Afterwards, Brock could never fully remember what happened that day. The few minutes after the balloon crash were hazy at best, and incomplete, like a slideshow with a few slides missing. He remembered a series of images: cloth billowing like a cloud pokéballs rolling through the grass, and the girl, white and still, limbs splayed out at dangerous angles. So silent, so stiff. This was one image that would stick with him forever, no matter how hard he tried to rid it from his mind. As he first approached her, he was reminded of a dead bird, still and fragile. The girl, however, was not dead- -- yet. Ignoring all he had learned about first aid, Brock carefully scooped her up, hefting her weight with a bit of difficulty. For a moment, all that what was happening around him faded away--- Ash and Misty collecting the girl's Pokémon, various other trainers rushing down to gawk---, and he listened to the girl's shallow breathing and felt her shiver against him. Her nose was bleeding and her face was scratched, yet she still looked familiar, like one of the princesses in his childhood story books. This is what this pale creature is, he thought, a princess. It was just as well, Brock knew, that she was unconscious--- the only time that he ever would dare to touch a girl like this was in her sleep.

"Sleep well, princess," he murmured, shifting her weight in his arms in order to wipe the blood from her nose. He got a firm grip on her again, and began to walk towards the path. As quickly as it had faded away the first time, the world swam in at him again. Brock struggled to keep hold of her as he shoved his way through the growing crowd. They pressed against him as he walked by, straining for a glimpse of the unlucky girl.

"Hey," he heard someone say, "is that...?" Brock became acutely aware of the silence that descended upon the crowd at this question. Someone leaned in to look.

"Oh, my god, it is." The whispers erupted more rapidly than they had ebbed.

"Gwen Champoni!"

"...believe it?"

"Is she dead?"

"Quick, do you... the camera?"

With new determination, Brock shoved his way through the crowd. So. Not a princess at all; this girl was a warrior; fierce, not fragile. He saw the difference now. "Please, clear the way," he called above the noise. "Please, move--- listen, get that damn flashbulb away, or--- excuse me, she's injured." With each step he became more frustrated. Almost out of nowhere, seven or eight people formed sort of an honor guard in front of him. Thank God for good people. An older man turned around and nodded at Brock.

"Right, leave it up to us. You just keep walking, we'll get everyone out of the way." Brock nodded in relief.

"Thank you," he said. The man didn't hear Brock's thanks; he was too busy shoving gawkers out of the way.

"Come on, laddie," he roared, not looking back at Brock. With the guard shoving people out of the way in the front and Ash, Misty, and Pikachu at his sides, Brock managed to proceed up the trail. Finally they broke into the clearing at the top. The line in front led them in the direction of the parked cars.

"You, boy," Brock heard one of the women who helped them up the trail say, "can you get them to the nearest Pokécenter fast?"

"Is-- is it that injured trainer? Yeah, sure, I'll take him." Brock knew this new voice, yet could not place it.

"Thank you." The line in front of them split, and in a second, Brock, Misty and Ash registered the all too familiar trainer that stood before them.

"Gary," Ash sneered, eager for an altercation with his rival. Gary Oak did not respond. He stood open mouthed, staring at the girl in Brock's arms. "Holy..." he muttered, his voice cracking. "I..." He screwed his eyes shut. "Get her in the back, quick. Quick!" Not even bothering to open the driver's side door, he jumped into the convertible and slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "Come on, come on," he muttered, watching them put her in the car. Soon they were all in, Ash in the front, shooting weird looks at Gary, Brock and Misty on either side of the girl. Gary, however, did not start the car. Instead he sat turned around in his seat, staring at Gwen, his hand on her cold one as if looking for some sign of life.

"What, want an autograph?" Ash asked nastily, taking any opportunity to insult his rival. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, though, Ash knew that he had somehow overstepped the line.

"Bastard," Gary said in a deadly whisper. "That's what you want, isn't it? Next time she writes, I'll ask her to make her signature real pretty and tear it out for you." With this, he turned around and began to drive. The fifteen minute ride was silent and excruciatingly long. As Gary demolished the speed limit and skidded on turns, Brock stared out into the distance. Was this girl really who everyone thought she was? Then what was Gary saying? That he knew her? That was too ridiculous to believe. Brock fingered a pokéball, one of hers.

"Whoa," he breathed. He turned to Misty and mouthed, "Fabulous five." Misty shook her head, and smiled sadly. She understood. The fabulous five were the five Pokémon that Gwen kept permanently in her party. The Pidgeot, Charizard, Blastoise, Raichu, and Gyrados became famous when she did. Also famous was the fact that she left the sixth slot in her party in rotation, usually occupied by a baby Pokémon that needed experience. It was overly confident, almost arrogant. Brock always had liked it.

At the time Gwen became famous, he was her age, and a barely pubescent boy. He had imagined that he would encounter the young master on the road and save her life with his rock Pokémon, of which she had none. He would, at the same time, convince her of the superiority of rock Pokémon and make her fall in love with him. "Oh Brock," she would gush in admiration, and beg him to join her.

He almost laughed. How stupid. He'd saved her life for the time being, but she was in no position to thank him.