Author's Note: I know it has been a very long he time since I've updated, and I apologize for that. Between being busy with graduate school and not playing ORAS for a long time, both this and Matches fell on the back burner. I cannot promise updates with any regularity, but I know many people seemed to enjoy these stories so if there is still an interest let me know and I will do my best to continue them when I can. As always, thank you all for your support!
Expectations
"He what?" Tabitha repeats, pausing with his kale smoothie halfway to his lips.
The small Lilycove juice bar, where the two meet every Saturday morning before heading to the gym together, sits empty save for the opening staff: a teenage boy wiping down tables, and an older woman slouched by the register, staring uninterestedly out the window as the sun rises. Absolutely silent. . . He could not have failed to hear me. He has had no difficulty hearing in this conversation previously, and I have not changed my voice volume.
Courtney studies her colleague inquisitively. Widened eyes, lips parted slightly. . . Surprise.
Just as quickly as she has nailed down his emotional state, however, it shifts as a smirk stretches across his face. How . . . exhausting. "The great Maximilian Asche cornered you against a door and kissed you. Oh my, not even I could have foreseen that occurrence."
The female Magma admin does not dignify his comment with a response, instead choosing to stare down at the reddish-purple swirl of her own berry medley smoothie. That he should react thusly was, of course, entirely predictable to Courtney, and though she expected it, she could do nothing to prevent it. Refraining from informing him about the other day's events was not an option as the relentless man quite excelled at reading her, at least when it came to matters regarding a certain red-head. Whether sooner or later, Tabitha would have pried the details from her eventually. At least this way she has saved herself some headache and embarrassment. In the silence that falls between them, she finds her mind wandering, imagining what the conversation would be like if she found herself sitting in a booth across from Maxie instead of Tabitha. What kind of smoothie would he order? One containing apple. . . or ginger. Tart, or spicy. As she sucks on the straw of her own sweet smoothie, she calculates a high probability he would dislike it. Even the chocolate Maxie consumes is bitter, nothing like the confectionary desert in the form most people enjoy.
Sweetness and bitterness…will the flavors clash, or compliment?
"Well, Courtney?" Tabitha prompts. "Shall I have to drag the rest of the story out of you?"
Her teeth unconsciously grind together, and the action, apparently, does not go unnoticed by the older admin. His teasing smirk fades from his face, replaced by an expression not dissimilar to the one he wore when she was sick last week.
"Courtney, did something else happen?"
Concern. . . that is. . . concern. Worry. Is that why there is… this clenched knot in my abdomen, and tightness in my chest? The differential for causes of chest tightness include, but are not limited to: gastroesophageal reflux disease, myocardial infarction, pulmonary embolism, angina, anxiety or panic attack. Her mind feels like it is racing even faster than its usual warp speed, like leafing through the pages of a book so fast the words blur into meaninglessness. She is unsure why she feels this way, which lack of clarity only agitates and unnerves her further.
"Courtney." He has lowered the pitch and volume of his voice, she notes.
"No one. . ." She begins, and then trails off, tracing her pointer finger around the rim of her glass as she waits for diction and syntax to catch up to what her mind desires to say. "Date. No one has ever invited me on a date."
Tabitha smiles. Is he. . . making light of this? However, her doubt is replaced by understanding as he says, "Me neither."
Expressing empathy.
"Fortunately for you," he continues, "what I lack in firsthand experience, I amply supplement by textbook knowledge."
An eyebrow raise. "There is such a thing as 'love textbooks'?"
His red eyes crinkle at the corners as he chuckles deeply and responds, "Oh, Courtney, you naive little bird. You have much to learn."
At the gym, the two of them part ways for an hour and a half as Tabitha makes a beeline for the weight room while she splits her time between yoga and indoor cycling. For Courtney, exercise has always been a much welcomed and effective method of vacating her headspace, even if only for a moment. Yet today, no matter how she fights during her meditations and yoga poses, she cannot escape that mental prison full of thoughts, of worries. She tries distracting herself by playing a little game, thinking of the name of a molecule and then drawing its corresponding molecular structure in her mind from memory. But when her subconscious supplies molecules such as serotonin and oxytocin and dopamine, her thoughts cannot help but be tripped up and fall straight into the arms of Maxie.
Though she would never admit this, not even to Tabitha, she had been enamored with the leader of Team Magma since she met him. His grand, lofty ideals and visions for Hoenn swept her mind off its feet, but her heart. . . She is less sure when that happened. Like a Pokemon with a mega stone reacting to its trainer's band, something in Courtney… resonates every time she is around him, and that mortifies her. She always permitted herself indulgences, allowing herself to dream, to imagine what it would be like should Maxie one day notice her the way she saw him, but if she did engage in such dreams it was only because she was calculably certain they would never come true.
Never had she known her math to be wrong… until now. She does not know what frightens her more, the heretofore untenable consideration that her mind could err, or that her heart could be right. Part of her, in truth, resented that her wonderful mind could be overpowered by mere infatuation with a man, while Maxie seemed to remain calm and in control.
Calm?
Memories of him raising his voice, of him flushing, of him expressing his affection flitter clearly across her thoughts. Perhaps it is not only me. . . The sea of emotion washes over the land of the mind, eroding all familiar landmarks. Probability, expectation, foresight—these tools aid her in navigating her everyday life, but now they seem to be failing. And she is left in the dark.
Courtney sighs as she changes back out of her gym clothes and finishes pulling her sweatshirt over her head. The date is tomorrow, and for the first time in her life, she feels woefully unprepared. Making her way back to the lobby to rendezvous with Tabitha, paying more attention to the audiobook droning on in her headphones than to her surroundings, she groans as she bumps into something. In her surprise, her phone clatters from her hands, and as she bends to retrieve it, she freezes.
Rooibos tea. . .
"Leader M-Maxie?" She dares not look up to confirm or deny her suspicions.
Fingers brush hers as their hands reach her phone at the same time. She recognizes those hands anywhere. Long fingers, a jagged scar on the back of his left hand, calloused palms. It cannot be anyone other than him.
"Hello, Courtney."
Picking up her phone, he straightens to his full height, and she does the same as he hands it back to her. Hands. . . so warm.
"Here why?" Her face flushes as she realizes the perfectly constructed sentence in her mind did not come out that way. As a New Year's resolution she and Tabitha came here every Saturday morning, without fail, and not once had she seen Maxie all year. Did Tabitha. . .?
"Making up for the days I missed last week due to meetings."
Oh. Before she can say anything else, Tabitha enters the lobby, looking between the two of them with an amused expression on his face. Courtney pulls her hands inside the sleeves of her red sweatshirt and begins picking at the fraying threads there. She does this so often that she has almost worn a hole in the right sleeve.
Her heart seems to temporarily stop (Momentary asystole can be induced by administration of adenosine for the treatment of some arrhythmias.) when Maxie walks past her, pausing to lean down and whisper in her ear, "Save your blushes for tomorrow."
She turns around to catch his expression, but he has already resumed walking and is out the door as though nothing at all happened. Involuntarily, she shivers as she wonders what in Arceus' name she has gotten herself into.
"Tabitha," she begins as the two of them exit the gym, "you are a male."
A sarcastic snort. "Has Leader Maxie truly reduced your mind to such a hopeless mess in all of two minutes?"
She huffs. "Explain. . . why is the vasodilation of facial blood vessels a desirable quality to him?"
"Oh, boy." Tabitha rubs his head, though without ruffling any of his well-kept chestnut hair. "How should I put this. Sometimes inexperienced little boys on the playground pull little girls' hair to elicit a rise from them. Men enjoy when women blush or become flustered in response to their words or actions because it visually reveals your feelings, even if you do not say them. Think of it as a giveaway, a tell."
Courtney hums, twirling the cord of her earphones which she has since taken out of her ears between her fingers. "Knowledge. . . begets power," she muses, more to herself than the admin.
Romance. . . like chess, like dance. How interesting. I must. . .analyze.
"Courtney," Tabitha warns, "Your dinner tomorrow is a date, not a battle of wits. I can see you machinating how to win this, but the purpose of a date is not to win. It's to enjoy yourself. Now let me help you choose your attire for tomorrow, you hopeless woman."
Not to win? But if I lose. . .will I forfeit Maxie?
The closer the hands on her watch face inch to four o'clock, the tighter the invisible Pinser that have her abdomen and chest in a vice grip seem to squeeze. She attempts to distract herself all day by typing up reports that would be due next week and getting ahead on her research, but now that the time is down to the wire, she cannot focus on the words on the computer screen in front of her. Everything in Lilycove is within walking distance, so Maxie is going to pick her up at her door, and they are going to walk together. She would be side by side with him again, just like the day they shared an umbrella. Only, it would not be just like that day, because he had kissed her. The implications of such an action she has yet to fully discern, but she does know that every time she looks at him now, all she can see is that day, the way his body pressed into hers and his strong arms encircled her waist.
She closes her eyes for a moment to regain her composure before walking into her bathroom for the third time in half an hour to look in the mirror. She has never cared much for appearances, but now, wearing the outfit Tabitha suggested for her, she cannot help but feel self-conscious. Tabitha picked it to draw attention to her and "accentuate your best features," while to be noticed is the last thing she wants. She has always felt uncomfortable having others' eyes on her.
He selected a soft, pastel pink sweater, one that still hung in the back of her closet with the tag on it (a Christmas gift from her sister one year that she simply forgot to return) covered by a beige blazer. The lagged piece she actually wears from time to time, as evinced by the fraying threads inside the sleeves. Completing Tabitha's chosen outfit is a tiered white skirt with pink floral patterns sprawling across it and boots matching the color of the blazer.
"He will be expecting you to wear red," Tabitha said when she inevitably gave him a questioning look. "I have put the element of surprise at your disposal. Use it well."
A blank look on her face, Courtney peruses the details of her bathroom to distract her mind as the minutes to Maxie's arrival tick down. Blue toothpaste stains in the sink, particles and smudges from her makeup on the countertop, a full hamper and a closet shelf empty save one clean towel. Perhaps. . . I should have spent free time. . .cleaning.
Courtney places a hand over her heart to still its anxious beating as she hears the shrill buzz of her doorbell. Is this all. . .a mistake?
She leaves her bedroom and makes her way down the hall to the front of the apartment with deliberate steps. The dynamic of our relationship will shift. . . the moment I open this door.
Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, as she does during yoga, she hesitates with her hand on the lock. What if it is better for life to remain the same, so that I know. . . what to expect?
Change. That is what she and Maxie, what all of Team Magma, seeks to do together, to change the world. Yet now that it is here waiting for her at her very doorstep, she is reluctant to accept it.
Courtney unlatches and opens the door, and finds herself gazing into slate grey eyes. Examining the rest of the man, her eyes widen in surprise when she sees what he is wearing—a deep, forest green turtleneck, black pants, and a long, leather overcoat. Not a drop of red. . . save his hair. It is as if he is someone else entirely.
"You look lovely, Courtney." His voice, like magma warming her insides even in the chill of late November.
She tries to hide a smile, but then wonders, should she? Tabitha said men enjoy visual revelations of a woman's feelings, so perhaps she should not? Oh, she is hopelessly confused. No wonder. . . there needs to be such a silly thing as love textbooks when dates are confounded by so many murky, contradictory. . . expectations!
"Handsome. You."
He chuckles easily as she steps outside and faces away from him to lock the door and escape her embarrassment. When she is finished, he offers her his arm, and she stares thoughtfully at it for the briefest of moments before looping hers through it. They walk in amicable silence, as, even with the thousands of thoughts flying through her mind, Courtney for the first time can think of nothing to say. None of them seem adequate. But there is one that piques her interest, however.
"How long?" She says, her other hand instinctively rising to touch her lip. "How long have you known? Wanted to…?"
He stops walking, and she gazes up at him expectantly. "Courtney. . ." There is something in the undercurrents of his tone, but she cannot read it, cannot place it. Emotion is such a foreign language to her. Again she wonders if a shift in the parameters of their relationship is a mistake. Does someone who cannot swim have any business being in the ocean?
"That is not a traditional question for a first date," he replies at last.
She casts her eyes down at the cobblestone path on which they stand. It has been. . . 6 minutes 23 seconds, and. . . I have already made a misstep.
"I am sorry," she says mechanically, still keeping her eyes trained on the stones. The pattern and size of the stones do not exhibit any uniform pattern. The stones near the center of the path appear more worn than those closer to the edges leading off into the grass. Ah, that is right. People tend to walk in the middle of the road, following the well-marked out path. Curse. . .life and all its expectations!
Courtney cannot keep the crestfallen look from her face as Maxie withdraws her arm from his and turns to face her directly. She finds something else to busy herself with, now focusing on the sun beginning its golden descent over the water down by the docks at the far end of the city. There are a few cumulus clouds in the sky, but otherwise clear. The wind speed is blowing gently in a northeastern direction—
Fingers are underneath her chin, lifting her face up to drown in those eyes as grey as a perpetually rainy day. Courtney loves rainy days.
"Courtney," he starts, and, her mind running rampant with possibilities, she turns her face away, scarce able to stand what he could say. Grasping her chin in his hand, he gently turns her attention back to him and continues, "It occurs to me that neither of us are well-suited to a traditional date."
Does. . . this mean. . .? "No," she protests, "I can do it. I can sit in a crowded room. . . surrounded by people, by strangers"—she becomes so worked up she begins to hiccup—"all those people… I can sit there, with you, and discuss insipid topics such as the weather, and Pokemon contest standings, and…" She cannot even think of what else it is "normal," people discuss during their days.
He sweeps a lock of her lavender hair away from her face. If he is being. . . this gentle it must mean. . . he wishes to restore our relationship to its previous parameters without damaging our professional relationship.
His next question surprises her, however. "Answer me truthfully. Do you even like seafood?"
The restaurant he made reservations at is the best in Lilycove, the Wailmer's Tail.
"I. . ." She sighs. She cannot lie to Leader Maxie. "I like curry."
To her surprise, a rare grin crosses his face. "Courtney, would you be amenable to accompanying me to my home for a meal and a game of chess?"
As the pent-up worry and breath she did not know she was holding flow out of her body, her lips curve into a little smile. "On the condition that if I win. . . you answer my question."
He offers her his arm again as a devious smirk flashes across his face. "This shall make for a much more engrossing first date."
She walks happily along with him in a new direction, now absorbed in her own thoughts. Expectations. . . hinder and cause undue anxiety. The reality is much better. . .when I unfetter it from the expectations I placed upon it.