Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to a lot of people who have a lot of money and power, both here in America and abroad. Unfortunately, I'm not one of them. No one should get bent out of shape; I'm just borrowing these guys for a while. All apologies also to any pop culture references warped. I'm just borrowing them, too. And finally, I don't own those songs "Once Upon A December," or "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." If I did, I would be rich and generally happy and able to sit around writing fanfics all day long. ^_^;;;

Prelude: Well, this one ain't gonna increase my popularity, but it will increase SADRN numbers. The Revolution will not be denied! Latonya and her favorite couple take on Diamondshipping, fairy tales, and Anastasia songs. If you have the Anastasia soundtrack, listen to the Deana Carter version, because it's the one I used. This one has a big fat R rating on it, kids, for being Eldershippy and spicy (but eternally tasteful).

A*MON, this story is yours, all yours! Happy birthday, and thanks for being the other vocal Eldershipper! Hope this story is worthy of the dedication to you! Shoutouts also to the Eldershipping Brigade--Llyxius, Spruceton Spook, Ilex, Mysterious Eldershipper, Gia, Fallon, Neongene, Leah, and all you other guys out there. You guys rule so much! *_* Enjoy, send intelligent comments to [email protected].

Once Upon A December

By Latonya Wright

Part 1: The Princess and the Prince of Darkness

She pressed a tiny hand to the windowpane, watched the snowflakes as they cascaded toward earth. It was December--the time when the world went into hibernation. Or so everyone else thought. She knew better. December, to her, was a time when life was created, when new forms and identities came into existence.

"It's a beautiful night," a warm tenor murmured behind her. She turned to face her lover, felt her face grow warm as she gazed upon his body. "I'm sorry, my princess. Did I scare you?"

"No. I was just thinking of you and me and all our other Decembers together."

"They have been wonderful, haven't they?" He nuzzled her neck; she savored the feel of his mouth there.

"Mom!" Her child called to her; he and his friends were racing down the stairs to find her. Her lover moved away just in time. "Mom! Is it time for you to tell the Princess Delilah story yet? I've been telling Brock, Tracey, and Misty about it, and they want to hear it!"

The redheaded young woman sighed dramatically. "Yeah, Mrs. Ketchum, it sounds so romantic!"

"My brothers and sisters always like fairy tales; maybe I can tell them this one," the darkly handsome young man replied.

"The Professor was telling me about it," the observant artist announced. "I knew it had to be great if he liked it."

"Please, Mom?" Her son was bouncing up and down in agitation.

She gazed at her lover. He smiled gently at her. "Why not, Mrs. Ketchum? It seems like the perfect night to tell it."

After a moment, she returned his smile. "All right. I've never had an audience this large, but I'll do the best I can. Everybody get comfortable--the story's kind of long."

She watched as the children cheered, took places on the couch and the carpet. The prince of her heart reclined in his burgundy armchair, gave her an intense, loving gaze. When everyone was settled, she closed her eyes, tilted her head, let her silence and the snow and the frost on the window create the mood. Finally, she slowly opened her eyes, spoke in the barest whisper.

"Once upon a time, here in the Iroke mountains, a young woman named Delilah wished for a prince..."

Dancing bears...

Please, just let me sleep tonight.

But the hand knocked the sheets away, grabbed her breasts, squeezed. She damned her body's involuntary response.

Why should this night be any different from the others, though?

Cringing at the creak of the bedsprings. Wincing as his large hands tore through her delicate auburn-red hair. Doing her damndest not to shy away from the touch of a cool hand on her skin, at the brush of chapped lips on her neck, breasts, stomach. Then having to open herself to... that.

No. Not right now. Don't you see I'm not ready? You have to wait...

She closed her eyelids tightly, tried to shut out the light completely. No, not like that...

Her eyes snapped open, grew moist and blurry. It hurts! Oh, God, it hurts! She bit her lip, felt the teeth cut her flesh, felt the blood's metallic taste on her tongue.

It's hurting me... You're not supposed to hurt me... and the constant movement, the strange positioning, the intense gaze not focused on her face/ eyes/ upper body, did nothing to alleviate the pain.

Please, someone, something, just make it stop...

She turned her own watery gaze upon the wall's shadows.

Even better, let it work tonight.

Watched the dark shadows, tried to imagine that the shadows belonged to someone else, that their rhythmic motions were merely part of some horrendous slideshow that could be turned on and off.

Let us finally make our child.

She damned her minor involuntary response again. Thanked God that it was over.

Maybe now he'll be gentle. If he's gentle with me just once, I can handle all of this...

No kiss, no touch, no words from her husband. Just the crush of his weight on her body, just the quick withdrawal. Seconds later, his complete withdrawal as he turned away from her. He pulled a few of the sheets with him, leaving her partially exposed to the chill December air.

Five minutes later, Giovanni Machiavelli was snoring, leaving his pretty young wife awake to deal with her problems. Leaving her to tolerate her pain and loneliness in cold, dark silence; forcing her to endure his tossing and turning and constant snore-rumbling.

That bastard.

Delilah Machiavelli buried her face in her pillow, tried to smother her sobs as she wept for the beautiful fantasy now lost.

Painted wings...

Illusions.

When Delilah's tears had dried, when she had grown numb to the slight chill in the air, that word had floated to the surface of her consciousness. It had been a major keyword throughout her life, though she might have translated it as merely "flights of the imagination."

Because, before... well, before reality had arrived with a wedding march, even before Giovanni had come along, fantasy loves had seemed richer than transient human relationships. What girl hasn't fallen into her fairy tale dreams? Wouldn't it be wonderful to have that handsome prince, riding on a white Rapidash, come to sweep you off your feet? In her youthful naïveté, Delilah Sawyer had foolishly sworn never to marry until the man who did such things came along.

Times change, though, and so do people. Fairy tales get translated into new metaphors for the society and era--and being an old maid was unappealing enough to make her rearrange her dreams just a bit. If her prince wouldn't come on a white Rapidash, then he would certainly come in a blaze of movie-style, yuppie chivalry, much like this: Boy shyly asks Girl on date. Boy brings Girl flowers. Boy takes Girl to football games. Boy takes Girl to wildly expensive restaurants. Boy lavishes Girl with attention and popularity and money and romance, and all Boy demands in return is that Girl will be his wife someday, that Girl will be the right girl to take home to Mama, to bear his children. No one did that anymore either, though...

Enter Giovanni Machiavelli.

Delilah had been a sophomore at the University of Indigo-Viridian when the swarthy Italian had greeted her in a coffee shop. They had hit it off right away, though he was a senior and a business major (horrors!). By the end of that conversation, he was shyly scuffing his polished loafers on the floor and saying, "Hey, would you like to have dinner with me sometime? I'd like to get to know you better." When she had accepted, and he had come to pick her up, he had brought her flowers before taking her to the ritzy Café New Delhi.

Over the course of two years, he became what she thought a prince should be--both in the real world and in the long-lost kingdoms. A prince should come from an old family; Giovanni was merely the latest in a dynasty that stretched back to the sixteenth century. A prince should have money and power; his father, Viridian City Pokemon Gym Leader Giacomo, provided power, while his mother Sophia enhanced the family fortunes as an art dealer. A prince should be handsome and chivalrous; Giovanni's Mediterranean looks and his suave manners made women swoon. And he treated Delilah like a queen: taking her to those expensive restaurants and football games, bringing her flowers and money and popularity... and eventually taking her home to meet Mama, and asking her to be his wife, right there in front of his mother and father!

She rolled over in a futile attempt to escape the snores of her husband.

Merely six months later, of course, her life had become a vicious cycle. Gone were the tiny gifts of love, of flowers and manners and time spent together. Suddenly Giovanni became intensely interested in the family businesses. He spent most of his days in the gym with his father and most of his nights involved in important deals with his mother's business... or so he said. And the late nights... she shuddered, remembering all the quick, near-forceful couplings, remembering every time he rolled over and fell asleep without the slightest sign of affection.

In her loneliness, she often wondered what the hell they were collecting, what the hell they were training so hard for. She wondered if he was really "training" and "collecting." Perhaps he had another lover somewhere. That might explain why their sexual encounters had degenerated, falling from clumsy attempts at lovemaking to the mere introduction of sperm to egg.

Of course. Why Wouldn't he take a lover? A mistress would provide a solution to the "baby problem." Six months of marriage had passed, and still they had failed to create an heir to the Machiavelli empire. Giovanni--or more precisely, Giovanni's mother--had demanded that a child come, and quickly, to ensure that the Machiavelli name did not die, to ensure that the family business would survive and thrive. As one of her husband's ancestors had said, "The end justifies the means." A mistress might be able to provide what she could not...

Even as she tortured herself with thoughts of her own failings, Delilah cursed every time she had been failed. She had always aspired to win the love of a prince... she had even been willing to take a kitchen servant, so long as the man loved her. Yet her prince, her knight, even her stable boy had disappeared...

Delilah gave a last weak tug on the covers, rolled over once more before closing her eyes and giving herself up to the illusions of her dreams.

Things I almost remember...

"Morning, babydoll," Giovanni said to her as he ambled into the kitchen the next dawn. He gave her the kiss on both cheeks, the affectionate swat on the bottom with the newspaper. That was his morning greeting ritual. When they first came to the winter cottage in Pallet Town, she had hoped that he would leave that habit in their penthouse in Viridian. Unfortunately, it and the rest of their habits had come along for the winter vacation too.

Still, Delilah smiled and performed her part of the ritual. "Hi, honey, did you sleep well?" she asked. Handed him a cup of coffee, with one teaspoon of non-dairy creamer and two teaspoons of sugar. Waited for his response...

"Yeah, I did. It was a really nice night." The suggestive smile, the wink that implied "something happened." And he tossed back the cup of java in two gulps. "What's for breakfast?"

No words to her, no "how was your night," no "honey." She didn't know why she hoped for change. "One of your favorites. Tomato, mushroom, spinach, and feta cheese quiche." It had been really hard to make, especially on only three hours of sleep, but she had done it anyway.

"Aw, thanks, babydoll. You always make the best breakfasts."

As Delilah brought him the plate of quiche, she grinned. At least she was giving her husband pleasure somewhere, and that made everything--every unsatisfied night, every mention of a baby and the "business," every tortured dream--worthwhile. She felt a bit foolish for turning an adoring gaze upon a fork slicing through quiche, but who cared?

Giovanni carefully cut into his quiche, balanced a piece upon his fork. "Smells great, Delilah."

Ring ring ring, ring ring ring, phone call, phone call! The videophone rang, startling Gio and Delilah, causing breakfast to tumble off the fork.

"I'll get it, sweetheart. You just enjoy your breakfast." As she hurried to the phone, she pounded a fist in her palm. Now who the hell would call at seven thirty in the morning? She'd known the answer before she'd pressed the Answer button. "Hello, Machiavelli residence," she said primly.

The accented feminine voice was a whipcrack. "Buon giorno, Delilah. I trust you and Giovanni are well this morning."

"Yes, Mama Machiavelli, we're fine." She fought desperately to keep her tone light and civil. Yes, who else always called before breakfast? Good ol' Sophia.

"You certainly look relaxed, bella. I knew that time in the country would help. Where is my son?"

Oh, no, you don't, Sophia Machiavelli. You won't take him away from me this morning. "He's up and about. But he's in the middle of breakfast right now. Would it be all right if you called him back in half an hour?"

"I'm sorry, cara mia. I must speak to him immediately about the business. There is something I must have him do. A business trip. You understand, don't you, bella?"

Defeated again. "Of course, Mama Machiavelli. Hold on for just a moment, I'll get him."

Her husband was actually just behind her. "Sorry, babydoll," he said apologetically. "I'll be just a few minutes. Keep it warm for me, though, huh?" Then, without any preamble, he launched into his rapid Italian. "Hey, Mama, saluto, che--"

Delilah padded back into the kitchen. Her tummy rumbled and clenched in a cramp. She felt like hell. In her anger and hatred, she remembered that she hated quiche.

She sat there and dreamed of a land where people served her cinnamon French toast every day, in bed. Where men actually seemed to care about women. Where mother-in-laws were forced to burn on pyres when their children married.

The telephone conversation actually took twenty minutes. Sophia barked out commands; Gio returned them with a curt si. At one point, however, Gio's words became a pleading whine. Although Delilah's Italian was terrible at best, she was able to understand the word bambino, something about Christmas, and something about mountains. And words that sounded like "Mia" and "Mew."

Eventually Gio said "Ciao."

Delilah didn't bother to look up from her quiche when he returned. "What did Mama want, honey?"

He sighed. "There's somethin' I gotta tell ya, Delilah."

Gio's tone was too grave. She looked up, saw her husband's dispirited gaze. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

"I have to... Mama wants me to... oh, God." He ran a hand through his thick black hair. "Look, I know we were supposed to stay here in the winter cottage together, and I know it's sort of a vacation from Viridian and work and all that. But..."

She shifted in her seat. Waited for the bomb to drop.

"But Mama wants me to lead a team of... archaeologists in a dig of sorts. We gotta look for some really rare and valuable artifacts, and Mama thinks I'm the best man to lead this expedition."

Delilah's hand gripped her fork. "Mmm-hmm," she answered after a moment. "Okay. And when does the dig start?"

"In two days." As if he were anticipating her next question, he continued, "I don't know how long it'll take. Hopefully the expedition will end before Christmas."

"Hm." She tapped the fork upon the china, nodded. "Well, I'd have liked to spend Christmas here at the cottage, but if I have to come along with you, that's fine."

A silence. Then, "Delilah, I don't... you can't come along, babydoll."

She dropped her fork and gave him an incredulous look.

"See, the expedition's not here in Indigo or Johto or the Islands. It's over in the Andes Mountains. I gotta go to Argentina."

Giovanni kept talking. He said something about a Mew. He said something about making a find that would make him the most powerful gym leader in Kanto. He said something about the dig's far reaching effects. And he mentioned how it would help their family, once they were able to really settle down and start having babies.

She shook her head. "Gio, it's our first Christmas together as... as a family."

Giovanni reached across the table, grabbed her hands. "Delilah, what is it we Machiavellis always saying? The end justifies the means, remember? If I can just go and make this find, we'll be rich and powerful enough to spend every other Christmas together--without any more interruptions from anything. Isn't that worth sacrificing one Christmas for, babydoll?"

She could have understood that sentiment... if he'd only left it at that.

"Besides, Mama and Papa really want me to do this. I want to do this because it's really important to them."

Delilah wept, remembering a time when Giovanni never mentioned his family, remembering a time when Giovanni thought of her as more than just his wife, remembering a time when there was no wicked witch.

That night, Giovanni tried to be gentle with her.

She gnawed her lip, shut her eyes tightly, tried to dream of the handsome prince with dark eyes and a mysterious smile.

And a song someone sings

The next morning, Delilah slept late. Her stomach clenched when she heard Giovanni rumbling around in the closets. Was she ill? Was it morning sickness? If she were pregnant, he might stay...

"You up, babydoll? I fixed breakfast for you. Your favorite... Belgian waffles!"

No, Gio. It's cinnamon French toast. Thank you anyway, sweetheart.

Her stomach lurched when she smelled the food. She crossed her fingers and dug in. She balanced the syrup-laden waffle sliver upon her fork...

"Hi-yah, Rapunzel, hi-yah!"

The deep cry startled her, caused the waffle to pitch off her fork and into her lap.

"What the hell was that?" Giovanni tore open the curtains, gazed out the window. Delilah came behind him, peeped over his shoulder. A man, dressed in black polo attire, was riding past on a white Rapidash. Giovanni began to laugh.

"What's so funny? We've got some sort of mad horseman riding around our house, and you're laughing?"

"Sorry. I'd just forgotten about Professor Oak and his horse-riding fetish."

The mysterious rider galloped down the gravel road, kicked tiny stones up in its hooves. Delilah watched the man, tall and proud, as he sat in the saddle. "Who's Professor Oak?"

"He's the town's Pokemon expert, and our next-door neighbor. Owns a pretty nice lab up the hill. He's kinda kooky, though. They say he got even kookier after his wife bought it earlier this year."

"Kooky? His wife bought something that drove him crazy?"

Giovanni laughed again, turned away to resume his packing. "No, no, silly. I mean, he's kinda... eccentric's the word for it. His wife--she was a pretty famous Pokemon researcher too. She died this year, and since she died... folks say he rarely associates with anyone. Just stays up in his lab and his house being the mad scientist."

Delilah was shocked. So Giovanni intended to leave her in town with the resident psycho living next door?

"Of course, he's always been nice to me and my family. He's a good guy. Just a bit..." Giovanni shrugged. "I'm describing him badly. Why don't we go up and meet him later on? Then you'll see what I mean."

"Are you serious?"

"Sure. Besides, he'll be nearby in case you need any help while I'm gone. It'll be good to get to know him now, right?"

Delilah gazed out the window once more. The horseman was almost a speck as he rode up the hill. "All right, you're right, honey. Let me get dressed."

But five minutes later, she was still gazing at the mountain, looking for any sign of the mysterious horseman on the white Rapidash.

The Machiavellis finally left the tiny cottage after lunch. Giovanni looked darkly dashing in his black Burberry coat. Delilah countered his dark winter clothing with a splash of color; her burgundy velvet cloak flowed gracefully around her, and the fur-lined hood framed her face. Naturally Giovanni hated it. "Do ya have to wear that thing? What are we doing, going to a Renaissance festival or somethin'?" She did not tell him that she felt like a medieval princess in the cloak; she merely reminded him that it was her late mother's gift to her.

They walked side by side through the Professor's grounds. His Pokemon Preserve served as both a home for Pallet trainers' pokemon and as a pleasant park for residents. Giovanni pointed out various spots he remembered from his childhood. Occasionally a stray non-hibernating Pokemon would wander past them, make a cooing noise. Delilah laughed, knelt to pet the creature if it seemed friendly. Giovanni frowned, murmured something about being away from his Pokemon for too long.

Just as they were approaching the Oak home, the sound of galloping hooves cut through the silent stillness. She whirled around, saw the same man in black polo attire riding up on the white Rapidash. As he came closer, Delilah saw that the man was older--perhaps in his late forties. Despite the faint lines in his face, despite the graying hair, he looked very distinguished in his riding jacket, and Delilah found herself admiring his noble features, the way he carried himself.

"Giovanni!" The horseman greeted the younger man warmly as he reined in the fire horse. "I thought someone might be staying in your cottage. I didn't expect it to be you, though. It's wonderful to see you again." He gracefully dismounted, shook Giovanni's hand.

"Good to see you too, Samuel. I knew there was only one guy who would ride around like that!" A moment of polite laughter, then Giovanni continued. "Hey, listen, there's someone I want you to meet." Giovanni took Delilah's arm, drew her forward. "This is my new wife, Delilah. Delilah, this is Professor Samuel Oak."

"It's very nice to meet you, Professor Oak." She extended a gloved hand for him to shake.

The Professor gazed at her a moment. Then, before she could react, he turned her hand so it rested palm down in his. He carefully bent over, placed a kiss upon her glove. "Freut mich, Fraulein." She must have appeared shocked, because the Professor laughed. "I'm sorry. You look so courtly in that cloak--I felt like kissing your hand."

"I told ya it was a silly cloak," Giovanni laughed. She turned crimson with shame and embarrassment.

"No, Giovanni! Quite the contrary!" The Professor smiled at her. "The cloak is very beautiful. It makes Mrs. Machiavelli seem... so regal." Now her face turned red from the older man's praise, though somehow she found the words to thank him.

They walked along the grounds together. The Professor led his horse, who was named Rapunzel, while Giovanni held tight to Delilah's arm. As they walked, the three of them engaged in idle conversation. Delilah wondered why Giovanni thought the man was crazy. The Professor seemed to be very intelligent, cultured, and... she hesitated before adding the word handsome.

"Say, Sam, I was wondering," Giovanni began. "I've got to go off on a business trip tomorrow... and I'm afraid Delilah can't come along with me. Would it be all right if she kinda relied on you if she needed help while I'm away?"

"I wouldn't want to be a burden, especially during the holidays," Delilah added quickly.

"No, Mrs. Machiavelli. Of course you may stop by my home at any time, and the grounds are yours to explore at your leisure. You may find that there's a lot here worth exploring. For instance, over there is my pond," the Professor said, pointing it out to her. "Many people in Pallet like to ice skate there. Even your husband skated there when he was younger. Naturally you're welcome to do the same, though I'm trying to keep people away from it until I'm absolutely sure it's frozen over. I wouldn't want anyone to fall in." He thought a moment, then continued. "And of course there's plenty of human company around. I'll be there, my servants will be there... my son and his family will be arriving a little before Christmas. We'd love to have your company."

"Thanks, Professor. I'll certainly come by."

"I eagerly await it. Though I wonder..." He turned to Giovanni. "You say you've only been married for six months. I'm quite surprised that your mother would have you leave so soon after your marriage, and so close to your first Christmas together. Couldn't you perhaps switch with someone? Sophia ought to understand..."

Delilah's eyes grew large; Giovanni's grew narrow. "It is a rather important business trip," Gio responded, with a mocking tone.

The Professor nodded. "I see." His eyes fell to his wristwatch. "Oh, dear, two already! I hate to leave you, but I have some things to do at the lab." He mounted the horse, touched a hand to his forehead in a salute. "Enchante, madame. I hope to see you again. Have a good trip, Giovanni." He gently nudged the horse's flanks. "Hi-yah!"

He trotted away, leaving Delilah open-mouthed and Giovanni angered. "See, babydoll? The man's a nut. Telling me I can't go on my trip. God, I can't believe..."

As Giovanni muttered and the Professor rode away, Delilah became aware of a faint whistling. She tried to place the song... "Let me call you sweetheart," she whispered after a moment. But who was whistling it, and why?

That night, Giovanni was rough with her again. She was afraid, tired, lonely, although she did take solace in the knowledge that her neighbor thought Gio was wrong for leaving her. She wept.

Once upon a December.

The next afternoon, Giovanni had attempted to kiss her tears away at Viridian Airport. "Aw, don't cry, babydoll. I'll be back before you know it."

Oh, you fool, she screamed inwardly. Don't you realize that I don't want to wait until you come back? Don't you realize that I'm lonely and tired and unhappy and confused and even frightened? Don't you understand that your wife and not your mother needs you right now? But she pasted a smile on her face, just as she done countless times before. "Sorry, Gio. I'm just being a sentimental wuss, I know."

"Well, don't be," Giovanni answered. His uncle Sergio came over, whispered Italian words to Giovanni. He cursed and rose to his feet. "Be right back, babydoll. Mama needs me to check on something."

She furiously tore at the wad of Kleenex in her lap. Goddammit, Gio!

"Excuse me," a soft feminine voice behind her said, shoving her out of her mental rant. Delilah turned to face the person, a woman she remembered from other encounters in Viridian's office. The young woman held out a hand for Delilah to shake. "Hello, Mrs. Machiavelli. My name is Miya Lewis. I'm part of the field team going to the Andes."

As Delilah took the agent's hand, she marveled at the woman's sheer attractiveness. Long dark hair that appeared purple in the light, blue-grey eyes, finely chisled facial features... the woman could have been a model. Was this the mistress? "Very nice to meet you, Ms. Lewis."

"I hope I'm not intruding, but I couldn't help overhearing you and Giovanni." Miya smiled bitterly. "It's not fair, is it? That they should decide to take us away from our loved ones for the holidays, just for their own profit, just to get some damned..." But the young woman shook her head, muttered, "I'd better watch what I say. Madame Boss isn't thrilled with me at the moment."

Delilah's eyes widened. This woman worked for the Machiavellis... yet she hated it? Impulsively she grabbed Miya's arm. "No, it's all right. You can talk to me. I don't think I'm a friend of the Machiavellis either."

Miya grinned. "Ah, yes. You must see how... close-knit and... focused they are all the time." They laughed, knowing that was the understatement of the century.

They chatted, traded brief, humorous stories about Giovanni and Sophia. Eventually Miya pulled a picture from her wallet. "I'm sorry, I almost forgot why I came over in the first place. I'd like to show you the loved one I'm leaving behind. This is my daughter, Jessica--we call her Jessie."

The little girl appeared to be six years old. She had flaming red hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that would charm the sting out of an Arbok's bite. A wave of emotion swept through Delilah: adoration for the child, the anger at not having one of her own, regret that this woman was being taken away from her family, fear that this child was Giovanni's... "She's beautiful."

"Thank you. I think seeing you with your red hair reminded me of her. I felt like I needed to come tell you that... that you weren't the only one being abandoned for work." Miya sighed. "I hardly ever get to see my baby anymore. I'm always working, doing a job I don't like, and I'm always far from my Jessie-bear. It kills me..." Miya sniffled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to waste your time with stories of my life."

Delilah now held the woman's hand, overwhelmed with compassion for her. "No, it's all right. But tell me... why work for Sophia if you don't like what you do? Why not just leave? Then you can be with your daughter all the time."

The blue-grey eyes held a hint of confusion. "You mean you... No, I guess you don't! Let's just say, then, that Sophia's organization isn't easy to leave." Miya smiled bitterly again. "I... do what I must to take care of my daughter. So that someday she won't have to do anything like this, ever." After a moment, Miya glanced up. "Here come the Bosses now. I'd better get ready to board the plane."

Giovanni was walking towards them, with Sophia on one side and his teenage cousin Jiri on the other. He was talking to his cousin, waving around some sort of card. "Hey, Jiri, I know you wanted to come along and help us out, but your Papa says you're too young. Well, lemme give you something that you can collect while we're gone. This is an Ancient Mew card..."

The boy's eyes lit up as his older cousin handed him the trinket. "Wow, thanks, cousin Gio!"

"This'll make you a collector like us someday..."

"Mrs. Machiavelli," Miya murmured. "If they should ask about our conversation... please don't tell them what I've said."

Delilah nodded. "I won't. Have a safe trip… and good luck to you."

Miya Lewis smiled, turned away to gather her luggage. Delilah could feel someone's gaze upon her. She turned, saw Sophia's sharp dark eyes fixed upon her. The gaze caused her stomach to flutter, sent chills down her spine. The thought sprang to mind, unbidden: Sophia misses nothing.

Gio had kissed her goodbye, left her standing there with Giacomo, Sophia, Sergio, and Jiri. "You are certainly welcome to stay with us here in Viridian City, cara," Giacomo murmured to her. Sergio and Sophia said nothing, merely stared at her with identical dark gazes.

Her father-in-law was a very sweet, softspoken man. If he had been the only Machiavelli, Delilah would have stayed. However, Sophia and Sergio's cold stares, combined with that insistent stomach flutter, kept her from accepting. "I appreciate it, Papa Machiavelli. But I've been feeling a bit sick lately. I think some time in the fresh country air will make me feel better." At her words, Sophia lifted her eyebrows but said nothing.

Miya Lewis' words echoed in her mind all through the drive back to Pallet Town. Please don't tell them what I've said… Let's just say, then, that Sophia's organization isn't easy to leave…Was Miya Gio's mistress? Was Jessica Gio's child? Why couldn't she just leave the art dealership? And why would Sophia be so interested in Miya's conversation anyway? What did it all mean?

Stress and fatigue eventually drove Delilah to the tiny bathroom. As she threw up, she repeated one mantra, secure in the knowledge that at least one of her dreams would become reality. I must be pregnant. I must be pregnant. Her imagination created a new reality around the thought—she imagined their child, imagined Gio loving her and the child, imagined Gio leaving the business and training to spend time with her and the child.

Later that evening, another bathroom trip shattered her dreams once again.

There would be no child. Not this time.

Delilah watched the last of her illusions die, sobbed for herself and the lost child-that-could-have-been.

End Part 1

Postlude: Coming up next time—the Prince of Light rides into Delilah's life. Stay tuned!