A/N: I'm back with a new chapter, chock-full of foreshadowing because I know everybody loves foreshadowing! It's also high time that I answer a couple of your questions (seeing how I'm supposed to be writing a straightforward story... lol yeah right)

Who's older, Morty or Clair? Morty is 31, and Clair is 22. As stated in chapter one, they have an age difference of nine years, which was one of the reasons why Morty was hesitant about their engagement. Morty is older than Lance, too, for those who want to know.

Which verse does this story take place? This is game!verse (specifically, some time after the HGSS plotline). Don't mistake it for the Adventures!verse.

What's up with Morty's characterization? As Morty is an adult who has lived practically his whole life in contact with spirits, to me game!Morty seems laid back, patient and forgiving on the surface while rigidly disciplined in both his working and private life. He's constantly straddling the line between life and death, so he also already knows how to differentiate between what's truly important and what isn't. Of course, this kind of mindset has its own problems...

Will this story really go on for 20 chapters, one for each day? No, actually there will be a slight time skip at one point, plus the story will end at on a day beyond the agreed upon 20 days for their couple simulation.

Why isn't Clair worried about the "requirements" for marriage, since it clashes with her views of love? At this point in time, Clair doesn't truly see the problem herself: she thinks as long as she and Morty care and support about each other, are loyal to each other, and share physical attraction it would be counted as "love", and would fit the stipulations. Clair's logic is skewed, and she bandies the word "love" very liberally. The plot will address this soon.

Characters:

Clair
The protagonist of SERENDIPITOUS. She's a tough nut who is always aiming to be the most powerful pokemon trainer. Is also afraid of ghosts. Believes that strength is strength, no matter who or what you are.

Morty
Ecruteak city's gym leader, and Clair's fiance. He is a psychic from a clan of guardians and worshipers of Ho-oh and Lugia. Has a problem with physical touching of almost any kind.

Lance
Clair's cousin, the current Indigo League Champion and also a candidate for clan headship. He has a very awkward yet non-hostile relationship with Clair due to their grandfather's influence. He has a... strange sense of humor.

SERENDIPITOUS - The fourth day

Marriage is a lifetime agreement, a contract, between two parties in order to gain mutual benefit from each other.

Something like a "trial-period" was a waste of time, but Morty insisted... so she went along with it.

Little did she realize, the "trial-period" was slowly but surely becoming something much, much more.

"Morty, wait! You can't-"

"I can't what?" Morty asked softly, slipping on his denim jacket.

"You cannot just leave in the middle of a seance! We have yet to divine the identity of the spirit that haunts Goldenrod park," Zuki pleaded. "If necessary, my sisters, Naoko and Kuni, can go to Blackthorn city in your place."

"Marc is one of my charges from the Orphan's Fund, so he is primarily my responsibility," Morty reminded the dancer. "And Leader Clair had agreed to take him on as a disciple, even in the light of his special circumstances. She is Lance's cousin, and a Blackthorn dragon tamer. Not only that but she is also a fellow gym leader with her own projects; she had every right to turn down my request but she didn't." And, he thought privately, Clair had sounded oddly despondent over the phone. She was counting on him to be there. He didn't say this out loud though; he knew Zuki wouldn't appreciate reasoning like that. "I have to show commitment to the agreement."

Zuki's frown deepened. She took a step towards him. "Morty... stop and think for a second. You know better than most. One child and one woman is not worth your talents. They are not worth Goldenrod city's safety."

"Goldenrod won't be compromised. And I don't believe we will be getting any real information from holding seances," Morty remarked. "For all our efforts since yesterday, we couldn't even learn if the spirit were human or pokemon. So once I return, I'll contact Leader Whitney and request permission to conduct an exorcism at her earliest convenience."

"Morty, I can't let you-!" Zuki cut herself off as Morty's violet gaze snapped to hers, and a sudden chill descended upon the seance chamber. Gengar materialized into existence behind Morty, red eyes glowing eerily in the candlelight. Zuki stumbled backwards until her back thudded against the wall.

Morty looked at her stoically. "You still fear me."

"I... I-"

"I wouldn't harm you."

Zuki flinched as an invisible force slipped around her waist and applied pressure, effectively pinning her to the wall she had backed into.

"But I would restrain you."

"You swore to use your talents for the innocent!" she argued.

"I also swore to protect those I cared about." Morty felt awkward saying it aloud, but it needed to be said. "Please keep an eye on things while I'm gone."

With a sharp gust of wind and darkness, Morty was gone.

The very first lesson taught to new dragon tamers were two important rules:

Firstly, a dragon tamer must NEVER let anyone else touch his weapon. The weapon is the very embodiment of the tamer's soul. To separate from it was the equivalent of separating from his own life.

Secondly, there are no accidents in this trade. Mistakes, perhaps. Mistakes, even foolish ones, were lessons that left behind bodily scars that would serve as reminders for the rest of the tamer's life. But an accident means death. So every action must be done deliberately, and with purpose.

Earlier that morning, one of Clair's gym trainers had violated these two rules... and is now suffering the consequences.

And to make it worse, there was a chance that the trainer in question would be forever separated from his partner pokemon. For good.

Clair squeezed her eyes shut. She gripped the steel railing tightly, feeling the rain begin to pelt her filthy, bloodied bodysuit and torn cape. If she stayed perfectly still and focused hard enough, she could shut out the gruesome images of Mike's mauled arms and ribs from her mind's eye. If she concentrated hard enough, she could ignore the growing dread of the inevitable duty she would need to perform later. Needless to say, she was soaked in a matter of seconds - rain usually came in torrents around these parts.

Despite all of her training for this kind of situation, Clair had soon discovered that she wasn't emotionally ready to deal with the... aftermath, and all it entailed. Paperwork, she could do. Collateral damage control wasn't a problem. But Mike's shattered spirit, and his newly evolved Dragonite's despair, was a different story. Her duty to Blackthorn's safety was another story. She groaned under her breath again for her hesitation, her weakness.

She couldn't afford to be weak right now.

"Clair?"

She grunted distractedly in acknowledgment. "Morty. You're very prompt."

Clair heard him exhale, then felt the roof vibrate as he stepped towards her. "What are you doing standing out here, in the rain, on the roof?" He asked gently.

With a muttered oath, Clair forced her other hand to slacken and release its death grip on the railing. She lifted herself up and sat back down on her haunches. She tilted her head back, letting the raindrops wash away the blood that streaked down her face. "...You smell like incense," she mumbled at last.

"There was a seance not too long ago ago," Morty replied easily, not bothered at all by the non sequitor. "You smell like blood."

"That's because I'm covered in it."

"As a gym leader, there is bound to be training accidents. More so if they involve dragons." Clair suddenly felt something heavy and warm wrap themselves around her stiff, freezing shoulders. She opened her eyes and gave Morty a tiny nod, allowing him to bundle her up with his jacket. Morty still had his purple headband on but the usual scarf and sweater were missing; he was wearing a plain black t-shirt instead. Both the t-shirt and his blond hair were quickly getting soaked, and Clair thought he looked quite ridiculous with his floppy bangs drooping in his eyes.

And yet, at this very moment, Clair couldn't help but feel relieved to see him.

"But what concerns me," he continued in an even gentler tone of voice than before, "is that there is a dragon tamer covered in blood on the roof."

She grimaced.

With the way she'd called him up, demanding his presence at her gym, to how he must be seeing her now, pale faced and covered in blood while leaning on the railing, Clair couldn't blame him for thinking she was about to do something suicidal.

"...No, Morty. There are no accidents in this line of work. You understand that, don't you?" Clair murmured. She could feel tremors wracking her body. "Mike's arms are completely screwed up, everything is completely screwed up. I've done all I could, and the rest is up to the doctors involved in his surgery. ...But that isn't the reason why I called you here on such short notice."

"Clair, let's get inside," Morty interrupted softly. "The rain won't be letting up any time soon."

A half-crazed, ironic chuckle escaped from her lips, unbidden. "I used up most of my strength to get here, and my pokemon is on the mend. Right now, I don't fully trust myself to make the right calls without fantastically making it worse. Not in this state." She covered her face with her hands, frustrated by her own compromised emotions.

Later, Clair would ponder why she had no problem with Morty seeing her in such a helpless state, but not right now.

"I understand."

There was a small pause, and then-

She felt arms slide carefully beneath her body. Clair peeked at Morty between her fingertips as he hefted her against his chest, and he felt surprisingly sturdy against her.

Huh.

Two days ago, he couldn't even stand the idea of holding hands, and today he was carrying her around like nobody's business.

"Why don't you use your ghosts to carry me?"

Clair had certainly expected him to manhandle her out of the rain and into her house, but not like this.

He blinked down at her, already walking towards the stairs. "Would you prefer I used them?"

She dropped her hands onto her lap. "No, I just thought... nevermind." She let her head loll onto the crook of his shoulder, and looped her tired arms around his neck in a halfhearted attempt to get more comfortable.

Morty froze in his tracks, his entire body stiffening in her loose embrace.

Slowly, Clair pulled her arms away. "...And you were doing so well, too," she remarked dryly. She peered up at his face with curiosity when he didn't respond immediately. "I'm sorry, I was just trying to get comfortable."

Morty nodded and resumed his walk.

He didn't mind (much) if he was the one who initiated physical contact, but he didn't like it if he was the recipient, Clair noted to herself.

"How did you find me?" Clair asked Morty once they had situated themselves at her dinner table with a cup of coffee each. Clair, who couldn't summon enough strength to lift a tray, had given Morty simple instructions in navigating her kitchen. "When I called you, I didn't exactly tell you where to meet me," she pointed out, stirring her coffee.

"I heard you groaning." He studied the contents of his mug for too long a moment - a moment she couldn't help but notice - before downing some.

Clair smiled reluctantly. "I was that obvious, huh?"

Morty shrugged and returned the smile. "Blackthorn isn't as big as Ecruteak."

She sobered. "And you agreed to come, on such short notice. You didn't even question me."

"Anytime."

Clair nodded, outwardly appreciating Morty's patience. Inwardly, she winced - she did not want Morty to just throw away his own time for her sake, or anyone else's, too easily. If they ever made it past this ridiculous 20 day simulation and got engaged officially, she would work on getting him to prioritize his time more strictly. She was not going to marry a man who didn't even know how to pace himself when it came to social obligations.

She took a deep, steadying breath and launched into her explanation of recent events with a cold, clipped tone. "Earlier this morning, one of my gym trainers - that's Mike - succeeded in evolving his Dragonair into her final form. However, Dragonite was too unstable, too undisciplined to reign in her new power. Mike was caught unprepared for the immediate backlash. He did his best but is now in the hospital, sustaining several life threatening wounds. Several other trainers have been hospitalized as well, from minor injuries."

Outside the window, the rain fell harder. Clair paused to take a fortifying sip of coffee.

"Kingdra and I gave it our all, and together with two of my trusted gym trainers we succeeded in containing Dragonite within the gym training grounds," She continued a minute later. "But we were unable to help Dragonite through her psychotic episode. She rages on, even now. If Lance were here, he would have been able to calm Dragonite down. But, as luck would have it, he isn't, and we have no way of contacting him right the moment. The longer we wait, the more hazardous the situation becomes."

Here, Clair paused. She waited for Morty to connect the dots. It would be much easier to enter the conversation if he came to his own conclusions first. This way, they could be on the same page.

The blond seemed to intuitively comprehend what she wanted him to do.

"...You're going to euthanize Dragonite," Morty guessed at last.

"Correct."

Morty flicked his violet eyes at Clair's passive face.

"Your gym trainer, Mike, already knows what's going to happen to Dragonite."

"Yes."

"Everyone in Blackthorn, more or less is aware of what's going to happen."

"Correct again."

Morty nodded once, reaching an understanding. "But somebody from outside Blackthorn, who isn't quite familiar with its practices, somebody who isn't me, will be arriving today to take your assessment exam. Marc." His tone grew even more serious. "But, the true reason why you called me can't be because you wanted to discuss moving his exam to a later date. We could have done that over the telephone. You called me because you plan on getting Marc involved in this incident in some way, don't you?"

Clair folded her hands on her lap and gave Morty a hard stare. "Yes. Specifically, I want him to witness firsthand one of the dangers which he can expect as a dragon tamer under my tutelage. I want him to watch me put down Dragonite."

Morty looked as if he wanted to say something in response to that, but stopped himself at the last second, shaking his head. He shifted his gaze outside the window, lost in his own musings. Clair looked away as well, her shoulders remaining tense as she waited for his decision. Several moments passed in silence; outside, the rain was still pouring heavily.

"Why?" He asked eventually. "What do you hope to achieve by showing him this? Marc hasn't even taken your assessment exam yet."

"This will be a part of the exam," Clair explained. "It will be a rare and important chance for Marc to grasp exactly what he'll be getting into. You can only go so far with theoretical exams, anyways."

Nothing brings home the lesson more effectively than firsthand experience, was something her grandfather always said. Dragon tamers had to adapt and learn as fast as they could, otherwise they could lose everything.

"And in the event something happens...?"

"I trust you to intervene and make the right calls. My duty must be carried out, whether or not I am prepared. But you are under no such obligation." Clair's lips twitched sardonically. "...That is the true reason why I've called you here."

"I think..." Morty finished his drink. "I think I would like to see Dragonite myself, before I make my decision."

Many of the attendees present in the Dragon's Den were surprised.

Morty gave his silent affirmation.

They had been expecting him to protect his charge's innocence.

Clair had a hunch, but decided to question Morty's judgment later.

The battle portion of Marc's exam went spectacularly. Clair immediately saw that Morty wasn't kidding about the boy's aptitude for pokemon battling - after all, what nine year old could claim to defeat her Kingdra with an Oddish and a Ninjask, of all things? She was also impressed by the strong bond the boy obviously shared with his pokemon - they had obeyed his instructions without hesitation, and Marc had paced himself so the pokemon wouldn't be hurt too badly. It was proof that the boy, despite his fatal condition, had not let up training and working together with his partners.

The latter portion of the exam was understandably difficult, for everyone involved.

Marc's entire body was shaking with fear at the sight of the raging, out of control Dragonite trapped against the stone floor, scaly body tensing against the holy chains that bound her. He barely managed to hear everything Clair was telling him. He put up only token resistance when he heard what Dragonite's fate was. Morty stood dutifully behind Marc as Clair's ceremonial head cleaver cut straight through Dragonite's throat, straight and true, abruptly plunging the Dragon's Den into deafening silence.

"Leader Clair..."

Clair looked up from the circle of ink she had been feverishly painting around the still warm corpse. Marc was now standing much closer to the chamber's center, Morty hovering protectively nearby. When Clair stood up, inadvertently revealing the state of Dragonite's neck, Marc flinched and bowed his head.

"Did Dragonite... have to die?" Marc's voice was plaintive.

Clair studied the boy's body language intently. His head remained bowed, and his frame was still trembling badly, but his stance is forward and steady. She wondered if his own hopeless, debilitating condition was the reason why he hadn't completely broken down sobbing yet at the sight and smell of death. Clair stole a glance at Morty - unsurprisingly, the seer was taking this much better than the average person. Other than the sadness in his eyes there was nothing different about his demeanor.

Clair dismissed the Den attendants for privacy and approached the shaking boy. "Yes, Marc. Dragonite had to die." She delivered the truth in no uncertain terms.

"Would I have to do the same, one day?" Marc wondered.

"Hopefully, not. Hopefully, never."

Marc finally raised his head to give Clair a confused look.

"What I just showed you Marc, is an absolute last resort that must never be considered without exhausting all other options first," Clair continued. "All dragon tamers are required to know how to carry out a mercy killing, at least theoretically. Dragon pokemon losing all control is a highly irregular occurrence, and the need to perform the duty is even more rare. Remember this - if your heart is strong, and your dragon's heart is strong, then this tragedy will never happen to you."

Marc struggled with his next question.

"So does that mean Dragonite's trainer was... his heart was weak?"

Clair shook her head. "No. I can personally vouch for the strength of his heart. Same goes for Dragonite's. Mike is, after all, one of the best tamers at my gym. Their hearts simply weren't strong enough to overcome this."

"What does it mean to have a truly strong heart?" Marc wasn't looking at Clair anymore. He was staring at something past Clair. The unmoving form of Dragonite, perhaps?

Again, Clair shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

Marc's gaze shot back to Clair. "W-What? Why?"

"I've asked myself the very same question thousands of times already." In Clair's peripheral vision, she could see Morty staring at her as well. "But I still haven't found a good enough answer."

Morty had spent last night reminiscing the way Clair's smaller hand felt in his during their date in Goldenrod. This wasn't unusual for Morty; for someone who was rarely touched every handshake, shoulder pat and nudge was a novelty for him. He often pondered about the ease other people touched one another with, and at times envied it, even craved it. He'd had that craving as a child and he had carried it with him to adulthood.

So earlier today when he saw Clair on the roof of her home in the rain, perfectly positioned before him, his body had moved on impulse.

As she had pointed out, he could have had his ghost pokemon carry her. But Morty had never carried anyone before, and his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He didn't regret it for a moment. She had felt warm and soft, her weight a pleasant sensation against him. Clair was in no way a weak woman but she'd felt so frail in his arms, and he marveled how he could hold something so breakable and not crush it.

And then she'd embraced him.

Morty had frozen, unsure how to react. His limbs had locked up against his will, his heart had started slamming against his ribs, and he had felt so very warm. Was he supposed to stay still? Was he supposed to hug her back - but wait, he was carrying her in his arms, how would he be able to-?

Clair had felt his rigid posture and pulled away immediately, apologizing.

Morty had lost his chance to give and receive casual affection.

"What are your dreams for the future?"

Back inside Clair's dining room, Morty raised his question to her. He'd been meaning to ask her this during their date at Goldenrod but he'd lost his chance. They'd just finished eating dinner (take out), and the rain outside had yet to let up. He figured it wouldn't hurt trying to get to know her better to pass the time.

Clair blinked out of her thoughts and looked up at Morty. "Excuse me?"

He knew she was mulling over what had happened earlier, so he patiently repeated his question.

Clair leaned back in her chair. "You already know what my dream for the future is," she said matter-of-factually. "I aim to be the head of my clan."

"That's your current goal, but what about as a child? What did you dream of then?" Morty prodded.

She did not respond immediately. Clair drummed her fingers on the table. "It was a foolish thing to wish for... the kind of thing little girls would daydream about. But I suppose there is no harm in telling you now." She closed her eyes and exhaled. "I wished to live peacefully with a family of my own. With the loving husband, the two kids, the house... the works."

"A family, huh?"

Clair sighed. "Mmm. Of course, I was naive and I didn't understand what being a mother and wife would entail, and I right now I wouldn't ever give up pokemon battling to become a housewife." She peered at Morty suspiciously. "What brought this on?"

"No real reason; I had meant to ask you before, but it slipped my mind."

"So what did the Mystic Seer of the Future dream of when he was a child?"

Morty paused to consider.

I dreamt of the light. I dreamt of running away from my visions, from my ability to commune with spirits. I dreamt of people who accepted what I was, of what I was capable of. I dreamt of living my days without being afraid of harming anyone who got too close. I dreamt of-

"Touch," he said eventually, brow furrowed. "I dreamt of people who wouldn't hesitate to touch me. Of being able to reciprocate without fear. I dreamt of being touched the way everyone else was - hugs, handshakes, even being shoved or having my hair ruffled the way my father would do for my brothers. I just wanted to know what affection felt like."

"You don't like it when I touch you, though," Clair noted, scrutinizing him. "You avoided holding hands for nearly the whole night the day before yesterday, and earlier today..."

He felt himself flush. "It's a work in progress."

"Mm-hmm."

A comfortable silence descended upon them. It was getting harder to see in the dining room, what with the heavy rain and the vanishing daylight, but Clair didn't make any move to turn on the lights. Morty wasn't particularly bothered by the dark, either - it was what he'd grown up with, and where he thrived.

"I'd like to thank you, again, for taking in Marc," Morty said into the silence.

Clair mumbled something to herself under her breath. "I would have thought you'd be angry at me for traumatizing the kid," she admitted. "For ruining his dreams and his innocence."

"You and I eventually came to have some personal goals to accomplish. We had our childhood dreams, but we now have ambitions. Responsibilities. But Marc... he won't get the chance. His childhood dream is all he has. So I'm grateful to you, for not holding him back from anything. For pushing him, teaching him, challenging him."

"You never planned to stop me from euthanizing Dragonite in front of him, did you," Clair said dryly. "I can't help but think I called you for nothing. And wouldn't one normally try to shield kids from death and the like?"

"On the contrary. People might argue that we shouldn't show these things to a child, and generally they are right. But Marc is an exception. And I'm glad you called me to Blackthorn when you did, because I wouldn't want to miss the boy's first steps towards his dream. Besides, even if I did try to stop you, I wouldn't be very successful."

"Why not?"

Morty chuckled. "Because I wouldn't be able to change his mind."

And so the pair talked, under the cover of darkness and the sound of rain. Suffice to say, Morty did not leave for Ecruteak until very late that night.

The fourth day - END

A/N:

Uhh, this chapter got awfully dark. Talk about whiplash. Sorry about that.

Clair's reason for desensitizing Marc ("I want him to witness firsthand one of the dangers which he can expect as a dragon tamer under my tutelage.") is not as simple as she presented to Morty. However, Morty easily picks up on it - but has decided to refrain from commenting on it until a later date.