(Super quick A/N: the lyrics quoted in a couple places are from "Stay In My Memory" by Bim.)
RETURNING HOME
CHAPTER 1
so stay in my memory, you can hide out there
(September 8th, 2001; Cerulean City, Kanto)
"Are you like, totally sure everything is fine?"
Misty lets out a small sigh, rolling her eyes. "For the millionth time, Daisy, yes."
On the videophone screen her sister frowns a little, her perfectly arched eyebrows furrowing towards the middle. "Okay, okay. Just wanted to make sure one last time."
"The three of you ran this place alone for years and somehow it's still standing, I'm pretty sure I can do the same for a few weeks. Besides you know, even when you're here I'm the one who does most of the work, so it won't really make much of a difference."
She says the last bit with a slight grin, meaning to tease more than to bite. Daisy puckers her lips.
"Hey now, no need to get all like, uppish about it. I'm just worried."
Misty sighs again. "I know. But really, I'm fine, the gym is fine, now stop worrying and enjoy your trip."
"...Okay. But you know, just in case, if you need something—"
"I can call you, or Brock. I know. You've told me at least fifteen times. Have fun."
Daisy waves her hand vaguely in the air. "You too, with, like, the gym and all."
"I'm planning to. You know, I actually like taking care this place, unlike some people."
"Are you talking about us?"
"No, what could possibly make you think that?" She chokes back a laugh at her sister's offended face, shaking her head. "Come on, I'm just teasing. Mostly. Say bye to Violet and Lily for me."
"Fine," Daisy concedes, still pouting a bit; but after a moment her expression scrunches again into a worried frown: "But are you sure—"
"Yes," she cuts her off. "Daisy. Seriously. I'm doing okay."
Daisy asks her one more time anyway (just, like, to make sure), then waves goodbye from the screen and promises to send her postcards, and lingers there for another moment before finally hanging up. Misty lets out another sigh in the silence that follows; then puts down the phone as well, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and turns around, a glimmer of smile finding its way to her lips.
It's still early. She scoops up Togepi, who was waddling around her feet waiting for her phonecall to be over: "Let's get to work, how about that?"
Togepi waves its arms in agreement. She stops in the kitchen first to pour herself a cup of coffee; sunlight shines through the window, drawing warm rectangles on the floor and the wood of the counter, and she stands leaning against it for a bit and enjoying the quiet. Her ears have been ringing with the sound of her sisters' constant squealing since Daisy won those tickets. Sometimes she finds the silence unbearable when there's too much of it, thick and heavy like a blanket, but right now it feels like a blessing.
She heads back to her room when the clock on the microwave marks 7.45, balancing Togepi in the crook of her elbow and the half-empty cup in her other hand. She takes off her pajamas and throws on shorts and a t-shirt. As she turns towards the mirror her eyes fall on the photo tucked in the frame and she stops, hairbrush lifted mid-air, her breath pausing in her chest for a second.
It's a photo of her and Ash, from about a year and half ago—not long before she woke up to find his sleeping bag empty. Brock took it with a disposable camera that he'd bought because he liked the girl selling them. They were at a festival in a small town they passed through, some tourist thing; and Ash had grabbed her hand to drag her towards something. Brock snapped the photo right then. It came out a bit blurry, and it caught her in the middle of saying something, but she liked it because Ash was looking at her and smiling the brightest smile in the world. When Brock found it again and gave it to her at first she couldn't stand to see it. It felt like being ripped in two.
And there's a thing they don't say when they tell you that you'll be alright, that this is unfair and terrible but it will pass and you'll be okay again, be happy again—it's how exhausting it is to keep wondering if you're there already, if the worst is behind you and you can finally start to look ahead and breathe or if this was just a good day or week or month and tomorrow you'll be crumpled in a ball on the floor all over again. And how selfish it feels sometimes, to want nothing but that; to be yourself again, to be okay and normal and whole, not broken, not missing a piece.
Her fingers slowly trace the borders of the photo. She smiles at it a little; then turns back to her reflection to brush her hair. She picks up Togepi and her coffee again before walking out of the room.
She's doing okay.
—-
When the phone rings again halfway through the afternoon she already knows what to expect, and she rolls her eyes when Brock's face appears on the screen.
"Hi, Brock. Did my sister tell you to call to check on me?"
He gives an embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, she did."
Misty puffs her cheeks a bit. "Well she'll be happy to know I haven't had the material time to burn down the gym yet. By the way, I'm a better gym leader than they've ever been. At least I don't give away badges for free."
"I know. I'm sure she knows, too."
"Yeah, well, then I don't get why she's worrying so much. I'm basically the only one who runs this place anyway since even when they're here they hardly ever do anything, I know how to take care of it."
Brock listens to her ranting and smiles patiently. "...You know, I don't think it's really the gym she's so worried about."
"I can take care of myself, too," she points out, feeling a little stung. Brock nods.
"I know. But I get her a bit. I mean, after all it's the first time you're completely alone since..."
His voice trails off and he leaves the sentence hanging unfinished between them, looking away for a moment. Misty presses her lips together.
"...You can say it, Brock. You know."
He lets out a small sigh. "Since what happened to Ash."
Hearing his name still hurts. Sometimes she wonders if it will always be like that, if for the rest of her life it will always feel like sticking a finger in a wound that's only barely stopped bleeding, and she's not sure what she wants the answer to be. She swallows. Then shakes her head and forces her lips into a smile.
"I'm okay. Really. My sisters have been driving me absolutely crazy over the past few days, I couldn't wait to finally have a bit of quiet."
Brock looks back at her as if trying to decide if she's telling the truth, and nods again after a second. "Alright. I trust you."
"You should have seen the state this place was in," she goes on, burying that ache deeper under her words. "Suitcases everywhere. I tripped over one the other night and I'm ninety percent sure it contained bricks."
He laughs a bit. "Yeah, I can imagine."
"So really, these three weeks are exactly what I needed. What about you instead? Everything alright there?"
"Yeah, business as usual. Forrest's getting more and more determined to take over the gym. I'm actually impressed by how good he's getting, he even beat me in a battle the other day."
"He must be taking after his brother."
"I'm sure he's gonna become much better than me. Oh, by the way, before I forget—I heard from Mrs. Ketchum this morning. She said to tell you that in case you feel like eating something that isn't microwaved or takeaway she'd be more than happy to come over there for a couple days."
"Hey, I can cook a couple things," she protests. "I might not be the best chef in the world, admittedly, but I'm not that bad."
Brock's eyebrows shoot up. "Huh, yeah. If you say so."
"What's that supposed to mean? ...Are you talking about that time I made dinner and you nearly got food poisoning, because that was only an acciden—"
"Okay, okay," he concedes, sounding anything but convinced. "I'll take your word. So, everything under control then?"
"Yeah," she sighs, puffing her cheeks again. "I'll call Mrs. Ketchum later to thank her, but there's no need for her to come here. I'll be alright."
"Fine. In case you need something—"
"I'll call. I know. See you, Brock."
"See you," he repeats, raising one hand to wave a quick goodbye. She does the same and hangs up, sighing a little again.
The silence suddenly feels a bit heavier than before. She stands in the hallway for a handful of moments, biting her lip; then shakes her head and tries to go back to her chores. It works for a bit to distract her, but after a while she catches herself standing idly near the edge of the pool, the mop forgotten in her hands, staring at the ripples on the water.
It's weird how pain works. Sometimes she's able to talk about him without hurting too badly afterwards; sometimes just hearing his name is enough to make her defenses crumble. Now it's not quite either, but the phonecall did shake her mood a little. She looks at the small waves across the surface for a while still. In the end she drops the mop in the bucket, leaves Togepi on the bleachers with Psyduck and changes into a swimsuit, and climbs to the top of the diving board.
She breathes in, back straight, the surface below her shining under the lights; then jumps. Like every time there's the briefest moment of shock as the water closes in around her, like a jolt of adrenaline rushing through her from the tip of her fingers. Slowly, her lungs relaxed, she swims until her palms touch the bottom, raising a thin swirl of sand. There she sits, wrapping her arms around her knees.
His body was found in the water. He didn't drown; it was the fall that killed him, not the river at the end of it. All the river did was drag away a dead body, far enough that he wouldn't be found until nine days later. He was probably dead by the time Pikachu woke her up to tell her he wasn't there. He was definitely dead while she called his name under the rain. That alone hurts enough that sometimes she feels like she can't breathe, but it's a kind of pain she's starting to learn how to smooth the sharper edges off and hold inside herself without doubling over. What she doesn't know what to do with is the rest, the bits she'll never have an answer for.
What he was doing at the edge of a cliff half a mile from their camp in the middle of the night. Why he got up and wandered away without saying anything to anyone, if it was somehow because of something she did or said. And if she could have done something, stopped him, held him back, if only she'd been awake or heard him walk away.
She waits until her chest burns and her heart hammers so loudly that it drowns out everything else, then thrusts her feet against the bottom and swims back up. The surface shatters over her head into a million pieces and she breathes in in a gasp, her pulse still a drum in her head. She closes her eyes for a moment and lets her body relax, shaking a little.
Gyarados swims by and gives her a concerned look. Misty smiles.
"Everything alright," she assures it, and she means it, mostly. She breathes in again, more slowly this time.
She dives back down for a quick swim before getting back to work, and when she climbs out of the pool her chest hurts less, and her everything else too. She rubs a towel over her hair and goes to pick things up where she left them. After all, there's still a lot that needs to be done, and the day isn't over yet.
don't take all my thoughts today
so I can start to begin again
—-
She doesn't quite know what woke her up when her eyes shoot open, and it doesn't feel like it was a nightmare, but maybe it was, because as she lies on her back her breath catches in her throat a little and it takes her a couple moments to unhitch it and let it go. She stares at the ceiling for a minute or two, then turns to her side and looks at the digital clock on her nightstand. 4.07. Togepi is still asleep, thankfully, so she's careful as she sits up and quietly slides out of her blankets.
She finds one of her slippers, but not the other, and after squinting at the dark for a moment she walks barefoot out of the room and through the hallway. In the streetlight-lit kitchen she pours herself a glass of water and paces up and down a little. There's something that she can't quite shake, a funny almost-feeling just out of reach, like a prickle on her skin.
She nearly drops the glass when a loud knock comes from the front door. Her eyes shoot towards the microwave clock: still barely four a.m. Her heart jumps a little and as she wonders if it was really knocking she heard and scrambles for a logic explanation (her sisters? But they'd have their keys, and why would they be back already?) the noise comes again, and it is definitely knocking, and she resolves to leave her half-empty glass on the counter and gingerly venture out of the kitchen.
The banging on the door comes a third time. Somewhat irritated Misty hurries her steps a little, hastily tucking her ruffled hair behind her ear with one hand.
"Coming! Arceus, it's the middle of the night."
The hallway is pitch black—she forgot to hit the switch as she rushed past it. Her foot bumps against the edge of the carpet and she almost tumbles forward, only regaining her balance by flailing her arms. The knocking resumes as she rights herself, and she curses under her breath as she reaches the door and fumbles with the lock: "Wait a damn minute. What could possibly be so important that—" and then she flings the door open and the words hitch in her throat.
She used to fantasize about it sometimes. Usually before forcing herself to get out of bed in the morning, curled in a tight ball under her blankets and digging her nails in the very last moments where she could pretend that she wouldn't have to wake up to a day where he was still gone. She imagined that she would open the door and he would be there, and it would all have been a mistake, they never found a body, never decided that it was him. She never really believed it, but she imagined it so hard that it'd hurt to let go, and her fingers would tingle as if they'd really been madly clinging to something.
She doesn't think she's imagining it now, but she must be. Maybe she fell asleep again and dreamed of getting up to get a glass of water. That must be it. But the pang in her chest warning her that she hasn't been breathing for the last who-knows-how-many seconds feels very real.
Her hand grasps the doorframe. Her knees feel suddenly wobbly and for a moment she expects them to hit the threshold at her feet. She's almost surprised when they do not.
He's standing in the middle of the walkway, his head lowered, his hands buried in his pockets. She notices the way his shoulders slouch—she doesn't know why that of all things. His teeth sink into his lip. He looks up at her for a second and then away again.
"Hi," he says.
Something inside her feels like a river crashing over its banks.
You were dead she thinks. They found the body. They said it was you. They had no doubt.
They found the body and you were dead and it's been over a fucking year.
She takes in a breath and releases it in a shaky puff. Her lips are numb. "Hi?" she croaks. He kicks the gravel a little.
"Yeah."
She shakes her head. "Hi?!" she repeats, nearly screaming it this time, her voice rising up to an almost hysterical tone. "Is that—is that—"
Is that all you have to say she's trying to ask, but it won't come out. Something like a strangled sob does instead, and her throat tightens and she digs her nails into the wood of the doorframe as she gasps for air. It takes her a handful of seconds to persuade her lungs to work again.
She looks up. He's still there, staring at his feet. She breathes in.
"They found your body," she accuses him. He raises one eyebrow a little.
"Yeah, he told—"
"We mourned you!" she shouts. Her fingers itch with the sudden urge to slap him across the face. "Me, Brock, Pikachu, your mom, all of us! We buried you!"
He bites his lip again. "Yeah. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?!"
He says nothing. Misty's eyes scan his figure from head to toe and back again, still not quite managing to convince the rest of her. They stop on a darker spot on the side of his shirt.
She blinks. "You're bleeding."
"I guess," he says with a shrug. She stares at him, expecting an explanation. When it doesn't come she shakes her head again.
"What happened?"
His teeth sink into his lip once more. She waits for what must be at least a full minute, then lets out a loud sigh.
"Come in. Let me take a look at that before you bleed out on my front door."
He hesitates for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other; then complies. She moves out of the way to let him in, instinctively pressing her back against the doorframe. She can feel the air move as he walks past her. He gives her a quick sideways glance before looking down at his feet again, and she nearly gasps as their eyes meet.
She closes the door. Her hands are shaking and the latch escapes her fingers more than once before she finally manages to push it back in place. Her heart is throbbing in her back.
He's still there when she turns. Maybe an empty corridor would have been easier to cope with. She could have told herself that she imagined everything, that she hallucinated it, that he was never there and it would all still make sense. But he is, and everything from the chilly night air sending slight shivers down her spine to the furious beating of her heart still tells her that she is not dreaming.
He still doesn't say anything, and neither does she. She can't. They stand in silence for a while. Then she turns, her eyes lingering on him for as long as possible, and makes way to the living room. His footsteps follow after a moment.
On the door she stops and nods towards the couch, the shape of it visible in the street lights coming from the window. "Sit down. I'll—I'll get some bandages."
She quickly spins around and hurries towards the bathroom. The neon light hurts her eyes when she flips the switch. She rummages through the cabinet until she finds bandages and a bottle of disinfectant, and almost drops them because her fingers are still trembling.
Back in front of the living room she stops and breathes in as if she were about to dive into her pool, closing her eyes for a moment. She's not quite sure what she's praying for—to find him sitting on the couch like she told him or to turn on the light and find the room empty and him gone like any hallucination worthy of its name. She walks in and hits the switch all at once.
Ash looks up at her. Now that she's seeing him in full light there's no doubt that he's there. She notices again the way he isn't quite holding himself upright, his shoulders sagging forward a little. There's mud on his shoes and scratches on his arms. She breathes in and out again and shakes her head.
"…Okay. Take off your shirt."
He presses his lips together and looks away. Misty frowns.
"Come on. I can't look at your wound if you don't."
His fingers still hesitate for a second or two as they grasp the fabric of his shirt to pull it over his head, and he keeps avoiding her eyes as she walks closer. She thinks it's the wound he doesn't want her to see at first. She doesn't notice until she's only a few steps away.
Her stomach turns.
His back is covered in scars. Deep, long marks crossing over in every direction, like his flesh was torn to bits and then haphazardly pieced back together. She parts her lips to speak and for a handful of moments she can't find her voice.
"What happened…?"
"What does it look like," he grumbles, staring at the carpet. She swallows and leans against the back of the couch, her legs shaky once again. It looks like whip marks. She takes another trembling breath.
"O-okay. Just—let me see the wound now."
He does. It's a red gash on his left side, under his ribs. There's too much blood to tell anything else, so she uncaps the disinfectant and pours it on some of the bandages to clean it, her stomach still in knots. She walks around the couch and kneels down in front of him.
"It's going to burn," she warns him. He shrugs.
"Doesn't matter."
He breathes in sharply through his teeth as she presses the bandages against his wound, but doesn't complain. His side rises and falls under her palm. She takes in other details she had not registered yet—he's thin, his ribs small bumps under his skin, and there's other scars on his arms and his stomach, though not as ugly as the ones on his back. And he's warm. He's breathing. A couple weeks ago she left flowers on his tombstone and now he's sitting in front of her and bleeding all over her couch.
The wound doesn't look as bad once she's cleaned it. It's as long as her finger and it'd probably need stitches, and the sight of it still makes her stomach turn over, but it doesn't seem to be as deep as she first though. She drops the bloody bandages in a ball on the floor and reaches for more.
She looks up at him once she's done. "Better?"
He nods. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Now tell me what happened."
He looks away, biting his lip hard. Misty waits. Then balls her hands into fists and stands up.
"They didn't let me see the body, you knew that? The body they said was you. They said it was in such bad conditions that it was best if I didn't." She shakes her head. "But it didn't matter that I never saw it, because I had nightmares about it for months anyway. I woke up screaming in the middle of the night, almost every night. And when I thought—every time I thought things were getting a bit better, every time I tried to go on, I'd just wake up screaming all over again."
Ash keeps not looking at her. His hands tighten on the edge of the couch. Misty shakes her head one more time.
"So I deserve to know. I deserve to know why—why I had to go through that, why I had to mourn you and spend a whole year thinking that you were dead. Tell me."
He hesitates for a moment still, then breathes out in a sigh and reaches for his shirt to put it back on. He swallows, his eyes still fixed on the carpet at her feet.
"I was kidnapped," he finally forces out of his throat. She frowns.
"What?"
"By a man named Giovanni," he adds, the words still sounding like he has to squeeze them out. He presses his lips in a thin line and she sees him swallow again. "He's—the head of Team Rocket."
She still doesn't understand. "What...? Why?"
"He wanted me to become a part of the team. He—" his voice hitches for a second "he kept me locked in a cell and—his men would beat me. Not him, he—he doesn't like to get his hands dirty. But they did. Every day, until I did what he wanted."
His words jab into her middle like knives. She holds her breath.
"I held on for… I dunno, maybe a month. I thought it would be over somehow sooner or later. I thought—maybe they'd kill me and that'd be it. But they didn't, so I—started doing what he said. I kept telling myself that I was pretending and I was just waiting for the right moment to escape, but I think—I think really, I just wanted the pain to stop." He clenches his jaw, trembling a little; then suddenly looks up at her. "You wanted to know, right?"
She can't reply. Shaking, she takes a couple unsteady steps towards the couch and sits down. She brings her hands to her mouth.
"There was a body," she manages to stammer after a few moments. "They said—they were sure it was you. So we didn't—we didn't—"
"Yeah. He told me," he says. "He wanted me to know that no one would look for me."
She feels sick. Everything in her feels numb. "How are you here now…?"
"I ran," he replies with a shrug. "I learned some things from—the things Giovanni made me do. So when I finally had a chance to escape I took it. One of Giovanni's men fired at me, but I managed anyway."
His hand runs to the wound on his side. Misty turns to look at him.
He bites his lip one more time. "I just—I wanted to see someone familiar."
She just stares at him for a while. "Why did Giovanni want you?" she finally whispers, of all the things she could have said.
The corners of Ash's lips curl in a grim smile. It's the first one she sees since he appeared at her front door, but it's nothing like the smiles she remembers. It's bitter and empty.
"He's my father."
She says nothing. She looks at him for a moment still. Then slowly she leans closer, and wraps her arms around him.
He stiffens. "Don't. He made me do—I did some horrible things. You wouldn't—"
"I don't care right now," she interrupts him, and holds him tighter. His arms remain limp at his sides, but he doesn't pull back, either. Misty digs her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, feeling every bump and furrow of his ruined back. Feeling him there, broken, hurt, but alive.
A single dry sob escapes her chest, painful like a rip, smothered against his shoulder.
She holds him like that for a while.
—-
Ash doesn't look at her when she frees him from her hug. He presses his lips together, his eyes wandering towards the door.
"I shouldn't stay here," he says after a few moments. Misty frowns.
"What are you talking about?"
He stands up from the couch. "He's not just gonna let me go like that. He'll be looking for me."
She looks at him. "So what, you're gonna go meet him and make things easier?" she inquires. Her voice is still shaking a little. Ash clenches his hands into fists.
"If someone tracks me they'll end up here. I'm putting you in danger if I stay."
"It doesn't matter. You're not going anywhere."
He shakes his head: "You don't know what these people can do when—"
"It doesn't matter!" She stands as well. "I'm not letting you leave. I have my pokémon, if someone comes here I'll fight them."
"It's—not that easy. You don't know what they're capable of."
"And you don't know what I'm capable of if you think I'll just let you go anywhere alone in the middle of the night after what you just told me!"
He doesn't retort, but his eyes run back to the door and his weight shifts impatiently in the same direction. Misty takes a step forward, balling her fists as well.
"No, listen, you don't get to do this, okay?"
He gives her a glance. "Do what?"
"This! Pop up at my door after a year and then disappear again after five minutes and expect me to just sit here and watch you leave!"
She shouts it louder than she meant to, and in the silence that follows she digs her nails into her palm until they hurt. He's quiet for a couple moments; then lets out a sharp breath and turns his head away again, his hands still clasped tight. "...Well, sorry. I couldn't exactly drop by to visit sooner, y'know."
Her shoulders drop a little, taking the blow. "I didn't mean that."
He says nothing. Misty sighs; then walks closer and tentatively lays a hand on his arm. She feels him tense up under her touch.
"Listen, we—we can figure something out, okay?"
"How?" he asks, grim. She bites the inside of her cheek.
"We—can call the police. They can protect you and—"
"No."
He says it so desperately that she's taken aback for a second. She shakes her head. "...But why? They could... put someone on watch or..."
"It's—not how you think," he stops her. His arm shakes slightly in her grasp. "Team Rocket is... bigger than you could ever imagine. They have people inside the police."
She stares at him wide-eyed for a few moments. Then swallows a lump in her throat and breathes in. "...Okay. Just stay here then. There's only a few hours left until the morning, we'll be fine. And then—" she tries to think as she speaks, "tomorrow I'll call Brock and ask him to come here. We'll figure out together. I promise."
He promptly shakes his head again. "I've gotten you involved in this already. I don't need to drag other people in it."
"And what do you expect me to do, not tell anyone about any of this and pretend nothing happened?"
The way his teeth sink once again into his lower lip tells her that yes, that was exactly what he hoped she'd do. She lets out another small sigh. "I can't do that, Ash. Brock, your mother, Pikachu—they deserve to know too, I can't just keep it from them. They need to know that you're alive."
He looks at his feet. Misty gives his arm a gentle squeeze. She can almost close her fingers around it; she can't remember if it was always that way.
"And they need to know. So we can help you."
He's silent for a moment still; then pulls his arm from her grasp, taking a half-step away. "I can take care of myself. I don't need your help."
"Well, you're getting it anyway," she snaps. Ash glares at her for a second before turning away again.
"I shouldn't have come."
"Well too bad, you're here now. And I'm not letting you leave, even if I have to stand here yelling at you till next morning!"
"Don't you get it, I'm trying to protect you!"
"And I'm trying to do the same!"
They stand looking daggers at each other for a bit. She takes a breath and releases it slowly, unsuccessfully trying to calm the wild pounding in her chest.
"I thought you were dead," she says.
"Yeah, I—"
"And now you're here," she continues, interrupting him "and that's already freaking hard to take in, you know? And I can't—I can't take not knowing if you'll still be alive tomorrow if I let you walk out of the door right now. I can't take it. So stop being so damn stubborn!"
The back of her eyes stings a little. Ash keeps staring at her, but the harsh curve of his brow has softened a bit and the rest of his stance does as well after a few moments. He looks down and kicks the carpet, letting out an angry sigh. "Fine."
"Great." She sniffles and walks back to the couch, letting herself fall back on it. "Thanks."
He stands in the middle of the room for another handful of seconds; then sighs again and sits down as well. The cushions sink a little under his weight. In the silence that follows she listens to the still-furious beating of her heart and holds her pain between her hands, cutting herself on every sharp edge she had carefully smoothed away. She turns it over and over and doesn't know what to do with it.
She was angry when they told them the body was his. Furious. First because she couldn't believe it; then because they wouldn't let her see him. She wanted to scream and smash things, not cry. When she did cry at last it was out of anger still, or so she thought until she couldn't stop. Do you have any idea what it meant, a part of her wants to scream now despite everything he said, losing you. But she thinks of the marks carved in the flesh of his back and that smile that wasn't really a smile at all, and tells herself that he probably knows all too well what it means to be lost.
She rubs the back of her hand over her eyes. "Are you hungry?" she asks. "I can get you something."
"...Yeah, that'd be nice, actually," he says. She attempts a slight smile, not quite managing it, and stands up again.
"Wait here. And don't try to leave, I swear I'll chase you and drag you back here."
"I won't try," he promises. Still, she lingers on her feet for a moment before hurrying to the door, and halfway out of the room she stops one more time. She swallows a lump of air. Only after another instant she manages to persuade her legs to work again.
—-
When she comes back with a bowl of microwaved ramen he's still where she left him.
He eats swiftly, hunched over the bowl, one arm around it as if fearing that someone might take it from him. Misty watches him for a bit. "How did you know I'd be here?" she asks after a couple minutes.
He swallows. "I didn't," he says. "I thought you'd be traveling. I just had to try anyway."
She bites her lip. "I came back here after... well." She gives a little shrug, looking down at her feet. "I didn't really feel like traveling anymore."
His chopsticks stop mid-air for a moment before he crams another mouthful in. "I'm sorry," he grumbles through it, without looking at her.
"You don't have to be," she retorts. "Besides, it's not that bad. I'm officially a gym leader of the Cerulean City gym now."
Ash lifts his head a little. "Are you?"
"Yeah." She forces out a small laugh. "My sisters weren't doing that great, so I thought I'd try taking care of the matter myself. I liked it. It gave me something to do. And hey, I got to prove my sisters that I could do a better job than them, which was a nice bonus."
When she turns he's not quite smiling, but almost, like his eyes are but the rest of him can't remember how to. It lasts barely a moment; then he bites his lips and lowers the chopsticks in the almost-empty bowl. "What about... Pikachu, and—my mom? How are they?"
"They're fine. Well, as fine as they can be," she says. "Pikachu is living with your mom. She cares for him very much."
Ash stirs the remaining ramen and says nothing. She smiles a bit.
"I visit them sometimes. Pikachu always comes to sit in my lap. And your mom, she—we always talk a lot. She's helped me a lot. She's probably the kindest and the strongest person I know."
He bites his lips harder. "And Brock?" he asks after a moment, his voice wavering slightly. "What about him?"
"He's okay too. He's living with his family, and helping out with the gym and everything. Lately he's been thinking of starting to study to become a pokémon doctor."
He's silent again. She used to be able to look at him and know exactly what was going through his head; now she tries to imagine what might feel like, hearing about their lives going on and readjusting around his absence, and she's drawing a blank.
I did some horrible things.
There's so much she wants to ask him. Instead she sinks her teeth into her lip as well and stares at the carpet. "I'm sorry," she ends up whispering after a handful of moments, and she didn't know she was going to say it until it tumbles out of her.
Ash looks at her and frowns a little. "For what?"
"For that fight we had. You know, the evening before you—" She swallows. "I just—I never got to say it. I'm sorry."
He says nothing for a second or two, then shrugs. "I can barely remember what that was about. You don't have to be sorry."
"I know." She takes a breath and slowly lets it out. "But all this time I kept wondering if that was why—you walked away in the middle of the night, because you were mad at me. So I'm sorry. Even if it didn't have anything to do with anything."
He bends over to leave the empty bowl on the coffee table. She notices a thin scar running along his forearm. "I didn't go anywhere," he says. "I got up to pee and someone grabbed me and held something in my face that smelled like sleep powder. Then I woke up in a cell. That's it."
That's it. His voice is flat as he speaks, like it hardly even matters. It hurts so badly that her breath catches in her chest, and she wraps her arms around herself and can't speak anymore. He shuffles uncomfortably on his half of the couch and looks away.
When she woke up this morning he was dead and the hardest thing to accept was that she couldn't do anything, that that could never be changed no matter how hard she wished that she could go back and do something differently. Now he's there, and hurt in more ways than she can even begin to understand, and there has to be something she can do, anything other than look at the carpet and try to breathe around the lump in her throat; but she doesn't know what.
"Whose body was it?" she asks after a bit. Ash shrugs one more time.
"I don't know. Some kid who looked enough like me, I guess."
"But—they ran tests. They said—" that after being in the water for so long the body was in such a bad state that even Delia, who did see it, couldn't be entirely sure. But the DNA and dental records tests were. She shakes her head, tears stinging in the back of her eyes.
"Giovanni could've had those faked in a heartbeat," he says. She lets out a half-sob and brings a hand to her face. It's a while before she can bear to look at him again.
He's staring at nothing in particular, still sitting with that slouchy posture. His hand is grasping the edge of the couch, tight enough that she can see every tendon like ropes. She thinks of taking it in hers, but she stops when she sees him tense up even more before she's even touched him.
She wraps her arms back around herself. She can't say anything.
—-
It still early in the morning when she calls Brock.
It takes her a good five minutes of hesitating with the phone in one hand to finally convince herself to dial his number. She paces back and forth as she listens to the dial tone, rehearsing the conversation in her head. Something happened. There's something you need to know. None of it sounds right.
"Misty?"
She turns. Brock is looking at her from the screen. She takes a breath and releases it in a nervous huff: "Hi."
He smiles, but his brow furrows in a slight frown, and she notices the way his hair is squashed on one side. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah. Sorry, did I wake you up?"
"It's fine, I was about to get up anyway. But are you okay? Why are you calling?"
She rolls the phone wire around her fingers. "Yeah, I'm okay. It's—listen, can you come here? As soon as possible?"
"Something wrong with the gym?" he insists. He shakes his head a little. "With your pokémon?"
"No, it's—it's all alright." She pulls the wire harder. "But it's complicated. Could you just—come here? It's... kind of really important. I'll explain."
Brock looks at her in confusion for a couple moments. Then runs a hand through his hair. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can, is that okay?"
"Yeah." She breathes out a bit. "Thanks."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I told you."
He doesn't seem convinced. He tells her he'll have his pokégear with him, in case she needs to call again before he gets there, and asks again if she's sure she's alright, twice, and she wonders how much of the mess of her emotions he can see on her face. She tells him okay, and yes, and see you, and puts down the phone after he does. She closes her eyes for a moment trying to collect her thoughts before heading back to the living room.
"I called Brock," she says. Ash looks at her for a moment, then away.
"Great."
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Listen, I—need to go take care of my pokémon and the gym now, so I was thinking maybe you could try to get some sleep in the meantime? I imagine you're tired."
She noticed the way he started to rub his hand over his eyes every now and then over the past couple hours. He shrugs, though. "I'm fine. And it's better if I don't anyway, I should keep watch."
"I can do that."
"You have your pokémon and the gym to take care of, you just said it."
"I can do both," she sighs. "You should get some rest. I'll wake you up if I hear or see anything strange, how about that?"
He puffs his cheeks. But he must be actually tired, because he grumbles a "fine" after a couple moments, rolling his eyes. She raises her eyebrows a little.
"You can have my bed if you want."
"The couch is fine."
She sighs again. "As you wish. I'll get you a blanket."
She heads to her room to find one. She picks up Togepi from her bed; and as she walks past her mirror her eyes fall on the photo in the frame. She stops, and takes it and holds it in her hand for a while, not quite knowing why.
His smile in the photo is brighter than anything. She looks at it until her chest aches. Then sets it down on her drawer, her eyes lingering on it for a moment still; and quickly runs her finger through her still-tangled hair before turning away.
She walks back with a blanket tucked under one arm and Togepi in the other. Right before the door she stops and sets the pokémon down: "Wait here," she whispers, because she has yet to think of how to explain, and waits until Togepi gives a confused nod before walking back in.
"Here."
Ash mutters a "thanks" and lies down on his uninjured side, facing the back of the couch. He curls up in a ball under the blanket, his legs drawn close to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them. He never used to sleep like that, she thinks. He always took up all the available space, sprawling arms and legs everywhere. Now he seems to be doing the opposite, huddling up on himself until he almost disappears. She watches him for a moment still, to make sure he won't.
"You're not gonna try to run away if I leave, right?" she asks. "I'm chasing you. I swear."
A sigh comes from under the blanket. "I'm not."
"Okay." But she still hesitates for a bit before turning away. "Sleep well."
It's not until a couple hours later, when she's sitting on the edge of the pool with all the indispensable chores of the morning already done, that the almost-thought that's been stirring at the back of her mind suddenly rips through her. I should have known. It's stupid, of course; once the body was identified there was never a "maybe", there was never a "what if", never a reason to suspect that it might not have been him, but still she folds herself around her knees, her hands knotted tight around her ankles to keep them from shaking. I should have known, I shouldn't have believed them, I should have found you.
Togepi is the first to come cuddle by her side. Then Psyduck, and her Staryu; and the ones that can't come out of the pool crowd along the edge. Minutes later they're all surrounding her, even without knowing what happened, and she cries a little, doing her best to smother her sobs against her knees. They stay, and wait; and afterwards she's still hurting, and still lost, but perhaps a tiny bit less.
—-
She goes back to check on him a couple times through the morning, her pulse and her steps hurrying a little as she walks down the hallway, half expecting him not to be there anymore. But the first time she finds him still sound asleep, although twitching slightly from time to time, like he's dreaming; and she stands in the doorway for a bit, listening to his breathing.
When she comes back again he's shifting under the blanket and his breath his ragged and heavy, and half words come out of his throat, sounding almost like sobs. She bites her lips, wondering if she should wake him up, but he seems to calm down after a while and she watches him for a couple minutes still and then turns to leave. She's just out of the door when she hears screaming.
Her heart jumps in her throat and she freezes and then spins around, rushing back into the room. He's still curled up in a ball under the blanket, and as she watches his shoulders tense up to the point that it almost looks like something in him might snap and break and he squeezes another strangled scream out his chest. For a moment Misty stands still, her own breath caught at the bottom of her lungs, then hurries to the couch and there she stops again. She swallows as he shivers; then lays one hand on his shoulder gently to shake him.
He jerks up the moment she touches him. He rolls to his back and his fingers grasp her wrist so tight it hurts, and her heart jumps again, a little.
Ash freezes when their eyes meet. For a handful of moments he just stares at her, his face a blank. She shakes her head a bit.
"...Hey. It's okay. It's just me."
He blinks. He looks at her again and then at his hand. She attempts a nervous smile, her heart still racing.
"You can let go now."
He does, slowly. He sits up and brings a hand to his eyes, turning away from her, and she resists the impulse to rub her wrist. "Don't do that," he says. She frowns.
"Do what?"
He breathes. "He—Giovanni trained me to be alert even when I'm sleeping. I might hurt you."
"...It's okay. You didn't," she assures him. Then shakes her head again. "You were screaming."
"I was just dreaming."
She's not sure what to say. She purses her lips as he keeps not looking at her, his breath still somewhat unsteady. Her eyes fall on the blood stain on the side of his shirt. She lets out a small sigh and sits next to him.
"...Hey, how about you take a shower and I see if I can find you something clean? There might be a couple shirts Brock forgot here somewhere. They'll be a little big, but at least they won't have blood on them." He doesn't reply, so she goes on. "And then you could come with me. I'll show you the gym and my pokémon. I think you'll be surprised."
She smiles, hoping he might smile back, but he doesn't. He turns to look at her though, at least. He blinks, seemingly overwhelmed for a second; then shrugs.
"Okay."
And perhaps it's not much of an answer, but it can be enough, for now. She repeats it to herself as she stands, breathing in and out again. Okay.