A/N: Thank you for favouriting/following/reviewing this story! "A literal cliffhanger," huh...I didn't even realize it! Well, let's see how it turns out, shall we?

Chapter 2: Red Sky at Night, Sailors Delight

The sea was a cauldron and the water was boiling.

No matter how many times Misty witnessed this play – this flash tragedy in one act – it never failed to leave her humbled. This was Mother Nature at her absolute rawest: unapologetic and abrupt, yet never unfair, for she struck blindly, favouring no one.

Misty knew that the waves did not have to be rough to sow chaos in their wake: it did not take much to sweep a crew into the sea. That was why she could not help but think that all these theatrics were but a reminder – not to men, but to her and her kind. As if to admonish her and put her in her place and to tell her, time and time again that no matter who or what she was, she could not decide who lived or died here – not now, not ever.

(The thought made her sick to her stomach.)

Had anybody caught her figure at that moment, bobbing up and down amidst the thick white froth, they would have witnessed the Maiden at her work: a faceless flame of red darting to and fro between the seabed and the surface, commanding the Water Pokémon that were her second crew. But the survivors were weak and weary: they had no strength left to see her – and those who were the worst off barely had their will to live.

Even then, she would save them.

"Shut up!"

Todd held his jaw, which was red and swelling rapidly. Pieces of broken pottery lay at his feet, still warm and sticky from sugar and spices. Brock, in turn, was trying his best to hold back Ash, who was about to swing back for another punch:

"Shut up!" the boy screamed, "You shut your mouth right now!"

He was shaking, not from the cold, but from anger and the effort it took him to keep his words coherent. All he felt was the urge to shriek. It was bubbling up from somewhere deep within him: somewhere where things were bunched and coiled and wound up tight, and which had now come loose, unfurling the only way they knew how. He wanted to screech at the stranger; he wanted tointimidate him into taking what he said back, right now, because they were nothing but lies –!

"Misty didn't –! She would never –!"

He wanted to say she was not like that; that their captain was all spitfire and spunk, and certainly not as stupid as to do something as daft as dive down a cliff – least of all when in the middle of a storm such as this. She knew the sea better than anyone else; she knew that the waves were unforgiving and would crush anybody against the rocks should they try and drop down into the sea like that and that would mean – she must have had a reason, she must have –

(But had Ash not witnessed Misty in her moments of melancholy many times before? At the abovedeck at night where she thought no one could see her, staring into the still waters as if she would have wanted to sink there and never leave...)

But he choked on his words and choler, tasting nothing but bitter and being unable to finish any of his sentences. He had never been able to find the words he needed when he needed them the most – and this time was no different.

He had always been a man of action, anyway.

"Stop it, Ash – Hey, wait –!"

Wrenching himself free, he was suddenly out of the door – now blown wide open by the wind – and in the streets before anyone realized what he was doing. Brock was shouting something after him, but his words fell on deaf ears, lost in the thunder that sounded above – and even if Ash had been able to hear him, he would not have listened either way.

By now, all the roads were flooding: with each running step he took, no matter how light the touch, his shoes cleaved water like oars. It felt like he was on constant skim, moving forwards like a skipping stone would, ever so barely making brief contact with the muck below. But even when slipping in and out of corners, balancing precariously on the balls of his feet, he pushed onwards, now with only one goal burning bright in his mind, fogging out everything else.

But while the deluge was working hard to try and rob him of his footing, the downpour was thick and deprived him of much of his visibility. Places they had previously passed by were now nothing but grey shadows and silhouettes, flickering in and out of existence like spectres. The whole town may as well have been a ghost town at that moment: the streets were empty with no soul in sight, and now the buildings had begun to haunt them in their stead –

It was like this, while being blinded in more ways than one (his eyes saw next to nothing in the rain; his mind was blank save for one single thought) that the ground suddenly ran out from under him. Where there had but a step ago been a dirt road – although now more of a brook than anything else – asudden stood the boiling pit that was the harbour basin.

Abruptly forced up onto his toes to stay where he was, Ash teetered on the very edge of the basin. The water below frothed and foamed dirty white – and it was all too close. It looked like the sea was reaching for him; he could feel the foam sprinkle across his face like saliva, threatening to sweep him down and gobble him up –

"Pikapi!"

– but the teeth that bit his clothed ankle were well-meaning and far from ferocious.

"Pikachu!" he shouted in surprise.

Pikachu responded with a mere grunt, its mouth full of trouser leg. Its paws dug into the soft mud, trying to gain purchase. It pulled back with its whole weight, which admittedly was not that much, and Ash, who was now startled back into reality and aware of his surroundings, leaned back as well.

As a result, they both fell backwards onto the slushy but solid soil.

For a moment, the two friends lay there, strewn about in the muck. Ash was catching his breath, which now came out in little white puffs and coughs that dissolved into the rain the moment they hit the air. With each exhale, he felt like the fog in his mind was clearing little by little – like the mist he was breathing out and the one in his mind were the one and the same, and now that it was streaming out of him, he could finally see and think a little more clearly.

"Th-that was close," he finally squeaked, his voice a tad higher than he would have liked it to be, "thank you, Pikachu." (He meant it in more ways than one.)

Pikachu bobbed its head in what the boy figured must have been a don't-mention-it gesture. It, too, was out of breath: it had its tongue lolling out in trying to lap in some cool air (with little success, for the air in the tropics was almost always lukewarm at best and scorching at worst; and although the rain did cool the weather somewhat, today was no exception). However, the little critter was quick to recuperate: not a moment after tumbling into the mud, it got up and shook itself off with one fluid full-body motion.

It turned to Ash with a serious expression.

"Pikachu-Pi!"

It was astonishing how fast it had regained its strength; Ash was almost envious. His heart still felt like it was about to burst through his chest: he could feel his pulse, still as quick and frantic as ever, pounding away in his ears. But Pikachu was right – they had to get up and go, now.

"Alright, buddy," he said, rolling back up to his feet. Pikachu, too, climbed back up on his shoulder.

"Let's go get Misty."

The Maiden had done all that she could: of a crew of thirty-nine, she had managed to save twenty. She had ferried those twenty people, together with the Pokémon she called her companions, to the nearest island she knew of: it was nothing but a small sandbank, scarcely befitting of the definition of an island, but it was located right next to a busy trade route. With a little luck, a merchant ship would pass by it soon – tomorrow or the day after, as soon as the waters would let traders set sail. Those people would make it.

Nineteen sailors, however, had perished in the aftermath of the wreck. Sixteen had drowned – many of them well before she had arrived – and three seemed to have been lost to the waves for good, for she had not been able to find any more cadavers.

She tried her best not to think about it – she really, truly did. But many of those unfortunate souls had been so young: little tykes sent to the ship to learn the ropes, so that one day they would be able to command a crew of their own...

(She recalled the glassy stare she had met at the very bottom of the wreckage: the boy had not looked any older than seven.)

Perhaps it was a blessing, then, that the waters had remained rough. Even she had to work hard to cleave forwards in the crossing surges, which meant she could not afford to sink deep in thought (the monsters that lurked there had to wait for another day, another time).

She could have travelled by the seabed to avoid the worst of it; she could have dove down beneath the surface where she would only have had to worry about the push and pull of the currents, and not the cresting waves that tended to blindside her and throw her up and about like a little girl's ragdoll. But she had to keep afloat and on the lookout: she had to survey her surroundings above the waters to look out for driftwood, barrels, pieces of the mast – anything that a sailor could have hold onto. There might still have been some survivors, people in trouble, people she had missed –

"MISTY!"

It all happened too fast.

Her head snapped towards the sound of her name all on its own (even though she was no longer "Misty" – never in this form). She had salt and smoke and tar in her eyes, and there were waves lapping over her head – she could barely see a thing – but it was not because of these trivial things that she suddenly could not comprehend what she was seeing.

"Hey – hey, Misty!"

It was a pathetic little thing: the dinghy looked like a child's first clumsy attempt at a paper boat (and it was being tossed about in the water very much the same way, too). Ash looked even more pathetic: soaked to the bone like a drowned Rattata, he had all his clothes plastered against him, making him appear that much scrawnier. Pikachu was there, too, and they were both shouting for her –

The wave that hit them was not a big one. Certainly not the size that could have capsized even that pathetic excuse of a boat, but they looked tired – they were tired – so the wave swept them off and into the sea all the same.

Her body moved on its own again. Before she could even become conscious of her movements, she had dove down and propelled forwards to catch them both – they were not far away, and even if they had been, she would have closed the distance in seconds – before they had any time to sink. Then, with what should have been an effort for someone of her stature, she threw both of them back into the boat with a wet, furious SPLAT.

"YOU'LL SCRUB THE DECK FOR THIS!" she screamed before her mind could have any time to catch up with her mouth, "PATCH the SAILS and PEEL the POTATOES for the REST of your GODDAMN LIFE –!"

"Misty!"

He sounded so damn happy that it made her want to cry. He had his scrawny little noodle arms thrown around her even though she tried to shake herself free – she was angry, she was livid – and he was laughing.

"I knew he was lying," he continued to laugh, hacking saltwater out of his nose (it looked like snot) "I knew it all along. Oh man, what a stupid guy!"

"YOU'RE stupid!" Misty cried, and she would have slapped him if she could have reached him, "You were dead meat! You ARE dead meat! BOTH of you!"

But Ash kept on grinning, no matter what insult she hurled at him, which infuriated her even more. The boy really had no brain, had he? He could have died – they both could have died. They could have drowned and sunk had she not been there; they could have ended up like that little child that now lay at the bottom of the sea, dead and –

"Okay, up you go –!"

Misty let out a sudden shriek of surprise; Ash was lifting her out of the water and into the boat.

"No no no, let go, let go –!"

But it was too little, too late. Up she went – and down they fell. All three of them tumbled back into the dinghy with another, even wetter SPLAT.

"Man, Misty – you're a lot heavier than I remember –"

Ash had always been slow on the uptake. This time, too, it took him a few blinks.

But he did shut up.

Humans always did.

The thing Misty hated the most was not the silence: it was the staring. How people's eyes would travel down her body and stop the moment they saw something was wrong – that the rest of her was not there, not in the way it should have been.

She had always led a very active life; she was an athletic person. She ran, she climbed, she fought – whatever the pirate life demanded of her (and it demanded a lot). As such, it stood to reason that with the rest of her toned physique, her legs would have been slim and slender, too – and they were.

Just not right now – and not for a while, either.

When submerged in her element or still soaked to the bone, where there should have been smooth, human legs, all she had was a big, bulky tail and rough scales. It was practical and even beautiful beneath the waves –

– but utterly alien anywhere else.

Even Pikachu was staring.

They both looked stupid – idiotic, even. The two were trapped in the middle of a raging storm, and all they did was stand there, gaping and catching Cutiefly. Soon enough, Ash would point at her and say –

"YOU KISSED ME!"

Misty blinked.

"What," she stated, flatly.

Ash looked at her like he was right about to lose his mind.

"BACK THEN," he shouted, his arms asudden ablur as he flailed in vain in her vague direction, "YOU KISSED ME! KISSED!"

(Had he gone insane? Hell, had she gone insane?)

She didn't have time for this.

With one fluid motion of her body, Misty slipped back into the sea. It was easy, effortless – and damn near elegant. The water welcomed her back, cocooning her in – this was her home, after all. Even when there was a storm raging on the surface, a certain stillness always reigned underneath; the deeper she dove into the sea, the quieter and calmer it all grew...

There, she did not hear Ash shout out her name, nor the frantic thud thud thud that followed, which ended in a big –

KERSPLASH

All of a sudden, Misty found herself staring back at the idiot she thought she had left in the dinghy. He was upside down, cheeks puffed like a Qwilfish, and floundering about like a baby Tentacool on its first swim –

Misty punted the boy back up into the boat.

"Idiot!" she hissed as she surfaced, "I can't drown – but you can!"

"Oh," he replied. (Somehow, he seemed surprised at this.)

"'Oh' indeed," she mocked him, her tone all the more indignant. She swam to the bow of the boat and rolled back her shoulders, "Also, for your information, that 'kiss'..."

– she made sure he heard her quotation marks there –

"...was to save your life, dumbass. I had to give one to Pikachu, too –"

"WHAT?!"

Up until now, Misty had not known that Pikachu's cheeks could rudden even redder.

She sighed; there was so much she would have wanted to say out loud right now.

"Row," she said instead, "I'll navigate us back." She would still have to look out for survivors –

"W-wait!"

Misty almost regretted her snappiness, because it was kind of cute, had he not been so sopping wet, for Ash to suddenly sound all meek like that. He was wringing his hands, and for once in his life, trying to find the right words to say:

"...th-thanks. For back then," he finally sputtered, "and t-today, too."

(It was getting cold.)

Misty nodded; she acknowledged both the gratitude and the apology.

"Don't mention it," she said, "and I mean it – keep this a secret. That's an order."

Now the poor boy looked properly befuddled.

"Wh-why?" (His teeth were starting to chatter, too.)

What could she have even told him? The actual truth? That she was ashamed of her own actions and two-faced nature? That although she was a pirate who took whatever whenever she wanted, she also could not overlook those in need of saving at sea, no matter how hard she tried?

He would have never understood.

So, instead, she simply said:

"Because I'm humble like that, don't you know?"

She heard Ash guffaw – then sneeze.

"...should we tell Brock?"

"Absolutely not."

THE END