Ch. 3 - Unforgiving

Heather has her poliwag out before I can even fully comprehend what's happening. My eyes are focused on the man in front of us. I can't really see him well in the dark alley, other than his greenish hair that sticks up all over the place, and his skin seems to be much lighter than the two men who block our backs. My first thought is grunts from one of those evil teams, but something in my gut tells me these guys are nothing more than street thugs, mostly since there have been no reports of criminal organization activity in the Islands in years. At least not publically. Maybe they're part of some sort of local gang or something.

Not that it really matters who they are at the moment.

My hands shoot down to my belt and I clutch Kabuto's pokéball in my hand protectively. I don't know what Heather is thinking her poliwag is going to accomplish against three opponents. More than three really, I realize as the first man laughs at Heather and drops his own pokéball to the ground, illuminating the area briefly in white light and allowing me to catch a glimpse of his orange shirt. But what really draws my eye is the knife he's wielding that gleams in the momentary light. I barely have time to panic and start hyperventilating before the hitmonchan fully materializes and blocks the knife from my view.

"Oh please," he says. "Look boys, the little girls think they can fight us!" I hear the other two laugh hollow laughs behind us. "We don't want to harm you lovely ladies, so why don't you just hand over the rare Pokémon and we'll leave you alone. We only want the kabuto; we'll even let you keep the other one."

I turn to Heather and give her a look of desperation, basically pleading with her to save Kabuto somehow, but she's not paying me any attention. I can't make out the expression on her face in this poor light, but I can see enough to tell that she's staring at the man in front of us. I honestly can't imagine what she plans to do even as I beg her to do it. Kabuto is (almost) out cold from our earlier battle, and her poliwag is pretty worn out too. Even if this were a one-on-one fight, it wouldn't be fair. I voice my concerns to her, my voice high-pitched and cracking every other word in fear.

"If you have any better ideas, go ahead and do something," she shrieks, surprisingly calmly. I admit, I can't think of any other way out of this. Or any way at all, really. There's no chance of realistically being able to fight our way out. And what are the odds someone else is going to happen upon this alley?

Unless we give them a reason to, I suddenly realize. That gives me an idea. Clutching Kabuto's pokéball tighter to my chest, I take a deep breath, and then let out the loudest, most earsplitting scream I can muster.

All three men, the hitmonchan, and Heather shove their palms into their ears as my voice echoes through the alley. Even her poliwag winces at the unexpected noise. I keep screaming as long as I can before I have to stop to take a breath. Then, just as the men start to advance, I scream again.

Okay, so it's not the most mature, heroic solution. But at this point, I really don't care if I sound like a banshee. I just hope at least it will draw some attention our way. Before I can even complete that thought, though, a sharp pain jolts through my cheek and I'm thrown hard onto the ground. I put a hand to my face and move my aching jaw as Heather screams my name, and I hear her screeches from both Pokémon. The hitmonchan backs off as Heather's poliwag lets loose some bubbles into his eyes, while Heather helps me to my feet. It's only when I actually see the hitmonchan punch the poliwag clear out of the alley behind us that I realize he must have punched me, while Heather cries for her Pokémon.

The two men behind us have released Pokémon by this point as well. I have no idea when, but I notice as I watch the poliwag soar into the distance that there's also a hitmonlee and a hitmontop standing there, waiting to pounce. How typical.

Next thing I know, the hitmonchan is screaming himself. Heather and I turn back and see yet another new Pokémon in the area. This one, though, seems to be on our side; it's latched onto the hitmonchan's face, slashing and clawing at it. I feel a slight sprinkle of something on my own face and realize that the new Pokémon must be drawing blood and sending drops of it flying all over. The hitmonchan desperately tries to pry the small Pokémon off with little success, thanks in part to his hands still being in boxing gloves. I scream again as both the hitmonlee and hitmontop push me and Heather into the wall and run passed us, stopping short in front of their accomplice, seemingly unsure of how to help. The men, I notice, are completely silent and unmoving, though I do catch a glimpse of the knife still hanging loosely in the one guy's hand.

Suddenly the alley lights up red and the hitmonchan is called back into his pokéball. The new Pokémon falls to the floor, its perch gone, and I realize it's a meowth. Furthermore, I notice a green ribbon tied in a bow around the Pokémon's tail, much like the one currently holding my hair back. I feel my mouth fall open, mostly due to the pain from hitmonchan's punch.

"Oh no," I stagger. "I know that meowth."

Heather only barely registers my statement; I can see her looking back towards where her poliwag landed somewhere back on the beach, looking ready to burst through the two other men guarding our original entrance.

"What are you doing now?" comes another male voice from outside the alley. I gasp again; I know that voice too, but I haven't heard it in years. Heather spins around so fast I swear I hear her neck crack. "Get out here and leave them alone," the male voice demands.

"Yes, boss!" the man with the knife whimpers, practically throwing the blade on the ground before backing out of the alley. His two lackeys behind us recall their Pokémon and inch passed Heather and me quickly, not even sparing us a glance. Heather grabs my arm and tries to pull me in the other direction, where I see a couple other people heading towards us, but I force my arm out of her grip.

"What are you doing?" she demands.

"Go get Poliwag," I answer. "I know that voice."

"Are you crazy? Now is our perfect chance to-"

"Just go, I'll be okay," I say. Even as I do, the meowth rubs against my legs affectionately and purrs in acknowledgement. I can't help but grin at him as I begin to walk out the far side of the alley, the cat behind me. I don't hear Heather's footsteps; I guess she's torn between checking on her poliwag and making sure I'm not going to be attacked again. Part of me wishes she would follow me. Half of my heart can't wait to see if I'm right, but the other, glued-together half is telling me to just go with her and ignore the voice completely. Unfortunately, oddly enough, my lust is stronger than my rage at the moment. On a whim and without really registering what I'm doing, I reach down and pick up the knife as I pass it.

"What the…? Move," I hear the new male voice say. "Go back to base." There's some hasty apologizing and shuffling feet around the corner. There's no mistaking that voice in my mind now, though. I step around the corner. Immediately my face floods with color as my suspicions are confirmed. And I admit, while I knew it was him since the first time he spoke, it's still no more of a shock to see him here now.

"Hi, Blake," I say shyly.

"Rhonda? Is that you? What… what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Blake staggers for a moment as if considering how to reply. "Research. I heard a scream so I came to see what my associates were doing," Blake says, waving a hand over the three thugs I see speeding off into the distance.

I run my eyes over Blake greedily for a moment, completely uninterested in his associates. "Aren't you hot?" He's standing there in the humid air wearing a long, open, white lab coat over a red t-shirt and beige khakis complete with sandals. I'm here sweating bullets in my short pink tank top, though that could just be from the near mugging and now nervousness. I only just take notice of my heartbeat beginning to slow, previously completely oblivious to it's faster pace.

"You tell me," he says in reply, striking a pose and running a hand through his short, spiky blonde hair, taking my question as a statement. He looks just as young as he did the last time I saw him, though I know he's in his mid-twenties by now… okay, that isn't that old, but still. My face heats up even more and I realize I must look like a tomato with how fiercely I'm blushing, and my heart rate skyrockets again.

"I-I meant-"

"I know what you meant," Blake interrupts, turning serious again. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Not physically," I answer.

"Your face-"

"It's the hitmonchan's blood." Blake's meowth purrs in agreement and holds up a paw, his foe's blood dropping from his claws.

"And the bandage?"

Oh. Right. I keep forgetting about that stupid thing. "Just hit my head yesterday. It'll be fine."

"Hah, good job, Preston," Blake says, recalling his meowth as the cat begins to scratch at his legs to get attention. I guess he took note of his cat's decoration, because he turns to look me in the eye and says, "You kept the ribbon."

"Um… yeah…" I reply awkwardly, looking down at my feet with my hands clasped together behind my back like a little girl. What am I supposed to say to the guy? He knows how I felt about him. It hasn't changed since he dumped me.

"Why?"

"..." Really? Is he still that dumb? I wonder.

Thankfully, Heather chooses that moment to rush out of the alley, Poliwag in her arms looking barely conscious, and plows herself in between Blake and me.

"Back off, creeper, or Poliwag will make sure you never see again!"

"Heather, wait!" I cry as Blake steps backwards, his hands up in surrender, while she holds her poliwag inches from Blake's blue eyes. Heather rounds on me, her eyes wide in surprise.

"Wait for what?" she demands.

"He's my ex," I reply simply.

Heather turns back towards Blake. "All the more reason for him to leave," she says with a smirk.

"Why don't we all go have some lunch and talk about this, shall we?" Blake suggests, still backing away from a now advancing Heather. I step forward and put a hand on her shoulder. She stops, shooting me another dirty look.

"O-Okay," I reply to Blake without sparing Heather another thought. "But you're buying."

Heather and I leave Poliwag and Kabuto with the nurse on duty. Blake suggests going down to the cafeteria, just him and I. I insist Heather joins us; she insists on making Blake pay rather than eat the free food supplied at the center and instead go to a diner a few blocks away. I can't tell if she blames him for the whole near-mugging thing or if she's for some reason mad because Blake is my ex, but I don't complain. Blake doesn't look too happy that Heather is sticking around, but agrees politely anyway.

Heather sits next to me, trapping me in our booth while Blake, still in his lab coat, sits across from the two of us. We order our meals and as soon as the waitress steps away, Heather begins her interrogation.

"Alright, so what's the deal with you two? Ex, you said?"

"Yeah," I reply.

"Who dumped who?"

I don't know why I feel the need to reveal the details of my love life to this virtual stranger, but I find myself answering her anyway. "He dumped me." I glance up at Blake uncomfortably and feel rage boiling inside me almost immediately. He's sitting there watching us with amusement, not even slightly bothered by the pain he knows he caused me. I want to reach over the table and strangle him.

"Why?" Heather asks.

I answer her, this time only to spite Blake more than anything else. "He didn't think my undivided devotion for five years and a year of engagement was as important as his lab assistant," I say resentfully, glaring at him. Heather looks at me curiously and waits for me to elaborate. Blake continues staring as though he were a child being told a new bedtime story. I groan in fury, trying my best to control my sudden rage. It was bad enough I had to see him again after all this time (and as much as I hate to admit it, I did enjoy seeing him too), bad enough having to remember this whole mess, but now I'm going to have to actually retell it, too…?

"It's a long story, but it's really pretty simple," I explain without taking my eyes off him. "We were dating for five years. He was studying to be a researcher at the time. Top grades in his university classes. Total nerd and all. I loved it. He ended up getting a call from Professor Oak to work as an assistant in his lab, because apparently he doesn't have a very large staff for who knows why."

"My job was to compare the differences between Kanto-native Pokémon and their counterparts that live out here in the Orange Islands," Blake cuts in. My eyes narrow as I dare him to cut me off again. He shuts his mouth, though he still looks like an amused child.

"Anyway, I was really proud of him, but it meant he had to leave for the mainland of Kanto to work in Oak's lab for a year before coming back here to do the field work he wanted to do. Mostly because Oak doesn't need any more field researchers, just assistance at home base. But he was on a whole other level of nerd so he got his dream job anyway. He proposed to me the day before he left as his way of promising to come back for me. I said yes. He goes off for a year, and keeps raving about this girl he's working with. Next thing I know, a year has passed and he comes back home with that girl on his arm and a bun in the oven."

"A baby?!" Heather exclaims.

"Yep. Told me he was sorry but he had a family to look out for and it was over between us, and that was the last I heard from him. Sent him countless letters, phone calls, texts… all crying for him to come back and heard nothing in reply save for a single 'I'm sorry' a month later. Next thing I know, he's saving our asses in that alley."

The waitress comes up at that point with our drinks, giving the three of us a weird look but otherwise not commenting, though it was obvious she had either been listening or simply overheard my last statement as she approached.

"If it makes you feel any better," Blake interrupts again as she leaves and Heather turns to him, looking ready to tear him a new one. "She never ended up having the kid… and she left me after she found out she wasn't going to. She didn't know about you until we got home and ran into you and you ruined that for me. Turns out she only stayed with me after that because of the kid. When she found out she didn't need to worry about him growing up without a father, she kicked me to the curb."

"Good," I spat. "Ruined it for you? What about all the shit you put me through?"

"Look, I… I really am sorry about what I've done to you," Blake says. Heather huffs in defiance, and I cross my arms while I continue glaring. Part of me wants to believe him, I really do, but he wasn't the one who spent months locked in their bedroom crying until they dehydrated. Still, part of me never stopped loving him… and that part is what keeps me listening.

"I know words can never really express it," he continues. "But I really am sorry. I wanted to come back to you the moment she threw me away but I was too ashamed. But now that I've found you again, maybe you can find it in you to give me another chance?"

"What, so she was your fall-back plan?" Heather barks. "How can she trust you? And why should she?"

Blake glares at her in frustration. "This is a personal matter that doesn't concern you. If she didn't insist on you coming along, I'd have left you in that alley."

"Enough," I say with as much force as I can. "Heather, I appreciate your concern, really, but this is between us. I don't want you to leave, but… we can talk about this later. And Blake, Heather is right. …How can I ever trust you again?"

Neither of them answers me. I look between them both crossly, but I feel my resolve fading and sink a little in my seat. A few tense, awkward minutes pass until our waitress comes by with Heather's and my meals. Blake's is apparently still cooking. Blake finally answers when she leaves.

"Maybe I can build up that trust again, if you give me a chance."

I intend to throw it back in his face, saying something like "After what you put me through, I'll never be able to trust you the same way again." Instead, the words that come out of my mouth are, "Yeah, maybe. I don't know."

Heather makes a show of rolling her eyes at me, but keeps silent as she digs into her food. Blake begins to make small talk, asking about what I've been up to since we last met. I grudgingly tell him about my recent past, and how I just started my Grand Adventure. He laughs at the nickname I've come up with for my journey and I blush in embarrassment. I demand to know what he's been doing instead, just for a change of subject.

"Oh, I've been continuing my field research for professor Oak," he says. "That is, until recently. I'm still doing that," he adds quickly, noticing my confused expression. "But lately I've been really interested in lugia, as well as the festival on Shamouti Island and the legends there."

This catches my attention more than anything else since first meeting Blake again in the alley, so much so that I forget to exaggerate my display of anger. "Have you seen a lugia? What does it look like again?"

In reply, Blake pulls out a small sketchbook from one of his coat's pockets and flips it a few pages before handing it to me. "That's a lugia," he says. "I drew that one myself to keep a picture on me so I don't have to carry around a huge book or buy an expensive pokédex. I haven't seen one, but they're rumored to live in the seas around Shamouti, and sometimes venture around the entire island chain."

The question of why he didn't just get a pokédex from professor Oak for his research is pushed far to the back of my mind as I focus intently on the drawing of the bird-like lugia. "I think I've seen one," I say.

Heather chokes on her soda and turns to me, while Blake slams his palms on the table and asks, "What? When? Where?"

"Be quiet!" I demand in a hushed whisper, looking around and noticing several other people at other tables looking in our direction. "On the way here, actually, sometime this morning. It passed under my boat as I was crossing the sea from Mikan Island. Or, well, I saw what looked like a giant wing. It kinda looks like this picture."

I look up as I pass Blake his sketchbook back just in time to see him cover up something on his face. I think it looks like horror, though I can't imagine why. I put it up to him being afraid that I could possibly have been so close to a legendary Pokémon. Not that that makes much sense either; it didn't attack me, nor do I even know for sure what it was.

Blake takes his sketchbook back just as the waitress returns for a fourth time with his meal. She shoots me one last worrying look before scurrying off again. This time I follow her with my eyes as she runs off. Heather catches my eye as the woman escapes my vision and I look back towards the table.

"What?" I demand.

"You still have blood dried on your face and shirt," Heather comments casually.

"Oh, damn!" I cry, practically shoving her out of her seat and sprint to the bathroom to clean my face. …Not much I can do about my shirt right now, though. Oh well.

I turn the spotlight on Heather when I return, ignoring Blake's enthusiasm about lugia, instead eager to include my new friend after realizing I'd been practically ignoring her since Blake showed up. She's surprisingly hesitant to speak, even after I point out that I'd just spilled some juicy personal details from my own life, telling us nothing more than she's a beginner trainer who's tried twice to start a journey and gave up each time for reasons she didn't want to talk about, with a grand total of one Pokémon and no badges to show for her efforts. I'm too frustrated to press her about it, deciding I wasn't going to force her into it. She looks embarrassed enough telling us this is her third attempt and that's why she's so old for a beginner, and I decide that's punishment enough for being so harsh on Blake. Though I don't know why I suddenly feel so bad for him, either…

After lunch, Blake follows Heather and me back to the Pokémon Center. We both pick up our Pokémon, the nurse saying they're healthy but should rest for the rest of the day. Heather and I decide to stay for a night and get started tomorrow on training and traveling, and she coaxes me into rooming with her. She makes for the lobby as soon as she's handed the key, but Blake clears his throat and asks me to stay back for a private word.

Heather immediately protests but I assure her there's no reason to worry. We're in a public, crowded Pokémon Center now, not a deserted dark alley, and it's not like Blake is going to hurt me anyway. Well, physically, at least. Heather rolls her eyes and retreats to our room. I turn back to my ex and he motions for me to follow him deeper into the building.

Blake leads me to the Pokémon Center's trade machine. He ignores my inquiries as to what exactly we're doing here. I immediately realize I never actually told Blake what my starting Pokémon had been, and decide on the spot not to mention it. Instead I tell him I only have one Pokémon and make it perfectly clear that I'm not trading him for anything.

"I'm not asking you to," Blake says, but then goes silent. He looks around the room for a good minute, though we're the only two in here so I can't imagine what he's searching for. He then pulls out two pokéballs from his lab coat – one a standard red and white one, the other a strange pokéball I've never seen before. It was black, with a purple ring around it instead of the usual black ring dividing the two halves, and two further purple lines across the top dividing it into quarters. The center button was red, surrounded by yellow, and looked disturbingly like an eye.

Blake ignores me when I ask what kind of pokéball it is, and further ignores when I ask what he's doing. He places both pokéballs into the slots in the trade machine, pushes a few buttons, and the pokéballs get sucked up into the machine as if doing a trade; the screen that shows the Pokémon's silhouette, however, only shows one go by, and I realize he must be transferring the Pokémon inside one of the pokéballs to the other one. I'm so busy being confused by this whole process that I don't even register what Pokémon is being transferred.

When the machine is done and spits out both pokéballs on the opposite side from where they were sucked in, Blake picks up the black and purple ball first, looking around the room again and stuffing it into his pocket before picking up the normal ball and holding it out to me.

"This is for you," he finally says. "Please take it as… as an apology. Take it as a fresh start for our relationship."

"Calling anything between us a relationship is a little rash at this point," I say. "Either way, I can't accept this."

"Why not?" he asks. Before I can tell him exactly why, he continues. "Please just take him. He's strong and will be able to protect you. Take him for yourself, if not for my peace of mind."

I sigh and take the ball from him. He grins idiotically and I groan.

"Why are you so concerned for me now? Honestly. After what you did to me, after all the time in between that you were silent, why are you suddenly so eager to fix things?"

Blake doesn't answer right away. He simply stares into my eyes and I have to look away as I feel myself blushing again. No, this time I'm determined to get him to talk. Unfortunately, when he does, it isn't the answer I want and he's already standing by the room's exit.

"His name's Kingsley."

"Blake Aricanli, don't you dare walk out that door!"

That stops him. Whether due to the tone of my voice or the fact that I remembered his last name, I don't know, nor do I really care at this point. He turns back to me, half out the door, looking like a child about to be scolded. I laugh inwardly at the thought then force my serious face back on.

"You answer my question, right now."

"Because everything I said was the truth," he says, sounding genuinely sad. Part of me says not to buy it… but that part hasn't been in control all day, anyway. "I really am sorry, and I really do hope you'll give me another chance. You know where to find me."

And with that, he turns around and leaves. My first thought is to take off after him, because in reality I have no idea where to find him. Instead I stare after him stupidly for a moment, just standing there watching the door. After a minute or two, I look down to the pokéball in my hand. Down near the bottom is a string of numbers. Blake's phone number, I assume. When he wrote it there, I'll never know. The only time we'd been out of each other's sight long enough was when I'd went to the bathroom at the diner to clean my face, so either he had done it then or… or he knew he'd be seeing me today and planned this whole thing.

What a stupid thought. I push it out of my mind and head up to my room.

"What a weirdo," Heather comments. "I didn't see him doing anything with a pokéball while you were gone, no. Don't tell me you're seriously entertaining the idea of getting back together with that dirtbag!"

"I don't know," I confess, rolling the ball in my palm. "He was the first and only real lover I've ever had… and I never really have gotten over him. It's… it's why I still use his hair ribbon."

"This thing?" Heather utters as she pulls the green cloth from my head, undoing my ponytail and causing my light brown hair to fall in waves down my back.

"Hey!" I cry, placing the pokéball with the knife and my camera on the nightstand next to my bed and try to swipe it back.

"Look, you'll never get over him if you keep mementos around," Heather reprimands.

I look down at my feet, giving up trying to steal my ribbon back for fear of tearing it. "I know… but I think it's too late now."

"No it's not!" Heather cries. She throws my ribbon back at me and I snatch it out of the air, stuffing it into my bikini top and out of her reach. She sighs and picks up my new pokéball instead. "So what is this, anyway?"

"No idea," I declare. "All I know is its named Kingsley."

"Well then, let's find out," Heather says. She drops the ball, completely overlooking the fact that for all we know it could contain a wailord that was about to squash us and the rest of the Center when it emerges, and immediately I begin to panic and shout this at her, flailing my arms madly in some mad attempt to push the light back into the pokéball. Of course, I don't think it was a wailord I saw on the trade machine's screen anyway, but who really knows, I wasn't paying attention to it properly at the time.

Though after seeing what it is that comes out, I find myself wishing it were a wailord instead. I shriek and bound onto my feet on the bed, trying to scamper as far as I can from the huge claws of the reddish-orange crab that stood in front of us.

Heather just laughs. "Kingsley the kingler. Classy."

A/N: Bit of filler here but it's setup too. Kinda drama-filled, not sure if I like it or not, but we'll see where it goes.

As usual, thanks to anyone who's actually reading.