DISBOUND

(chapter twenty-two)

must not chase the boys

Theme Song: 'Every Heart' - Inuyasha

Slyly, he squinted across the airy room. Within seconds the revealed slit of indigo was clamped shut again. Damn. Damn. Why wasn't she looking at him? Travis exhaled as loudly as he dared. Was it his hair? It was his hair. Damn this hospital-bed-hair!! But still – he was fit, she was fit… and fit people owe it to genetics to stick together…

Another snuck look. A preoccupied swipe at his limp navy hair. Come on. Come and take a look baby…

Erin's Day: Sunday, 10.19am

Tapping her cheek with one long fingernail, en rapport with the cheesy 'Good Morning Sunshine', Erin practically beamed as she made her way down white sterile corridors to Michelle's semi-private ward. It was okay. Group dynamic would soon be restored. Just a little while longer and we can get off this bloody island, Riny bounced, her hair bobbing in tune as she smiled at a familiar nurse and threw open the pallidly painted ward doors.

Michelle's bed was empty. The sheets were in disarray, and her stuff was still strewn around, but it was totally and utterly, undeniably empty. Erin's throat went dry and she swallowed slowly.

A foreign set of noises, punctuated with a familiar girlish titter called her attention to the other bed. And the sight thereon roused her bile. Michelle was curled up on the formerly sleeping (that or very quiet) dark haired boy who had shared the ward. And he was sucking on her face. Erin blinked.

The mystery-dark-haired-boy was pawing at Michelle's flimsy hospital gown with delight, and Michelle was giggling away like the cast of a Barbie movie. Later, Erin wondered how it was that Michelle could so openly giggle when her mouth was so openly attached to another, but at that precise moment in time, she didn't really care all that much.

They hadn't noticed her; hadn't even looked up when they heard the doors swing open. Cuh. Rude. Disrespectful even. The boy began to seemingly attack the poor, light green hospital gown that was separating him from what Erin immediately classified as 'Michelle's virtue'. Never one to be rude, but never one to stand around and watch something this annoying and sickening to her over-practiced morals, Riny took a deep breath…

"MI-CHELLE!" she screamed in horror, and the equally horrified Michelle seemed to leap backwards to her own area as if pulled by a magnet. Mystery Boy leant backwards on the pillow, putting his weight on his arms, looking smug and satisfied with himself despite his current out of breath state, and the fact that he had been caught doing nothing really wrong by the worse possible person.

Erin stared back at him, barely hearing Michelle's hurried excuses and explanations. Now Erin was a likeable person, and generally liked everyone, and even if she didn't, she had an utterly believable way of pretending she did. There was just no excuse for being rude, even if you DIDN'T like the person. And you should never judge a book by its cover.

But Erin was judging. She had no idea who this person was, and the fact that he had been gyrating against one of her best friends who, up until the previous night, had been unconscious, had nothing to do with it. Erin was about to make one of her world famous First Impression Decisions, that she was always too stubborn to change… so it was lucky that all of her Decisions had been spot on.

She hated him. He was a wanker. A total wanker. He was right at the end on the Scale of Wankers. He was the sole inhabitant of the Wanker Universe. He was a wanker of the highest order and the greatest magnitude. A wanker to end all other wankers. A complete and total wanker. Yeah, you really had to hand it to him - he was at the cutting edge of Wankerdom.

She hated him. And, sighing at the furious look on her petite friend's face that was directed at her beau, Michelle realised, that this was going to be one of those 'Erin Opinions' that never could be changed, and was made instant gospel.

Feck, was what Michelle was thinking.

How did this happen???? was what Erin's mind was worried about.

Michelle's Day: Sunday, 9:53 am

No amount of concealer in the world is ever going to hide this godawful, disfiguring and downright ugly scar currently so spectacularly adorning my left cheek… Actually, Michelle thought on reflection, they'd done a pretty good job patching her up, and with the ever-so-useful insta-healing system in this screwy world, they'll probably just fade away without leaving so much as a blemish. Which, you know, would be fantastic.

Michelle sighed emptily, and her arm fell limply back on the sheet, still clutching the nurse-provided hand-mirror in a shaky grip. She glared at the foreboding drip that had spent the previous day malignantly pumping and/or sucking chemicals to/from her bloodstream. She shrugged the thin blanket around her shoulders so she could turn over on to her side, and let the mirror fall from her hand to the floor with a plasticy clatter. It didn't even break. Shame.

She could tell that the boy in the bed opposite was sitting upright, and trying to catch her attention without actually having to draw attention to himself, which, let's face it, was not going to work, so she blanked him completely. She wasn't in the mood to converse with spiky-haired strangers. What kind of sicko picks up the girl in the opposite hospital bed anyway? What would his line be? Come here often?

And what about this terrible and obscuring mutant pockmark where the apple of her cheek used to be. Now that's attractive. A talking point at least.

Spiky kept staring. She let him.

Her body clock was seriously screwed. Her sense was protesting at the fact that she had awoken just before midnight and hadn't got any well-deserved sleep since. Then the intellect kicked in with the point that she had been asleep for days, and her body was probably protesting the sensible, primal urge. Kinda like being water-logged. But… sleep-logged…

Michelle rolled her eyes at her own deranged chain of thought and tossed herself around on to her back and started shrugging her shoulders violently against the cardboard mattress and paper thin pillow, trying to both knock the numbness out and get comfortable on the pathetic excuse for a bed. Guess hospital standards are the same no matter what dimension you're in, she mused, dreamily, awash in the world of white as she stared up through half closed eyes at, symbolically, the most boring ceiling there ever was.

The silence was broken.

"Come here often?" Michelle felt like sighing aloud. Even his voice was as she had stereotypically expected.

"Yes. I'm a flaming hypochondriac." There was a silence and Michelle inwardly groaned as she realised the limitations of Spiky's vocabulary. Bode well, this does not…

"Yeah. Er. Me too. Heh. So… what you in for?"

Impatiently, Michelle sat up on the pillows so she was staring the boy down. He looked a little washed out (which was to be expected, why else would he be in a hospital?), but decent enough. She was startled to find the boy reminded her of Ash. But he was more like Ash-plus-Sex. His wild spikes were a navy blue, as were his eyes, and his well-defined physique was evident even through the green hospital gown. Hmmm.

"Well, if you must know – I had a little accident while out shopping. Bit of glass – it was messy. You know how these things are." Ash-plus-Sex nodded sagely. Michelle sighed and shifted against the starch pillows again. "How about you?"

"Appendix out. It sucked."

"Hmmm I can imagine."

"Being in the hospital sure is boring, huh?"

"Yup. It's why I try not to make a habit of it. That and the whole bed-pan thing."

"You bored right now then?"

"Obviously, since I'm talking to a complete stranger. About bed-pans."

"Fair enough. Wanna come over here and make out?"

"Whatever."

Trish's Day: Sunday, 10.26am

The mere twitch of Todd's lips as he smiled at the witty soap opera banter made Rachel's knees turn to water. This was bad. She could feel Duplica staring at her through the eyes of the buxom actress on the screen as she implored her best friend to quit shagging her husband.

Todd shifted, making her skirt ride up slightly. Was it entirely appropriate for him to be lying with his head on her lap anyway? She turned her doe eyes imploringly to Trish for help, but the older woman was staring glumly at the screen with dull eyes and other recognisable ravaging of a sleepless night.

"I can't help it, Nolene! He's just got that something… that something!"

"You lie, Darla! Ricardo is my soulmate! He could never complete you the way he completes me!"

"I never said that I loved him! It's just sex – something which you obviously can't give him!"

"You're so horrible! I said I'd never let these things get out but… but… Darla! Not ONLY is Ricardo the person who got the Emerson's daughter pregnant but he embezzled funds from the last charity fete! PLUS! HE'S YOUR HALF-BROTHER!"

Trish stared moodily at the screen where two women were attempting to pull each other's hair out. She wished that she had a boyfriend who she could accuse of being someone's half brother. Maybe she would have by now, if she hadn't gotten… over-excited…

At the memory of the previous afternoon's… indiscretions… Trish turned as pink as the spangly thong itself. If that had been back home and a Tom Jones concert, nobody would have batted an eyelid… Trish exhaled and sunk lower in the couch cushions. She could hear the voices of Mia, Gary, Cel and Misty as they played Memory with a pack of cards, using the space of the expansive dining room table. The bell at reception dinged cheerfully and Celestine let off a comparative anguished wail.

"I'll forget! I'll forget!"

"I'll get it, I'll get it…" Trish grumbled as she heaved herself up from the couch and shuffled in slippers towards the airy reception hall. "Hello! May I help you?" she tried her best cheerful voice. The man at the counter turned around, confused at the voice that came from behind him.

Trish was instantly suspicious. The tall man looked at her, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. It wasn't this that made her suspicious – it was the fact that he was wearing a huge and heavy black overcoat and trilby hat pulled tight and low. The man must be sweltering. And insane.

"Um… um…" Trish faltered, feeling underdressed in her vest top and cropped cream trousers. "Would you like a room sir?"

"No," the man said, his voice thick with false accent. "Might I enquire if a 'Trish' is currently in residence here? I er, need to speak with her about something she… dropped yesterday. It's quite serious." The bottom fell out of Trish's world. Surely a little risqué excitement like hers wasn't call to arrest her? Breathing deeply to stop her hands from shaking, Trish did the first thing that came to mind.

"Yes," she smiled brightly, "we do have a young woman by the name of Trish staying at the moment. I'll go fetch her." Trish managed to stay at a serene walk until she was out of the man's view, at which point she broke into a non-too-dignified flat out run towards the dining room. She threw her weight at the swing doors and slid in across the carpet on her slippers. Gary, Misty, Cel and Mia looked up at her expectantly.

"Who is it?" Celestine asked.

"It's the cops!" Trish wheezed, scrambling around the polished table, skidding cards across its surface and grabbing Mia tightly. "Pretend to be me!"

"Wha?" Mia just had time to murmur before she was wheeled around and frog-marched out to reception. The man was still waiting, coolly leaning on the counter and fiddling with something around his neck, concealed by the huge winter coat.

"What's with the coat?" Mia whispered as he came in view, distrust evident. "He looks like a freakin' 1920s Russian Communist."

"Maybe he is…" Trish retorted darkly, as the man looked up.

"What the hell is going on here?" Gary appeared, bellowing as loud as he could in his nasal voice. He saw the large man immediately and blinked, folding his arms across his bare chest. He was followed by Sarah, rubbing her eyes sleepily and tugging out a knot in her hair. Her eyes widened too.

"Hasn't somebody told Rasputin about Global Warming?" she asked, yawning as she spoke, gazing at the assembled group with one eye. The man sighed.

"I'm sorry if my appearance is confusing you." Trish noticed that he had lost the accent. "Now, er, Trish?" Trish pinched Mia.

"Owww- um, yes?"

"Look," sighed the man, but he was interrupted by Ash and Misty coming through the main doors into reception, Pikachu chittering away. Ash stopped dead in a hero-like stance at the scene, Pikachu copying him on cue.

"You will not take advantage of these women!" he declared, pointing a straight arm and finger at the extremely confused black-clad man. "Rocket pervert scum! Pikachu!" Gary groaned, and rubbed his temples.

"No, Ash!" Celestine called, "don't fry the customers!"

"Look!" the man repeated, more forceful this time, the regional Southern Islands accent clear in his voice. "I've just come to talk to Trish. And you are not her," he nodded towards Mia. Trish's mouth hang agape.

"How did you know?"

The man smiled, his first evident facial expression. Without an explanation, he reached into his deep pocket.

"If you pull a gun, I swear you'll be eating off a hospital tray before you can even pull the trigger!" Ash warned darkly from where he still stood in his hero stance. Pikachu issued an equally menacing call of warning. The man sighed again.

"Listen, young Ketchum," he turned to the boy, his voice now clear from all falsity, and strangely familiar. "I think your bravery and determination is a beautiful thing. Really I do. I always have. But if you don't be quiet, I'm going to have to kick your ass. Now hush." Ash fell silent immediately, staring at the stranger with confused dark eyes.

The man reached back into his pocket and drew out the shameful pink thong Trish had spent the majority of her remaining money on. Where in the sultry-lit shop it had sparkled with cheeky promise, here in the bright morning sunshine it looked tacky and ridiculous. Trish swiped it out of the man's hand, her cheeks colouring, and shoved in into her trouser pocket out of Gary's hungry gaze. Mia crossed over to him and stepped on his foot. She didn't want him getting any ideas.

"Well er, er, thank you sir, for er, returning my er, er… item. It's most… appreciated." Trish stared up at him. "So, do you er, work for Drake?" The man laughed, a deep sound in his throat.

"You could say that," he smiled widely, easing the heavy coat off his shoulders, revealing someone all brooding and pectoral and navy trousered. There was a collective breath held in the reception as he carelessly draped the garment across the counter.

"Kick your ass, done it before, jerk…" Ash grumbled darkly under his breath. Drake grinned around at everyone, pulling off his sunglasses and hat, tossing them onto the coat.

"How… how did you find me?" Trish stammered, slightly overwhelmed.

"We got the audience to sign in as they started to queue," Drake explained, always careful to look Trish deeply in her dark eyes as he spoke. "We do it so we can send newsletters and stuff, but in this case we just worked out who the woman who threw the underwear must have been by talking to the woman who had been in front of you, and checking the name under hers on the list. Then, you wrote under 'address' that you were a tourist, so I've been checking all the hotels and the like."

Trish blushed a hotter pink than before.

"The knickers weren't that expensive…" she mumbled. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble to return them. Unless…" she looked up at him pleadingly. "Unless I'm in some kind of trouble?" Drake laughed again.

"Trouble? Nah. In fact, I also wanted to thank you."

"THANK her?" chorused the assembled crowd, which Trish was startled to see, also included Brock, Jacqui, Karlie and James. Drake smirked.

"Yes. Thank her. You see, I was so nervous, I was imagining the worse thing that could happen while I was reading. Now, even though I did wonder if the audience would throw things, I was imagining more along the lines of garbage and rotten fruit, not something as pleasurable as what you did!" Drake blushed for the first time, and broke his eye contact with Trish, who was relieved as it meant she could breathe again.

"Well, er… I'm glad to be of service," she spoke down to her feet, humbly.

"Now I'll never have to be nervous again. I'll just think of you. Thanks," Drake repeated, his voice soft.

The hall was suddenly filled with a thick silence. Trish looked yearningly at Drake's shoes. How to make him stay? How to make him hers? How to make him live in a matchbox in her pocket so she could call upon him at her leisure? This was her moment… the moment where she met and forged a fledgling relationship with her Pokémon character. Mia, Karlie and Rachel had all managed it – and she was a grown woman! So why wasn't anything happening?

"Drake, would you like to stay for lunch? We have a large travelling group… many of which are Dragon Trainers who would love to meet you," Sarah lied through her teeth. "That is of course, if you're not busy?"

Drake looked at Trish. Well, at the top of her head anyway, since she was still so intent on staring at the flooring.

"If the dear lady Trish will have me," he said finally, with a smile. Trish finally looked up, and broke into a matching grin as she offered him her arm and lead him in.

"Oooh!" cried James who was standing behind her as he whipped the offending thong out of Trish's back pocket. "This is like Jesse's!"

This was met with disturbed faces.

"Er, Jesse's hair. You know. Pink, pink? Her hair is pink? Ehehehe…"

"Learn to ignore him," was the sage advice Trish gave the man on her arm as they walked into the sitting area.

That night

"Michelle, you are NOT to see The Wanker again."

"Riny, his name is Travis."

"Wanker."

"Travis!"

"Yeah, yeah," Erin muttered, knowing she should let the conversation drop. Michelle signed deeply, shifting on the couch running a fingertip lightly down the rapidly fading puckering on her cheek.

A small dark figure walked into the room to announce dinner. Michelle would have fallen off the couch if not for the several cushions propping her up. Despite her surprise, she still managed to grip onto her usual sardonic ways.

"So dear Jacqueline," she drawled at the newcomer. "When did you get here?" Jacqui grinned at her old friend.

"At the hospital, while you were out of it," she replied.

"Having fun?" was Michelle's next enquiring drawl.

"Tons," was Jacqui's quick, cheerfully sarcastic answer. "Dinner's ready."

"Is Drake still here?" Erin complained as she and Jacqui helped to untangle Michelle from her supporting pyramid of pillows.

"Mmmhmm," Jacqui nodded the affirmative. Erin scowled.

"I don't like all these changes! All these new males!" she hissed.

"Someone's jealous," retorted Michelle to Jacqui as she heaved herself from the couch and made her way slowly behind the other two to the dining room.

"No," Erin frowned, "it's not that. I just feel like something big is gonna happen. Something's coming. Remember, very little is incidental lately."

The three English girls had just got to the double doors of the dining room when they swung open violently. Mia ran out, her hands clasped tightly across her mouth, her eyes white and bulging. She made it as far as the door out of the lounge to the stairs before she was violently sick on the teal carpet.

Erin was at her side in a flash, Michelle not far behind, Jacqui heading to the kitchen for some water. Erin held the Puerto Rican girl's short hair back and flinched against the sound of her retching. Thick sobs came, uncharacteristic and wet in her raw throat and Michelle rubbed her back.

"Trish!" Jacqui screamed out, "don't touch the food!"

"I – did-n't- touch the – food," Mia hiccupped, her entire body seemed to be groaning and burning beneath Michelle's hand. "I, I-"

Mia pitched forward in a dead faint – it took all of Michelle's limited strength to stop her from landing in the mess she had just made. Erin released her hair and rolled her over from it. The others had emerged curiously from the dining room. Erin left Mia in Jacqui's capable hands and marched up to Gary.

"You bastard! What have you done!" she screamed in his face, gripping his necklace to drag it down to meet hers.

"What? No!" Gary yelled back, one of the few not intimidated by the short girl, looking nervously behind her to watch Mia, currently being tended by Jacqui and Brock.

"Now, what the hell is going on here?" Drake demanded. "Someone call a doctor."

On the twilight beach an unfamiliar figure watched the silhouettes of the people in the bed and breakfast through the windows. He thrust his hands into the back pockets of his baggy jeans.

It was nice to see everyone again, Tony thought.