Work Text:
She is just fourteen years old when you first meet her - six years younger than you, a mere child really. And yet the way she flits through the grass, the way her face lights up with unrestrained delight so often - it's incomprehensible really, you think, but you can't help but wonder if there's something special about this girl that smiles so much.
The few times you run into her, she taps her foot impatiently as she waits for you to finish talking but rewards you with a huge grin once you're done anyway. She goes into transports of delight at every little thing you give her - and for some reason you can't stop thinking of her, that little girl of just fourteen.
There is electricity in her veins, you think, and storm in her mind - careless and free and forever in a whirlwind of thoughtless motion.
Her body, mind, soul are bright, bright and careless and lit within with a fire that shines out of her eyes. She lives, and laughs, and dreams like a hurricane - raw and uninhibited, never static, never remaining the same for more than five seconds.
She is a storm, and storms are not meant to be kept within your grasp - not like the beautiful, glittering stones in your collection.
*
You are twenty-two years old and have seen too much, done too much, thought and felt too much.
The air in the Champion's room is cold - just like the marble floors and the glass surfaces that show the glittering splendour of your gemstone collection.
Cold. Yes. That's the word. You've travelled the world, you see - travelled the world, but there's always been that unyielding, invisible leash that ties you back to that unassuming grey building back in the Rustboro City. Demanding. Expecting.
You hate that building.
"You're to take over the business once I'm gone, Steven - never forget."
Once upon a time, the bitterness laced their way across your chest like a steel corset, tightening and suffocating - and you fought to break these bonds through battles. Winning. Power.
You'd show your father you were more than just a pawn, someone to have roles and duties shoved onto, as he wanted, as he chose -
At the end of four years that passed in a blur, you stood in the Champion's room - the very one you now lounge around in like your own home. Triumphant, but unsmiling. Your Metagross lying heavy and exhausted on the ground. Your eyes hardened to stone, fists clenched so hard you could feel your fingernails painfully digging into your palm.
You don't really remember what came after that - but it doesn't matter, anyway. That hate, that anger that drove you to the top, is nothing more now than just a bitter taste at the tip of yout tongue.
And, suddenly, the door flies open. A bright-faced girl stands in the doorway, breathless and flushed. But grinning, as though she'd just been having the time of her life.
"Gosh, I'm here, now, aren't I? The Champion's room?" She laughs, and you can't remember the last time anyone made such a sound in this room.
You start to go through the traditional greeting, welcome, etc, but she's already no longer listening. She's enraptured by the stones that shine on your walls, her fingers trailing over the cool glass, eyes wide with wonderment.
"Amazing," she murmurs. "This is an amazing collection! And, oh my gosh, this one is just so pretty, look, I love that shade of blue -" She continues admiring the collection, all thoughts of the battle apparently having left her mind.
You briefly wonder if she has, perhaps, a screw loose somewhere.
Most of the people who enter the Champion's room have a look of determination on their faces - weary and beaten-down from the previous battles, but nevertheless a hard light in their eyes that demand - and expect - triumph.
They never get it, but you understand. After all, you were one of them, not so long ago.
This girl, however, simply doesn't seem to care.
You're considering the propriety of perhaps interrupting her exclamations of rapture when she finally seems to remember where she is.
"The battle! I forgot, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! But -" her eyes widen, and her gaze fixes on you for the first time since she entered the room, "you're the Champion?"
You finally manage to get a word out.
"Yes," you say drily, "I am. Should we get started?"
*
Perhaps it's because you've known her since she was fourteen years old, a tiny girl brimming with enthusiasm and inexperience.
You underestimate her. You've heard the stories, of course - you've even seen her battle Kyogre - but you've never seen her truly battle another person.
You pay the price for that.
She dances with her Pokémon - their movements are always perfectly in synch, and it's captivating to watch. She spins as they spin, twirls as they twirl, falls as they fall - she hardly needs to shout out a command in her clear voice before her partner follows, striking with a speed and accuracy that you have never, never seen before.
Perhaps the performance - you can hardly call it just a battle - is too captivating, perhaps even distracting, because one by one, you watch your Pokémon fall in defeat.
Finally, your Metagross, too, hits the ground, and it's over.
Her face is flushed and her hair is windblown - but her eyes shine like - no, not gemstones. They shine like the surface of the sea - warm and open, endlessly stretching far and wide and deep.
You takes in a deep breath, and order your Metagross to return.
You begin to recite your scripted speech - but, seeing her attention begin to wander again, give up.
"You're one hell of a Trainer," you say instead, smiling ruefully at her shocked look. "I've never seen anything like it. You'll go far, May - you will."
She blushes. "Don't be kind."
"You should be planning to go to the other regions, right? Maybe travel to Kanto or Johto? Or Sinnoh, that's the place to be, nowadays - or so I'm told."
She shrugs easily. "I don't really plan on such. I'm pretty much planning to go home for a bit, for now. Maybe I'll try doing contests. Then I'm going to help my Dad with his gym, and one day I'm going to open my own." She grins, then blushes again, like her own dreams are embarrassing.
Which is honestly ridiculous. She's the new Champion of the League. It's something few people manage to do in their lifetimes.
"You'll do it," you say, before you can stop yourself. "You can. You and your Pokémon, you'll be able to open the best gym in the world."
She smiles at you, and it momentarily takes your breath away. She holds out her hand.
"Come with me?" she asks. "It must be so boring stuck in this stuffy room. I'm going to tour Hoenn before I go home, and we can make a stop at Mossdeep City too. I'm sure you miss home."
Home, you think - and an image flickers across your mind. An image of a building that you've always hated. Old, grey, in the ugliest part of Rustboro City.
You think of your father - old and worn and tired, but still determined. Your eyes flicker to the devices she wears - the PokéNav on her waist, Pokéballs on her belt - and then back to her brilliant smile, and the emotion in her eyes that you can't quite place, but you think looks a little like hope.
"I do miss it," you say, "but could you come with me to Rustboro for a while? I need you to help me with something first."
This time you're rewarded with a much brighter smile, so bright it almost hurts - and you change your mind, she's not a hurricane; she's the sun itself.
"Come on, then," she says, and the light in her eyes is brighter than ever - it draws you in, like a moth to flame. "Let's go!"
You laugh, for the first time in what feels like months, and you take her outstretched palm. It's warm, you notice, and maybe your heart beats just a little bit faster.
"Let's go, then."
Her laughter rings out, and you think it's the most beautiful sound in the world.