave the room. You are not doing your friend any favors by standing here. You need to let the doctors work," the nurse snapped, her patience long gone.

Ash and the determined nurse battled for dominance as Ash continued to call out to Misty. Tears clouded his vision, and his voice grew hoarse and desperate as he had fallen into near hysteria. "I'm sorry, Mist! I'm so sorry…Please, Misty, hang on." I need you!

Finally, in a display of near-superhuman strength, the nurse pushed him out the door and slammed it close behind him. He rushed over to the window, standing helplessly as the doctors shouted about crash carts and dropping heart rates. Then the machine that had once been beeping erratically reached its peak as it bottomed out into a long and steady tone.

Inside the room, the doctor threw his tools on the ground and smashed his hand in outrage into a nearby tray of supplies. The metal tray crashed to the ground with a resounding bang, and the doctor blew past the nurses and out the door, muttering a slew of profanities as he disappeared down the hall.

Ash didn't have to be a doctor to know what that meant.

He pressed his hands to his ears and squeezed his eyes shut as the beeping reverberated in his mind until it overwhelmed him. He slid down the wall and to the ground, clutching his knees and pulling them tight to his chest as he rocked back and forth, pleading with whatever ethereal beings out there to make the beeping stop. Instead, the steady tone of the machine grew louder and louder until Ash's eyes flew open, and his whole body jerked awake.

Sunlight streamed in through the nearby window, and the alarm on his phone continued to ring, its volume growing louder and louder the longer he ignored it. Sweat covered the back of his neck and dripped down his back as he threw off the covers and took a deep breath, trying to recenter himself. It was a dream, he told himself. It's just a dream. She's still alive.

He'd had them a lot recently, and every time they would be one of two dreams. Some nights he would find himself back in Misty's kitchen, his arms wrapped around her as he carried her to the living room couch. This time, they would come together and as they explored each other's bodies in a new way, hands gliding over new areas and through hair or lips gently pressing against their most sensitive spots. Misty would inch her lips along his neck and his ear before she whispered the words that now haunted him every day.

Don't marry her.

Then there were the times like today when he'd find himself in her hospital room, and she would wake up and remember everything that had happened between them. Even outside his dream, he knew he deserved the cold-shoulder treatment and the words the dream version of her hissed through the pain and hurt. But then, before he could even begin to tell her how sorry he was, her body would give out, and the last thing she would ever say to him was how much she hated him.

His alarm came to a stop, and for a few minutes, the entire room seemed to fall silent. All he could hear was the gentle hum of the ceiling fan as it tried to circulate the air through the room, but it was no use. The entire room felt like a sauna.

He jumped when the alarm on his phone picked back up, seeming even louder if that was possible. Ash snatched it off the bedside table and threw the phone in the general direction of the bedroom door. He heard a distinctive thud as he was pretty sure the phone bounced off the wall and onto the floor before going completely silent. He waited to see if the alarm would go off again, but when more time went by, and he was sure he'd put an end to it, he crashed back onto the bed before pushing a pillow to his face, feeling a strong desire to scream.

Even if he wanted to go back to sleep, there was no way he could now. His body was fully awake, and every part of him shook with unbridled energy. Giving up on trying to grab a few extra hours of sleep, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower. He turned the shower knob, cranking it to a comfortable arctic plunge. His body tensed as the cold water rained down on him, but the brisk shower was just the wake-up his body needed.

When he started shivering, he turned the water off, grabbed a towel, and dried himself off. He continued shivering as he changed into a clean shirt and gym shorts. His hair was still dripping wet, but he knew it would be dry in a matter of minutes once he stepped outside. Summers in Cerulean were hot and humid.

By the time he was downstairs and pulling on his running shoes, his body was gearing to start moving right away. He exited the gym and headed down the path that would lead him straight to the long span of beach that eventually connected with the cape. Shortly after he'd sought out help for his anxiety and depression, at the suggestion of his therapist, he'd taken up running as a way to deal with the flurry of thoughts that could debilitate him if he let them. At first, he'd detested forcing himself to get up and run, but after a few weeks, running became part of his daily training routine, and he started to see some of the positive effects exercise had on him.

Ash stretched his arms and legs, already feeling the heat of the sun seeping into his skin, even at this early hour. Once his body loosened up, he slid in his earbuds, cranked up the music to a deafening volume, and started moving at an easy jog. Then, about five minutes in, he pushed himself to go faster, taking off down the beach at a sprint, pushing through the burning sensation in his chest. He knew his legs would feel like jello and that he'd probably be gasping for air by the time he reached the pier. But, running until his body was on the verge of collapsing was better than sitting in his hot and humid room and letting his worries and fears drive him to madness.

oOo

The minute the plane touched down and the seatbelt sign went off, Layla hopped out of her seat and pushed her away to the plane entrance. There were some shouts of protest and mutters of irritation directed toward her, but she didn't have time for courtesies. With her duffle bag slung across her shoulder, she was already pulling out her phone to call Ash as she walked as fast as she could to the passenger pick up and drop off location. The phone rang and rang until Ash's voicemail picked up.

"Answer me, Idiot!" she shouted at the phone, alarming several of the people around her. She hung up and then immediately dialed Ash again, getting the same response. This time, though, she left a voicemail, her whole body seething with anger. "Ash! Answer your phone, damn it! I just landed, and I'm on my way to the gym. You better be there or so help me, I will feed you to Misty's gyarados."

Layla smashed the end call button and stared at the screen where the lock screen picture she'd chosen of her and Ash seemed to mock her. A selfie from their traveling days, taken shortly before Daisy and Tracey's wedding. In it, their torso's were pressed together, both facing the camera and her with her head tilted upward as she pressed a kiss to the corner of his chin, and Pikachu waved at the camera from his perch on Ash's shoulder. Those days seemed so long ago, and the people in the picture seemed like completely different versions of themselves.

She slid her phone into her pocket, passed through the sliding glass doors of the airport entrance, and passed into a symphony of honking horns, slamming doors, and the whistles of officers directing traffic. She stuck out her hand, waving it through the air to flag down a ride. The passing taxi driver spotted her and pulled to the side of the road so she could get in. She opened the passenger side door and tossed her bag inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Cerulean City Gym, please," she called to the driver.

Once the taxi pulled back onto the main road and toward the exit, she pulled out her phone, unlocked it, and flipped through her text conversations until she found the most recent one between her and Ash. Text after text on her end went unread, but on the off chance that this one might actually get a response, she fired off another one begging him to just call her.

When a few minutes went by, and the text message remained unopened, she dialed Brock's phone number.

"Hey, did you just land?"

When he answered, she could hear voices from the other end of the line-none of them belonging to Ash she noticed. From the mechanical sounds and garbled voices of a loudspeaker, it sounded like Brock was at the hospital. The sounds slowly drifted away with his footsteps.

"Yeah, thankfully. It's been nothing but problem after problem," she groaned. She didn't mean to drop everything on Brock, but she just wanted somebody to understand the trouble she'd gone through to get here."First, my flight was delayed, so I nearly missed my connection, and then I had to sit next to some jerk who fell asleep on my shoulder." She shuddered, recalling the small spot of drool on her t-shirt sleeve.

"That sucks. I'm sorry, but I'm glad you made it," he replied. "I'm sure Ash will be happy to see you."

I doubt it. The bitter thought wormed its way into her mind and nearly came out of her mouth before she caught herself. The last time they had spoken was when he left Hoenn shortly after their fight. It had been Brock who had called to tell her what had happened. She tried to contact Ash, but her calls and texts went unanswered for days, leaving her only option being going to Cerulean City. No matter what happened now, it wouldn't help to take her frustrations out on Brock. She was just tired from traveling.

"Is Ash around?" she asked. "I've been trying to call and text him, but he's not answering me."

From the other end of the phone, Brock sighed. "I'm at the hospital, but he's not here. I heard him leaving pretty early this morning, but I don't know where he went. He's usually gone most of the day, and then he comes back late at night."

Oh. "Is he okay?" Layla found herself asking despite her frustrations and anger toward him. He had a terrible way of dealing with stress, but that didn't mean she still didn't care about him.

"I don't know," Brock answered. "Like I said, I haven't seen much of him, but the nurses said he's been here a few times, and I've seen his name in the visitor's log."

Layla bit her lip. Why would he be avoiding everyone? "I see. How's Misty?"

"The same. They still have her on some pretty heavy painkillers, so she still goes in and out of consciousness. They're going to start weaning her off them later this week so she can start to build back her strength," he explained. "They were able to fix the damage to her heart like last time, but they think it's only going to keep coming back."

"So, what can they do?"

"Her best bet is to get a new heart."

Layla sucked in her breath. "You mean a transplant?"

Brock paused. "Yeah, they said that's her only chance of a full recovery, but it's really risky."

Not to mention almost impossible. She didn't know much about medicine, but from what little she did know, more people ended up dying waiting for a heart transplant than those who actually received one. Who knows how many people ahead of her were on the list of people needing a new heart. And then, if Misty was lucky enough, there was always the risk that her body would reject her new heart.

"Well, I should be there soon," she told him. "If you see Ash can you tell him to please call me?" she asked, but what she really wanted to ask him was more follow-up questions. Like, who had found Misty, was it him, was it Ash? Ash had never told her where he was going when he suddenly left Hoenn, but she had a sinking feeling he'd already been in Cerulean long before any of this had happened.

"Sure thing. See you soon."

oOo

Layla paid the taxi driver, and he drove off as the glass doors slid open and she walked through the entrance of the Cerulean City Gym. It'd been a while since she'd visited, so she didn't remember where everything was located or how to navigate herself there. Is the kitchen to the left? Are those the steps to the living quarters or the pool? She bit down on her lip as she tentatively walked down the hallway listening for voices or any other sign of where everyone was. She must have picked the right direction because as she drifted down the hallway, the voices grew louder, and she could begin to smell the aroma of a meal in progress. As she turned the corner, she walked into the kitchen, where she spotted a small group of people she recognized gathered at the kitchen table while Brock carefully watched a collection of boiling pots and pans.

Based on the number of people hulled up in the Cerulean City Gym and what had to be a five-maybe even six or seven-course meal scattered around the kitchen, one would think they were celebrating another wedding. But this was anything but a celebration. According to Brock, since Misty had been rushed to the hospital, her friends and family had descended on the Cerulean City Gym, not unlike they had many years ago. He'd been the first to arrive with bags upon bags of groceries that he used to ensure that the one thing they didn't have to worry about was what they would eat; Daisy had boarded the first plane she could find back home, with Lily and Violet following soon after. In the short time that they'd gathered together, the kitchen had become somewhat of a command center as people came and went, bringing back reports from their trip to the hospital. No matter the time of day, if they weren't holding vigil in the hospital waiting room, one could always find someone in the kitchen, the same distant and glazed-over look on their face.

Brock quickly glanced in her direction, back down at the stove, and then back at her, his eyes widening. "Layla, hey! Welcome! Are you hungry?"

"Layla! I didn't know you were coming." Tracey waved from his spot at the table with Daisy and her sisters. "It's good to see you."

Brock dried his hands on his frilly, pink apron and turned down the heat on the stove before rushing over to greet her. When he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze, Layla couldn't help but notice the strong aroma of cooking spices and cleaning supplies.

"Hey, Brock," she replied.

She glanced over his shoulder, trying to spot Ash, but he was nowhere to be found. Then again, Brock had said he was usually out most of the day. Brock stepped back, took one look at her face, and frowned. "I haven't seen him yet, sorry. But I can show you where he's been staying. Would you like to eat first or drop off your stuff?"

She'd decided at the last minute to come to Cerulean, so she didn't bring much with her. But, after a rather hectic day of traveling, a short nap sounded much more appealing.

"I'm not very hungry right now, and a nap sounds really nice," she said. Brock glanced disappointedly at the piles of food on the table. Layla gave him a sympathetic smile. "Sorry, I'll eat later, I promise. You know I could never turn down your cooking."

Brock nodded and leaned down to pick up her bag, slinging it over his shoulder. She waved goodbye before following him back the way she'd come and up the stairs to the guest bedrooms. The room was average-sized with a wardrobe, a bed, and a small bathroom attached. She shouldn't have been surprised to see that the walls were a light blue with white crown molding and that the comforter was navy blue with matching striped bed sheets. Everything in the gym seemed to follow the same nautical theme. She could see traces of Ash around the room-a pile of dirty clothes shoved to the corner of the room, covers disheveled and hanging off the bed, the lingering smell of him- and her heartstrings tugged as she realized how much she had missed him, even after a few days.

"Let me know if you need anything," Brock offered before setting down her bag and gently closing the door behind him.

Layla moved to sit on the bed, kicking her shoes off in the process. She would unpack later, but right now, she just wanted to close her eyes and take a nice, long nap. She fell back onto the bed, sprawling her arms out wide as she closed her eyes and sighed. Rolling to the side, she abandoned the covers, finding it too warm to sleep under them. But as she tried to relax her body, she found herself tossing and turning as she agonized over Ash's strange behavior and how it was probably related to the conversation they'd had shortly before he'd left.

She seriously regretted the conversation, realizing how ridiculous and selfish it had been. She hadn't asked him what he'd decided yet, but the fear of what he might choose plagued her every thought. She could never forgive herself if she missed out on marrying a great guy because of something as ridiculous as being slightly jealous of his best friend.

oOo

The sun was setting when Ash finally returned to the gym, exhausted and already dreading his stuffy room. His skin was warm to the touch after being out in the sun most of the day, and his stomach rumbled from lack of food. Maybe if he was quick, he could snatch some food and escape to his room, where he wanted nothing more but to stand under a brisk shower and let the grime and sweat of the day wash away.

Ash snuck into the gym, using the secret entrance he'd found years ago: a loose window in the supply closet that, if left unlocked, could be opened wide enough for him to slip through undetected. From there, it was a short walk past Misty's office and up the steps to his room. Once he was inside, he could lock the door, and the others would leave him alone. And even if he did run into people, he could walk past Daisy or any of Misty's sisters, and they would barely acknowledge him; if he got even remotely close to crossing paths with Gary, his rival would immediately turn around and make a point of going the long way just to avoid him. It'd been unsettling at first, but Ash had learned just to let it go. Only Brock made an effort, albeit half-heartedly, to converse with him and ask how he was doing if the two of them ran into each other. Part of him wished they were their normal pushy selves that insisted on butting into his life, but since gathering together, they orbited around each other, completely lost in their worlds.

He slipped into his room without seeing or hearing another soul, closing and locking the door behind him. He didn't bother to turn on the lights as he pulled his sweaty t-shirt up and over his head as he made a beeline for the bathroom. With his shirt obscuring his vision, he tripped over something and crashed to the floor with a yelp. He yanked off his shirt and slowly blinked his eyes as his vision refocused on a very familiar flowery, purple duffle bag that had definitely not been there when he left that morning. The sight of it made his stomach lurch as the taste of bile rose in his throat.

Layla.

He prayed that she wasn't in the room or that, if she was, his fall hadn't attracted her attention, but as he made to flee to the bathroom, her familiar voice called out to him.

"Ash? Is that you?"

She hopped off the bed, her bare feet softly padding against the floor as she came closer. He breathed out and stood up tall, preparing himself to face the onslaught of anger he knew was coming. Layla passed by him to flip on the light before turning around to face him. Their faces were instantly illuminated, and instead of the anger he expected to see on her face, he saw relief.

She rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug, muttering about how happy she was that he was okay. Then she released him, stepped backward, and whacked him on the shoulder as hard as she could. He winced, rubbing where she had hit him hardest.

"That's for not answering any of my calls or texts," she yelled. "I've been worried sick about you!"

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking down at the ground. He could feel her eyes laser-focused on him as his eyes darkened slightly, and he brushed past her toward the bathroom, "but nobody told you to come."

He didn't mean to be snippy with her, but the last thing he needed was for her to be here. It would be like throwing gasoline on an already blazing fire.

"Well, I wouldn't be here if you'd answered your phone," she snapped back with just as much ferocity. She followed him into the bathroom and grabbed his arm to pull him back toward her. He whirled around to face her.

"And I wouldn't be here in the first place if you hadn't been so selfish!"

"What?"

He stilled, immediately regretting the words that had come out of his mouth. When he'd left Hoenn almost a week ago, he hadn't told Layla where he was going because he was worried it would upset her. It's why he insisted that Layla didn't come in the first place. It really wasn't her fault, but he couldn't look at her without remembering what he'd done.

He gritted his teeth and raked a hand nervously through his hair. "That's not what I mean to say, Lay. I'm sorry. This isn't your fault. I'm just surprised."

She crossed her arms. "Yeah, I gathered that, but it's not like I didn't tell you. I called you and texted you several times," she reminded him once more.

"I know," he replied. He'd seen the messages and the phone calls; he'd gotten notes from Brock that Layla was trying to reach him. But he didn't want to answer her. He didn't want to face any of it. He'd hoped that if he just stopped answering, she would leave him alone, but clearly, that had backfired. "I've just been busy…and I haven't been sleeping well."

Her face softened, and she sat back onto the bed, sighing. "Neither have I. I just don't sleep as well without you," she admitted. That wasn't the reason he was having trouble sleeping, but he'd rather not get into it with her at nearly nine o'clock at night. "C'mon, let's try to go back to bed. I'm sure you'll sleep much better with me here, yeah? At least, I know I will."

"Are you sure?" he asked her wearily. "I haven't showered, and I'm sure I smell terrible."

Layla laughed, her whole face lighting up. "Yeah, but hurry up, okay?" she told him before throwing him a flirtatious wink. "I've really missed you."

His face burned as he turned back around. There was no way in hell he would be doing that with Layla tonight. It was nothing against her-obviously-but even he knew sleeping with her would be an extremely stupid stunt to pull.

When he walked into the room freshly showered, Layla was curled up on her side of the bed with the blankets pulled tight around her. How is she not dying from heatstroke? He shook his head, already feeling overheated and claustrophobic at the thought of slipping under the heavy duvet.

He flipped off the lights before laying down on top of the covers and stretching out his long legs. Already, he could feel the heat creeping up, and he had the sudden urge to strip down to his boxers, but he didn't want to give Layla any ideas. He thought she was asleep, but then she slipped her hand under his shirt, gently wrapping it around his waist. His skin was warm against her chilled hands, and while it did help to cool his body down a bit, he tensed in reaction to her touch before his body slowly relaxed.

She scooched closer and pressed herself against his back, and buried her face into the crook of his neck. The lotion or perfume or body wash-whatever it was she was wearing-was overpowering, and it left a nauseous feeling in his stomach. Her hot breath on his neck had him wanting to jump out of his skin. He wanted to rip himself away and leap off the bed, ripping his shirt off as if he was on fire—anything to escape this claustrophobic nightmare.

Layla pressed her lips to his neck, peppering him with kisses as she moved down toward his clavicle. She intertwined her legs with his, and her hands began to tug on his t-shirt. He lasted thirty seconds-probably less- before he could no longer take the heat, and he sat up, Layla withdrawing her hands. He pulled off his shirt, but his relief was short-lived as he fell back onto his back and, misreading his impatience for desire, Layla rolled on top of him, straddling him as she resumed trailing kisses down his torso.

As she moved to pull at the waistband of his shorts, he frantically grabbed her hands and pried them away. "Lay, stop. I...We can't do this."

She froze, her hazel eyes meeting his, but she shamefully looked away before climbing off of him and the bed. Wordlessly, she stared down at the ground with her arms wrapped around herself as she walked out of the room.

He listened as her footsteps echoed down the hallway, and when he was sure she was out of range, he rolled over and slammed his face into the pillow, shouting obscenities.

oOo

Brock was sitting on the living room couch, engrossed in his paperwork, when he heard footsteps padding against the kitchen's tile floor. He figured that whoever it was had come to grab a last-minute snack or drink before heading to bed, but then the footsteps grew closer.

"Oh. Hey, Brock."

He looked up and furrowed his eyebrows when he saw Ash standing a few feet away from him, dressed in usual traveling clothes, his backpack swung over his shoulder. Was he leaving? It wouldn't be unlike him to attempt to leave unnoticed. It'd been his tactic all week, but the lack of his trusty sidekick resting on his shoulder led Brock to think otherwise.

"Are you going somewhere?" Brock looked down to glance at his watch. "It's ten o'clock at night."

Ash at least had the decency to look a little guilty before he sighed and said, "I'm leaving. I left Layla a note, but I need to do something. I'll be gone for...a bit."

Brock scrunched his eyebrows, shooting Ash a suspicious look. He'd known Ash long enough to tell when something was off with him, and there was no doubt in Brock's mind that Ash's fidgeting and not-so-subtle glances were suspicious.

"Is everything okay?" Brock asked. "Layla's been really worried about you-we all have, actually."

Ash had been like a ghost drifting in and out of the gym undetected. The nurses had said he'd been to the hospital a few times, and there'd been signs that he was coming and going, but Brock had seldom seen Ash in person. He didn't want to think that Ash was avoiding everyone, but he had a sinking suspicion that was the case.

Ash didn't look upset by Brock's comment, but he didn't look too happy either. "I'm fine," he finally replied. "I just need to go do something, and then I'll be back."

Brock wouldn't lie, Ash was being extremely suspicious. Almost Team Rocket level suspicious. "Is there a reason you're leaving your fiance behind? After she came all the way here because she was worried about you and you weren't answering her messages or calls, I might add?"

Ash looked away a second before he said, "I wish she wouldn't have come."

This got Brock's attention, and he looked up to meet Ash's eyes. He searched Ash's face for any sign of how he was feeling, but it was so hard to narrow down his exact emotion when he looked so terrible overall. Dark bags hung under his eyes, which were slightly rimmed red, and his body appeared as if it would collapse in on itself any moment. They'd all been suffering from a lack of sleep, but the others, like him, were at least used to it or relied heavily on coffee to get them through the day.

"Is everything okay with you two?" Ash flinched but remained silent as he stared back at Brock uncomfortably. "Ash, I know it's a stressful time for everyone, but I'm sure whatever it is, it'll blow over."

"We're fine," Ash snapped, although his expression seemed to indicate the complete opposite. "Look, I don't care what you say. I'm leaving." And with that, he pivoted on his foot and walked out the door.