PROLOGUE
Kanto wasn't considered a dangerous nation in the world at the moment; as a matter of fact, they hadn't even attacked anyone yet. By order from the President, they had set up navy, marines and air force training camps, but no one had gone into battle. The country itself was split on this decision; some supported not jumping into a war where they didn't belong, while others thought it was stupid to just sit around waiting for someone else to make the first move.
That didn't mean the country was without its problems. Though no fighting was taking place overseas, there was plenty going on within the country itself. Terrorists- some from other countries and some from Kanto- harassed cities with quick, guerilla attacks, leaving wreckage and death in their wake. Though the complete death toll amounted to a relatively small number, the threat was still there, and greater still after the brutal massacre of the Rocket Camp, Kanto's only real defense against the renegades.
The attacks became closer together, stronger, and deadlier. With no one to oppose them but a few meager police officers, the rebels grew bolder and more organized. Before long they were making direct plans with Riial, a country to the west of Kanto and a serious enemy. The citizens of the country should have known it was only a matter of time before the true killing began...

It was Sunday morning, which, for Brock's family, meant getting dressed up and heading off to church. His father was Catholic, and after returning home had converted the rest of the family, who had previously been of the Kotami, a Tenutan, religion. The rest of the family, that is, with the exception of Brock.
Having returned home for the war and discovered the rest of his siblings going to private, Catholic schools had been something of a shock, and had been the cause of more than a few of the famous fights Brock and his father had. He himself refused to be converted, priding himself in following the Kotami religion and seeing no reason to change just because everyone else was.
This meant that on Sundays, when the others were at church and then to the weekly social lunches, Brock was down in the Tenuto section of Pewter, paying homage to various shrines and enjoying the atmosphere of a homeland he'd never been to.
Pewter wasn't a big city, not really, but was somewhat famous for its diversity in culture. It housed a number of shrines, temples, and churches for every religion, as well as "Country Blocks:" about four blocks set aside for different countries, everything from Tenuto to Quiana to the Marabu Islands. It was a tourist's dream, and quickly growing in population since foreigners liked the taste of home.
Brock strolled down the main Tenutan street, enjoying the summer morning. He bought a small breakfast at one of the many food stands dotting the road, then headed over to his favorite gift shop to buy a few things for the shrines.
The elderly man who ran the shop, Rumino-san, nodded politely to Brock. The two were on fairly good terms with one another, since Brock had been coming here since April, almost six months, now. "Mornin', Brock." He said in that rich Tenutan accent Brock loved to hear. It reminded him of his mother's. "Gettin' the usua', right?"
The oldest Harrison, now seventeen, returned the man's warm smile. "Yeah, I'll stay with the same things. My creativity level isn't very high early in the mornings."
Rumino-san chuckled, disappearing into the back of his shop. He returned a moment later with a small bouquet of Periwinkles, another of Carnations, and one more of red roses. "You know," Rumino said, "some peopah think food and money make better gifts to the gods. You should give it a try sometime."
Brock shrugged, taking the three different sets under his arm. "Flowers have always been my personal favorite. I'm a hopeless romantic, I guess."
"Maybe that's why you l'randed the best girl in Pewter," Rumino said with a wink, causing Brock to blush. He was almost famous around town these days, since after only two weeks of entering the high school he'd become the one-and-only of Marie Juanero, a Merales girl with an I.Q that was matched only by her charm and good looks. Brock thanked Luck everyday that his awkwardness around girls had actually been considered "cute" for once.
Brock's laughter had an embarassed note to it. "Now that you mention it, I think I'd better drop by Luck's shrine today and give him a little money in thanks. I'll see you later, Rumino-san."
"Next week, I'm sure, Brock."
Brock continued his way down the street, on a direct route to Zetsumei, the god of death's shrine. Once there he lay down the bouquet of Periwinkles- his mother's favorite. He sent a quick prayer that Zetsumei appreciate the gifts, tell his mother he missed and loved her, and that the "bribes" help to elevate her status in the Underworld. Kotami religion stated that, even if a person's life wasn't perfect, they could still gain higher seats in the Afterlife when loved ones still alive sent gifts to Zetsumei. Brock figured he'd just about worked his mom up to a Queen's conditions, but continued sending the presents just in case.
After this, he laid down half the roses. They were for Jessie and James, both having been assumed dead. It was almost funny how close together they'd happened, too- one day Jessie's story of death was told, and the next James's desertion, which was as good as being dead in that Camp. Even though the two had never exactly been his friends, they weren't all that bad and deserved to get some elevation in status. And if he wasn't the one to do it, then who would?
Once the sombering Zetsumei shrine work was complete, Brock took a right down another street until he was at the shrine of Itonami- the god of life. There he set down the Carnations- they were for his friends Ash, Misty, Gary and Tracey, as well as his siblings, to grant them safety during the war times and keep them out of trouble. The trouble part he emphasized, what with Gary so seriously thinking about going to the war, and Tracey too...
The rest of the roses he also set down. Since it was hard for Brock to believe that Jessie and James COULD die, he sent half the gift to the Rockets to Itonami, to keep them alive if they really were. Brock liked to think that the two had devised a plan- he wouldn't put it past them- to escape the war and were currently living in some remote area of Kanto, free from all the nasty little troubles of the situation. It was doubtful, but you always had to hope for the best.
A quick visit to see Luck, and then it was back towards home. Grabbing a small lunch from yet another food stand, Brock munched on a rice ball, comparing them to his own cooking and deciding he could do better- maybe not much better, but definitely better.
By the time he got home the others had already arrived, and were changing out of their Sunday clothes and into things much more comfortable.
"Hey Brock," Celia and Erik, the fourteen-year old twins greeted at the same time.
"Have fun at the shrines?" Kris wanted to know.
Brock smiled at his younger, eight-year old brother. "A blast, as always. Church?"
The younger ones made faces, but Celia and the others over ten said it was good.
"You should come once in a while," Flint said, coming out of his bedroom in everyday clothes.
Brock's fists bunched up, as they usually did when his father was in a room. "Yes, Flint, and you should be giving some gifts to Zetsumei, but that doesn't seem very likely either, does it?" None of the kids knew who Zetsumei was, with the possible exception of the two oldest, but Flint did. And he hated it when Brock brought that up. He also hated the fact that Brock refused to call him Dad. Which was exactly why the somewhat rebellious teen did it.
"Hey Brock, don't you have a date with Marie at two?" Walker, the fifteen-year old and second oldest wanted to know.
"Yeah, but..." his older brother glanced at the clock. "Gods, it's one-fifty already?" he sprinted into his room, cleaned himself up- which basically just meant he unsucessfully smoothed down his messy hair- and dashed out of the house, waving a quick good-bye to the others.
Glancing sadly at his car, and wishing gas prices weren't so insane, he practically sprinted the three blocks to the local movie theater where he was meeting his girlfriend. Love was an important part of life, after all, and one thing he'd worked way too hard at finally getting to be late for even one date.

Brock arrived home late that night, after an afternoon with Marie, followed by a seriously intense workout with his school friends. He'd unintentionally fallen in with the "track group," which meant you either spent your every waking moment sprinting around a field or throwing a flat circle down a field, or you were kicked out immediately and considered dead to the others. He stuck with it, since he liked the guys and girls in the group. Besides- and Brock didn't mind admitting it- he kicked ass in distance events.
It felt like he had just fallen asleep when a pair of hands were shaking him awake, with calls of, "Brock, Brock," forcing him to unwillingly open his eyes.
Looking up into the urgent face of Walker, who was normally very laid back, Brock knew something important had happened. "What's going on? What time is it?"
"Throw on some clothes, pack a small bag of things you can't live without, and get ready to bust outta here. Pewter's under major attack, and our house is right in the path of danger."
Brock sat up with a start, going through the motions of packing and changing automatically. "Who's attacking? Where are we going?"
"Dad says we're heading to the Pokémon Center. It's all the way across town from where the attacks are taking place, plus its an unwritten law that you flat-out don't attack a Pokémon Center. I have no clue who's attacking; probably those terrorist bastards," Walker explained.
"It's also an unwritten law that you don't attack Pewter City," Brock reminded him, which was very true. Because of its diversity in culture, the city was considered sacred by almost everyone. "Oh, and don't cuss." Even in shock and half-asleep, Brock wouldn't let any of his siblings swear until they were sixteen.
Brock and Walker trotted into the living room, both covering yawns. The others were already there, small bags on their backs and nervous looks on their faces. "'Bout time," Flint growled. "We have a long way to go and the longer we stay here the more danger we're in."
The breeder flung open the front door, convinced that his father was blowing the whole thing out of proportion. The attacks from those guerilla forces were never much more than a couple fires and some casualties at the very most.
He took a step back, blinking against the sudden brightness from outside. From behind him he heard his youngest brother, Zach, ask one of the older ones, "Why's the sun up at night?"
The boy's question didn't seem far from the truth. The skies were literally alight with bright orange, from fires that must have been blazing the entire western part of town... The very place where the International Section was located.
Brock managed to pull his gaze away from the brilliant, horrible sight to view the streets. There was a steady stream of people walking quickly down away from the fires, casting fearful glances over their shoulders in case an attack should come. The road was crowded, that was easy to see, and the going was fairly slow.
"They've set up a police and fire department defense force about half a mile east of here. Once we get past that, we'll be safe..." Walker paused.
"But if we go this way, we'll never make it before those terrorists do," Brock finished.
"Come on. We'll take the back way out and use sidestreets. Even if it takes longer, we'll be much safer," Flint whispered in Brock's ear. "You look after three, I'll take four, and Walker, you take the other two. Keep them in sight at all times, and if you get separated from the rest of us you know where to go."
There were many times and places where Brock would gladly argue over a decision his father made or add some dry comment, but this most definitely wasn't one. Nodding in agreement, the three split up who they would take and trotted through the house to the back exit. Brock kept a close eye on Gwen, the youngest in his group, but wasn't too worried about Frita and Celia, both of whom were smart enough not to get lost.
The back alley was nearly deserted, and the group of eleven hurried along, keeping younger ones in front and looking the other way more than a few times. They cut through alley after alley, Flint leading the way. Brock hoped to Itonami that he knew where he was going, but knew he had no better option but to trust him and follow along.
Walker gnawed unhappily at his lip, getting a gut feeling that the terrorists were closing in on them. He jumped when he heard the sound of a scream disturbingly close to his left. The Harrison boy felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked back. "Brock, they're closing in on us, aren't they?" The older boy looked scared, which was all the proof his younger brother needed. Brock just didn't get scared. "Lord, they'll kill us all if they catch us!"
Zach and Gwen started crying. Flint whirled on his son. "Would you shut up!? Yes, as a matter of fact, we are getting fenced in, and things don't look pretty, but getting the kids worked up isn't going to solve the problem!"
"Lord!" Walker said again.
"And don't say that," Flint reprimanded.
"Oh, give it a rest!" Brock snapped. "We have a lot better things to do than stand around in the middle of an alley yelling at each other. Now, come on. I know these streets better than anyone."
Celia and Erik looked to one another and smiled. Brock DID know the streets of Pewter better than anyone else they knew, and if anyone could get them out of this terror it was him. Gwen clung to her brother's hand, sniffling but no longer crying. "So which way now?" She wasn't worried anymore, now that her older brother was taking command.
He tried to show bravery and assurance that he didn't feel. "We'll take this alley right, then curve north for a ways." Gods, help me pull this off, the oldest Harrison prayed fervently. Even though he could walk the streets blind-folded, it didn't mean that they were safe from the danger that threatened to jump out at every turn. Everyone- except Flint, he thought wryly- has so much faith in me... if I don't get them all out of here safely...
A building just a block or so away went up in flames, and the younger ones screamed, hiding behind either Walker, Brock or Flint.
Flint jerked. "God!"
"Kasan save us!" Brock muttered at the same time. He shook off his shock and barely concealed fear, tugging Gwen along and bading Frita and Celia to keep up. "It's okay, it wasn't next door or anything. We're still safe."
"It was damn close!" Walker yelped. "Too damn close for comfort! Way too damn close for comfort!"
He gained several sharp looks for his outburst, and quieted down immediately. Brock decided to take a path to the left instead, curving in a wide arc in hopes of avoiding the terrorists.
Anything and everything Brock, Flint, Walker and even Celia tried never seemed to go as planned. The renegades, as some called them, seemed to be closing in at every direction. Gwen and Zach both started whimpering again, not completely understanding the situation, but knowing that if their father and big brothers were worried, it had to be bad.
Flint crossed himself, and Brock drew a star- one point for each of the "Five Dealers," Itonami, Zetsumei, Luck, Chance and Fate- on his own chest.
"Are we gonna get killed?" Celia hissed fearfully in his ear. "You don't have to pretend we'll be fine. I want your honest opinion."
"Cel..." Brock sighed in resignation. "I don't know." It was hard to admit, and even harder for his sister to swallow. When had her brother ever been unsure of himself!?
"Brock..." he heard a choked sob. "God, I don't wanna die back here."
The breeder set his jaw. Hearing his sister's terrified words set him off again. "Then we won't." Brock grabbed her hand and, picking the first alley he saw, headed down it resolutely, the whole pack of Harrison's following him. Even if they did get killed, he told himself, at least he'd know he'd done what he could.
So fast and recklessly was Brock trotting to the alleyway that he ran straight into a sprinter coming out of the sidestreet. The two hit head on, knocking the other off-balance. Seeing that the other man was dressed in the blood red and black of the guerilla crews, Erik let out a yelp and clung to his twin sister. The only word he managed to choke out was, "Rebels!"
Some of the younger ones started crying again, while Walker and Frita hugged one another and began praying like it was the end of the world. But Brock wasn't paying nearly as much attention to the fact that this was a terrorist, one who would kill him in half a second and spit on the ground afterwards. His eyes were focused completely on the man's sooty, surprised- and Tenutan- face. "Bastard!" he growled. "You dirty traitorous scum-"
"Flint?" he said, staring straight past an enraged Brock and to his father.
The oldest Harrison said nothing for several seconds. Then, tentatively, he responded, "Yuji?"
Both men started talking rapidly in Tenutan, moving towards each other and shaking hands warmly. Brock's forehead wrinkled as he tried to pick up on the words as they were said. He knew Tenutan fairly well, but not like his father and mother had, and with them speaking it so fast...
"What are they saying, and how does Dad know-?" Celia started to ask, but was hushed almost immdiately by her brother.
Though he couldn't catch every word and phrase, the oldest Harrison was able to get the just of it:
"What are you doing here?" Yuji immediately asked.
"You could be asked the same question!" Flint exclaimed almost as soon as the other had finished speaking. "You can't be working with those rebels?"
Yuji flashed a dangerous smile. "Fight for a cause, friend, though you probably wouldn't understand it. Your accent is terrible, have you been speaking Kantan all your life?"
"Most of it," he replied, glancing back at the rest of his family anxiously.
"They are yours," Yuji said needlessly.
Flint nodded. "We must get to the Pokémon Center... your friends haven't...?"
"No, a Center is sacred to even the lowliest of scum," the Tenutan said with wicked humor. He looked over Flint's shoulder at the scattering of Harrison's. "I won't kill you, old friend, nor your family. However, if I left you here, you would be slaughtered." He thought for a moment. "Blood is thicker than water, and you and I are kin of the same race, right? I will get you and your family out of here, to the Center, even if it means shooting my superiors. If you follow me-"
"What!?" Brock shouted, stepping forward and glaring at this Yuji, who was apparently an old friend of his father's. He said in the best Tenutan he could muster, "Follow you? I trust you about as far as I can throw you!"
Yuji winced. "Your boy needs to work on his native language, Flint. The accent is worse than even yours."
Before Brock could say another word, Flint pulled him aside. "Brock, I don't like the idea anymore than you," he said in Kantan, "but we have to do something to get out of here alive."
Brock turned his glare on his father. "You expect me to follow that scum?"
"You're breaking my heart, kid," Yuji said in Kantan with a thick accent.
Brock switched back to Tenutan long enough to snap, "And you call my accent bad." His attention went back to Flint. "Live or die, if I let him lead me out of danger I'd never be able to face myself. I've still got my pride."
Flint spun him roughly to face the other ten Harrisons. They watched the whispered words and Tenutan conversations with wide eyes, not sure what was happening but knowing their dad and brother would get them out of it safely. The breeder's father hissed in his ear. "What's more important to you, your honor or their lives?"
His head went down. Flint was right. Damn it all, Flint was right! "Do whatever you want."
Yuji and Flint exchanged more words which Brock didn't bother trying to translate. He'd just sunk as low as he knew how, and he wondered how he could tell the others he'd just let their father make a deal with the devil himself. He followed his father with growing hatred, keeping Celia, Frita and Gwen in front of him. Walker and his duo brought up the rear.
Yuji hurried them along at a rate too quick for the seven-year old twins to keep up with. Brock ended up practically dragging Gwen along, as she was too heavy to carry, and his father was doing the same thing with Zach. They complained once or twice, but mostly remained silent. So fast was the Tenutan's pace, the breeder thought he'd lost him a few times. He thanked the Three Meddlers Luck, Chance and Fate every time he turned the right alley and found Yuji again, thinking how ironic it was that he was actually glad to see the hated rebel.
Within a time span that seemed like two seconds and five days all at once, they reached the Pokémon Center. Yuji shuffled them in, glancing over his shoulder so that no one would see a rebel near the Center.
After receiving a quick "Arigatou" from Flint, he disappeared back into the scenes of chaos. Brock would never see him again, and would never know that he'd be killed by a superior for helping them escape. Had he known, Brock may have been more thankful to the man. As it was, the breeder decided he could rot in the deepest pits of the Underworld.
The Harrison family panted for breath as they stood within the doors of the Center. As soon as Flint got his breath back, he nodded to the others. "Okay, head count. Make sure everyone's here. Kris, Millie, Erik and Zach I know are here, Brock, Frita, Gwen and Celia, Walker..."
Erik's tired head jerked across the room. "Where IS Walker? And Reese and Olivia?"
Celia's eyes, which had been half-closed in exhaustion, now snapped open. "Oh God. You don't think they're-"
"When was the last time anyone saw the three?" Flint queried, sounding almost panicked.
"Right before we took off with that Yuji guy," Frita explained matter-of-factly. "After that we were moving so fast I never had a chance to look back and see if they were still there. What about you Brock? You were the closest to 'em."
Brock's mind raced back, but the last time he could recall glancing over his shoulder at his brothers and sister must have been almost five blocks from the Pokémon Center. "Kasan save us, they're still out there!"
Millie, who had been nearest in age and closest to Olivia, started to cry. "They're dead, aren't they? They're dead and gone forever and we're never gonna see 'em again!"
"Not yet," Brock assured her and headed straight for the Center doors resolutely. He'd brought this family through too much to just desert three of them. "I'll comb the whole city if I have to, but I'll find them, Mill."
Flint caught his arm. "You'll do no such thing."
The teenager whirled on his father. He didn't care if the man holding him back was his Dad or the President or Kotoni himself, nothing was going to keep him from finding his siblings! "They could still be out there lost somewhere, and you expect me to sit in here and wait for them to stroll through the doors?"
"If you go out there you'll never come back. The place is swarming with police who'll be jittery enough to shoot anyone who doesn't look Kantan and terrorists who'll fire at everyone they want. If Walker and the others are alive, which I highly doubt, you'll be doing them no favor by getting yourself killed."
"I don't care! If I don't try I'll never know if I could've saved them or not," Brock argued.
"It's suicide, and I'm not losing anymore of you, do you understand that?"
"You don't know that they're dead-"
"And YOU don't know if they're alive. Listen to me for once in your life, Brock."
He tried to pull out of Flint's hold, but found it almost impossible. "Let go, dammit! I'm not going to abandon them like you did to us!"
Flint's nerves were already on edge and Brock's last comment snapped every bit of patience he had. Without even thinking he swung upward with his free hand, connecting squarely with Brock's jaw. Flint had lived a lot of his younger, poorer days in the back alleys, and never forgot how to win a fight in one hit. Brock's teeth came together with a resounding clack, and he dropped like a stone.
The head of the Harrison house slung his rebellious son onto a cot, sighing and telling the unconscious Brock that he hated doing that. Celia and Erik, turning away from the first actual blows father and son had come to, looked out the window at the glowing orange sky, a hell on earth, and prayed to every god they could think of that Walker, Olivia and Reese would be safe.

By the time Brock awoke the next morning, the bodies of the trio of Harrison's had already been found. Eight, eleven, and fifteen, he thought grimly. Didn't even know what life was, and they were dead.
Massaging his jaw, he thought over the whole thing half in a daze. This couldn't be happening; none of it could possibly be real. The attack, Yuji, his siblings' deaths and his fight with his father. All of it had to be part of some horrific nightmare, pieces to a movie that had slipped into his dreams. It didn't happen in Kanto, in Pewter, even during a war. It just didn't happen.
Brock snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him that day, no matter what sibling, friend or officer. He stared out the window of the Center and into the smoky clouds that rose above Pewter, and just couldn't figure out what he felt about it. If he'd only been able to get past Flint...
"Um, Brock," the breeder's fists clenched at the sound of his father's voice. The older man cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure of what to say. "I, er, I'm sorry about last night and all. I lost my head, I just... I was as worried about them as you were, and the thought of you out in that too..."
"Go to hell."
Flint straighted up upon the nasty words. To a Catholic like him, damning someone like that was one of the worst things a person could say. "What was that?"
Brock hadn't been listening to a word of Flint's babble, and even if he had he wouldn't have cared. He knew exactly how he felt about the whole thing, now. He hated the man behind him with more passion than he thought possible, and he didn't care who knew about it.
He jumped up from his cot and faced Flint eye-to-eye, practically bursting with anger and hatred. "You heard exactly what I said! Go to hell you asshole, and take your bastard friends with you too!"
He pushed past the older man, suddenly overwhelmed by the everything that had happened. He needed to be somewhere else, alone, anywhere so long as there was no one else around.
Flint was pissed, and Brock knew it, and in a way it almost made him happy. "Get back here!"
"Fuck you Flint!"
And with that last stinging comment Brock slammed the door of the Pokémon infirmary with vengeance, locking it behind him. He sank to the ground, head between his knees and sobbed out all the frustration, sorrow, and fury, until the only thing remaining was an empty feeling of failure- failure to his siblings, to his mother, to himself- and something nearing pleasure, as he knew he'd just cut the wire of Flint's last attempt to bond with his son. And it felt good.

"I'm leaving town, tomorrow."
Just a little over a month had passed since the attack against Pewter. The Harrisons had moved into an apartment- almost too small for the large family, but good enough- Brock included. Thought he and his father never wanted to see the other again, the young breeder was only seventeen and couldn't live on his own just yet. He was counting down the days to his eighteenth birthday, just a month or so and he'd be out of the house forever.
Celia had burst into tears at this latest bit of news, but Brock had assured her that he'd visit. After all, he'd said with a forced grin, it wasn't like he was living halfway across the world or anything.
Brock and Marie sat atop the rubble of bricks that was the beginning to the northern wall of Pewter City, an addition that was meant to keep further terrorist attacks from occuring. Though, with Kanto's recent declaration of war against Riial, walls would do little good against an atomic bomb.
Brock nodded blandly at Marie's remark. They both had known it would be happening before long- all his friends were either dead or leaving town- Marie was the only one left. "Where to?"
"I've got an aunt who lives about fifteen miles outside of Sunny Town," Marie explained drearily. "My mother think we'll be safe there, 'till the war ends."
"Do you want to go?" Brock asked, fingering the silver wristband with three green stripes- symbols of his losses in the Pewter strike.
She sighed. "I don't know. I suppose if it were up to me I'd... no, I'd still leave. I can't stand all this talk of fighting, and everything reminds me of my dead friends. You must think me a coward."
He did, in a way, but wasn't going to let her know that. "Of course not, Marie. You're only being sensible. I'm the stupid one for sticking around this forsaken place."
"Why not come with me? We'd have so much fun, you know, never have to worry about a thing. My aunt's farm is absolutely perfect, everything you could ever want. Oh, Brock, I know Mother would say yes." She squeezed his hand, her brown eyes looking into his sadly. "But you won't, will you?"
"I have family here."
"That's what I thought, you big noble idiot." She gripped him in a hug, which he returned half-heartedly. "I'm going to miss you so much, you know. You're the only person in this town a girl could have an intelligent conversation with. I love you, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, Marie, I know," he said numbly.
She frowned, cupping his chin in her palm. "You're so different these days. Damned attack. I wish I didn't have to leave with you still depressed like this; it isn't a good last memory." Marie leaned in and kissed Brock, holding the gesture of affection for several long seconds. Pulling away she smiled a little. "Still kiss like a prince, though. I won't ask you to wait for me, because it could be years or... or..."
"An eternity," he finished, giving her a squeeze. "I guess it'd be wishful thinking to ask you to wait for me, then, because I'm sure those country boys will be all over you. Just try to remember your city fling when you're at the alter." The humorous remark came out automatically; he was more-or-less going through the motions with his girlfriend today.
She chuckled. "There's the Brock I know." Marie came in for another kiss, which she held slightly longer than the first.
"You wanna go back to my place-?"
The Merales girl shook her head. "No. I want to remember this as our parting place, it's too romantic to waste. Besides, Mom's expecting me." Marie pulled out of his hold, giving Brock the smile that always made him melt. "Try to remember your black-haired first girl when you've got five kids and some firy little redhead."
He forced a smile. "I don't like redheads. Now, blonde and beautiful..."
She laughed. "Goodbye, Brock, and if I meet you again I'll be sure to die my hair." She hopped off the wall, turned back to give him a parting smile, and set off towards home. "Love you!"
He waved back, but didn't echo her final words. After years of thinking he was in love with every girl he met, Brock now knew never to say you loved a person until you actually did. He liked Marie, liked her a lot; especially her quick wit and those eyes that looked right into your soul. But love?
He would never see the Merales girl again.
Brock kicked a rock as he strolled down the backstreets of what remained of Pewter, loathe to return home to the family he adored but the father he hated. Walking along the edge of the city limits, he gazed sadly towards the wreckage of half the city. The gym, his home, the Tenutan section, a scattering of friends, and his trio of siblings were somewhere among the ruins, though where he never would nor wanted to find out.
Turning his head with a bitterness he felt everytime he thought about that night, he kicked the rock violently down the street, watching it skitter its way until it hit a building with a soft bump. He sighed, slumping against the brick piles which stood in wait for wall construction. Laying across the rubble and putting his chin in his hands, Brock closed his eyes and counted down the days until his eighteenth birthday.
He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew the sun was almost below the horizon and the October breeze had gained an extra chill to it. He sat up and shivered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking around, mildly surprised that he could fall asleep so quickly. Brock checked his watched and cursed quietly. "Seven already? I only lay down for half a second..."
The crunch of feet on gravel caused the breeder to look up. His sister Celia stood about ten feet away, looking at him in mild surprise.
"What are you doing here?" Brock wanted to know, more snappish than he'd meant to be. Celia winced; her brother had been snippy and short-tempered with the whole family this past month, though she didn't think he meant to be. Seeing her look, he softened his tone. "It's kinda late, you know."
She held up a bag of food. "We're eatin' out today. I volunteered to get the food, and, um..."
"You wanna talk about something?" Brock asked, reading her expressions with the skilled practice only parents and the most experienced of siblings possess.
Celia smiled weakly. "You gonna bite me?"
He chuckled and shook his head, patting the bricks next to him. The younger Harrison took the seat tentatively, looking up at the midnight blue sky and sighing unhappily. "I didn't just come out to get dinner, you know. I was hoping to find you, maybe get a minute alone for a change. Everything's been so hectic this past month time is impossible to find."
"Worried about me?"
"A little. I thought maybe you'd decided to go with Marie," Celia looked away. "I'd understand, you know, since you and Dad are so, well-"
"I'd never get up and leave like that. I'm not HIM, after all," Brock spat venemously.
There was a brief moment of silence, then, "You must really hate him."
"Oh no, I don't hate him," Brock said sarcastically. "Why would I hate him? After all, he's just the man who deserted us when the twins were barely two weeks old, watched my mother die, left me to raise a freaking family of ten and sat around while Walker, Reese and Olivia were probably scared out of their minds in some dark alley-"
"Oh, don't talk about it like that!" Celia cried sharply, digging her nails into his arm unintentionally. "I can't bear the thought of them dying in fear, thinking we'd abandoned them! If you think of it like that then of course you're going to be bitter about it!"
"But isn't that what we did?" Her brother's tone almost scared the teenage girl. "Gods, Cel, the one thing you refuse to think about is the exact thing that happened." His hand curled into a fist. "If I'd only been ready for that damned punch, if I'd only thrown the first one... they might still be alive."
"Would you really have... have hit your own father?" Celia asked anxiously, not wanting to hear the answer.
"If it could have saved Walker, Reese and Olivia, I would've killed him," Brock's gaze fell away from Celia's and towards the ruined area of Pewter. "Right before Mom died, I made a promise to her that I'd take care of you, all ten of you, even if it meant killing myself in the process. Even after HE came back and I left, I still would've come home in half a second had there been any problems." Brock got unusually quiet. "But I failed. Guess it's true what they say about 'like father like son,' huh?"
Celia put a hand on his arm, not really sure what to say. This wasn't the kind of thing she was used to hearing from her older brother. He was always SO sure of himself. "Brock..."
He stood up, brushing dust off his pants and turning to help his sister up. The older Harrison smiled slightly, and he was once again the older brother Celia knew so well. "C'mon, the food's probably getting cold. We'd better hurry or they'll send someone out looking for both of us."
She took the hand, returning the small smile and standing. "Yeah, that's a good idea."
Following Brock back down the well-known streets to their new home, Celia found herself thinking about what had just happened, that bit of her sibling that had let itself be seen. Brock couldn't possibly be as unsure of himself as she... could he?
As they reached the door of the apartment, Celia caught her brother's hand. The words tumbled out before she knew what she was saying. "You can think whatever you want, Brock, but you'll never be anything like Flint. You've got more class, honor and loyalty in one little spike," she plucked his hair to make her point, "then our father could ever hope to have. You did what you could. Mom'll understand. Trust me on this one."
Brock took a step back as Celia knocked on the door, getting greeted by Flint and nearly assaulted by six hungry kids all complaining for her delay. When Erik bade Brock to come in, he politely refused and shut the door behind him, sitting alone on the porch. Fingering the hair Celia had flicked, he smiled happily, remembering how his mother used to do the same thing. "Hm. I guess you would understand. Yes, I'm sure you'd understand. Still, it'd be so much easier if you were still here..."
The door opened a crack. "You eating with us?" Flint asked gruffly.
The fists bunched automatically. "Yeah."
"Then hurry up." The door closed behind him.
Brock looked up, even though to a Kotami follower the Afterlife wasn't really above or below you. "But I will never forgive him, never. And I hope you understand that, too."

"Brock, I told you to go home an hour ago."
The young breeder looked up from his diligent typing into the kind green eyes of his employer. "Well, you did, but I'm not supposed to leave until five and if you get business-"
His boss, a good-natured lawyer, smiled. "You know as well as I do there's never any business these days. People are too busy building that wall around what's left of Pewter to try to sue anyone. I'm sure you've got better things to do then figure accounts and play games." His eyes sparkled.
Brock blushed, quickly shutting off the online game of poker. "Sorry, it'll never happen again."
"Don't apologize. I did the same thing at my first job. Of course, my first job was at a fast food restaurant, and computers hadn't been invented, but you understand what I'm getting at."
Though he didn't like to leave work early, Brock didn't particularly care for his new career as a lawyer's assistant and would enjoy a chance to add some more homely touches to his five-month home. Even as he walked out of the office, glad to be off early and still get paid in full, Brock felt a stab of loneliness. All his friends had moved away or died, and the people his age who had stayed were the sorts he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. His family didn't come over every day, obviously, so the social company he was used to was nonexistent. Even so, a little time at his apartment would be nice.
The eighteen-year old had just reached the door to his place when a familiar voice assailed him from above. "I know those spikes."
Brock whirled around, thinking, as most citizens in Pewter did these days, that another attack had come. He looked up just in time to see a boyish figure hop down from the awning above his porch and land lightly next to him. The Pikachu on his shoulder hopped off easily, giving Brock a cheerful smile. The boy kept his black head down until he stood up, then turned the brown eyes to his friend's. "Remember me?"
"Ash?" He managed to get out.
The League Champ flashed a quick smile. "Yep, come back to haunt you."
In half a second Brock had his old friend's arms pinned behind his back, trying to hide his happiness at having company for once. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought the damn Riiali's had come back to finish us off!"
"Whatever could finish off a Kantan city, huh?" Ash said with pride. "Agh, geez Brock, lemme go! That hurts!"
Brock loosened his grip slightly. "I wanna hear an apology, come on, spit it out! 'Love Master Brock, I, Ash Ketchum the lowly and humble League Champ, apologize fully and completely for scaring you and not even bothering to call for the past year.' Let's hear it!"
He sighed. "Love Master Brock, I, Ash Ketchum the lowly and humble League Champ, apologize fully and completely for scaring you and not even bothering to call for the past year." Brock let him go of his young friend, who rubbed his arms ruefully. "Where've you been the past year, living at the gym?"
The breeder grinned. "Something like that. My friends and I used to do a lot of that sort of thing before... before everything happened."
Ash looked away, out across the streets to the ruined area of Pewter and the halfway finished walls surrounding the city. "Had a he- heck of a time getting in. They've stepped up security so much it's insane."
"Got to be careful these days."
"Guess so."
Brock shifted from one foot to another, trying a smile that fell short of his lips. "You wanna come in?" Ash nodded, wordlessly following the breeder into his "bachelor pad."
Ash's draw dropped slightly as he surveyed the ramshackle apartment. The plaster on the ceiling had several large cracks in it- underneath these were buckets of varying size- a semi-new couch with slightly torn apolstery, an old TV with bunny ears, and two doorways that branched off to other rooms. "Uh, nice place."
"I don't have a lot of cash," Brock said sheepishly. "At least it's clean."
"Of course," Ash laughed, tension of the past moments relieved. "Though clean won't do you much good if it decides to cave in."
"I'm working on it. At the moment, I can five channels, a couch with only a few broken springs if you plan on spending the night, and naturally a good meal."
"Come for the company, stay for the food. Good motto." Ash flopped down on the couch and winced. "Found one of those broken springs."
Brock laughed and walked back into the kitchen, saying as he did, "Flip around if you want, I'll make something out of some leftovers and be out in a second."
"Just like old times, huh?" Ash said, turning around to look at his old friend.
Brock blinked in surprise. He'd known there was something different about the Ketchum boy from the moment he'd first seen him, but it hadn't really hit until just then. For the most part, the League Champ seemed perfectly normal... all but his eyes. Ash's eyes looked OLD, like he'd seen more than a fourteen-year old's share of misery in the world.
Ducking into the bathroom and taking a good look at himself for the first time in a long while, he saw the same adult look coming out of his own dark eyes. It was amazing what a war could do to people, he thought dryly. "Yeah, just like old times."

"So what brings you up to Pewter?" Brock wanted to know. He and Ash were laying on the flat roof of Brock's apartment- the only real plus to his latest home arrangements. The sun had gradually disappeared below the horizon, leaving the two with a beautiful, street-light free view of the night sky.
Ash traced a constellation with his finger. "Just making the rounds with some friends, plus I'm on... League business, I guess you could call it. What with everything that's going on, I've been travelling around cities, boosting moral, helping out the destruction those ba- terrorists caused. Stuff like that. I came down from Cerulean, seeing Misty. You talk to her a lot?"
"Not so much anymore. Most of the phone lines got damaged, and getting mail in and out of the city is a pain in the ass right now. How is she?"
Ash chuckled. "Worried sick about the lot of us, especially Gary and Tracey. You know all about that, right?"
Brock smiled fondly; for all her tough attitude, Misty really cared deeply about all her friends. "Yeah, I got a letter from Trace a month or so back. They're off to join the Air Force?"
"And they don't care how many people they piss off to do it. From what I hear, Gary had to use influence- huh, I didn't know the League loser had any- to get Tracey in, since he's about two years too young to join. And I still don't know how they managed to get Sam's consent, he's as dead-set against war as the Elite are."
"The Elite refuse to get into anything that involves war," Brock stated. "They're strick pacifists; always have been."
Ash stiffened without meaning to. The entire evening both had put up a false sense of cheer, pretending things were great and talking about everything but the war. Now it looked like the tender subject was being brought up anyway. "You don't have to tell me what my own group does."
"I know you know, but I was leading up to a question. Why'd you all tell the President you supported his decision to unofficially join the war last April? History says that the Elite NEVER-"
"They wouldn't have, but for my own decision," Ash explained. "I got asked for my opinion, and I told them we should get the troupes ready, but not 'come to a party unless we're invited.' It was a stupid thing to do, but at the time... My one decision was such a failure to the Elite's expectations that I haven't been able to make anymore choices like that. They keep telling me I'm too young." He sighed. "They're probably right. Lance usually is. Agatha's the only one who supports my thoughts, but she's so old no one gives her anything but a humoring 'of course sweetie.'"
'They've got him brainwashed,' Brock thought sarcastically, though he wondered if there wasn't some truth behind it. 'He sounds so eager to please them he'd probably hit the button to launch the first Kanto bomb if Lance wanted him to.'
"Sorry, I'm probably boring you to death with all this stuff about the Elite."
"Not at all," Brock partially lied. "So if you don't get involved with war things, why are you travelling around the country?"
"Hm, good question." Ash absent-mindedly stroked the dozing Pikachu by his side. "I guess 'cause I feel bad that the Elite could do something to impact this war but they refuse to. So, I do what I can to help rebuild, like I'll help out with the wall building if they'll let a kid." Brock knew they wouldn't; they wouldn't even let him. "I'm on a wide leash, so I can roam around Kanto all I want."
"Still a leash, though."
Ash decided to change the subject. "When I first got here and came looking for you, I wound up at your family's home. Your sister- Celia I think- told me you'd moved out after some trouble with your Dad."
"We've been having a lot of trouble, that was just the breaking point," the breeder explained cooly. He described a few of the problems the two had had, including the final moment. Brock also went into the briefest of detail about his siblings' deaths. He was still touchy on the matter; six months wasn't nearly enough time to heal.
"That sucks," Ash said awkwardly.
"Sometimes life sucks."
There was a break in their conversation, the two thinking their own, private thoughts. Ash sat up suddenly, looking out across the strangely quiet and dark city that had once constantly bustled with life. "God, Brock, I'm sorry about everything that's happened around here. I wish there was something I could do besides try to help rebuilding. You know I'd be doing everything I could to stop this war, it's just that the Elite have their rules."
"The Elite are hypocrites," Brock said flatly. Bringing up his tenderest subjects always opened a wound that was easily irritated, and hearing Ash talk about trying to help was just the annoyance he didn't need.
Ash's head snapped to face his friend, surprised to hear anything but praise for the Elite. "What makes you say that?"
"Listen to their spiel, Ash. They go on and on about being complete pacifists who want nothing more than to live in a world of harmony, how war is morally wrong and killing sinful... and yet, when a war does come along, they sit back at the Plateau, looking out and clucking their tongues at the evil but doing nothing to stop it."
"It's not like they could do much," Ash protested.
"Oh please," Brock snorted. "You know as well as I do that the Elite are the most influential group of people on the planet. If they make it a point to get up in front of everyone and shout that the war has to end, then, by gods, it'll end. But they don't because they're nothing but a rabble of Pokémon training hypocrites."
"Lance said we don't need to involve ourselves in political problems, and that using our influence in that way is wrong."
"It's wrong to try and end a war that's already killed millions?" Brock snapped. He sat up now, so he was face-to-face with the League Champ.
The burning eyes of the breeder forced Ash to look away. "Prima told me-"
"Would you STOP quoting everything they tell you and say what you really think? Or do you even have a mind of your own anymore, after your precious Elite have gotten ahold of you?" Brock had never held the Elite in as high respect as some, except for a brief fetish with Bruno, and that was simply because the trainer was Tenutan. In the past months, he'd started to regard them contemptously, and now was his chance to finally unleash that. He softened slightly, knowing he could get downright mean when mad and not wanting to damage a strong friendship. "Really Ash, it's kind of scaring me. Don't you have an opinion? If you kept pressing your thoughts, they'd probably start listening to reason."
Brock wasn't the only one who could get mean when he was mad. Ash couldn't stand hearing people insult those he regarded with something near worship, and Brock's words sparked the flaring temper that always lurked in the Champ. Skillfully avoiding the breeder's question, Ash said hotly, "I said I was sorry about it, what more do you want? Just because you lost some family you're trying to lay the blame on me and the Elite."
"I'm not trying-"
Ash was on one of his famous rolls of anger that wouldn't stop until it crashed, often rather painfully. "You should quit taking your anger for your father out on me, because it's not my fault your siblings are dead, and it's definitely not my fault that your father's a jerk and a failure."
There. The line had been crossed. Anyone who knew Brock knew you just didn't mention his father and his dead brothers and sister in the same sentence. The breeder's fists clenched, and he knew he was either going to punch Ash or say something rude. When Brock got in a rage, which wasn't often, you stayed out of his way. Period. It was a shame the League Champ didn't know his friend's normally dormant temper better.
"At least I have a father!"
Ash's eyes flared, and Brock was ready to intercept the blow he knew would come. The Champ's bastard birth was something you didn't mention; it was as tender a subject as Brock's own situation with his father.
"Then I guess that's that," the Champ said coldly.
No punch was thrown. No more words were spoken. Silently Ash stood up, blowing out a shrill whistle. Moments later, a Dragonite- he must have borrowed it from Lance, Brock mused- landed lightly on the apartment roof. Pikachu hopped on his trainer's shoulder, not completely sure what was happening but knowing his master was upset. Ash got onto the dragon's back with a swish of black cape, and in moments the three were airborne and gone.
Brock sat back, breathing in the night air and waiting for his temper to diminish. He didn't regret any of his words- he rarely regretted anything he did- but he had wished the conversation could have ended better. The way Ash had said, "that's that" made it sound so... final. Surely the Champ wouldn't stay mad about it for more than a few days, a week at the most?
"After all," he thought aloud, "it isn't as if I was the only one who said something I shouldn't have. We both spouted some B.S." Remembering what Ash had said about taking out his anger to his father on his friend, Brock's temper flared briefly. "And even if he doesn't cool off, I won't regret seeing him leave. He didn't have any right to say that, especially since... since..."
'Since it's true,' he finished silently.

The months rolled by, seemingly slow, but before Brock knew it November 15th had rolled around and he was nineteen. He was on his way back to his apartment from the small party his siblings had thrown, running a hand against the completed North wall.
Spotting a car parked in his driveway, one of Brock's eyebrows raised questioningly. Gas prices were so extravagant these days that everybody walked, so who would be driving over to see him? Even more puzzling, who would be over to see him at all?
Jogging up to his home, which had undergone several renovations over the past months, he spotted a red-head lounging on his porch, waiting for him. Brock's heart caught in his throat, and he waved a hand at her. "Misty!" He quickened his pace to a near sprint, heading up the front steps and meeting his friend with a tight hug. "You're the last person I expected to see here! What're you doing so far from home? It's great to see you, Mist!"
He let go of Misty to take a good look at her. It had been nearly two years since the two had spoken face-to-face, and Brock was surprised at how much more mature his old friend looked. She'd let her hair down, so it hung at about shoulder-length, and had also grown several inches. Her eyes held the same adult look his and Ash's did, though their was still that radiant lust for life that Brock had always loved about her. He was shocked to find that she was, well, attractive. "You look amazing."
"Gonna start flirting with me now, too?" she teased. "Here." Misty shoved a present into his hands, smiling. "I timed my visit so I'd make it right on your birthday. I would have come last year, too, but my parents wanted me to stay home 'cause of the attack and everything."
Brock's eyes dropped to the box; even after over a year, he still hated talking about it.
One of her hands closed around his. "Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I should've known you were still sensitive about it. I won't mention it again."
He managed a small smile. "Nah, it's okay, it's been over a year. If I don't talk about it now, then I'll never be able to. Let's go inside. I'll open this and get some food out, and we can go up on the roof if you want. I've got a great view of the city."
"You don't have to cook some big meal just because I'm here," she assured him. "I'm not that hungry anyway."
"You're starving."
She blushed. "You know me too well. I blew all my money on a tank of gas. The prices in Cerulean are about as bad as they are here."
"I was gonna ask you about that. That your car?" A nod. "It's nice. But why'd you spend everything you had just to see me? A card in the mail would've been cheaper..."
She pursed her lips. "You and my sisters! It's all about money these days, isn't it? Well, even if I had to rob the National Bank itself I'd have come out to give you your present and say happy birthday. We see each other so little these days, and what with the war and all I never know if I'll see you again."
Brock was somewhat surprised at Misty's blunt attitude towards the war. Most people were very careful when they talked of it, not wanting to talk about the death tolls and nuclear bombs that could be sent to Kanto at any moment. "You don't seem to mind talking about this cryptic stuff, do you?"
Her lips resumed their pursed position. "Huh, everyone tells me that. Especially Daisy. 'Misty, dearest, don't talk about it like that! It gives me nightmares!' It's so annoying. There's no reason to ignore the problem, because it sure as hell isn't going away, and if you just shove it down you'll explode, so why not discuss it?"
He chuckled. Finally, someone who he could talk- really talk- to. "I feel the same way. Come on in, it's freezing out here. We'll talk after dinner. About anything you want."
Misty smiled. "It's about time I found someone who shares my opinion. Lead the way, Brock."

After the meal ("delicious as always," Misty said with a grin) the two assumed their position on the roof of Brock's apartment. Practically smothered in blankets to protect against the chill autumn wind, they shivered anyway and spoke whatever came to mind.
"You heard about Gary and Tracey, didn't you?" Misty wanted to know. Brock nodded. "It's crazy, them joining the war! Especially Trace, he isn't the type to go around dropping bombs and blowing up enemy planes. Huh, I bet they didn't even know what a TWA's cockpit looked like, unless you count arcade games which I certainly don't!"
"TWA is a charter plane, Mist, not a fighter," Brock teased. He didn't know what he liked best about her- her firy temper or the fact that she was only mad because she was worried.
"Whatever. The worst part is that Delia just got a letter a couple weeks ago that said they were done with the training and reserves stuff, and that they're actually going into the war! Out into those battlefields, it's insane! They'll probably be starved, worked to exhaustion, and what if some enemy hits them? Did they ever think of that? Of course not! Gary just thinks he's got something to prove and Tracey... well Tracey's too damn patriotic for his own good! War is so..." she paused to find the right word.
"I was thinking of joining up," Brock interrupted before she could tell him exactly what she thought of battles.
Misty blinked. "You're kidding! You!? What about your family? You just gonna get up and leave?"
Brock sat back, looking up and sighing. "Mist, as much as I hate to admit it, Flint," he spat the name, "has things pretty well under control. There isn't really anything I could do for them, and it gets so lonely around here sometimes... besides, they need everyone they can get."
"This is a really sick joke, Brock Stuart Harrison-"
"No joke, Mist," the breeder said, and meant it. He'd never spoken his ideas to anyone, but now seemed as good a time as any. "I'm dead serious."
"And that's what you'll be if you go! Dead! Oh, Brock!" he thought he caught a strangled sob, but couldn't really believe it. Misty wasn't a crier. "Brock, if you go, I'll die, I just know it! I'm already giving myself an ulcer worrying over Gary and Tracey, and Ash too, he's travelling around and you know how there are guys out there who would love to get a bullet in the Champ's head... and even Team Rocket, I read about them and..." no denying the next choked sound. She put a hand on his arm. "You're the only one who's moderately safe, and the only person I can talk to and worry with and... Brock, you have to promise me you won't do it!"
He couldn't say no to the pleading, tear-filled turquoise eyes that looked into his. Brock smiled a little. "Ah, it's okay, Mist. I'm not that crazy or anything. It was just a thought, that's all. I promise I won't go to the war. I'll stay in Pewter. Speaking of which, how long do you plan on being here?"
His friend looked away, rubbing at her eyes and hoping he hadn't seen her about to cry. "Well, that depends. How long do you want me to stay?"
He grinned behind her back. Misty was such a nice person when you got right down to it; he didn't know why she covered it with anger all the time. "How 'bout forever?"
She laughed. "Seriously?"
"It gets so boring around here, sometimes it drives me insane. I'd love to have a friend nearby, especially one like you, who I can really talk to. Sure, there's the family, but I hate going there after... after some trouble with Flint."
"Tell me about it."
Brock did, going into vivid and passionate detail about many of their fights and the final moment that broke any chance for forgiveness. Misty listened intently, the perfect audience, asking no questions and only nodding once and a while and saying, "Go on," or "My God!" Once he was done, she took a moment to digest everything.
"I see why you moved out. After all that I'd leave too." Misty hestitated, not sure if she should tell him what was on her mind. Her free spirit won in the end. "But it wasn't all his fault, you know. From what you told me he tried to heal the relationship. If I were Mr. Harrison, I'd probably get tired of dealing with an uncooperative, rebellious teen like you, too."
"I'm GLAD he got tired of fighting me," Brock told her. "I never wanted him to try to be the 'let's play, catch, son' kind of Dad, but he did it anyway. He thought when I came back things would be all healed up between us. What an idiot. See, if he'd just backed off and played the part of the 'I'm a screw-up, I don't expect you to love me, but at least try to like me' father, I'd have been fine. I hate people who're fake, and he disliked me as much as I did him."
"He wanted to like you. He wanted forgiveness. It's not so much to ask, is it?" she asked quietly.
"It's plenty to ask coming from that man," Brock snapped, "and whose side are you on, anyway?"
She put up her hands in defense. "Yours, of course. I get exactly what you're saying, and in your place I'd probably hate him too. Ignore me, I'm playing the devil's advocate."
The breeder couldn't be mad at Misty, not really. He respected her opinions, even if he didn't agree with him, and she was the same way. That was what made them such great friends- they understood each other. They sat in silence for a while, then Misty asked, "Have you heard from Ash?"
"Not since April."
"Wow. I thought he'd call, or write you or something," she said in mild surprise.
Brock's eyes trailed to the view of Pewter around him. "We aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment."
"Really?" One of Misty's eyebrows went up. "Ash sure knows how to piss people off. He left Cerulean last March with me angry at him; told him I never wanted to see him again, the little Playboy. But forget about that. What happened?"
Once more Brock let out all his exhasperations, thanking the Meddlers he had a person who listened, cared and understood. Misty sat in pensive silence for a while, then finally said, "You shouldn't have said that about his dad."
"Always sticking up for him, aren't you?" Brock said harsher than he'd meant to. "I certainly wasn't the first one to step over the line. He had absolutely no right-"
"Yes, but I'd have expected better from you," Misty explained, at her bluntest. "Ash doesn't have the kind of class you have. Oh, he tries, but he'll always be a little self-absorbed, cocky..." she gave a toothy, annoyed grin. "But I'm getting off the subject. I didn't think you'd ever say something like that to anybody. Ash, yes, his temper clouds his thinking, but you!"
Brock gave a wry smile. Misty words stung, but it was easier hearing them from another person's mouth then from his own mind. "If you can get me pissed, I'm as deadly with words as I am with fists. And unfortunately, I rarely regret what I say, even if it is rude and tasteless."
"Like telling your dad to-"
"Yeah."
Misty fixed him with her most prying stare. "So why haven't you called him? I know you know his cell number. A friendship's more important than one fight, isn't it?"
"I tried. Once. He didn't answer, and I never got a call back. Ash is immature enough to hold a grudge I guess."
"There's the pot calling the kettle black," Misty murmured into her blankets.
Brock shot her a look. "Beg pardon?"
"Eh, nevermind. It's too cold to argue anymore, let's talk about something happier, all right? How're you doing with Pineco? Does he still blow your face off?"
The breeder was more than glad to change the subject. "Not all the time, just when he gets excited. Where's Togepi? I figured you'd bring him along."
"It's Togetic, now. I left him at home, my sisters'd go crazy if they didn't think they had a strong Pokémon to protect them from an attack. I love 'em, but what a trio of wimps. I'm sure you remember when they made me come back to be in that water play, and they couldn't even fight off Team Rocket- may they rest in peace. They're helpless without me to back them up in a crisis..."

The next week passed in a flurry of excitement, and before Brock knew it, Misty had to go home. He hated seeing her go, especially after only seven short days; the best seven days he could say he'd had in the past year or so. Misty was the most straight-forward, blunt and, beneath it all, sweet person he knew and she expected nothing but the same from him. They never had anything like a real fight, though they disagreed on plenty a topic, but the two understood where the other was coming from and left them to their own thoughts. Best of all, she didn't keep up that cheerful pretense his family and Ash had.
"If I don't like the way the world's working, I may as well let them all know that I feel like that," Misty had told him, not bothering to mask her irritability. "And if they want to sit back, smile and say 'Oh, yes, a billion people are dead along with my son, but I'm doing wonderfully, thank you,' then they're fools."
Gods, he loved her.
The water trainer lounged against her blue beetle, reluctant to go. "I had fun this week."
"So did I," Brock said dejectedly. He didn't want her to leave anymore than she did, and the thought of life going back to its monotonous ways made it even grimmer.
"If my parents and sisters weren't so scared about everything I'd stay for a couple months but... well, you can't abandon family, I guess." Seeing her friend's depressed expression, she flicked his chin up flirtatiously and smiled. "Ah, don't worry so much. I may not be able to drive down here every year, what with gas and the fighting and all, but I'll send you some letters, we'll keep in touch. Sound good?"
Brock looked into her eyes and had a sudden, uncomprehending and nearly overwhelming urge to kiss her. He hadn't realized how much he cared about her until that second, but the thought of her leaving had spurred some hidden emotion he didn't think he possessed.
"Geez, you look like a little lost puppy," Misty teased. "Me going away can't be THAT bad, can it?"
The breeder shook off his interesting desires and smiled- the smile he had used for Marie, he thought with surprise. "I'll just miss you, is all. It won't be the same around her without you."
"I'll miss you too." She gave him a tight hug. "Even if I never see you again, I can't imagine a better scene to end with. This week's just been a blast. And, Brock?"
"Uh-huh?"
"I know we haven't really talked too much about all the more serious things since the first day, but they've been on my mind and bothering me a little, too. Just hear me out and try to understand what I'm saying, okay?"
If it kept her in Pewter longer, Brock was willing to hear a lecture on stringed beans. "I'm listening."
"In this day, in this time, you never know when the last time you talk to a person could be. It might be ten years from now, ten months, ten days, or ten hours. Who knows when a bomb might drop, a city get attacked, an airplane with your friend in it go down? Before you know it, they could be gone forever, and then... well, then there's all the things you could have said, should have said, would have said. Life's too short to stay angry at someone, or to hold back what you really want to tell a person."
For one brief second Brock thought Misty knew his latest feelings toward her, and shared them, but only for a second. It became clear to that she was talking about a completely different someone... the someone she really cared about. And for some reason, it made him almost angry. "Listen, if this is about Ash..."
"I wasn't talking about Ash," she said quietly. "I was talking about your father."
"Forgive him?" Brock spat. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I forgive Flint."
"I'm not asking you to do anything, just think about it," Misty said with a smile. Seeing his indignant look, she sighed. "Forget it. Sometimes you're as thick-headed as Ash. I'd better head back home before my dad has a heart attack." Before Brock could say anything else, Misty had hopped into her car and revved it up. "Guess I'm off. Try to reply to my letters when you can," as she rolled out of the driveway, the breeder heard her shout her final words. "Stay safe! Love ya, Brock!"
"Bye Mist!" he called back, waving. As she started down the narrow street towards the western gate, he said quietly, "Love you too."

Chapter Index