Chapter 6

"Again!"

The massive Rhydon dug its feet into the ground. It pawed the floor violently twice, with such force that the floor beneath them shuddered slightly. With a deep intake of breath, it lowered its horn and charged at full speed.

Ash's Snorlax stood its ground 200 yards away. The pokemon's eyes never looked open, but Ash knew that it was alert and acutely aware of the mass of rock pokemon barreling toward it at full tilt.

At the last minute, Snorlax pushed its short arms out in front of it, anchoring its feet firmly into the ground and met the charging Rhydon head on.

The force of the collision dug two deep furrows in the ground as Snorlax slid back a good twenty feet. Quickly though, the forward motion of the Rhydon halted, and the two pokemon stood locked hand to hand, each trying to push the other.

"You lost the advantage when you lost the forward momentum," Ash explained to the young rock trainer.

She was a girl of only about 18, and she scowled in the corner as she contemplated what to do next. Ash though she reminded him a bit of Misty would have looked like at that age. She had the same fiery red hair, the same tomboyish look, but had grown a few inches and filled out a bit.

Of course, he didn't know for sure what Misty would have looked like at 18. She had never made it that far.

He shook the thought out of his head and concentrated on the battle at hand.

"Snorlax," he called. The pokemon was doing just enough to hold off the opposing Rhydon and no more. Ash had the level advantage. His Snorlax was having no strength problems while the Rhydon was exerting itself as hard as it could, trying to push forward and gore Snorlax with its horn.

"Ice punch," he said. "Aim for the belly"

The trainer he was facing narrowed her eyes. "Its arms are full with Rhydon's. How is it going to hit the belly?"

Snorlax's right fist glowed a brilliant shade of sky blue. Ash could see the determination and hint of pain in the Rhydon's eyes as the icy freeze from Snorlax's hand transferred over to Rhydon's.

Suddenly, Snorlax released its grip on Rhydon with its ice punching hand. The rock pokemon stumbled forward with its left foot, off-balance.

With surprising grace, Snorlax spun sideways allowing Rhydon's momentum to carry it forward. As Rhydon fell forward and passed in front of Snorlax's side turned body, Ash's pokemon sank the ice punching fist into its opponent's belly.

The Rhydon fainted on contact.

"Snorlax is not a fast pokemon, but he is faster than Rhydon. Engaging in close combat with a more agile opponent is almost never to your advantage," he explained.

The girl rushed over to check on her fainted pokemon. It took her only a few seconds to confirm that as Ash suspected, the blow had caused no lasting damage. The Rhydon had only fainted and would recover shortly. He walked over to where she knelt.

"It was a good match," Ash said, extending his hand toward her.

Now that the battle was over, the intensity had been wiped from the girl's face. She looked almost shy to him now, and the resemblance to Misty seemed to have melted away instantaneously. Her eyes were not the right color, and her demeanor was much too quiet. She took his hand gratefully and managed a shy smile.

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir," she said with almost rehearsed politeness.

"It was my pleasure," Ash replied. "Remember to play to your pokemon's strengths. If agility is not one of them, there are other ways to win the battle."

She nodded to show that she understood before turning to rejoin the ranks of trainers on the other side of the room.

Ash had been pulling trainers out for one-on-one practice battles as Mina put an entire class through an introductory self-defense course. The opposite wall of the room were punching synchronously. Ash could pick out the lone dark haired figure at the front leading the group's motions.

Truthfully, he would have appreciated a bit of combat training himself. If the past few days had taught him anything, it was that the physical strength of a trainer could be just as important as the strength of a pokemon when the fights took place outside of an arena where there were no rules.

Perhaps if he had been a bit stronger, a bit faster, he would not have needed Mina to save him from the muggers in Viridian City. More importantly, perhaps he would have been able to catch Gary two nights ago.

Ash clenched his fists at the thought of the encounter. Gary had grown up in that town with him. Even with Professor Oak's passing, Gary must have still had friends in the town. How he could have been capable of such an act, Ash would never understand.

"Thanks for helping today, Ash," Brock's voice cut through his thoughts.

Ash let the tension leave his body and exhaled a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"It was no problem, Brock," he said, turning to smile at his old friend. "I'm just happy for the chance to test my battling skills as often as possible."

Brock rolled his eyes.

"I can't imagine that this group gave you much of a challenge," he said. "We are woefully under prepared."

It was the truth, but Ash felt impolite agreeing, so he chose to change the subject.

"How is the hand-to-hand combat training coming along?" Ash asked.

Brock gave a nod of approval. "Your friend knows what she's doing. I wish we could have more like her around to train the others."

Ash made a face. "She's not my friend. She's some bodyguard assigned by the League to make sure I get around safely, kind of like a glorified babysitter. She's not very good at it either. She's got no people skills. She's always threatening me with her throwing knives and suggesting that I'm a terrible League Champion. She's annoying and abrasive and... and..."

He had worked himself into a tirade and was struggling for another bad trait harsh enough. Brock raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

"...and she's terrible at cooking," Ash finished somewhat lamely.

Somehow this seemed to amuse Brock. The older man smiled at that and turned his face slightly away and covered his mouth with his hand as though attempting to muffle a snicker.

"What's so funny?" Ash asked.

"Nothing," Brock said. "It's just, the way you talk about her. Doesn't it remind you of someone we used to know? Someone else who couldn't cook and would knock you down a peg or too whenever you started to think too much of yourself?"

Ash puzzled at that one for a second.

"What, you mean Misty?"

He took Brock's silence as a yes.

"She's nothing like Misty. Misty would never have been so..."

"Rude to you?"

Ash had no argument for that one. Pikachu seemed to find it plenty amusing though, judging by the giggling "chu chu chu..." noises he was making from Ash's shoulder.

"Oh shut up," Ash muttered, not sure if he was talking to Pikachu and Brock, both of whom were now laughing in earnest at him.

"Don't worry, Ash," Brock said. "I know she's not Misty. I just know what happens when you describe girls like you used to describe her. It's like the equivalent of a five year old pulling on a girl's pigtails in kindergarten. It just means you have a little crush on Agent Mina is all."

Pikachu gave a loud laugh and hopped from Ash's shoulder to Brock's.

"Chu pikachu!" the pokemon said in agreement.

Sometimes Ash wondered why he even bothered to keep friends like these. They were so off base on this one, that he couldn't even begin to fathom where they got their ideas from. Sure one time he had fought with a girl constantly, and eventually it had become... something more. Was that supposed to be his pattern now? He had been with plenty of girls that didn't drive him up a wall since then. He was older now, more mature, and this girl was not the other. In his darker moods, he had admitted to himself before that no one would ever be like Misty again, not to him.

"She's just different from Misty," Ash huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Their walk around the arena had brought them in front of the group of trainers practicing hand to hand combat. From the looks of it, Agent Mina was in the process of dismissing the class as they approached. The rows of trainers each gave a short bow before dispersing into smaller groups, chatting amiably about the days' training.

"All wrapped up, Agent Mina?" Brock called out.

She nodded affirmatively and made her way through the crowd of trainers closer to them.

"A good solid day's worth of training," she said as she approached. "They won't be winning any one on one fights against the Rocket Commanders any time soon, but they should be able to defend against the basics, keep the typical Rocket grunts on their toes."

"I appreciate it," Brock said. "Good timing on the class wrapping up as well. The sun is about to set, which means the nightly patrol shifts will be starting up."

Mina nodded. Ash was already thinking about what was for dinner. Brock was an excellent chef. Maybe he could whip them up something for dinner for old time's sake?

What Brock said next crushed Ash's hope of a delicious home cooked meal.

"I'm afraid I will have to leave you two for a bit. We've gotten some reports of strange activity on the eastern outskirts of the city, near the craters caused by the meteorites of Mount Moon. I am planning on going myself this evening."

The craters were no small ditches on the side of the main road. Some of them were deep enough that ten men standing one on top of the other would not be able to reach the edge. It was a treacherous area to explore, especially at night.

"Tonight?" Mina asked. "Can't it wait until morning?"

Brock shook his head.

"The reports are of activity after dark. Could be nothing, could be Rockets. There is only one way to find out, and my brother Forrest and I are the best people to do it. We grew up exploring those rocks," Brock said.

"Well I'll go with you," Ash said immediately. "Provide some backup."

"I can't take you, Ash," Brock said, sounding regretful and shaking his head. "You told me yourself that you were on a mission to Cerulean. We can't alert the Rockets of your movements by getting you spotted in Pewter. It is just too risky."

Ash scowled in frustration. Brock had a point, but he didn't like the idea of his friend going off with only his brother for protection into a possible Rocket territory

"I'll come with you instead then," Mina spoke up.

Ash looked at her in surprise. Why would she want to go along?

"I thought you were supposed to protecting me," Ash huffed.

"Please, you will be perfectly safe in the gym. There are lots of other trainers around. It's far more dangerous where Brock and I are going," Mina said, rolling her eyes.

"You really shouldn't be going anywhere."

"Awww," she pulled a fake pitying face and put on a baby voice. "Is the widdle pokemon champion scawed without his big bad bodyguard?"

"I am not!" he protested vehemently.

"Well, looks like you agree with me then," she said, and turned on her heel so that she was facing Brock and her back was to him.

"I'm not sure it's such a good idea to bring you along. Forrest and I know the terrain, and you don't. We should be able to handle it alone. You'll just slow us down," Brock said.

"If you meet individual Rockets, you'll be glad you brought me," she assured him. "I want to do a little investigating myself. We've been seeing strange signs since we left the Plateau. The more we know about the situation we are walking into at Cerulean City, the safer we will be."

"Still, I'm not sure it's such a good idea," Brock said, looking reluctant.

"Look, you're not responsible for my safety, Brock. How can a bit of extra backup hurt your investigation?"

Ash moved around so that he could see the two of them again. The look in Agent Mina's eyes surprised him. Steely resolve and a stubbornness that he had rarely seen before in his life lived in those eyes. Why was she so intent on leaving with Brock?

Brock must have noticed the same thing, because he threw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine, fine," he said. "We leave now. Come with us if you will."

Within a few seconds, they had gathered Brock's brother Forrest from the group of trainers and moved to the hallway to pick up supplies for their trip.

Ash fumed as he watched them disappear out the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.

"She's supposed to be MY bodyguard, Pikachu," he muttered mutinously to the small Pokemon perched on his shoulder. "What do you think she's doing going off with Brock?"

"Chu pikachu chu," Pikachu said, clearly amused by Ash's attitude.

Ash almost swatted Pikachu off his shoulder at that, but Pikachu hopped down to the floor just in time to avoid Ash's flying hand.

"I am not jealous!" he insisted huffily. "She's just clearly not very good at her job is all."

Pikachu's laughter at that was just too annoying to stand, so Ash decided that he'd head off to get some dinner instead. Damn him, and damn that useless bodyguard as well. When they got back to the plateau, he'd make sure she got reprimanded for neglecting her charges on a whim.

It was darker than Misty had expected out. She and her companions each carried their own flashlight and swept them back and forth in the heart of the crater as they picked their way slowly over the rocky terrain.

She felt a twinge of guiltiness at leaving Ash, but she could not leave Brock without protection to face the assassination that she knew had been ordered. They had been the best of friends once.

Damn him for choosing this night to go off alone. Couldn't he have waited?

"Watch your step around that ledge."

She was so tense that she almost stumbled over the edge just at the sound of Forrest's voice.

A handful of pebbles went skittering down the side of the crater as she pitched forward. As she shuffled her boots forward to catch herself, a steadying hand grabbed her to help her regain her balance.

"You shouldn't have come with us," Forrest said with a frown, his hand still fixed around her elbow. She noticed that he purposely kept his voice quiet enough so that Brock, walking a few paces ahead of them, would not hear. At least he was courteous enough to save her a reprimanding from his brother.

"I'm more useful than I look," she replied with a friendly grin. She waved the beam of her flashlight into the path of her feet.

By the dim light, she saw him give her a noncommittal shrug, as if to say he'd believe it when he saw it. Mina ignored the gesture. He'd figure it out if they actually ran into danger, and if they didn't, well she'd trade Brock's life for a few insults on her abilities any day of the week.

She knew she was nervous to the point of being too jumpy. She watched the beam of her flashlight like a hawk, intent on picking out any sign that something was amiss.

There was something strange about those rocks over there, Misty decided. Their flashlights played over the boulders, casting strange long shadows and falling unexpectedly into crevices of darkness. It was nearly impossible to pinpoint any kind of irregularity given the unusual shape of the rock formations, but somehow Misty was sure that that shadow in the corner was wrong.

She trained her flashlight at the spot and steadied her hand. The curvature of the shadow made no sense given the shape of the rock formation in front of her. She studied the shadow.

And suddenly it moved.

At the same instant, a crash resounded behind her, with a surprised yell, the scraping of rock on rock echoed throughout the crater.

"Forrest!" she heard Brock cry.

She whipped around, abandoning the investigation of the shifting shadow for a second. A hole just wide enough for a person to fall through had appeared in the ground. Brock had rushed to the edge and was shining his flashlight nervously into the darkness.

The look on his face was filled with worry, but there was something else in his expression that she had not expected to find there. He looked... suspicious?

Misty tensed. Something told her this was no accident. She flipped her light back to the spot that she had been staring at before. The strange shadow was gone.

"He never falls in here," she heard Brock mutter, still shining his light into the hole. "He knows this crater like he knows the back of his hand."

She hated the feeling of not knowing where an attack was going to come from, and she felt certain now that one was coming.

Before she could draw her weapon, she heard a scuttle of loose pebbles shift from off to her left. Whip like, she pivoted. Something was headed toward Brock.

Too far! Her senses screamed. Why had she let him stand so far away.

Misty sprinted and hurtled her body in Brock's direction, not bothering to stay on balance or in form. Her only thought was of getting to him before their attacker did.

A dark figure sliced through the night air. Misty saw a katana flash in the attacker's hand, catching the light of her own discarded flashlight as it rolled around on the ground.

She lowered her head and barrelled into the attacker shoulder first. The swipe that was meant to slice through Brock's neck pushed forward too rapidly, and the attacker's swing caught Brock's head with the hilt of the weapon instead of the blade.

The force behind the swing and the collision between all three of them flung Brock into the air. He landed a few feet away, crumpled and unconscious, but alive. She saw the katana fall out of their assailant's hands as the impact knocked them both off balance.

Misty breathed a sigh of relief as she rolled herself away from the attacker. Her gun was in her hand before she had even climbed to her feet. She stretched it in front of her and disengaged the safety.

With a kick so fast that Misty had not even see the assassin move, the gun was knocked from Misty's hand it clattered uselessly to the floor, too far for her to reach it.

Misty had no time to react and pull another weapon. A black gloved fist was flying toward her in the wake of the kick that had disarmed her. Deftly, she blocked the blow with her own forearm.

She ducked another high strike and attempted to deliver an elbow to the abdomen of her own. She felt her elbow sink satisfyingly into soft flesh and felt her opponent stumble off balance. Emboldened, she kicked her foot forward and hooked the assassin's leg with her own. A sharp jerk of her leg, and her opponent was on the ground.

She almost grinned in satisfaction. Whoever the assassin was, Misty knew she had the advantage in unarmed combat.

Before she could congratulate herself and pin her opponent to the ground, the figure rolled sideways with more agility than she would have thought possible. Two back flips later, and it was easily out of range.

Misty growled in frustration and drew her dagger. A few yards away, she saw the assassin do the same.

I have to keep her away from Brock and Forrest, she thought to herself, and away from that katana.

With no other choice, she charged forward, leading with her own dagger and showing a vertical slash. It was a feint. At the last second, she shifted her direction and slashed from the left, hoping to fool her opponent.

No such luck. The assassin parried the blow easily.

Her opponent turned the parry into an offensive slash so quickly that Misty could not bring her own dagger up to meet the blow in time. On instinct, she ducked to the right.

The dagger missed most of her body but nicked Misty's sleeve and drew blood from her upper arm. She spun backwards, stretching her own knife in front of her to ward off the follow up attack. Metal clashed loudly on metal as her blade met the assassin's inches from Misty's face.

She rotated her blade so that it lay flat against her opponent's and swiped the attacker's arm violently to the side. In one, fluid motion, she used the rotation from her arm to lead her body into a roundhouse kick. She felt her boot connect solidly with the side of the assassin's head. Her opponent stumbled back a few paces. Misty took the time to ready herself for another attack.

Before she had even put her kicking foot back on solid ground, she could tell that something was wrong. Her foot hit the floor with an ungraceful thump. Why did she feel off balance? She shuffled backward awkwardly, trying to regain her center.

She shook her head, trying to shake the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, that her body was not reacting as it should, but nothing happened. Cloudiness and disorientation flooded her mind. Her limbs felt foreign to her, like they had grown three size too big for her within the course of a couple seconds.

Piercing, high pitched laughter cut through the haze of uncertainty like an arrow.

Misty looked up. Her opponent was taunting her.

"Feel the effects of the poison yet, Agent Mina?" the assassin said. "You were always such a teacher's pet in operative training. Glad to see that I was right to think you were a talentless troll. Do you have a rich daddy who paid off all the higher up commanders? You couldn't kill me in my sleep, and you don't even realize yet that you've already lost this fight."

Misty strained her eyes through the darkness, trying to identify who the attacker was. It was certainly a woman's voice and someone who knew her, but who was it?

"You know, Mina," the other woman said conversationally. "I've been authorized to eliminate anyone who comes between me and my target. Guess that means I won't even get a reprimand when the poison does its job and chokes the breath right out of that weaselly little neck of yours."

Misty said nothing. It was true that the dagger that had nicked her shoulder was causing more problems than she was willing to admit. The cloudiness in her mind was worsening, and white hot pain had begun to emanate from the shallow gash in her upper arm where the poisoned dagger had made contact.

Poison master. Trained with her as a League operative. Misty put two and two together a bit slower than she probably would have had she not been on the path of dying from poison.

"Aya," she breathed out emotionlessly.

Before the other woman could react, a loud rumbling noise emanated from the blackness to the left.

"Onyx, rock slide!"

Brock must have recovered, Misty thought to herself. Huge boulders rained down from above, crashing violently against the floor, but Aya was too quick for them. She slid fluidly from side to side so gracefully and quickly that it wouldn't be hard to believe she could have dodged raindrops in a thunderstorm if she wanted to.

As the dust cloud from the fallen rocks abated, Misty reached for her own pokeballs. Her breathing was starting to get more and more labored now, but she could still move.

A boulder falling to her left knocked her off balance. She felt the wrong pokeball dislodge from her belt as her hand moved instinctively to break her fall.

With a brilliant white flash, she saw to her horror that the pokeball had released Alakazam.

The pokemon blinked at her, confused as to why she had summoned him. He knew that he was meant to stay hidden and to keep up the psychic glamour for her disguise.

Prone on the floor, Misty knew that she needed to get back on her feet or risk being crushed by the falling rocks. Just as she started to push herself to her feet, she saw a slab of granite tumbling end over end, on a trajectory that seemed quite likely to crush her skull.

Misty jerked to the left, knowing that it was going to be too late. That the slab was simply too large, and that she had no chance of rolling far enough away in time.

She landed on her back, looked up and saw the rock not more than ten feet away. She took a sharp intake of breath...

...And let it out in relief as a bluish glow of a psychic field halted the rock's decent. Turning to her right, she saw that Alakazam's eyes were glowing the same brilliant shade of blue. He had stopped the fall of the rock and saved her life.

Gratefully, she crawled out from under the rock. As she emerged, she heard Alakazam release the rock and the a dull thump as the slab finally met the ground.

Squinting, she scrambled ungracefully to her feet and pulled a long knife from her belt. The bulk of the falling rocks had passed, but the cloud of dust that they had kicked up hung around her like a dense fog.

Shrill, triumphant laughter rained down through the last few small falling stones. Misty fought to see clearly through the cloud of dust raised by the falling rocks and the bright spots beginning to dot her vision that she could only assume was a side effect of the poison. She was still on her feet though, and her adversary could not know that.

No doubt Aya thought that she had been pinned underneath the rock slide. With the poison limiting her mobility, Misty knew that she had had no chance of dodging the deluge without Alakazam's help.

Misty froze in her stance, hand clutching the hilt of the long knife. She could not see, but she was sure that Aya could not either.

And she was of course not dumb enough to give away her position with a stereotypical evil laugh.

Her hand was shaking now, and her vision was beginning the suffer severely, the white spots coming more frequently so that she could only make out about half of her full field of vision at a time.

But she waited. The laughter continued. Was it getting louder?

There! A faint outline of a person through the dust.

Misty lunged.

Her knife found its mark as she buried it up to the hilt in soft, human flesh. The blade was so long and the other woman so thin, that the tip protruded through the victim's back, stained a glossy red by freshly exposed blood.

Misty heard the laughter fade and morph into a faint gurgling sound as blood bubbled its way into Aya's throat.

The poison master's hand went to her own mouth as though to cover a cough, and instead the slick dark red flow of blood ran its way down her fingers.

Misty twisted the knife viciously, and Aya jerked in response.

"You stay away from my friends, you bitch," Misty whispered.

Something in the other woman's eyes as the lighted faded away from them seemed strange. Was it surprise? Confusion?

Misty let go of the hilt of the knife. Aya collapsed in a heap on top of the rubble, the blade still lodged firmly in her midsection. Her body convulsed one final time, and then she was still.

Misty sank to her knees, the pain from the poison was becoming unbearable. She clutched at her wounded shoulder with her good hand, as though pressing her fingers against the cut could keep the poison from spreading.

As she fell sideways to the ground, the last thing she saw was a lock of her own fiery red hair falling across her face as her head hit the ground.

The last thought that flickered across her mind as she lost consciousness was of how wrong it looked. She had not kept her hair red in years... Black, it was meant to be black hair, just like Ash's...

Six years ago...

It is a beautiful summer day in Cerulean City. Misty sits with her legs dangling off the pier, rapt with attention, staring at the waves rippling across the ocean's surface beneath her in fascination. She kicks her feet back and forth slowly, mesmerized by how the water catches flecks of mid-day light, reflecting small dancing fragments of the bright sunshine back at her.

Suddenly, a loud snore snaps her out of her reverie. She jumps a bit as she feels a heavy dead weight slump against her left side. The weight does not react to her startled movement. She rolls her eyes as she realizes what must have happened.

A fishing pole begins to slide out of the sleeping Ash's hands. Misty snatches it up deftly before it can drop into the ocean. She glares at his face, as if hoping that the sheer amount of annoyance in her expression might wake him. It doesn't.

She goes with plan B and pokes him with the end of his fishing pole.

"Ouch!"

He jerks awake, nearly losing his balance and falling off the edge of the pier. Once he steadies himself, he rubs his side where the tip of the pole made contact.

"What did you do that for?" he demands reproachfully.

"You fell asleep on me. I'm busy fishing. I can't carry your dead weight around," she explains.

"This is so boring, Misty. Can't we do something else?"

"Let me recap this for you, Mr. Future Pokemon Champion. You were the one that wanted to go fishing. You said you need a new water type to balance out your team. I graciously offered my company and advice as an expert fisherwoman which you accepted. Then, you proceeded to squander my advice by refusing to listen to anything I had to say and now you've wasted away the pleasure of my company by falling asleep on me."

"Your advice was stupid. Who makes lures in the shape of people? How is that supposed to attract Pokemon?"

She decides not to dignify that with a response and instead shoves him off the edge of the pier.

"Ahhh!" he screams as he falls forward.

She is just beginning to congratulate herself on what an efficient solution this has turned out to be when she feels a weight like an anchor attach itself to her right foot. Taken by surprise, she screams and lets go of her rod as she slides forward over the edge as well. He has managed to snag her one of her red sneakers around the ankle on his way down.

Down they both go, falling with a spectacular splash into the lukewarm salt water below.

She propels herself toward the surface with a reasonable amount of grace. When her head breaks the surface of the water, she spots a red and white cap bobbing up and down on the surface only an arms length from her. A few seconds later, a dark haired figure emerges gasping and flailing around several yards further away.

She grabs the cap and swims toward the shore until she reaches shallower waters. She has always been a better swimmer than him, so she sits herself casually down on the sand, still partially submerged in ankle-deep water, and puts his cap on her own head for good measure. She paints a self-satisfied smirk on her face and sits patiently waiting as he kicks his way toward the shore, half doggy paddling and half mule kicking his way through the waves.

It is nearly a full minute before he manages to pull himself onto the sand next to her, clothes drenched and crouched on all fours in the shallow water.

"You," he manages to sputter between coughs. "are such a brat."

He flops over onto his back a few feet from her, body prone and elbows propping himself up.

Before he can react, she has turned his face toward hers with a gentle but firm hand and pressed her lips to his.

She can taste the salt water and a bit of sand on his lips as she moves her mouth against his. He doesn't react at first, and her courage begins to wear off. Had she been to bold? Maybe he didn't feel the same way about her as she felt about him. Was she ruining a friendship?

Misty begins to pull away, but Ash stops her with one hand clasped to the back of her neck. He responds in earnest, one hand on her neck and one around her waist and kisses her back with such enthusiasm that she shudders a bit in surprise.

It is the first kiss for both of them, and first kisses are never perfect. But as she recalls, this one was pretty close.

Misty blinked.

Her mind felt like a blank slate. Had she been dreaming or recalling some happy and peaceful memory a second ago? She thought she might have been, but she couldn't quite be sure.

She felt drained, like she couldn't move a single muscle if she wanted to. Even the effort of lifting her eyelids and focusing her eyes felt like intense exertion.

It was way too bright. She was lying flat on her back and could see a blank white ceiling, illuminated by sunlight flowing in from a window to her right. Someone was sitting near the window, and he was casting a shadow across the ceiling that she stared up at. Someone with very spiky hair.

She turned her head very slowly, trying not to wince as her neck muscles strained with effort at the action.

"Hello," she said to Brock. She thought it was a reasonably cheery greeting given how terrible she was feeling.

He stared at her rather like an older brother might stare at a younger sibling who had taken his car out and crashed it. His expression remained stony.

"Hi?" she tried again. Forming longer sentences seemed like a lot of effort. Maybe she could get him to respond by changing up her greeting.

"Hi yourself, Misty," he said.

She tensed, and it was not a pleasant sensation.

"Who?" she asked.

"Don't play dumb with me, Misty. That Alakazam you released was hit by a stray rock just before you took out that assassin. He lost consciousness for a few minutes and you appeared as you really are. Psychic glamour to keep your disguise in place? Very clever."

She stayed silent.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing? Why you are in the possession of a psychic pokemon that I'm almost certain was trained by Gary Oak, Rocket Commander? Or why you aren't, oh I don't know, dead?"

"Have you told Ash?" she asked quietly.

"No," Brock said. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to. I'd like an explanation first."

"Ash trusts the League, Brock, but I'm sure that something doesn't add up here. I've been working with Gary for years, trying to figure out what the real cause of this war is. The League and the Rockets, this war isn't black and white, and Ash won't accept that. Until he does, I can't reveal myself to him. He'll blow my cover at the League and I'll lose years of investigative work."

Brock stared at her.

"That's why you aren't telling him who you really are? You really think he would turn you in?"

"Are you going to turn me in?"

"Please, the number of unanswered questions I have about the League and this war? Something is up. I'm a League-affiliated Gym Leader who was a target of an attempted assassination by a League Agent yesterday. You were the one that stepped in and saved my life, almost getting yourself killed in the process. As far as I'm concerned, I don't know how to pick sides in this war any more, I can only pick people that I know I can trust. You were my best friend for years. You saved my life yesterday at great personal risk. I'm pretty convinced you're on my side. My only question is, how can you possibly know that you can trust Gary?"

"The same reason you know you can trust me. Gary was a friend years ago, and he saved my life at great personal risk five years ago."

"Five years ago? You mean when you were 'killed'?"

"Yes, Gary was the Rocket who was assigned to kill me. He pretended to drown me, knowing it would be caught on surveillance tape and revived me afterwards. If it had been discovered, he would have been executed."

"So you and Gary have been investigating the League ever since?"

"The League and the Rockets. For two opposing sides in the war, they behave startlingly similarly. Intercepted transmissions encrypted with the same key. Gaps and inconsistencies in the way battles are waged. Someone high up in the League is a traitor. I am sure of it. The question is, what is his end game?"

Brock seemed to consider it for a while.

"I'm not going to report you to the League, Misty. You're right, something fishy is going on."

"Thank you."

"I don't think Ash would either."

"Ash is the League Champion. He has loved that organization and wanted to be its Champion since he was less than ten years old. It's his dream. Nothing is more important to him than that."

"Misty, you were his best friend. We went to your funeral. He cried. For a while, I thought he was going to give up training. Trust me, there are lots of thing in life that Ash considers to be more important than being the League Champion."

Misty would have given anything to conceal from Brock that her own eyes were welling up with tears.

"He lost a friend years ago, Brock. He's mourned. He's gotten over it. I'm not that girl anymore."

"War has changed all of us. It doesn't mean we stop caring about the people we love."

"War hasn't changed Ash, yet," Mist said. "And I don't ever want it to if I can help it."

"You can't always protect him from everything."

"I'll be damned if I don't try."

They fell silent for a while.

"You are making a particularly speedy recovery, the doctors told me," said Brock eventually. "They think you will could be released by tomorrow morning, a remarkably fast timeline given the ordeal you've been through and the poison that you were exposed to."

"Good, Ash and I will leave tomorrow then."

Brock frowned but didn't respond.

"You should come with us," she added impulsively.

She didn't know what made her say it. Part of her yearned for the three of them to travel together again, for all of them to be happy and friends again, just like it had been when they were kids. The words felt stupid as soon as they were out of her mouth.

To her surprise, Brock did not say no right away.

"Let me give it some thought," he said. "Pewter City needs me, but what you two are doing could ultimately help turn the tide of this war. It may be time I stepped aside and Forrest do some of the leading. He's old enough now."

The smile she gave him in return was so broad that it hurt her face a bit, but she didn't care. It had been a long time since she had felt so truly happy about anything.

"So Forrest is ok?" she asked, changing the subject.

"He's fine. He was released this morning before you woke up. Doctors say he has a mild concussion but should heal without a problem."

"And where's Ash? How long was I out?" she asked him. She was a little disappointed that he had not been waiting for her when she woke up. They were not friends anymore, she had to remind herself, much less anything more. They had strictly a professional relationship now.

"He's out in the lobby," Brock said. "I told him to find some food for Pikachu when it looked like you were about to come to. Had to have a private word with you before you got back. You were out just under a full day. The sun is about to set again."

"And the body?" she asked.

Brock's expression darkened.

"I asked Ash to dispose of it after I brought you in."

"Ash?" she said alarmed. "You asked Ash to dispose of a body? You brought him there?"

"His Charizard's flame could cook anything to cinders. I cannot have the body of a League operative lying around. It would raise all sorts of questions."

"And didn't Ash ask all sorts of questions?"

Brock shrugged.

"Maybe he will, eventually. Right now the only question on his mind is whether or not you will make a recovery."

Brock gave her a crooked smile that reminded her of the old Brock, the one that would chide Ash and her as children. It comforted her.

"So now that you're all woken up, and he'll remember all those other questions he wanted to ask, I figure I'll let you answer them," Brock said smugly.

She glared at him. She had forgotten how annoying he could be when he was right.

Author's note: Hello! I'm not dead, and I haven't actually abandoned this story, although I think I'm currently setting the record for most glacial writing pace ever. I am sticking to the resolution to always have the next chapter written when I post a chapter, and it's actually helping me a lot because the months between updates tend to make me forget things and make continuity errors. If you are still reading this, you are AWESOME for sticking with this story for so long! I am hoping that part of the reason for the long wait in this chapter is that Chapter 8 (which I wanted to finish before posting this) is a bit of a filler given all the action in this one, and I am terrible at writing fillers. This rather eventful one has unfortunately sat on the back burner for a while as a result.

Hope to read your reviews! Constructive feedback is always welcome :)