Our Dance

We regret to inform you that your trainer perished.

I shook the ever-present words from my head and continued my walk to the city, wicker shopping basket in hand. Yawning, I rubbed the bags under my eyes and stretched my aching back. Then I grabbed an energy bar I packed in the basket, chewing it slowly.

It's the worst news anyone can hear that a loved one has passed, human or Pokemon. After all, you form a life-long bond with your trainer. A promise that says the two of you will stand side-by-side, facing whatever comes your way along your shared life journey together. So to have one of you snatched away, it's an indescribable pain that tears your heart open, ripping out the part dedicated to your partner, and leaving tattered pieces in its wake.

That's exactly how it felt when I received that letter a few years ago informing me that my trainer, conscripted to fight in a war I didn't understand, was killed in battle. All I saw when I closed my eyes was him laying in some unknown field, one body among hundreds of others, suffering, cold, and alone, with no one beside him.

I didn't want to believe it at first. It had to be wrong. I saw him during the previous holidays. He came home, we celebrated Christmas together before he left. The whole week we spent together compressed itself into a fraction of a second, especially the last day. How we stayed up late into the night, enjoying every moment we could in front of the fireplace, cuddled together on the sofa.

"Hopefully this is over soon," he said. "Maybe by next Christmas, I'll be home permanently."

I'd like that and nestled my nose in his neck.

"Which reminds me," he said, standing and rummaging through a bag on the floor. "I picked this up before I came back home. I meant to give it to you last night, but well…" He trailed off, both of us remembering our late night Christmas Eve activities all too well.

He produced a vinyl record and set-up the record player nearby. A minute later, a soft, dulcet voice drifted through the room. A woman singing of her true love and how she'd love him forevermore. My trainer approached me with a short bow and offered his hand. "May I have this dance?"

I placed my paw in his and he swept me up and around in front of the fireplace. We danced throughout the entire record and long after, staring into one another's eyes, and eventually with my head on his chest. I felt his strong, comforting heartbeat and the soothing breaths as he held me close.

"I love you," he said, kissing the top of my forehead.

All those images, all those last moments shattered in a violent explosion, falling into sharp, cutting lines that formed the words of the army's letter again.

This wasn't right. It wasn't. I read and re-read the letter, absorbing every word until there could be no doubt.

He was dead.

I hardly remember the weeks following the letter. I stayed locked in our home, away from all prying eyes, hiding in the bedroom. I must've eaten at points, for I stayed alive instead of wasting away. In fact, I remember a few neighbors left food on the doorstep for me. So they must've heard about the letter. Or did I show them? It didn't matter.

I spent those long days and nights in the bed, inhaling what little was left of his scent, savoring it before it drifted away completely. The room lightened and darkened at random. Sometimes I slept, other times I stayed awake for days, crying, screaming, setting something on fire, then quickly stamping it out lest I burn down the house. Every time I woke, I always seemed to have a nightmare of my trainer being torn from me. I always hoped to find him in bed, a great big smile on his face and ready to go into the city.

The world wasn't so kind.

After a couple months of seclusion, I finally emerged blinking from the house, looking up into a too bright sun. I expected the world outside to be changed somehow. Destroyed, empty, a desolate wasteland. But it wasn't. Life moved on, oblivious to my pain. Other Pokemon frolicked through the summer grass, humans greeted one another on the roads, and the planes landed in the airport at the city against the bottom of the hill like they always had.

When the neighbors saw me finally emerge, they swarmed all over, asking how I was, if I needed anything, how glad they were to see me out of the house. I assured them as best as I could that I was fine.

I took a long, cold shower, waking myself up, and nibbled what little food I could. The letter laid on the dining room table where I'd dropped it weeks ago after reading through it. I pushed it away and looked around the house. It was dusty, the dishes were piled to the ceiling, and a couple of rooms were in disarray. To say nothing of the overgrown yard.

I decided then and there I needed something to keep my mind off things. Something to focus on and I set about cleaning up the house and the yard. The neighbors offered to pitch in, but I shooed them away. I needed this or else I'd collapse again.

Besides, it was our house. He'd bought it and we'd filled it together, turning it into a home for the two of us. Which is why that line kept sticking out to me as I cleaned up the house and yard. We regret to inform you that your trainer perished.

Because in reality, he was my husband. Not officially, of course, as no one would marry a human and a Pokemon. However, behind closed doors, in our own private world, we were husband and wife and loved one another deeply.

Outside though, we kept up the appearance of trainer and Pokemon. Technically speaking, yes, he was a trainer. But so is a Pokemon breeder or a Pokemon daycare worker, but you don't expect them to train a team to take on gyms. I'd heard some Pokemon refer to their trainers as master, yet that never felt right. I always called him my human while out and about and he referred to me as "my Delphox."

I liked that. My Delphox. Almost as much as I liked calling him my husband.

My husband.

The general morning chatter of the city broke me out of my musings and I headed to the supermarket near the park. The old cashier greeted me as I entered and headed into the back to gather my regular grocery order. I perused the aisles for a few minutes, picking out a few extra vegetables I'd try adding to dinner tonight, and a large bottle of sleep aid medicine.

When the cashier returned, he handed over the groceries and I handed over the money. "How's everything going today? Good?" he asked. I nodded as a few other people entered the store, shopping and talking amongst themselves. He went through the list, making sure he had gathered everything I needed.

An older woman, approaching middle age I'd guess, tapped my shoulder. "Excuse me? Hi, nice to meet you. I couldn't help notice you don't seem to have a trainer." She brought a small boy out from behind her back. "If you don't have one, I was wondering if you wouldn't be open to being my son's Pokemon?"

The cashier looked up, already noticing the issue. Before he could explain, another guy piped up. "Hey, wait a minute!" He pushed ahead of the mother and son. By the belt of Pokeballs around his waist, I already knew what he planned to ask. Just like many other trainers who often saw me, I silently mumbled along to his request. "Wait, I've been looking for a strong fire type to take on the nearby gym. Join my team!"

I shook my head and turned to take the groceries. The trainer was persistent. "Hey, c'mon. You need a trainer to bring out your full potential."

"I spoke to her first!" the mother insisted.

The trainer sized her son up and chuckled. "Lady, he needs to start with something easy, like a Cubchoo. Trust me."

By then, the cashier spoke up. "If I may-"

"Hey, we were here first, man," the trainer said, then returned to me. "Trust me. Stick with me and we can get to the top."

I'd lost what little patience I had by that point and snarled at him. I produced my trusty stick from my fur and set the tip ablaze, holding it dangerously close to him that his hair singed. Immediately, he clammed up and the mother pushed her son behind her protectively.

The cashier sighed and held his arms out between us, trying to diffuse the situation. "This Pokemon is already spoken for. She's fiercely loyal to her trainer and doesn't take kindly to people trying to take her from him."

"O-Oh," the trainer said, leaning away from me, his cross-eyed gaze focused on the fire. "I see. Could've just said that."

I growled and jammed the stick closer, the flame inches from his nose.

"If I were you, I'd try the forest outside the city and far from here," the cashier said none too subtly. "Bound to be some good fire types out there."

"Sounds good to me." The trainer edged around my personal flame-set circle and dashed out the door. Once out of sight, I snuffed out the flame and returned the stick to my fur.

The mother dragged her son away into one of the aisles, mumbling to herself. "Maybe a Cubchoo would be best for you. I don't want some dangerous Pokemon burning the house down."

The cashier chuckled and handed over my groceries. "I'm not saying you need to pick one of those two, but would it be so bad to find another trainer? It has been a few years now." I loaded the groceries in my wicker basket and shot him a glare, daring him to go down this same path again that we had many times before. He raised his hands innocently. "Okay, okay. I know. Just hate seeing you waste away by yourself."

I swiftly exited the store and headed for the nearby park, determined to put the whole interaction out of mind.

That day, the park was bright and cheery, with plenty of people and Pokemon enjoying it. I walked along the meandering paths, getting a few strange looks here and there. After all, a Delphox walking alone with a basket full of groceries was a little unusual. Unfortunately, I couldn't shake the store interaction out of my head.

I'd had the same conversation with plenty of neighbors in the years since I received that letter. "You're still in your prime." Or "Why not find another trainer to care for you?"

I flat-out refused. None would ever compare to my trainer. Therefore, after I cleaned up the house during those first few months, I dedicated myself to tending to the home and repeating our usual daily routine. It gave me something to latch onto and maintain my sanity. An early breakfast, followed by a walk in the park, then later dinner, and a slow dance.

I ended up walking around the park a few times and would've kept going, but the sun started to set in the distance. Where did the time go? So I headed back home, did some laundry, dusted, re-made an already perfectly neat bed, washed the vegetables for dinner, and cooked a nice stew.

The dinner table always felt too large by myself, so I set out an empty bowl and cup on the other side. Still, I couldn't eat much and when looking at the vacant chair across from me, my stomach twisted into painful knots.

I spent the rest of the evening in front of the fireplace, staring at the embers for a long while. Zoning out, daydreaming of better times. Then I set up the record player and held onto its edges as the music played, sashaying along to the sweet melodies.

I could almost feel his big strong arms around me again. Warm and loving, his lips tickling my ears as he pulled me away and to the center of the floor. I followed my imaginary husband across, my fingers held in his translucent hands, spinning me along the floor.

I danced with him for a long time. When the record ended, so did he and I watched him fade into wispy air. Never coming back to me, never dancing with me again.

I collapsed on the floor in a useless heap and curled up, hiding my ugly, hot tears. When I wore myself out, I fell into a fitful sleep, jerking awake every hour or two from one twisted nightmare or another.

A couple of weeks later, while out shopping before heading to the park, I heard people excitedly talking and gathering around a television in the grocery store. I peered over their heads and listened close.

"-treaty has been signed and further diplomatic talks are expected within the week. As you can see here, many happy faces among the soldiers." The camera panned over a mass of cheering people, throwing their helmets into the air and others toasting each other with large liquor bottles.

"We've also received reports that prisoners are expected to be released from each side," the news anchor continued, but I stopped paying attention. The war was finally over.

"My son thought that things might be ending," an older man in the store said to a few people beside him. "Wrote me a couple of days ago mentioning how they hadn't been sent out on any missions lately."

"I wonder if we can see them," a couple of people close to the television traced their fingers over the repeat of the celebrating soldiers.

"Is Daddy coming home?" a child asked his mother behind me.

"Yes, sweetheart. He is."

I shuffled out of the store and to the park. I plopped onto the nearest bench, thinking about the news story. So everyone would be returning home. Everyone alive, that is. All the neighbors and people in the city would welcome their loved ones with open arms, hugging, kissing, celebrating, all happy and bright. I was glad for them. Truly, I was.

Yet I couldn't stop the harsh truth leering in my face. Everyone else would be returning except my trainer. While all the others got their loved ones again, I'd be left all alone. Yes, there likely were a few in my situation who didn't expect family members or friends to return. But they all had others to lean on in this hard time.

I didn't have anyone. It was only me.

Suddenly, the park and the outdoors didn't hold much appeal anymore. Not when I'd be constantly assaulted by such joy. I quickly returned home and crawled into bed, gripping the sheets and breathing heavily into them. They charred beneath me, but I didn't care. I never wanted to leave the bed again.

Despite my initial reaction, I didn't lose myself to the dark pit of depression again. I did keep to the house though, only venturing into the city for supplies, but otherwise shutting myself off from all others. I figured after a few months, the last of the soldiers would return and I could leave the house in safety without worry of what I couldn't have cruelly dangled in front of me.

One chilly autumn night, someone knocked at the door, making me jump and nearly cut myself while preparing dinner. I hadn't expected anyone so I approached the door carefully, keeping the chain latch on as I opened it a crack.

"Mind letting me in?" a voice asked. "It's kind of cold out here."

I tilted my head in confusion and the stranger leaned down, sticking their face close to the opening. "It's me, honey."

My heart skipped a beat as though I'd seen a ghost. I didn't know what to do. Was this a trick? Was I losing my mind? I slammed the door shut and fumbled with the latch. Whatever was out there, I needed to see and confirm it for myself. After all, it couldn't be him. It couldn't be.

I swung open the door and time froze.

There he was, in the flesh. My trainer. My husband, with that crooked smile and twinkling eyes. A scraggly beard and a muss of long hair covered thin cheeks, but he was no less handsome than the day he left. He dropped his bag inside the door and stepped in slowly, shutting it behind him.

He stamped his feet on the welcome mat and swung his arms. "I'm, uh, sorry I'm a little late. I only recently found out it's all over myself." Then he smiled wide. "It's wonderful to see you again."

This was a dream. It had to be a dream. There was no possible way that he was standing there, alive and well. But unlike all the other lonely nights, he didn't fade away. He was as solid as the wall beside him.

He reached out for me and I flinched. "What is it?" he asked. "Did I do something wrong?"

I held up a paw, signaling him to wait, then dashed to the bedroom. I threw open the beside table, took out the letter, and hurried back to the front door, thrusting it in his face. He scanned the words and as he did, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Sweetheart, this is a mistake."

Of course it was a mistake! A very glaring mistake! I shook the paper furiously, demanding an explanation.

He took the letter and set it aside. "Maybe we'd better sit down for this."

I hardly had the strength to walk, so he had to guide me to the sofa and sit me down. I waited as he thought about how best to explain things.

"Shortly after I left, I was sent with the rest of my unit to aid in an attack. It didn't end well and many of us were captured." My heart leapt into my throat immediately and he quickly eased my fears. "It's okay, we're fine. We're all fine now. They used us as exchange for people of theirs we had as prisoners.

"It wasn't easy though and none of us were sure we would survive each day. I'll spare you the gruesome details. The only thing that kept me going was the chance to see you again."

I jabbed a finger at the letter and he shook his head. "I don't know why they sent that. It must've been a mistake. Didn't you get the letters I sent you?"

Letters? What letters?

"You didn't get any of them?" He wiped face and cursed in his hands. "They told us they'd send them. When we were captured, they let us write letters to our families and swore to send them back to our army headquarters. Said they would let them know they were for family and friends."

I emphatically shook my head and again pointed to the sole letter. That was the only one I ever received. The only one. Tears pricked the corner of my eyes and I turned away, letting them stream down my cheeks.

He wrapped his arms around me, no less strong and comforting than that Christmas long ago. "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. I know that must've been hard on you and I hate that I wasn't there for you." He tilted my chin up and pecked my lips. That seemed to cement it, make it real in my mind that he was actually there. My tears quickly turned to those of joy and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close, never wanting to let go.

He laughed, the deep booming sound reverberating through his chest, shaking my cheek pressed to it. "Don't worry. I promise not to leave again. I'm staying right here and we can make up for all the time we lost. We can go to the beach, maybe rent a boat and go sailing. Or we could go hiking across the countryside, get away from it all. Better yet, why don't we take a vacation out of country for a month? See the world? Would you like that?"

All these ideas tumbled out one after another, grandiose suggestions to try and cheer me up. However, I simply wanted to enjoy our routine for now, one that I had had to carry on for so long alone.

Pulling away from him, I held up a digit for him to wait and hurried over to the record player. I adjusted the needle to the beginning of the record and soon a very familiar song filled the room.

He recognized it and I approached him, offering my paw. He gladly accepted it, pulling me close to him. Finally, as we spun in small circles in front of the fireplace, I had my dance with him at long last. One that I wouldn't have to do alone, one where he wouldn't disappear afterwards. And there wasn't anything more I could ask for.