Black was in his quarters, scribbling away at a new idea for his mystery novel, when the door was flung open so hard it nearly fell of its hinges.

Black whirled around, shocked. "Poppy? Could you not have knocked?" But the urgency in her eyes meant this was no time for a joke. He'd never seen her so shaken. Instantly he rose and approached her. "Poppy, is something wrong?"

Her hands shook. "Black, I'll not have you misunderstand; I don't know what happened, but it just—it just has to be—I just don't really know if—"

"What?" Black prompted. "What in the clouds happened?"

"I think your friend White is in trouble. No, surely she is."

Black did not stop to ask questions. Instead, he was off and running. White had left them earlier, and now something had happened. He cursed himself. I should have walked with her. I shouldn't have let her go off alone. His mind reeled with all of the things he should have done, but now the only thing he could do is try to get to her.

He knew that something must have upset her if she was leaving so early, and that when things upset her, she naturally went to the tower. It was there that he sped, through the cold, dark night. A chill seized him, but he left it in the dust.

He thundered up the tower stairs to the top floor—her favourite spot, he believed, because it aided her in conquering her terror of heights—and found it empty but for smears of blood on the ground.

Was White dead? Or had she gotten away? Or was it her assassin's blood?

Whatever the case, White was gone. He flew from the tower, wondering where she could have gone. The streets raced by in a blur. He heard a voice, distantly, coming closer. He slowed. Someone was calling his name.

"BLACK!"

It was shouted with such a force that Black spun, wondering if it was White, even though that notion was ridiculous. If she bled badly she could not have been running after him. It was Belle. She pulled him over.

"Black, you need to come quick," she advised him, tugging on his arm.

"Where's White?"

"She's who I'm taking you to." He let Belle guide him towards the city hospital. "Wally and I found her," she quickly elaborated. "We were worried, so we decided to peek in her tower to see if she was there or if she'd gone home. But we found her there, unconscious. I thought she was dead. But no matter what happened, someone wanted her dead."

"Great skies." Black shoved a hand through his hair. "Who would want White dead?"

Belle shook her head. "We haven't a clue."

They approached a curtained area in the hospital. Black recognized White's aunt conversing with a doctor. And behind the curtain, sitting up on a bed, was White.

He raced to her side. "Prez…I'm so sorry. I couldn't get there fast enough. By the time I realized, Wally and Belle had already found you." He cringed inwardly at his lie. He hadn't realized something was wrong. He hadn't thought she was in danger at all. If Poppy had not told him, he never would have come. "Prez, what happened?"

White's hand twitched, as if she were going to reach out for him, but thought better of it. "I don't know. I was at the tower, and suddenly, someone was there, dagger in hand, trying to kill me," she explained. "I couldn't see him beneath his cloak, but he was thin and quick, and I caught sight of pale skin and pale hair. He nearly threw me out the window, but decided against it. Then he nearly decapitated me, but he didn't. He didn't kill me."

"But he was going to," Wally intercepted. "Which means someone out there is targeting her. Other than how she got to Unova, there's nothing out of the ordinary about White. Which means someone must be targeting all of us."

Black noticed how they all left out the fact that this was probably his fault. Black was probably being targeted. Someone wanted to hurt him and his friends. But he recognized who it might be from White's description.

"I'm not positive," Black said, "but I have an idea of who the assassin might be." It couldn't have been anyone but his cruel cousin N. Ruthless N would do anything to grasp at power, to gain the trust of his father and uncle. And the person he hated most was Black. "We should all be on our guard." He was about to say more, try to reassure them all despite the frantic tension in the room when White's aunt burst in, seething.

"You," she growled, jabbing a finger at Black. And then she said the thing that had been bouncing around inside of Black. "This is your fault! You're bad news, and I knew it from the start! Someone so involved in this shattering world's putrid rule should just stay away from innocents like my niece, so that they'll have a fighting chance to be safe! She'll never be out of harm's way hanging around the president's son, a wide target, and I'll not have you seeing her anymore!"

In all fairness, White's aunt had never liked Black in the first place. Even before his father became vice president, and then president, she'd always said he had the glint of a trickster in his eyes. She had always said that White would only end up in trouble by being friends with the likes of him. And yet, she'd never said something with such severity to him before.

Black knew she was right. He couldn't let White, or Belle, or Wally, or anyone to get hurt by being around him. White began to protest against her aunt. Belle and Wally were standing to the side, as far off as they could, dumbstruck.

Black stopped White's arguments. "She's right," he told her, and as much as he wanted to stay with her, he left the hospital.

Poppy listened to this entire ordeal when Black returned. It was quite late by now, but she didn't mind. The night was calm and cool compared to the hectic and zealous daytime. The light beat down through the clouds and suddenly everyone was up, flitting about from place to place, jabbering a mile a minute. But at night, with the moon perched in the heavens and the stars shyly peeking out from behind their curtains to say hello, Poppy could be at peace. The clouds drifted more easily now, as if the rushing people had upset them as well, and churned them into a tizzy.

But that night had held many a secret and far too much conflict. Poppy's stomach flipped at what Black told her.

"You cannot simply let this aunt have her way," Poppy told him. "Despite your flaws, you've done leaps and bounds for your White. And no doubt you'll protect her in the future, if only you were allowed to be around her."

"But I didn't protect her this time," Black countered. "I couldn't be useful for this one night. Instead, I was completely oblivious. I spend all my days trying so hard to see the world that I miss it all."

"You did not ask to be in this predicament. You cannot protect everyone all of the time. Mistakes are made by all."

He surveyed Poppy, in all her strangeness; how her voice and eyes were so dull; how her hair fell in wisps, some just brushing her shoulders and others past them; how she always wore gloves, even in the summer, without fail.

She wouldn't understand. She couldn't understand just what he was feeling. He'd let White down. He'd let Wally and Belle down as well. Maybe he was just a burden.

He said nothing more to Poppy, who probably was content with that. His feelings would never surpass her fog.

And so it was a surprise to him when the following afternoon, something tapped against his window. It surprised him, and he swirled around, wondering if it were a bluebird who had crashed against the glass. It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

But there was no mark, no feathers left behind. As Black rose, another tap came, and he could see what was clattering against the glass; a pebble. He groaned and briskly strode to the window.

There stood White.

He opened the window, allowing a swell of frigid hair to fill the room and sting his lungs. "You'll freeze out here!" For though the climate was probably nice somewhere in Unova, it was a particularly windy afternoon. "You shouldn't be here," he called down to her.

She shoved her hands under her arms. Black winced; he knew there would be bandages wrapped round her arm and abdomen beneath her coat. He wished with all his heart that her devotion to him was not nearly so great; she was a supreme friend and it made him feel like mud. She'd already forgiven him enough to come get him on a chilly day? He was no good at human relations.

"I was released from the hospital this morning," she explained to him. "I told my aunt that I'm with Wally and Belle. Which is not a complete lie; they're out front waiting."

"White, I can't go with you," Black responded.

Suddenly she looked offended. He wondered if he was impolite, when she observed, "You called me White."

"That happens to be your name."

She shook her head. "No. Not with you. With you I'm Prez or Witty White or any other ridiculous name you conjure for me."

Black stared down at his windowsill. "I cannot let anyone else get hurt because of who I am."

"Then don't." It was such a simple thing to say, but how? How could he ever change the fact that he or someone around him might be a target? How could he bear Wally or Belle getting hurt? Or perhaps one of his 'cousins'? How could he live with that?

"Please," White begged. "Come with us. Forget who you are. Don't be Black Harmonia. Be Black."

And so that was why Black went with them. Not because White or anyone else wanted him to. Because he was not Black Harmonia with them—he was just Black, and Black wanted to go on the journey, regardless of the destination.

"So where are we going?" he asked finally. The whole excursion was Wally's idea.

"Nimbasa City," Wally replied as they clambered into the carriage they'd called. "There's an amusement park there. It'll close down soon for the winter, and I supposed that we need a break from solving mysteries and battling crooks to have some amusement."

It was a much-needed trip indeed. Upon arrival in the city and therefore immediate seeking of the park, Black found himself laughing at the way that Belle's face lit up like holiday lights. She was unashamed of this, bursting with excitement. She linked arms with White and began running off into the park, clumsily slamming into people and things. It took more effort than Black and Wally cared to keep up with them (Wally more so than Black.)

The first ride they went on was—unfortunately—Belle's choice, and it roiled all of their stomachs. Further bad fortune came along when Wally had to empty his.

"No more spinning," he declared. Everyone else murmured unanimous agreement.

The quartet was truly more suited to the arcade games. As Wally had hoped, the games lifted all of their spirits enough that White seemed to forget about the bandages she wore, and Black forgot about his guilt. For the moment, at least.

Until Belle suggested that they go on the Ferris wheel.

This was met with excited consent, and the quartet bounded off to the gigantic contraption. The day was mostly clear, though Black noticed a few clouds slowly rolling in, like a dark signal. Still, he followed his friends and the two other strangers they were lumped with into the Ferris wheel cart.

"I feel like I can see the whole world from here!" Belle exclaimed, pressed against the glass. White laughed from next to her. Belle glanced over at Black, who was sitting down. "Don't you want to see this?"

"I can see just fine," he replied. He preferred staring at the treetops and the clouds as he drew closer to them, rather than the ground and the horizon as he moved away from it.

Still, Belle hauled him up by the arm and yanked him closer to the window. "Just look at it for a minute, Black. Look at this world that we're in. Isn't it strange and amazing to see all at once?"

Black wasn't paying attention to what Belle was saying. He was paying attention to how alive and excited her bright green eyes were, how she'd kept her hand on his arm even though he was already firmly in place.

And White wasn't paying attention to what Belle was saying either, or anything about her. She only saw Black staring at the blonde girl. She averted her eyes and clutched the rail tightly.

(All of this Wally observed from his seat, where he steadied himself against the motion sickness and tried to ignore the tension between his companions.)

None of them had much chance to elaborate on this little scene. For the two strangers who had been on the opposite side of the carriage now turned, and seemed not to be strangers at all. The quartet found themselves in the face of confrontation, suddenly.

Black scowled. "N."

N smiled a slimy smile and crossed his arms. "Fancy meeting you four here."

"What do you want?"

"Only to chat."

Black did not want to chat. No, he wanted revenge. He crossed the carriage in only a few strides and shoved N roughly against the hard glass window. "You tried to kill Prez."

"Jumping to conclusions are we?" N asked. He waved away Morty—another of his street companions and makeshift siblings—who tried to come to his aid. "You know what they say about assumptions, Black."

"You're guilty and we all know it," he growled. He glanced over his shoulder at White, who was frozen in horror. He ignored this. "Prez," he said, "you told me that your attacker was wiry, with pale skin and pale hair, correct?"

She nodded, and they all saw that N matched this description. The man himself coiled his mouth into that same smug smile. It set them all on edge, even Morty.

"Well isn't this adorable. A miniature mystery solved by a foolish detective. You may want to consider that there are other suspects with matching descriptions. I may be innocent yet."

"You're innocent of nothing!" Black spat, trying to beat the taller man, but N was far to fast; he landed a punch to Black's face and a kick to his stomach. Black fell backwards, and Wally and Belle rushed forth to catch him.

Before anyone could react, White bolted up to N. She socked him square in the nose, and kneed him hard in the groin. This time, it was Morty's turn to collect the crumpled N as the carriage shuddered to a stop on the ground. Morty hauled N out.

White rushed over to Black, where Belle and Wally were trying to help him up and out of the Ferris wheel, though Belle and Wally were admittedly not the strongest people. White slung one of Black's arms over her shoulder and together the four of them managed to spill out of the ride and into the park. N and Morty were no where in sight.

"White," Black managed to get out. The kick had knocked the wind out of him, but he was regaining it. "I like when you're feisty."

White blushed to the roots of her hair and allowed herself a small smile.

That night, N returned to the manor with a bloody, bruised nose, and a simple, "I don't want to talk about it."

A few short hours later, Black came in with a fully blossomed black eye. When prompted, he only disclosed that his friend had been attacked and he finally managed to come to her aid.

The street kids could only guess what this meant, and as soon as both young men were off in their own quarters, rumours buzzed around, flying quicker than bees to honey.

Frank theorized that N and Black had gotten into a squabble. "They never liked each other anyway," he summed up.

Whitney agreed to this, but embellished it slightly. "I bet they were competing over Black's friend," she bubbled. "He said he came to her aid. Maybe Black thought that N would try to steal her away from him!" This was met with doubt. Whitney was the most romantic of them all, clearly.

Marlon's theory was also unlikely: "Maybe they were in two separate places in two separate fights. It could happen."

Surge obviously didn't care, though he made a few jeering comments, betting that the fight was graphic. Clemont was attempting to work out the technical details—how Black and N might stand chances against one another in a fight. Burgh thought maybe a rivalry had been brewing for a long while between the two, sparking at some particular events.

Poppy looked on and said nothing. For she at least knew part of the story. She pulled back her sleeve and stared down at the white scratches on her forearm, made by the rough edge of an old, stray tower brick.

A/N: I am so inconsistent! School is such a bother! Blarg!
I hope I can get the next chapter up soon...
At least a little drama is going on...
But the real question is...
WHO DOES BLACK LOVE?!
Rant over. Thanks for reading. See you!
-Silvia

Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon, or anything else.