This was mostly written during the Superbowl. Superbowl commercials were mostly disappointing this year. Game was pretty good though, with that last minute win...
Guess who was sick? Me! Guess who else gets to be sick?
Misty: Why are looking at me like that? (handed today's script) Son of a–
Being sick sucks.

The 'bathroom scene' in this (you'll know it when you see it) is spurred from a one liner in a comedy routine I saw. Basically, the toilet says "Get over here and pray to me bitch". You'll get it later. I just can't take credit for all of it.

AAML

I don't know why I even came to Ash's house. I knew I wasn't doing too well. I didn't get sick that often. I barely knew how to look for the signs. Unless I was throwing up, my brain would automatically deny my sickness. No, I couldn't be sick. I was impervious to all sicknesses. Never mind the world swirling if I walked too fast of stood for more than sixty seconds. Never mind the fact that my stomach turned over at the thought of anything food related. Never mind the fact that my face was pale and green when I woke up that morning, and I had literally drenched my face in makeup to hide it. Misty Waterflower did not get sick.

…Except maybe this one time.

It was late at night. I was practically dancing with joy as I raced up the stairs. I knew I had just felt a little off! I wasn't sick! Doctor? I don't need no stinkin' doctor! I didn't need medicine or shots or anything! I was perfectly fine! I was practically giddy. This, after careful consideration, is probably a side effect of the fever I had been taming with six blankets, a pair of sweatpants, and twenty (gave or take) layers of sweaters. You'd figure one of the darling Ketchums or any of our friends would've noticed this, but nope! They really didn't seem to care. Funny though…I could barely remember anything that had happened all night.

"Misty?" A hand on my shoulder.

I turned, then inwardly smacked myself. Too fast, too fast! The world gave a spin. Half of me deliriously thought 'wow, look at the pretty colors' while the other half screamed 'oh, I'm gonna be sick'. I grabbed the rail to brace myself and looked down at Ash dizzyingly. He was a few stairs down. I wondered how tall he would be if we were both standing. I'd spent the entire night crashed on the couch, so I couldn't tell. "Hey, Ash."

"You okay?"

"'m t'rrific, Ash," I slurred. I swallowed. My tongue was heavy with sickness and my eyes wanted to slide down and my legs wanted to bend and collapse onto the staircase to fall asleep, but I managed to stand. "'m just tired is all."

"Misty, you're in pants. Why are you in pants?"

"Well, y'don't wan' me naked, do ya?" I giggled. He flushed. My giggles grew. "Whatchya thinkin' 'bout that you're all red, huh, Ashy? Are ya thinkin' bad thoughts?" I was practically crippled with giggles that led to a sore throat, a headache and a bout of nauseous displeasure. Ash raised an eyebrow at me. My giggles stopped. What if I had done something wrong? Had I blown my cover? Did he know I was sick?

"Ashy?" He blinked. "You don't call me Ashy. You call me Ashley but never Ashy."

"I meant Ashley," I said a swallow accompanying my solemn voice. "You know what?" My voice leaped up an octave. It was high, very female, and I practically sounded drunk. "Go 'way. I dun wanna talk to you. I hate you. Boys are stupid. No, a lotta boys are okay. You're stupid. You know what? You know what? You…you know what?" I paused and swallowed again, collapsing on the stairs, my arms coming above my head and gripping the railing. "I forgot what. Go 'way."

"…I'll…" He tried to think of what to say. "Misty, if you need me, I'll be in my room. You'll come to me if there's anything wrong. If you're feeling bad or upset or if something bad has happened...or you're sick again and you think you'll get away with it." His eyes narrowed at the last statement. My body lurched in surprise, but I forgot to let go of the railing in my delusion, and was yanked violently back to my previous position. Ash's eyes opened again. His mouth twitched in a smile and he slammed a hand over his mouth at my completely baffled face. I wasn't exactly sure what had just happened to me. It took me three minutes to figure it out. "You okay?"

"…Woah…" I gasped, mouth dropping open. "What was that?"

Ash's eyes gleamed. "That was a gremlin."

My eyes were sure to be dancing with childish delight. My hands slipped from the railing and I leaned forward. "A gremlin? You've got gremlins in your house? Woah, Ash! That's sooooo cool! That's just amazing! Tell me about those gremlins!"

"I'll tell you about the gremlins if you come with me and see Brock," Ash said slyly. "Brock can give you a quick look over and I'll tell you all about how we got the gremlins in our house. It's a really cool story. It's got a lot of action and blood and guts and even romance in it. Won't that be cool? And all you have to do is let Brock look you over to make sure everything is okay. The worst that'll happen is you get some Advil."

My subconscious hatred shot back up. I had always been angered at the thought of the doctor or therefore medicine of any sort. I didn't like shots. I hated them. It wasn't the initial pain of the shot. I didn't care about a needle going into my skin. I used to sew. Needless to say, I grew used to getting stabbed by needles. It was just the fact that they sat me on a table, said 'sit still and relaxed' then began cleaning a needle in front of me. They expected me to sit still and wait to be injured. What person in their right mind does that? I don't want to wait to be injured. In fact, I hit people. I don't want to, but I do. So they give me a pill so I can't move and then give me a shot. They say they give it to everyone. I know they're lying. With general medicine...I don't like the drugs that make me loopy. You know...admitting a secret crush under the influence would be pretty awkward. "No!"

"Aw, come on Misty," Ash said, trying to pull me by my hand. "Don't you wanna hear the story?"

"No!" I said, half screaming, half wailing. My head thunked heavily against the carpeted stairs. I lay there for a while, listening to Ash's exasperated sigh as he walked away. I felt triumphant. My ego practically skyrocketed. I stumbled to my feet and went the rest of the way up the stairs, laughing as if I'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. I spun by the bathroom, door open wide, and the giggling stopped.

And the toilet spoke to me. Hello, It said sweetly.

"Nuh-uh, 'm not sick," I said, my spirits drooping. "I'm fine. I'm terrific. Look, I c'n dance." I did a little jig to prove it, then clung to the doorframe weakly. "Maybe I can't." I doubled over with a moan as my stomach gave a sickening lurch. I looked up at the toilet.

In my deliriously ill mind the water sloshed tauntingly and lid bounced up and down as it spoke to me once again, teasing, mocking me in my condition. It was at this moment that I swore hatred and war upon the toilet in Ash's upstairs bathroom. Oh, the sink and the shower could live, they were nice enough and supported me in my sickness, but that toilet...Sure, sure, you're not sick. How 'bout you come over here and be a little anorexic then.

Oh, come on, The shower said, curtains flapping. The world was warping. I didn't feel so good. Leave the poor kid alone. She doesn't look like she's feeling so hot. Maybe she'd feel better with a nice, hot shower? You're cold, aren't ya kid?

"Yeah, 'm real cold," I gasped in realization. I dropped by the shower and turned it on, turning it up as hot as it would go.

Yeah, Jack, The sink snapped. Jack was the name of the toilet, I think. See this conversation that's going on in my mind? Yeah, this is why I'm never getting drunk. I'd hate to be doing this in a public place. Kid, why don't you come over in my direction and wash your hand in hot water. The sweet smelling soap will take away your nauseous feelings. Not just that, you'll get rid of the germs on your hands that might be causing you to be sick.

"Tha's a grrrrreat idea!" I nodded eagerly. I went to the sink, turning on the water, and shoved my hands under it. I began to wash my hands.

Listen, Misty, I always win. Why don't you come over here and bow down? Jack told me again.

"No! I don't even have to throw up anymore!" I snickered. I finished rising my hands and brought them up to my face. I smelled them, and suddenly the toilet's taunting made a lot more sense now. My stomach lurched one or two times. "I won't throw up, I won't throw up. I don't even have anything to throw up. Except the fish I had for…oh," I moaned in despair as the fish popped up in my mind. I shut the door, stumbled over to my new worst enemy Jack, and prayed before the porcelain god.

"Misty, you okay in there?" Came the quiet knock at the door.

Of course I was okay. Why wouldn't I be? I had just thrown up more than I ever had before. I rinsed out my mouth. Began to deliriously take off my clothes to get into the shower, came down from my delirium (instant gratification of vomiting, you feel instantly better) and fell fast asleep on the floor of Ash's bathroom. I'd woken up once or twice again to worship my white, oval enemy before repeating the mouth rinsing process and falling asleep. Now, imagine the blackmail anyone would have on me at this point. Even without the talking toilets, Ash had already seen the earliest faze of my delirium. I've been throwing up and sleeping. The shower is running. To top it all of, I'm wearing nothing but underwear and sprawled on a peach bathroom carpet that is about one and a half feet by one and a half feet.

"Huh? Ash?" I asked, raising my head from my slumber.

"Yeah, uh, Misty, you okay?" Ash asked from the other side. "You've been locked up in that bathroom for over an hour now. I know you don't do make up, but even if you were putting it on you never hang out in the bathroom that long. The shower's been running. I was kinda wondering if you had slipped and drowned or something. The water's got to be cold by now. Weren't you cold earlier today? Would a shower really be a great idea?"

"Uh…okay," I said, not really understanding what was going on.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure," I shrugged. It took a second for me to realize my mistake as the handle began to turn. "Wait! No! Don't! I'm naked! Don't come in! Ash, stay out! I'm naked!" The handle stopped turning and the door snapped closed. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thank Mew for video games. The boy had some fast reflexes. "I'll…I was going to take a shower but I fell asleep. Give me a second to put my clothes back on."

"Misty?"

"Yes, Ash?" I said with exaggerated impatience.

"You're stuttering. Are you shaking?" He asked. I paused and looked down. It turned out, I was shaking. My teeth were chattering. I was freezing. I began to pull on my clothes quicker. "You are, aren't you? Misty! Have you been throwing up? Ugh, I bet you have! Do you have to do this every time you're sick? For the last time, you're going to kill yourself if you don't let us take care of you! Four years and three times getting sick, including this time, isn't that bad of a track record. You've got to have an awesome imm…um, emu…immune system! Get out so we can heal you up, okay? It's like the pokémon center."

"I'm not sick!" I denied.

"Misty," He growled. "You got your clothes on? Because if you don't, I'm coming in on the count of five. One…two…three…" I scrambled up to the door and locked it before dropping away. "Misty, did…did you just lock the door?"

I felt guilty, the kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. My voice was awkward to my own ears, "Uh…no?" I paused, then got angry. "Why am I acting like I did something wrong? Yeah! I did! I locked the door! What are you going to do about it? It doesn't even matter that I've got my clothes on. I'm fully dressed and you can't get ih-in," I sang, beginning to jump up and down and dancing. "I'm fully dressed and you can't get ih-in! I'm fully dressed and-oh, headache." My hand went to my head and I stumbled around weakly. I heard the sink turn on, and my initial reaction was to gasp. No, sadly, I didn't realize it was Ash. I just thought the bathroom was going to start talking to me again.

"You need a hot towel?"

"Jack?" I inquired weakly.

"No, Ash," He said, grinning smartly. He tugged my hand away from my face and lifted my chin to look into my eyes. "Well, from what I've learned from Brock in the past four years I'd deduce that you're sick. Your eyes are glazed, your face is pale, you appear to be delirious and your teeth are chattering, which may be a sign of a fever." A hand on my forehead. "Yeah, I think you've got a fever. My hand's hot now."

"Well, maybe your hand's just hot 'cause you got a fever, huh?" I retorted weakly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not sick. You can't get me anywhere. You can't, Ash." My voice was high again. "I'm not going to the doctor or anything. I hate the stupid doctor and I hate stupid medicine because it tastes nasty and every time I take a pill I end up throwing up or I can't get it down and it gets stuck in my throat and comes back up and the sugar shield around it melts and the nasty throw up inducing taste comes out and I want to upchuck but I can't and it sucks so I'm just going to stay right here and you can't change that!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!" I shouted. My hands flashed to my head. "Headache. Hey! What are you doing? Oh no you don't! You better not!" His arms wrapped around my waist and threw me up over his shoulder, snickering all the while. "You're not strong enough to do this!"

"I dunno, I think I can. You're pretty scrawny," He teased, carrying me out the door. Pikachu was hot on his heels, grinning up at me. Evil little mouse always knew what was going on. I hissed at it. It made Ash double take over his shoulder, hissing can do that to a guy. "Did you just hiss at Pikachu? Mew, Misty, you really must be pretty sick to do that." He laughed. I found that infuriating. I hated him with a passion.

"Lemme go."

"Brock!"

"No! Don't call Brock! Please, don't call Brock. Don't, don't, don'tdon'tDON'T! Ooh! I hate you!" I squealed with outrage as he kicked the door to Brock's room. "You're going to get in trouble for scuffing the door, Ash."

"No I'm not," he snorted. "It's my house." The door opened to reveal a surprised guardian. "Brock, Misty's sick again. She says she's fine, but she just hissed at Pikachu. I think she threw up in the bathroom too."

"Misty," Brock asked as Ash set me down. "Is this true?"

"It's lies!" I shouted violently. "All lies! Oh, ow, my head. Ow. Shouldn't have yelled. Note to self: Be less loud in denial." Brock was leading me into the room then, smirking and shaking his head. "You think I'm sick, but I'm not. I'm actually fine. In fact, I'm better than fine, I'm great! I'm grrrreat like Frosted Flakes," I gave a dazed giggle then shook my head. "Wait! No! That's not what I meant! That sounded delirious but it wasn't! It was actually just me trying to be funny. I should stop trying, I'm not very good at it. Silly me. Silly, silly me. I won't do that anymore. Promise. Now, I'm going to rush back to my bed."

"No you're not," Brock chuckled.

He lifted me up onto the bunk bed. I took it either Brock was staying with me or Ash was. I typically stayed on the sofa downstairs. It was by my own choice. I wanted a room away from the guys and I didn't mind sleeping on the sofa. It was comfy and warm and that was all I needed. Well, that and the fact that if there was danger the door was right there and she'd be the first out of the house. It was comforting in a way. But it also meant that I probably wasn't going to be getting a dose of non drowsy medication. Basically, I'd be getting a steady dose of Nyquil so Ash wouldn't have to listen to my ramblings as I slept.

"I'll have a Dayquil please," I said as charmingly as possible. "And then I'll go downstairs to my couch and watch whatever's on TV before falling asleep and dreaming of a beaching and strawberry smoothies and hot cabana boys named Raoul."

"Nice name," Ash grinned.

"Thank you, I think so."

"Advil," Brock said, shaking the bottle at me. He tossed it. I caught it. He tossed a water bottle. It hit me in the head. I fell back on the bed with a moan. "Take the Advil, Misty. Stop fooling around. Get up." Ash snickered. I felt like crying. Being sick is horrible.

"But it hit me in the head," I whimpered.

"I'm sorry," Brock sighed. His voice went harsh. "Now take the Advil. I'm going to go find some Nyquil." He dove back into his backpack and I played with the childproof lock before managing to pull it open. I pulled out an Advil. It was broken, so I put it back and got a new one out. I won't take a broken Advil. What if it doesn't work and I die? I don't take weird looking medicine. But, I did take the Advil. "Here it is."

"That's not Dayquil."

"Dayquil keep you awake," Brock laughed. The Advil was taken form my weak hands and replaced with a cup of liquid Nyquil. The stuff smelled awful, and I knew from experience it would taste worse. "You need to sleep tonight. It'll help you feel better."

"I don't wanna," I whined.

"Take it like a man," Ash said with his manliest voice (which wasn't very manly anyway. I told him so, and he stuck his tongue out at me.) "Oh, come on. I've had to take it too. It's not that bad. I'll cheer you on like it's some kind of bar competition if that helps. From your family history, you're bound to be a drunk anyway, right Misty?" he laughed, so I whacked him with a pillow. "Hey! I was just joking. You don't have to be so violent."

"Violence is the only thing that gets through to you," I retorted. Brock flicked my nose with a playful smile and pointed down to the cup. "Aw, come on, Brock! I don't want to drink this stuff. I'd rather be sick! I don't need you or anyone else taking care of me. I can fix myself. I've got nondrowsy meds in my bag. Let me go grab them. You can check to make sure they're not, you know, contaminated or anything. Just let me take my own."

"I already poured you a nice cup of Nyquil. And no, Misty, I can't pour it back in. It's not good for the rest of the bottle. I'd have to throw it all out. I'm not wasting any of my medicine. Take it. It's not the end of the world."

"Yes it is," I muttered. My head tilted way back and the medicine slid down my itchy throat nevertheless. I pulled a face and scrambled at the water bottle, ripping the tab open with my teeth when my nails failed to do the job. The cap was ripped from its happy place and I jammed the nozzle in my mouth so hard my gums ached. Alright, so I was a bit of a drama queen. I didn't need to drink half the bottle, but it's who I am.

"Ten bucks says she chokes," Ash giggled to Brock.

'"Oh, Brock. I'm not sleeping alone, am I? I sure don't want you kept up all night with my constant complaining. Besides, don't you think it's time Ashton learned how to be a parent and take care of poor, sick me?" I grinned in Ash's direction. He gulped, loudly. "Oh, I know how he loves to help people. Who better than to practice with than on me. All he has to do is make sure I don't choke on my own vomit and listen to me throw up all night."

"Gee, uh, what if I sleep through it? You know how I am Brock," Ash said, his arm going behind his head sheepishly.

"Oh, don't be silly Ash," Brock said with a hard clap to the young boy's back. I felt like giving my best evil laugh, just to freak Ash out all the more, but thought better of it. Brock might've thought I was really sick then. "You can go ahead and take care of Misty. She should be fine. Besides, not even you could sleep with the noise Misty'll manage to make. She's pretty loud when she wants to be. But maybe she'll be nice enough to keep quiet when she throws up."

"You won't hear a thing, Brock." I flashed him a thumbs up. Brock chuckled and swung his bags over his shoulder. He marched out the door, giving Ash only a quick glance to laugh and shake his head. His hand flipped the light switch off on his way out. I wondered if he knew exactly how much trouble I planned to make for the boy. I yanked the ponytail out of my hair and shook my head back and forth a few times before smiling brightly again. "I'm dizzy but I'm a-okay. Get in the top bunk Ash."

"But you might throw up on me," He wailed. "Come on, you have to go on the bottom one! I'll drag you down here if I have to."

"Oh gee Ash," I sighed, faking a yawn. "It seems the medicine is kicking in already. I just can't keep my eyes open. I guess I'll have to sleep here. Sorry. Better get to that bottom bunk." I laid down and yanked my covers high over my head. I pretended to snore. I ignored Ash's frantic screams of how his covers were now contaminated and how he knew I wasn't really sleeping (to which I replied 'of course I am, Ash') and how much he hated me. "What? I'm a water pokémon master? And Ash is in the gutters? Wow, that's terrific. I really hope I'm not asleep and this isn't just a wonderful dream. Hey, look, an all-you-can-eat dessert buffet!"

"I know you're faking!"

I sighed and sat up. "You're not getting this top bunk if I have to cough all over it. If you keep bugging me I'll cough in your face. I'll breathe on you when you're sleeping too. I know how much you hate getting sick. You can't train or anything. You want that to happen?" I smirked, then coughed and blew at his face. The boy nearly had a panic attack. "Well, do you want to get sick, huh Ash? You want me to do it again?"

"Well…no," Ash admitted reluctantly. He glared at me. "I'll get my revenge."

"Then you know what to do," I giggled. "Night, Ash. Have some sweet dreams."

"How can I if you're in here with me?" He muttered, climbing into his own bed. The covers shot up over his head as well and he began muttering incoherently, kicking and tossing and turning. It wasn't that uncomfortable. He just wanted to make me feel sorry for him. Well, I wouldn't. I wouldn't feel sorry for him. I was the one who was sick. He was healthy. He was happy. I felt horrible. There was no way I was letting him get away with this.

"…Ash?"

"Yeah Misty?"

"Do you..." I sighed at myself furiously. "Ash, you can take the stupid top bunk. I'll go on the bottom. It'll be easier. Besides, if I'm lucky you'll get sick." I sighed a bit dreamily. "Ash, sick. I love it when that happens. You always get so much more sick than me. You just can't stand it, can you? You're such a weakling when it comes to that. You moan so much when you start throwing up. It's kind of funny, actually."

There was silence. "Ash, I think I need a new bra. This one's really uncomfortable."

"I know what you mean. All my clothes are getting tight. Mom bought me new boxers that were the same size as the old ones, I didn't have the heart to tell her I…Hey, Misty, have you ever thought that maybe we're getting just a little too close?"

"The thought recently crossed my mind."

"How recently?"

"About the second I said 'Ash, I think I need a new bra'. I don't need to tell you about that and you don't need to tell me about your underwear problems." We were quiet again. I really should know better than to be quiet in a room with Ash. Neither one of us can keep our mouths shut for long. That wouldn't be a bad thing if when we started talking again, it wasn't about something incredibly stupid. "Do you know what intercourse is?"

"Ugh, yeah. I had sex ed too. It sucks."

"You ever had intercourse?" I asked, not knowing what possessed me to ask. Of course Ash hadn't done it. I'd been with him since he was ten, and he obviously didn't do it before he was ten, or do it while I was with him. That, or I'm a heavier sleeper than I ever thought. I mean, to sleep through something like that…I can't even sleep through a whispered conversation. I think it's got something to do with getting older. You sleep lighter and lighter when you grow up, maybe.

"…Misty, are you high right now?" Ash snorted.

"Ash!" I yelped, before collapsing into giggles. He'd never said anything like that before! Come to think of it, we'd never had a conversation anywhere close to this. For some reason though…it was funny. It shouldn't have been. It was supposed to be serious. Drugs were bad! People got addicted! We shouldn't have been joking about getting high, especially with all the kids our age that did! But yet…I couldn't stop laughing.

"Brock got you high of over-the-counter medicine," Ash laughed, barely getting the words out between gasps of air. "He's the drug dealer, and you're a druggie. We're going to wake up one morning and see you begging money from Pikachu to get your hands on a joint!" I was in stitches, almost falling off the bed, and I had no idea why. "You'll be going out as a prostitute to get the money. Who do you think would be a better pimp, me or Brock?"

"Pikachu!" I suggested.

"Right! I was too busy in mourning and cutting myself because I wasn't the one to take your virginity, and then killed myself. It was a horrible event that involved a salad shooter, which is what you ate all your meals from. But, you barely ate anything, just croutons, because you were and anorexic, and bulimic because you threw up the croutons every time! Brock is a nymphomaniac and ran off with several sex slaves who he got through date rape drugs!"

"Ash!" I shouted through laughter, holding my aching chest. "Ash, that's horrible! How could you joke about stuff like that?"

"How could you laugh at stuff like that?" He shot back, his head popping up. "You hurt?"

"Laughing hurts," I said, cooling down. "Oh, my throat hurts, my chest hurts, my head hurts. Don't make me laugh Ash. I'm sick. You're supposed to be nice to me and not be making…adult jokes." I grinned. "Holy crud, Ash, you just made inappropriate jokes. I can't believe it. That was horrible Ash. You shouldn't say stuff like that. What would everyone say if they heard the famous Ash Ketchum making those kinds of jokes?"

"They'd laugh, just like you did," Ash grinned. "By the way, I really think you should laugh. you know what they say, laughter is the best medicine." His grin turned almost evil as he looked at me. "Let's play a straight face game."

"Don't you dare!" I squeaked.

"Come on," Ash jumped up on the bed. "Let's play 'Honey, I Love You'."

"Oh, come on, Ash. You know I can't do that one. Can't we just have a straight face contest?" I asked weakly. "Please, please don't play this. We can do something else. We can do anything else. You want to play with my cell phone? You love the games on it, don't you Ash? I'll let you play until the battery dies. Doesn't that sound like fun? Come on, Ahs. Let's play that. Come to think of it, let's play anything but Ash. I'll tell you how great you are," I bribed.

"Why don't you just choose not to play?" Ash smirked.

"You know I can't," I pouted. "Then you'll spend the next three days saying you won, which you didn't. That's not fair."

"Honey, I love you," Ash smiled as cutely as he could.

I bit my lip and shook my head wildly, the giggles already building. How did you say 'I love you' to your crush without so much as a smile on your face? "Let's play something else. Come on, Ash. Have I ever told you how great your hair looks? Really! How can something that disorganized still manage to look that great."

"Honey, I love you" He said again, using his best Spanish accent.

I slammed my hands over my mouth and tried to stop the giggles building in my chest. I couldn't help it. It was Ash attempting to be attractive. Whether he was or not was besides the point, he was still completely hilarious whenever he tried. I took a deep breath in and composed myself, looked him right in the eyes and…"Honey I…dammit!" I snapped, feeling the smile on my face and bursting into giggles. Pain pinched my nerves, making me yelp and grab where it hurts. "Ooh! I hate you!"

"Guess who lost again?" Ash teased wickedly. "Wanna go for another round?"

"No," I growled.

"Maybe I ought to make a new challenge," He laughed. "How can I keep Misty from laughing in 'Honey, I love you'? That'll be a challenge." I stuck my tongue out at him and slumped back in my bed. He pounced me, starting a playful wrestling fight before the medicine finally decided to kick in and make me drowsy. I was helpless under him, yawning and wriggling a bit. "Aw, is little Misty stuck?" He asked, hands pinned to my sides.

"Yup, and tired too," I sighed with another yawn. "Have I ever told you how much I hate Nyquil?"

"Yeah, loads of times," Ash sighed. He paused for a second, then leaned dramatically close and whispered in my ear, "Misty, honey, honestly I love you."

I blinked up at him, feeling sleepy, and nodded. " 'Kay. Honey, love ya too, but I'm kinda tired."

Ash giggled and plopped to the ground. "I guess that's close enough. Night Mist, sweet dreams. That Nyquil is gonna give you some great ones. It won't be long before you're hooked on those drugs now. You better not waste all your money on it." He cuddled into the bed below me.

Feeling drowsy, stupid, and sleepy, I leaned over the side of the bed and beamed down at him proudly. "Ashy-boy, I love ya!" I said in the most cheerful voice I could muster.

His face was emotionless. "Honey, I love you too but I just can't smile."

I rolled back, crossed my legs, and stared up at the ceiling with a dreamy sigh. "Close enough."

Day Two of Sickness

My bike costs two hundred fifty dollars. A toilet costs five hundred.
I was happy to say good bye to Jack. It took two minutes with a sledge hammer to kill the bastard. I hate Jack.
When Ash confronted me with the homicide of Jack Ketchum of the Upstairs Bathroom in front of a room full of people we had met not too long before, he tried to set up the arrangement that we could call it even. I broke his toilet, he broke my bike. It took about twenty minutes of arguing before Brock butted in and pointed out that a toilet, indeed, costs as much as previosuly mentioned.
With this new fact, and a room full of people staring at me, I opened my eyes wide, blinked innocently and spoke only two words, "What bike?"

I'd love to say something charming or witty, but you know what? Nah. I've been witty enough recently. Now, begone! Get! Out of my sight! Just kidding, I love y'all! I'm a girl. I can say that.

By the way, who's your favorite pokémon? Mine's houndoom. Just thought I'd like to share.