A/N: Thank you all very much for your support! I'm very happy you guys seem to be enjoying it so far. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokémon.
Basket
Part II
life makes up for lost dreams in unexpected ways, and third chances are a rare gift
Paul
He finds her. There's relief, first, but it disappears just as quickly when he takes in her appearance.
Her body is curled in on itself, her face an icy white, covered in small ice particles, and her clothes and hair are frozen in position.
Her eyes are closed, and she's completely still.
Fear claws in his throat, and he wants to run and hide and disappear because he can't handle it, not again- But he forces it down, forces himself to be calm, and sits down next the blue and white girl.
His cheek is brought close to her mouth, and he waits, prays, until a whisper of a breath is felt, and again, and again.
His relief is immense, but pushed away quickly, because it isn't over yet.
Paul springs up and gets to work.
He won't let it happen again.
He does everything he can think of to get her warm again. But, it can't go too fast, he knows that. If she warms up too fast, too quickly exposed to heat, then the veins in her skin will dilate too fast and her blood pressure will drop too fast.
Then she'll die anyway.
But he's no doctor and he doesn't know what the best way to help her is. There's no way to contact the outside world, it's just him and her and what they have here. So, he gets out his Pokémon, heals her Pokémon, gets a fire burning, removes her frozen clothes and puts her in his sleeping bag, melts snow to water and warms that for himself and whenever she wakes up, but what if she doesn't wake up-
He bans the thought immediately. He can't afford to think like that. When he crawls in the sleeping bag, next to her and almost unclothed, he hopes that the rumor of sharing body warmth holds some truth to it.
Though, to be honest, she doesn't share much.
He can't sleep. She's too cold, and he has nothing to distract him, and he's scared.
Even her breath is cold. An outrageous idea comes to mind, but… he has to do something, something else than just lying here and hugging her frozen body.
So, he turns her head to him, and waits until she needs to breathe in again, and then places his lips around her, breathing his own warm air in her lungs.
He pauses a breath, and then repeats the motion.
He doesn't know if it helps, but he continues until exhaustion takes over.
He talks to her. Mostly her name, and sentences that once were hopeful but have lost their meaning over so many repetitions. He keeps doing it, even though his voice is getting hoarse and the words are mere sounds stringed together now, even though he doubts she'll hear him.
He hopes she hears him, that it gives her a thread of reality to hold onto, that it gives her hope, but he doubts it.
He tries to stay strong. To hope, to keep helping her, to not give up. But hours upon hours pass, and the doubt is growing, and it's been too long, too long, he knows it's been too long. She hasn't woken up once, she's still so cold, and she's still breathing, but he's afraid it's not enough, it's too little, too late, just like-
"Dawn, Dawn, please don't die, please don't-" His voice breaks, the suppressed memory overwhelming him. There's yelling, yelling and crying. A man and a woman. He's running down the stairs-
No, he's not, he's not running, he's in a cave in the mountains with Dawn and their Pokémon. He only hears the breathing of himself and the Pokémon, and the crackling fire, and the wind outside. There's no crying, there's no yelling, it's over-
He stares at the girl in his arms, her eyes closed, her breathing quiet, her skin pale, though no longer covered with the white pieces of ice.
She's almost dead. She's almost dead. His memory provides him with the crazed, slurred laugh. Stupid boy, you honestly thought you could protect her? You're just a boy, a stupid weak boy, weak, weak. The man laughs. No son of mine is that weak. You're a failure, a failure, a stupid weak failure… More laughing-
There's no laughing, only crying, his own crying, hot tears on his cold cheeks, as he clutches to the cold woman. There's no red and purple, no blood mixing with long strands of hair, no man laughing and taunting-
His brother had told him to stay upstairs and to keep quiet and hidden. But he doesn't, he's running down the stairs, he's going to help.
"Mom, Mom, Mom!" His own voice, high-pitched and defiant. "Leave her alone! Mom, I'll protect you!" His fists, balled tight and held up in front of him, his legs wide and steady. He thinks of Reggie momentarily, hoping that he will hurry up with getting help-
She shrieks for him to get away, but he doesn't, because he'll protect her and he won't give up. The man takes a swing, and the floor and ceiling switch places as he hits the wall.
He sees the man, his raised arm, the clenched fist with the clear bottle, the bit of water-like liquid in it moving as the bottle comes closer so incredibly fast-
And then a flash of purple, a yell of "No, Paul!" and he closes his eyes, hears the bang, the cry, the shattering, the thud, the laughing.
An instant later, he opens his eyes and sees the red, the blood, and his knees and hands hurt when he crawls over, through the glass, to-
No, no, no, that's not true. There's no glass, there's no blood, there's a sleeping bag and Dawn looks as bloodless as ever. It's a memory, not happening right now, not reality, just a memory.
His vision is blurred, and he wipes his cheeks dry, annoyed at himself. The woman in his arms is still as motionless as ever as she's pressed to his chest.
"I failed," he whispers, though he doesn't know why he tells her. She can't hear him anyway. "I tried to protect her, I tried… I couldn't, I was not strong enough, I couldn't save her-" The words are rushing out, like a waterfall. "I tried, Mom, Mom, I tried to save her, I tried to save my mother, but there was so much blood, and he was just laughing, and I couldn't, I was too weak, I was too weak, I couldn't, I can't-"
He's crying again.
"You can't die, Dawn, I can't fail you, I can't, please, please stay alive-" He stops himself, tries to regain control again, pushes the tears back and angrily wipes away the ones on his face.
He looks at Dawn again, and her eyes are open.
He stares at her for a moment, frozen, at her big blue eyes. Another chance. It isn't over yet, he can save her, he can-
He jumps up, hurrying over to the warm sugared water, and he vows that he will save her.
She sleeps a lot, still. He doesn't, though it gets better the more she wakes. She doesn't seem very cognizant, then, but she drinks his improvised soup and that's enough for now.
But still, his sleep is light, short and restless.
He wakes instantly when he hears a sound coming from her. He knows it's from her, he feels it, and for some reason he thinks it's his name.
"Dawn." He gets up straight away, the cold air biting in his bare skin, and his clothes are put on in record time. He hurries over to the fire, grabs the hot water and throws in some sugar, then falls on his knees next to her, a spoon ready as he has done so often now.
She needs to eat as much of it as possible in the short time she's awake, but-
"No." Her voice is hoarse, and her eyes blink up at him, constantly trying to focus.
"M not thirsty," she says. He waits in silence, and just when he thinks of saying something, she continues. "I need to pee."
He's too relieved that she's talking again to think about the awkwardness. She's barely able to walk, violently shivering, and he wraps her in a blanket and holds her upper arms to support her.
"It's good that you're shivering," he says. He's so used to talking to her, now. "It means that your body is fighting back again, that it has the energy to do that again."
When she's back in the sleeping bag, he gives her more of the sugar water. "The water is to keep you hydrated, the sugar is to give your body energy, and it's hot so that your core body temperature will rise."
She eats it, spoon after spoon, her eyes on him, though he has the idea that she's not really seeing him. Still, he does not look away.
After the second bowl, he puts it away, and looks at Dawn in the sleeping bag, still wide-awake and following him with her eyes. He hesitates, but it's stupid to continue standing here in the cold and he's tired, too, so he shrugs out of his clothes, before joining Dawn in the sleeping bag.
He doesn't have the energy or the motivation to think about any awkwardness, and actually, he doesn't feel it anyway. Dawn is still looking at him. He wonders if he should say something.
"I'm not sleepy." She saves him from having to start a conversation.
"That's good," he says. He momentarily thinks about leaving the exchange at that, before dismissing the thought. "You were almost dead."
"I know."
He wonders how she knows that. How do you know when you're dying? How does dying feel?
"I wanted to die, then." Her voice pulls him back to the conversation with a shock.
"Why?" he asks, and when her choice of words register, he follows it up with, "Only then?"
He feels her nodding, and then there are suddenly her cold hands on his cheeks. They were already in an intimate position, both on their sides, their whole bodies touching, faces turned to each other, but somehow that little gesture makes him finally aware of it.
"Only then," she says. "As for why…" She's silent, thinking. "It was easier, I think. It hurt, and I was alone, and everything that once seemed to matter was gone."
He feels both relief and fear, and he keeps his eyes on her.
"What changed?" he asks.
A smile appears on her face. "You. You were there."
What? He- he doesn't understand. Surely she didn't mean that? Was she talking about him?
"You…" She stops his thoughts, and his eyes focus on her again. He waits as she collects her thoughts, waits with increasingly expectance in his stomach, because he can't – doesn't want to, is too afraid to – believe that she's really saying what he thinks she's saying.
"You were crying. You… were begging for me to stay alive."
Surprisingly, he doesn't feel ashamed or embarrassed. Maybe that's because of Dawn, because of her soft voice, and the look of sympathy in her eyes, the… adoration? Acceptance? He isn't sure what emotion it is, can't pinpoint it, until suddenly a word he doesn't dare to believe comes to mind.
Love?
Warmth spreads through his chest, and everything suddenly seems perfect. He had saved her. And…
"Dawn…." he whispers, even though he isn't quite sure what he wants to say. There are so many things he's feeling right now, and he doesn't know how to put into words, and perhaps this moment doesn't need words anyway. He puts a hand on her cheek.
If possible, her expression gets even more loving – love, it's really love, he thinks.
"Paul," she says, and then she kisses him.
He silently vows that he'll love her, protect her and make her happy for however long he'll live.
She doesn't want to leave the cave, he can see that.
He doesn't, either.
They leave anyway.
Behind him, he can hear her sharp intake of breath, and her hold around him tightens, before she suddenly lets go of him completely.
Worry raises in him immediately. "Dawn?"
There's a beat of silence, then-
"Kenny."
He tenses, the implications of that name shattering whatever fragile peace he had found these last few days. He pushes his feelings down, keeps his face blank- There's acidly jealousy, burning longing, a wave of shame and guilt, and a momentary irrational thought of what if he just turned around and took her with him?
But, no, he decides. The feelings are forgotten, the thought dismissed, and so he just nods. He understands. It would always be like this, and it was stupid of him to think it would be ever any different for him.
She deserves better, after all.
He's sure the heavy feeling in his stomach will disappear soon.
It doesn't take long before he hears from her again. He's invited for dinner, she tells him over the phone, and that's all she says.
The dinner itself is an awkward affair. He does not care much for socializing, and her mother fills up most of the silence. Dawn won't meet his eyes.
He finds out why later in the evening.
He ignores the increasing weight in his chest, but instead just congratulates her when she shows him the ring.
She still doesn't meet his eyes. He doesn't try to catch hers anymore.
He gets the invitation to the wedding a few days later. He doesn't go.
Because, just because he thinks it's better this way, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
He always ignores the magazines with her face on it. He walks past the stands with newspapers at a brisk pace, nodding at the man selling them, but never looking further than the black and grey of the plain papers.
Though, sometimes he can't help himself, and he catches a flash of blue, or her bright smile.
And, one day, the big bolded letters splattered just below her face catch his attention. He stops, a fraction of a moment, and wants to force himself to look ahead again and to continue walking, as he always does, but he's drawn back.
He turns around, back to the stand, and takes the magazine from the stand. She's smiling, brightly, blue eyes shining. The brown-haired Coordinator – Kenny, he knows it's Kenny, he knows that very well – is standing next to her, beaming, an arm around her waist. They're holding a small bundle.
A baby.
She's happy, he decides. He really ought to let go.
He buys the magazine. And that, he vows, is the last thing he'll do for her. The magazine is put away, in a box with the wedding invitation and a forgotten scarf of hers, put away to collect dust for the rest of its years.
He never reads the article.
The crowd is cheering, and then he thinks of her. It's been years since he has done so, but as Torterra is still standing, the opponent's Pokémon fainted to the floor, the crowd cheering, the announcer's voice booming- he thinks it would've been nice if she had been here, if she had been happy for him.
But she is happy, he reminds himself, and as the announcer goes wild with yelling about the new Champion of Sinnoh and Torterra is roaring in victory, he finds that he's happy as well.
She does it again.
His world shatters and is put together again, in mere moments, in a few words, an unexpected realization-
She did that, the first time, back in the mountains, in the cave. She broke through, destroyed his world, and then rearranged the pieces until his world was shining with perfection, radiating just like she did. It didn't last, because on the way back, she spoke a name, not his name, and his world broke again, only this time he had to put it together by himself.
And now, she isn't even here and she still manages to do it. The pieces are rearranged and the picture that comes forth is both incredibly terrifying and undeniably wonderful.
He decides to go with undeniably wonderful, and he vows he won't let this chance goes to waste.
He smiles at the blue-haired, dark-eyed boy in front of him.
A/N: Thank you for reading! So… what do you think about this? Like I said, this is pretty much an experiment for me, and I've read this chapter so many times I've lost my objectivity (if I ever had that in the first place :P). The last chapter will be up in a week. Any comments are very appreciated :D
Thank you!