Summary: Despite his better judgment, Brock agrees to an illicit affair with the Saffron City Gym Leader. That was his first mistake. His second was falling in love with her. His third was buying her a sea breeze on her birthday. Mangashipping.
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon.
3. The Forbidden Fruit: Citrus paradisi – Take Me To Church
~ Present: June, 3019
Brock awoke early the next morning, his internal clock waking him well before dawn. With the utmost care, he gently himself from the fragile form he cradled to his chest, smoothing a hand over her tussled jade locks.
It was a hard night and his movements were dogged by emotional and physical exhaustion. His own heart ached with every tear she shed, as though he'd been physically struck by the sight of her pain. He mentally cursed whatever being was the source of her woes, hating it for causing her to feel pain.
That night he had let her cry herself to sleep without a word. He didn't ask her about what had happened to steal the smile off her usually cheerful face or any of the other questions that burned in his mind. All he did was hold her until her tears subsided and her breathing began to slow and her grip began to relax.
And in the morning he went through his usual motions after a quick shower in the very nice penthouse bathroom. He phoned up the front desk, asking for various ingredients to be brought to the room, all of which arrived promptly, and began making her breakfast.
Her favourite breakfast, as Brock well knew, was crepes with caramelized fruit, but it wouldn't do today. Today was Eggs Benedict with crispy bacon, the same breakfast her mom would make her when she was upset about something. It was comfort food, and it was what she needed right now even if it wasn't what she wanted.
Sabrina would be up in about twenty minutes giving him plenty of time – she always woke up by 7:30. He had requested for room service to bring up her morning coffee made to her specifications in about half an hour, giving her time for a brief shower which he hoped would bring her more to her usual self.
If he gave it more than a moments thought, he could probably guess what had happened. In spite of her enormous power, Sabrina was fragile and easily hurt. The slightest snippet of thought could break her like this, especially when it came to men. An innocuous though from her companion – 'well, she's not as pretty as my ex, but she'll do' – was more than enough to break her.
Brock sighed as he moved around the kitchen. Her sadness seemed to fill him with actual physical pain, his own happiness now so connected to hers that all his concerns revolved around her. He silently vowed that he would never be the reason for her tears.
And yet he knew, despite himself, that she would never let him close enough to be that reason.
Their arrangement was complicated. He often wondered about how different things might be if they'd actually tried to have something akin to a normal relationship from the start instead of these weird trysts where he'd become a source of box physical intimacy and comfort.
It didn't take much to recognise that their connection had become something more involved than mere sex, but still less than friendship or an actual relationship. If it had just been about the sex, that wouldn't have been enough to make him fall in love as desperately as he had. He wasn't so naïve that he couldn't separate the two.
There was something more about Sabrina that had him entranced.
Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of power and frailty. Here she was, the most powerful psychic in the known world, but she remained so unsure of herself and what that power meant. Sabrina still kept everyone at arms length. No one ever got close enough to hurt her, but on the same note, no one was allowed close enough to love her.
But Brock loved her in spite of her distance and in spite of the fact that she refused to let him in. Sometimes it almost seemed as though had gotten through to her and that he'd been able to reach the part of her she still kept locked away – moments when he could look into her eyes and feel like he knew the most intimate parts of her – but in the next moment it would be gone and he would be left in agony as he waited for the next moment when she would let her guard down and lt him see the real her once again. Perhaps it was that challenge that had drawn her to him, at least in the beginning, but there had to be more than that.
There were so many contradictions when it came to Sabrina. She was naïve and cynical, guarded and audacious. She was so sure in what she wanted, but not in her self. She was beautiful and sophisticated and worldly and wise, but she was mischievous and childlike, and when she smiled it was like she was at peace with everything around her.
She was everything and she was impossible and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop loving her. He couldn't draw himself away from her even if it meant being trapped in some non-relationship for the rest of his life.
An alarm buzzed in the suites kitchen area, bringing him out of his introspection and back to reality. He reminded himself of the tasks he had to complete before she woke, returning to the benchtop to assemble her breakfast and putting a small vanilla cake into the tiny benchtop oven – he'd been unable to deny her sweet tooth in the end, though only after preparing her something warm and hearty.
Next, a soft knock on the door alerted him that room service had arrived with her coffee. He tipped the boy handsomely for his troubles, sending him back to the desk with his credit card in order to settle the payment of the room before Sabrina had the chance.
With careful precision, he laid the dishes upon the table setting her coffee down beside a glass of orange juice. He set a single red rose in a small vase, and smiled at his handy work. The table looked perfect and he was sure she would enjoy it.
With one last glance at the room to ensure everything was in order, he exited the hotel room as he heard the shower turn off, completing his morning rituals with a sad sigh and leaving her alone to enjoy the fruits of his labour.
Sabrina listened for the almost inaudible click of the door being shut. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or disappointed that he had left before she finished her shower, just as he always did. As much as she didn't want him hanging around out of pity for her – it was bad enough that he had seen her so vulnerable the night before – she missed his presence and wished he would stay.
Just the once.
Just so she wouldn't have to wonder what it was like waking up to another person instead of waking up alone to his residual heat on the left side of the bed.
He was always quick to leave her – gone before she finished with her own morning rituals. She knew that was on her. She'd never asked him to stay and he never imposed on her. Always let her set the terms of engagement.
Normally this suited her just fine – she wasn't much of a morning person and everyone told her she was terrible company before she had her coffee. Only sometimes a part of her longed for the company and to see that face across the table from her, the corners of his lips curled ever so slightly in a gentle smile.
That's what she wanted today. That reassuring presence that would make her feel less alone. Today she felt abandoned. She felt unwanted and unloved, and even though she knew it wasn't the case, she felt as though he was rejecting her.
Wrapping herself in a terrycloth robe, she made her way to the kitchen area from which wafted the smells of Brock's baking. 'He'll make someone a wonderful husband someday,' she thought sadly to herself. She didn't let herself dwell on the feeling, quickly pushing the thought away before it became the subject of her introspection.
Instead she let a smile tug at her lips as she surveyed her breakfast. Each item was perfect, and it warmed her heart. She peered through the oven window at the small cake rising in the heat; her mouth watering at the sight of what she was sure was a vanilla sponge. She would have to resist the urge to devour it before she left and instead take it home so that it could be properly served with cream and icing.
All this from the man who had routinely shared her bed for more than a year now. It was a display of affection, and despite his efforts, she knew that his feelings for her were beyond mere physical attraction. Even without her psychic abilities, his feelings were easy to read – his actions and the care he showed towards her spoke volumes beyond anything that could be put into words.
Her own feelings were less clear, and had been for some time. But instead of clarifying them, she pushed the thoughts away and tried not to dwell on them for fear that they might become less obscure and point her in a direction that she wasn't willing to face.
Those thoughts were saved for a future version of herself to deal with and categorise.
She knew it was wrong to carry on when things had become so imbalanced – to use him to sate herself when he wanted more – but she couldn't give him up. She had grown accustomed to his touch and the feel of him against her; to the way that he would hold her against his strong frame; to the way his deep tones would lull her to sleep.
Even the parts of her that were too afraid of what this had become could admit that this was not the relationship she had intended at the start of their affair. The relationship she envisaged had been cool and clinical, detached from emotion. That was what she had asked for – it was what she had needed at the time and all that she had felt willing to give. And yet what she got was something entirely different.
She wondered if there ever could truly be such a thing as the 'no-strings' relationship she had asked for. Or maybe she had always known that such a relationship was impossible between herself and Brock.
Perhaps she had been her own undoing. It was something – something so much more – although she couldn't be sure what.
Two hours later she had her things teleported back to her home, and made her way down to the reception to check out.
"No worries, Mrs. Slate," the girl at the desk said with a happy smile. "Your husband sorted everything."
Sabrina blushed, her mouth opening to correct her before the woman's happy thoughts cut her off. In the girls mind, it was the most obvious conclusion given the requests Brock had made and Sabrina's choice of suite.
So she closed her mouth and just nodded, rather than break the happy illusion.
It made no difference to her what sort of assumptions they made, as it would probably be some time before she returned to Viridian, or even that particular hotel. It was easier than trying to explain to the girl the true extent of a relationship that Sabrina hardly understood her self. She was sure the girl would not be pleased to know the wonderful man that had gone to so much effort just to prepare her breakfast, was neither her husband nor her boyfriend. Not even a friend.
That last thought made her frown inwardly, but she shrugged it off without further introspection.
"He left a note here for you," the girl said with an envious smile, which said 'your husband is so sweet, you're the luckiest woman in the world'. Sabrina smiled back, accepting the note, knowing that for now she was.
She saved the note for when she got home, not wanting to open it in front of the hotel receptionist as the perplexed look on Sabrina's face would surely shatter the girl's happy illusion. The fact that he had left her a note was unusual in itself, but the contents even more so.
He had always been the passive one in their relationship, agreeing to her terms and so forth. It was a bold step – for the first time he was the one instigating some sort of tryst.
The letter was simple. Just one sentence. A question.
"Will you join me in the Orange Islands?"
She thought about it for a moment before coming up with her answer. She was in need of a holiday – things seemed to have been getting to her more than usual lately, so why not?
Little did she know, that one little vacation was going to change her life.
"So this is how the Pokémon Master lives?" she asked, surveying the lovely, homely house the two had entered.
Brock chuckled as he pulled the solid pine door closed behind them. The room was brightly lit with natural light cascading from a large bay window and a conservatory attached to the kitchen, leading to the garden. The light wood panelled interior contrasted with the beautiful stone exterior, and the carpet was a lovely plush burgundy.
"Some of the time," he laughed. "The rest is spent between Indigo, Pallet and Cerulean. Mostly Cerulean, for obvious reasons.
"Shall I show you around?" he asked, offering her his arm.
"You shall," she replied, accepting his offer. The house was a single storey with four bedrooms, two bathrooms, an en-suite, kitchen, dining room and lounge. "This room is the personification of Misty," she commented as Brock showed her the master bedroom. It was painted a beautiful lapis blue and overlooked the ocean. "In fact, this whole house is, but this room in particular."
"I think this place is a bit like Ash's Taj Mahal," Brock replied. "You know, like a tribute to Misty and his love for her."
"I'm not sure the analogy quite works," Sabrina laughed. "The Taj Mahal is more a mausoleum than a house and in memory of the emperor's favourite wife – of which he had five."
"The analogy works fine as long as you don't try to be a smart ass about it," he replied almost darkly, a teasing smile on his lips. "C'mon, I'll show you the rest of the rooms."
The rest of the rooms were on the opposite side of the house to Misty's shrine. Although each room was immaculate and beautifully done, there was something slightly less personal about the other three bedrooms. The first room they came across was slightly smaller, and seemed to give an overwhelming sense of flowers. It was more than just the rose petal quilt that covered the bed, but something about the room itself. Various flowers grew outside the window, kept in excellent condition even though the master of the house was away.
"This is Mrs. Ketchum's usual room," Brock said by way of explanation of the room's almost motherly feel. It seemed to mix aspects of the two most important women in Ash's life, and their mutual adoration of flowers and romance.
The next room was slightly more childish. It was set up with two sets of bunk beds, and probably acted more as a spare room than anything else. The room was accented with splashes of red and yellow, bright and sunny and youthful as though it was memorializing the earlier parts of the journey that the two had spent together. If this room represented Ash and Misty's past, then the master bedroom was their future.
Brock felt sort of anxious as they moved on to the final room. The last room was unofficially his – whenever he stayed at Ash and Misty's Orange Island home (a sound investment if ever there was one) it was inarguably the room designated to him and just as Delia's room incorporated aspects of her personality, so did his.
He pulled the door open to the fourth bedroom. The walls were painted in a rich forrest green, except for one wall that was made of dark wood panels. The bed and furniture were all solid oak, including a lovely old-fashioned writing desk, which Misty had fallen in love with and Ash accordingly acquired and matched the room to. It was a beautiful piece, and Brock felt as strongly about it as Misty.
"Uh . . . this one is my room," he admitted nervously.
She laughed at his nervousness and bounced onto the bed, giving him a seductive wink as she sat facing him. "So I guess we'll be sleeping here?" she asked him, putting a completely innocent look upon her face, as though she didn't even understand the connotations of what she was asking him.
"Well . . . I . . . what I . . . if . . . I mean . . ." he stuttered nervously, gulping back his words as he tried desperately to form some sort of coherent thought.
"If that's ok with you," she added shyly. "I just like this room best. It feels like I'm coming back to some place I've always known."
"Fine with me," he finally managed to say, his words running together quickly. "I'll go get the bags," he added, practically sprinting out of the room before she could get a good look at his brilliantly red face.
Sabrina sighed happily as she fell back onto the bed. It was incredibly comfortable and the oaky smell of the frame reminded her of Brock. He was fun to mess with sometimes, but in truth, something inside her seemed to fall in love with the room the second she saw it. The room felt like a home she had never known, but always longed for.
However, her ease turned to disdain as she unintentionally started picking up items around the room – a picture frame, then a watch, and paperback novel that had all been sitting on the nightstand. She frowned, moving off the bed to put the items back where they'd came from. She'd been doing that sort of thing a lot lately – her powers had been acting up for at least a month now, picking up people's thoughts when she hadn't meant to, collecting items against her will, and taking her to destinations she hadn't intended to visit.
It was how she had ended up in Viridian. After that terrible date she had intended to teleport herself back to the gym and instead found herself in Viridian City. The exact same thing had happened on two other occasions, as well as unexpectedly finding herself in the Pewter City gym one morning when she was too lazy to walk to the kitchen.
Since then she had been using her abilities sparingly, but now they were getting out of her control and it was starting to concern her. She had always been in control of her powers – it was the one part of her life she could control – but now she was finding herself quite useless in that respect.
She tried to pick up the smallest of the items with her mind, just to test herself, and place it across the room to sit on the writing desk, but instead it came towards her. The watch was pulled directly into her grasp doing exactly the opposite of what she had told it to do, and as much as she fought to send it away from herself, it insisted on staying with her.
"Sabrina, are you ok?" Brock asked as he returned, dropping the bags he had in hand at the door. He noticed the frustrated look of concentration on her face and wondered what was wrong.
"Please stop thinking," she begged him quietly, a look of desperation in her eyes. "It's hurting my head."
"How long has this been happening?" he asked, focusing on masking his thoughts. He knew it wouldn't be enough to stop her from hearing them, but it would be sufficient to reduce their intensity. He sat down beside her on the bed, worriedly checking her for signs of sickness.
"About a month," she replied, cringing at the intensity of the pressure she felt building in her head.
He stood to his feet, pulling her up with him. "I'm taking you to a doctor, Sabrina," he told her sternly. "And I don't want any argument. This isn't normal."
She just nodded, because she knew it was the truth.
Nothing about her was ever normal, but this was something else altogether.
~ to be continued ~
And now the story begins ...
It's been a long time since I received a flame (do we still even call them that?). I know this ship isn't everyone's cup-of-tea, but if you don't like the ship then don't read it. It's not like I duped you into reading a BrockxSabrina fanfic - there are multiple mentions of the ship in my bio, the summary, the first chapter, and even old fics where I mentioned writing this story - so just go read something else instead. Please.
Thank you to those other reviewers who have taken the time to comment on this story. I mean, I don't need reviews in order to post because I am no longer a thirsty fourteen year old and also because this fic is already written (just minor revisions to go) and will be posted regardless of interest (cos it is totally self-indulgent). But it's still nice to hear from people and know that someone other than me is enjoying it - so thanks for your support!