NOTE: if the site butchers this chapter, please let me know as soon as possible. it's happened only with the second chapter so far, but i've been paranoid ever since. so if you see words where they don't belong or sentences cut short or paragraphs out of order or anything peculiar, pleeeease let me know.

disclaimer: i don't own pokemon!

If Misty could choose the way in which her life ended, she knew, without any doubt in her mind, that she would choose a death in her most natural element: drowning. But now she was reconsidering. The cerulean twists and twirls of streamers cocooned around her, the room spinning suddenly like a crazed aquatic carousel. Everything was blue and gray and darkening–as if she was submerging further and further into the indigo blankets of a lake...of a dreary unconsciousness...of the soft and inviting blackness of death. Somewhere in her mind she had given into that witch offering her a poisoned apple, and it seemed as though that very apple cast a frightening hex on her lungs: they were frozen solid, unable to either inhale or exhale. They stung viciously for even the slightest stream of oxygen to wind itself into them, to unthaw the witch's curse. But she also knew very well that the witch was in fact she herself–she was battling her own will to breathe, to speak, to function. Her heart fluttered and swayed fragilely in her abdominal cavity, too aching for the oxygen which that nasty sorceress sealed away.

The balloons and streamers and strangers and gasps and sighs and oohs and awws were suddenly too much. Hell, they had been 'too much' since the beginning; now the circuit was beyond questioningly sparking from overload. The clockwork of her mind reeled rapidly, far too quickly–the blood rushed to her cheeks, to her head...she felt as if she were going to faint. Misty was vaguely aware of the rooms inhabitants closing in on Ash, and for that she was relieved: once their eyes parted she believed the witch inside her would in unison release her daunting grip. Maybe the witch wasn't Misty's will after all, maybe it was just those soft eyes to which her own gaze connected to now, those warm pools of chestnut, so similar to two cups of cocoa after a day out in the snow: they were so tender, so deliciously easy to get lost in, and they completely melted something within her, similar to how hot chocolate would defrost the esophagus after a bitingly cold day spent making snow angels.

She felt a grip tighten on her own hand. Her brow pulled together in puzzlement: what was that? A soft thumb grazed over her knuckles, enveloping her hand in a soft down of warmth. A muffled hymn drummed against whatever bubbles had enveloped her ears. Was someone speaking to her? Ah, yes, someone was. But she couldn't pull her eyes away, not yet. Ash held her gaze like a venus fly trap held its prey–there was no escape unless aided from some higher being. That higher being came, smashing into his chest with force–he looked like he had the wind knocked out of him. Someone was hugging him, speaking to him, the room circled around him, and finally, finally, the hundreds of heads scissored their stare.

That voice was still talking to her–it caressed her mind, saving her from her doomed watery grave. She grabbed onto the life saver he threw at her with fervor: "Misty. Misty. Breathe, Red."

She felt a bluster of blistering chilled air break its way into her lungs alas. Her face grew colder with the renewed oxygen, the blood no longer clustering to her paling cheeks.

She didn't know when, but she had stood. There was a ghost next to her, trying to speak to her through the white noise in a distant world. It cackled through her ears, through some weak radio signal: "Misty. Misty. RED!"

Her lips were numb. Was she trying to speak? If she was it surely came out as incoherent

gibberish. But the ghost next to her seemed to understand her, for he responded with: "Come on, you need fresh air, now."

She was being tugged through the room, away from those sparkling chocolate eyes she so craved. Through the kitchen, through a door. Her feet were numb, she was stepping through liquid cement, wading through the water she had just previously been suffocating in.

A door slammed shut. Whatever fog had creeped ever-so-slyly into her mind digressed, blown away with the night time breeze. Someone had slipped some magical serum into the dark, brooding gusts which instantly cured her of whatever had paralyzed her. She blinked, fighting back sudden exhaustion and the desire to pass out right there.

"Jeez, Red, what the hell was that?"

The phantom spoke next to her, his voice a flowing ribbon, tying itself around her muffled ears. Misty turned then, facing Gary fully.

"I-I...I don't know," she stumbled stupidly through her words. She didn't know the answer herself, she couldn't give him a piece of information which fully escaped her.

"You looked like you were gonna pass out," he said, a current of worry undulating in his voice. She felt the knuckles on her left hand being brushed once more, except this time she knew for sure that it was Gary doing so. The stark anxiety was evident both verbally and physically: his eyes bore into hers, pleading for answers, the stars from the bruised night sky twinkling in that brooding mahogany.

Crossing her free hand delicately across her stomach, she shook her head nervously, "It felt like it too. I don't know what happened."

Gary pulled her hand which had so nervously wove itself around her waist and held it in his own grip–he was now holding both her hands. It wasn't awkward or detestable–contrarily, it was the most comforting gesture she had received thus far that night.

Gary remained silent but never stole his gaze back from her own.

"I guess...the boy just has a pull over me," Misty attempted a nervous laugh to clear any tension evident in her demeanor, but it was rough and sore, leaving her throat like sandpaper.

"He definitely has somethin' over ya, enough of a something to keep you from breathing. Jeez, Red, if I didn't know any better I'd say he's bad for your health," he brought a smile to his lips and nudged a shoulder playfully into her own, giving her hand a squeeze as he did so.

"Yeah," Misty agreed solemnly, her head wilting like a tired water lily preparing itself for an intense drought, "I don't think I can talk to him."

Though her head was still lolling downwards, she felt Gary's hands tense around her own. He was not pleased.

"But you have to," his tone was incessant: he wasn't giving up.

Misty sighed, wholly exasperated. She ripped her hands from his and threw them in the air, defeated.

"I know, okay? Just give me a few minutes to think, to breathe," her eyes didn't leave the ground, they were completely unwilling to meet Gary's. Misty knew the raw pleading which glimmered in them would convince her to go talk to Ash right there and then, and she couldn't do that–she just needed to compose herself right now, to prepare herself.

Gary was quiet. The burn in Misty's tone didn't register as it flew past her lips, but now the bite was fully sinking in.

Please don't let me have upset him.

Misty still couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, but her own hands did find his, limp by his side. She took them once more, softly stealing them into her own grip. He and his hands didn't respond. She stole a peak up at him through her lashes.

He was glaring towards the forest to his right, his cushioned lips contrasting against the tight line he forced them into. He either looked mad...or insanely forlorn. She couldn't tell which.

"Gary...," she started, but he lanced through her sentence with his own.

"Just talk to him, alright?" Gary retorted, and, as if on cue, she heard the backdoor creak open. She felt the atmosphere change, the breeze flip directions, her lungs wheeze as they again froze. She knew it was him before he spoke, before she looked, before she felt her heart begin its crazed, foreign dancing.

"I...oh...um...sorry to interrupt...."

Even though the tone which cascaded around her sounded completely baffled, it was still beautiful–rugged but like honey as it played in her ear drums, almost like tattered silk.

Gary snatched his hands away from hers, dropping them once more to his sides, except this time they fell like boulders–they were knotted into angry fists, not limp as they had been before. Her hands stung bitterly where his had just been, and she felt a dull glimmer of ache in her heart, but she was quiet, unable to gather enough air in her lungs to protest his theft.

"No, no, Ashy-boy, she's all yours," Gary said, his voice composed and icy. But there was a faint, barely legible trace of venom laced through it...of hurt. No sooner had he snatched his hands away had he began walking cattily towards the back door, and she heard it shut cooly behind wherever Gary Oak had disappeared to.

And then silence.

The loudest silence Misty Waterflower had possibly ever endured in her entire nineteen years of life. It screeched and clawed and wrestled rabidly through the night air, alive and electric and incredibly tangible, an entire being in itself.

Though her back was to him, she felt him move somehow–though he was probably fifteen feet away–felt him move five, ten feet closer. She could sense where he was, the compass rose in her heart pointing directly at him in his rhythmic, andante waltz.

Velvet wove carefully through the air, flowing into her ears, that perfect, perfect voice.

"Hey Mist."

Her heart fluttered at his words. The nerve of it, getting all haphazard over a salutation as simple as that. Maybe it was the nickname, maybe it was the words, maybe it was him. Though she careened against that last option, she knew it was right on target.

Someone needed to wind up Misty's voice box, it still wasn't working. She swallowed hard and nodded her head at him in recognition.

"It's...ah...it's pretty out tonight, isn't it?"

She knew his hands went into his pockets: she could tell by the nervous tone which played in his voice. He always had put his hands in his pockets when he was nervous. That, or he had hidden those gorgeous eyes behind the thick tuft of bang which curtained his face. His lovely, lovely face.

"Beautiful."

How she did it she did not know, but she managed to choke out a single word. And though it was just a mere sigh, a soft whisper which sifted through her lips like honey, she knew he heard her. She wondered, however, if he knew it was directed at him, not the sky which Ash had been referring to. The sky could have been under fire, painted with nuclear bombs and zeppelins, and she could not have been any less aware of it. All she could see, though she could not see him, and all she could smell, though she could not smell him, all she could feel, though she had not touched him...was Ash.

"Yeah," Ash said. His tone was airy and light, yet sparkling with some unidentifiable emotion. An assassin must have been hiding in the near wood, for she felt a dagger twist uncomfortably into her gut as she recognized it to be that same emotion she had bore witness to the last night they had seen each other. That emotion which brought flames to his eyes and hail to his words. Misty shuddered in remembrance.

"So...I, um...I have a goal tonight," Ash continued, fervor burning into his voice as his courage rose an octave, "A goal that I've had for a year. And...and I'm not backing out of it now, now that I finally have a chance to ask it!"

A goal?

She hadn't realized that thought had passed through her lips, she asked it. She asked it, though she was entirely unsure whether or not she wanted to know the answer. This goal–was it to finally break things officially between them? That's the only thing which plagued Misty's mind. She wrapped her arms delicately around her waist, bracing herself to endure whatever he threw at her.

"Yeah, a goal. Look, Mist," the courage was gone now, some new emotion that sounded eerily similar to grief replacing it, "I just...I gotta know...."

Misty had stiffened. Her lips drew into a tight line, her eyes were wide with anticipation. Her heart fluttered faster than a mocking bird, thrusting uncomfortably against her ribs.

"...What did I do wrong, Mist? Why did you just walk away? Why did you avoid me for an entire year?"

The words came out like an angry flood, rushed and thrashing.

Misty swivelled on her heel now, facing towards him. She expected his head to be bobbing down, his thick raven hair to be veiling his eyes from her. But he wasn't. He was staring down upon her, eyes smoldering and whirling and burning into her own with amber flames of courage and passion and that something else–that something else Misty could not identify, that something else which had colored his eyes the last time they met, that something else which now somehow seemed vaguely familiar....

Dumfounded.

Startled.

Angry.

Astonished.

Amazed.

Confused.

Misty didn't know which emotion to run on. She decided to keep her mental slate board blank for once–what if she picked one emotion, pushed upon it, but in turn pushed him away? No, she wasn't having that. Not now. She was keeping her emotional gas tank empty, not fueling it just yet.

"What?"

Ash took a hand from his pocket and swept at the back of his neck, no doubt a gesture derived from anxiety. She had seen it a thousand times–after being proven wrong, while trying to calm someone down, while organizing his own thoughts.

"What did I do wrong?" Ash asked, a little more slowly. Under normal circumstances where Misty could breathe, she probably would've been offended at both his apparent dissection of his three-part questionnaire and the slowly-said-broken-apart words. She would've accused him of accusing her of being stupid, and that's why he broke the sentence down to such an elementary level. But not tonight. Misty couldn't let her usually-uncontrollable temper run rampant and ruin her chances.

"You did nothing wrong, Ash," Misty spoke softly, not averting her eyes from his own. She wanted to let him know that she was not lying. She couldn't afford to break eye contact in case he thought she was being insincere by doing so. Misty couldn't anyways, those cocoa pools which churned passionately in his eyes sucked her in far too much.

"Okay, then why did you walk away?"

Misty could tell he was straining to keep his face composed, but still a tug at his soft lips occurred. Not an upwards tug, instead one which sent his beautifully innocent face into complete disarray. A frown.

But it disappeared even sooner than it had happened. Ash's face was again composed and blank.

"I...My sisters...It was late Ash, they were probably going to be worried...."

Liar, liar, liar. Her sisters hadn't worried about her since she was twelve. When she had embarked on her own Pokemon journey, she too had inadvertently embarked into the dark realms of independence.

Ash knew. His brow furrowed, the currents in his eyes picking up, completely devouring her into molten cocoa.

"Did your sisters shut off your phone, too? Did they just lock you in your room for a year? Just stop, Misty. Give me the truth, please. I'm not mad, I'm just...I'm just kinda hurt, I guess...," Ash trailed off. His sentence began with a wildfire of fury but had softened marginally into the gentle yet daggered blankets of heartbreak. His head began tilting downward–tendrils of his hair began sifting across his face and were now dancing precariously against his eye lashes. He was losing his fiery edge, and Misty watched it all play out through his posture and features.

Misty felt her eyebrows crease, her facade wrinkle.

"I got scared, Ash."

"Scared?"–he looked up then, the hair which had been threatening to graze over his eyes retreating–"Misty, you're the bravest girl I know. What were you scared of?"

Misty faltered, noticeably this time. Her face fell as she frowned and her eyebrows pulled together in puzzlement.

What was I scared of?

Folding her hands once more in front of her stomach, she turned back around, not wanting to let Ash see her stammer so badly.

"I think...I was scared for you," Misty finally said.

There was a pause. Misty desperately wished she hadn't turned around so she could see whatever emotions were playing across Ash's face. He was quiet. Was he actually thinking? That was definitely a new feature to faze Ash.

"...Scared..for me? What? Why?" Ash asked. Mystification laced through his voice; it wasn't a frustrated confusion, as was usual with Ash...it was a confusion that sounded much more like a plead to understand.

With every shake Misty's head bobbed further downwards. She was almost looking at her feet.

"I didn't want to bring you down anymore. I was scared that if we kept being whatever it was that we were that I was going to keep doing just that. Obviously I upset you, you remember, at the Cerulean County Carnival?"–she didn't wait for his answer before she continued–"You were upset. You asked me if I hated you. I didn't know how to respond, I was just so...so caught off guard. Because...it was the total opposite."

Silence plagued them once more. Misty felt no need to fill it, however. She was quiet, her stare glued to the ground.

"The total opposite...," Ash murmured.

Misty was quiet but nodded, though she was unsure whether or not Ash was even looking at her to acknowledge her gesture.

"You loved me?"

Misty knew she visibly flinched. She hadn't been expecting him to really evaluate what the opposite of 'hate' was. She figured he would think it to be 'like', or 'adore', or, hell, even 'dinosaur'. It was Ash for Christ's sake.

"Ugh, Ash, I don't know," Misty threw her hands lightly into the air, trying to act out an over-exasperated role. Maybe he would drop it.

"Yes you do."

But of course he wouldn't. Again, this was Ash. Stubborn, immature, somewhat newly intellectually-developed Ash.

Misty sucked in a breath of air through her clenched teeth.

Don't get mad don't get mad don't get mad.

"I don't know if I did or not," Misty retorted, an accidental edge to her voice.

"Yes, you do. How can you not know if you loved someone, Mist?"

"I just don't. Okay? Even if I did know, why would I tell you? There's no point in knowing now."

"Why do you think that?" Ash asked slowly.

"Because it's a year later. An entire year later. Even if I did love you then, it would've faded by now. Love doesn't work out like it does in movies," Misty heard venom creep into her voice. It was slight, but it was there. Inside her there was a war waging to keep her anger at bay, but still, hints of it leaked out in intervals where normally it would've flooded.

"That's not true," Ash spoke softly. His voice was closer. She felt his presence drift a step nearer to her turned back.

"How would you know?" Misty retorted softly, her voice weakening. She hugged her arms tighter around her waist almost as if she were trying to keep her heart from exposing itself.

Silence erupted between them–a pause longer than all the others.

Misty could suddenly hear everyone inside the house, cheering and merry and joyous. She had somehow forgotten where they were, the time, the place, the event. Ash's effect on her hadn't dampened, even after a year. When she was with him, he was the only one in the entire world who existed.

Ash's voice wove like honey throughout the night, once again slicing the stagnant air to bits.

"Because I loved you, Misty," Ash spoke, slowly and quietly, "And you probably think I'm crazy, but I think I still partially do. An entire year later."

He didn't mock her, he merely used her own words as ammo. And ammo it was...Misty felt an ice pick slam forcefully into her heart–her heart which was screaming and beating and fluttering once more, her heart, which for now, was much more than content. She felt it, through their entire conversation, melt off entire glacier chunks. She felt the icebergs drift off, she felt her veins light up with fresh blood as the thawing of her heart occurred. She felt fresh and renewed blood course wildly into her arteries, her lungs. And at that moment, she realized she was feeling alive.

He loved her. He partially still might. Misty swallowed back an avid excitement which scratched needily at the back of her throat.

Don't get ahead of yourself.

"Yeah, but you love me the way someone loves their sibling. That's not the type of love I was talking about," Her words wreaked a certain grief into her system. Her mouth was working on its own tonight, throwing out possibilities which played only in the cobwebbed, hidden corners of her mind. She hadn't even thought of that before her mouth so openly stated its possibility.

Definitely getting ahead of myself....

"That's not the type of love I was talking about either," Ash stated, flames again creeping into his voice.

She forced herself to turn back around, to make her eyes meet with his. He was closer now, much, much closer. She could feel and smell his breath as it tangled dangerously through her nostrils–spearmint and caramel and coffee. To anyone else that combination would be absolutely grotesque, but to her it was delicious, delightfully mouth-watering. His breaths were hot, passionate, radiating the flames which she had heard in his voice and seen in his eyes.

"Then, enlighten me Ash, what kind of love were you talking about?" Misty asked, her voice cutting and poisonous. Her defenses were up, and she was bringing out the toxicity which seemed to always come best to her when put in a situation where real emotions were required...emotions that she didn't want to bring out for her own safety. So instead she brought out nuclear arms.

"Don't do that, Mist," he warned. His eyes were stern, the fire igniting madly in them. He drew ever so closer to her in his warning.

"Do what?" Misty asked, frustrated. Ash seemingly saw right through her, and it was frustrating her to no end.

"That. That attitude. You always use it when you wanna avoid a subject."

Misty's arms unraveled and she balled her hands into furious little fists.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Misty said, inching her way up to his face centimeter by centimeter with every word as she stood on her tip-toes. Ash was impossibly tall though; it was futile for her to be trying to match his gaze.

The atmosphere snapped. Misty hadn't realized it in her rage of words, but she had brought herself close–too close–to Ash. Their faces were almost touching. Misty felt his heated pants of breath pause as he too realized the rupture in space and time. Her eyes flicked to his lips, soft and pillowy, streams of chilled spearmint and luscious caramel seeping out through their gentle parting. Her self control was dwindling, her body taking control. She felt her achilles tendons stretch,–stop!–her back arch,–STOP!–her head tilt,–stop stop STOP!–

Somewhere far off, distant and foggy, Misty heard someone tear into their realm. Two giggles, high and girlish and obnoxious, shattered into their universe.

"Ash! Where are you? We haven't seen you in forever, cutie!"

"Yeah! Where'd you go?"

A back door slammed open with a velocity so strong it could've broken the sound barrier. Misty's face lit up, fuchsia tainting her cheeks in embarrassment. All her workings undid themselves–her heels dropped and her back aligned–she even took a step away and turned once more towards the woods.

"There you are!"

Those voices grated against her brain like a knife-tipped rake. They were girlish, and much too high, and far too annoying. She knew it was Dawn and May before Ash even spoke up. Misty vaguely wondered what took him so long to speak, but eventually decided that she was going to force herself not to care. She crossed her arms in determination.

"Uh...hey Dawn. Hey May. Long time no see, huh?" a nervous laugh ensued.

"Tell me about it! So wha–" May started, but was cut off shortly by a very flustered Misty.

"I'll leave you three lovebirds alone while I go vomit."

Dawn squealed delightedly at the coined term 'lovebirds' but Ash spoke up quickly.

"I'm going to see you later Misty. This conversation isn't over."

"We'll see about that," Misty muttered, walking into the Ketchum house once more, making sure to slam the door especially forcefully behind her.

i know, i know, it's a bit short AND i'm late. i'm going to be honest with you, when i started this, i was about 60% egoshipper and 40% pokeshipper. even though i thought egoshipping was ADORABLE, i still believed, very simply, that ash and misty were destined for eachother. but now...i'm not so sure. and now those percentages are more like 99 to 1. and because of that i'm losing motivation to write this story. ;(

super duper special intense appreciation goes out to Ronmione x3 and snooper roofle for reviewing pretty much every chapter thus far, you guys have really kept me going, thank you for having faith in me even though i am a noob to both this site and fanfiction as a whole. :)

and thanks go out to all those other reviewers too, of course. the two mentioned prior have just been there from the start of this story and i decided they needed an acknowledgment of my gratitude.

REMEMBER, REVIEWS KEEP ME GOING, even if my pace is a bit shot lately....

happy holidays my loves,

xoxo.