Chapter 2
Gary Oak was not only an accomplished Pokemon researcher, but he was also an accomplished backseat driver. Less than a minute into their commute and Misty wished that she had broken his jaw instead of his foot.
"The speed limit IS 75. Not drive like you're 75. C'mon, Waterflower. There are Muks on the road passing us. I wanna get home before my painkillers wear off."
Misty forced her lips together. The effort to choke down what she wanted to say was worse than swallowing vomit. I can handle him. I can keep my cool. He did not sue you, he did not have you arrested, remember that. You have to play nice.
"Professor Oak," Misty spoke his name with (nearly unbearably) forced sweetness. "I've never had an injured person as my passenger before. I'm more comfortable taking my time."
"And while grandma is takin' the scenic route, I'm scrunched between boxes of Net Balls! What, are you-- catching the entire ocean? Who needs a zillion Net Balls, anyway?"
Misty gagged as another rancid insult nearly tore free from her lips. Being forced to chug down her pride for the entire night was going to take all of the self-control that she possessed.
She studied 'Grumpy Gary' in the rearview mirror. To be fair, he was pretty squashed between all of the boxes. Even a non-broken-footed person would have been uncomfortable, so his complaints weren't entirely unjustified. It was just that his complaints out-numbered the amount of Net Balls surrounding him!
"I like to stock up," Misty explained. "I don't travel here to Kalos very often."
"Stocking up is buying a box or two. You are a Trubbish – a HOARDER." Gary ceased insulting her to point out the window. "Turn left. My apartment is on Vernal Avenue. #58. Across from the Stone Emporium. You CAN parallel park, right?"
"Yes. I can parallel park." Even through gritted teeth, Misty still remained calm.
She spied a perfect spot - directly in front of his door. Thank the heavens, finally break that wasn't Gary's bones.
"Be careful, there are pedestrians walking by."
"I SEE them. I'll have you know, Oak, I've been driving for ten years and you are my first accident."
"First?" Gary scoffed loudly. "Doubtful. But I'm certainly not your last. After driving with you, I can't believe you even passed your road test."
C'mon, Waterflower, Misty coached herself. Just ignore him. You can do this. Just feed him and put him to bed. The house nurse will be here by tomorrow morning. Misty glanced at her watch, it was nearly 6PM. With any luck Gary's pain meds would knock him out and he'd sleep clear until her replacement arrived. Misty forced herself to smile and rotated to face the young professor in her backseat. "Apartment key, please?"
Well, this was going to be an especially annoying sight: Gary trying to find his apartment key. He was going to struggle and Misty was going to let him do it! She would not offer to assist him and she knew his prideful ass would never ask for aid. Back at the hospital Gary could not put his pants back on. The jeans he was wearing (post-accident) would not fit over his casted foot. Therefore he was sent home IN his hospital gown. He had been too stubborn to let the nurse cut his jeans into shorts, and so he was wheelchair'd out just as he was: his frontside was totally covered. But as most hospital gowns go, the back was only laced together in three places, leaving him nearly barebacked. His Blubabsuar underwear was even showing! The gown was only knee length, showcasing his naked legs. And to complete the look, he wore one sneaker on his left foot. His right sneaker, jeans, shirt and personal effects were clutched in a plastic bag. He now had to locate his pants within the plastic bag (2 minutes), then fish around in his pocket (1 minute), until (fast forward five more tedious minutes) he finally withdrew his apartment key.
Misty snagged the key from his hands, sprinted up his walkway, unlocked the door and propped it open so as to ease their impending combined entry. She was instantly thankfully that this was a ground floor apartment. Gary was not given a 'take home' cane or crutch by the hospital staff. The nurse coming tomorrow was going to bring one and give him lessons. Therefore he was going to have to lean on her to get around until then.
Misty returned to the car and rearranged her boxes so that Gary could exit without spilling her Net Balls all over the sidewalk. Then she extended a helping hand toward him.
He eyed her hand as though she were hiding hypodermic needles beneath manicured nails. "What do you weigh, Waterflower? 115 pounds? There's no way you're strong enough to support me. Where's my crutch?"
"You didn't get a crutch. It's coming tomorrow with the home nurse. So, just c'mon, Oak."
Gary made a face, he was either surprised or relived that she'd dropped the polite 'professor' title. "For the record, I'm stating that this is a bad idea."
"No one asked you." Misty seethed through her best fake-beauty-queen-smile.
Inhaling deeply, Misty wrapped her hands around his right arm and tried to hoist him upward. Gary was lean, but surprisingly muscular for a Pokemon Professor and he had to have been nearly twice her weight. Her small hands could not fully encompass his bicep and he was just too heavy.
"Crutch." Gary insisted.
"No, you don't have one." Misty insisted back. "Stop being dead-weight and help me out, will ya?" This time she bent and circled her arms around his torso. The hospital gown was no thicker than a cheap bed-sheet, Misty's right hand supported Gary's lower back and her left was on his stomach. In this position Misty's face was pressed against his chest. She refused to acknowledge how good he smelled for a guy who had spent hours in the hospital. And she most certainly refused to noticed how well-muscled his abdomen was.
With one mighty pull — much to both of their surprise —Misty successfully hoisted Gary out of the car and onto his unbroken left foot. He quickly grabbed the car door and balanced himself, supporting his weight. Misty was waiting for him to crack her with a rude remark, but none came. The fear of falling actually muted him.
Still supporting his mid-section, Misty began the journey up his walkway. It was only 3 meters from the curbside to the front door, but at the moment the 3 meters felt like a marathon. She had underestimated the physical effort required to move a one-legged man— where was a friendly neighborhood Machamp when she needed one? Sweat now glistened on her forehead; her arms and back were aching as he hopped along beside her, using her as his stand-in crutch.
It took several minutes to move the distance, but they did it. And with all the semblance of an intoxicated, disfigured Doduo to boot!
Bless the architect, because Gary's living room was directly inside. Misty and Gary hobbled toward the couch where he surrendered into the familiar cushions. Together they propped his casted foot upon a pillow so it could rest on his coffee table.
Misty darted outside to grab her own suitcase, Gary's belongings and lock up the car. Thankfully she always packed an overnight bag when she traveled to Kalos. One never knew if the boating scheduling could be delayed due to weather. She had been stranded here more than once thanks to Mother Nature.
Misty set their bags on the floor within Gary's reach. It had been at least ten minuets since he had last annoyed her, she wondered if he was feeling alright?
"Juice. Snacks. Blanket. Pillow. Feed Arbok. Go." Gary listed his demands, pointing at her as though she were his lowly grunt.
Misty wanted to knock him in that pretty face with a mallet.
"Okay, okay," she opted to mutter over mallet. Misty hadn't even had a chance to get her bearings and he was already ordering her around! She took a moment to survey her posh new surroundings. This apartment was . . . nice. Really, really nice. White cathedral ceilings, skylights, chandelier, designer furnishings and loads of exotic potted plants covered an entire wall. It was an open floor plan, the living room and kitchen area were one huge white room. Off to the side were two other doors, likely leading to the bedroom and bathroom.
The kitchen had Red Apricorn-wood cabinets, granite countertops and matching stainless steel appliances. Everything was immaculate and organized, not a speck of clutter to be seen. Only a neatly labeled jar of Poke'food and a tiny brass bell resided on his kitchen counter. Even the floors looked freshly mopped. This was not at all the 'bachelor pad' Misty was expecting.
It only took her a few moments to locate a serving tray. She poured a large glass of juice and emptied a box of snack crackers into a bowl.
"This place is beautiful," she mused, admiring a spectacular Blastoise painting on the wall. Misty placed the serving tray on the couche's end-table, within easy reach of her patient.
"Blanket. Pillow. Feed Arbok. Go." Gary recited his demands, offering no such 'thank you' for the snacks or her compliment of his home.
Misty flashed him her middle-finger, knowing that he couldn't see it from the couch.
Arbok? I don't see an Arbok anywhere. Curious, she opened one of the other two doors. The first led to a large modern bathroom – complete with walk-in shower and swanky jacuzzi. Behind the second was his bedroom. Gary had an enormous SlowKing-sized mattress. His bed was already made to perfection —he had an opulent silver bed set complete with a plush comforter, neatly folded throw blanket and a mountain of different-sized pillows. A neatly organized computer desk was nestled in the corner. Misty snagged a random pillow and his throw blanket.
"Here ya go." She handed the bedding items to Gary.
"Feed Arbok."
"I don't see an Arbok anywhere."
"Ring his bell." Gary gestured toward the kitchen counter where the brass bell and Poke'food jar sat side-by-side.
And so Misty returned to the kitchen, picked up the bell and rang it. Almost immediately an above-average sized Arbok emerged from somewhere within Gary's jungle of potted plants. Arbok blinked his groggy eyes and surveyed the scene. He seemed to easily deduce that Gary was injured, not seriously, and that SHE was now the controller of his dinner. The snake hissed eagerly as he approached Misty and she could actually hear his stomach grumbling from hunger. Arbok cocked his head, he was studying her now. Misty studied him back. Arbok stretched upward so that he was eye-level with her. His forked tongue jutted forth, tasting the air around her, engaging with her scent. There was a glimmer of recognition in his eye . . . did this Arbok know her?
Seeming to rank food above scrutinizing her, the snake gestured to an empty bowl beneath a bar stool.
This Pokemon was a striking specimen of Arbok. His scales reminded Misty of amethyst gem stones, sparkling beautifully under the kitchen lights. Misty had never claimed to be an admirer of snake Pokemon, but she knew a superior version of the species when she saw one. And she was now certain that she HAD seen this exact lavender beast before. But where?
Puzzled, Misty frowned and tossed a few handfuls of the Poke'food into his bowl. "Enjoy," she said, leaving Arbok to munch away in privacy.
"Your Arbok is magnificent." Misty sincerely meant her proclamation. "Is he a research subject?"
Gary just looked at her, expressionless, ignoring her positive comment on his Pokemon. Instead he pointed to the pillow and blanket she had previously laid upon his lap. "Tuck me in."
"Don't you want to change out of that hospital gown first?"
"I don't want to get up again yet. Tuck me in."
Misty exhaled sharply, suffocating the urge to suffocate him with his own pillow!
With painstaking movements she fluffed the pillow and set it behind his head and then wrapped the throw blanket across his body — making sure he was covered from shin to shoulder. Next she lifted his bandaged right hand, followed by his non-bandaged left one and pulled them out from under the blanket so that he could easily reach his snacks and drink.
As Misty started to release his hand from hers she realized that she was . . . stuck. Gary was . . . holding . . . her . . . hand? He stared intently, like her hand were a fossilized limb from one of his research subjects. Misty tugged at her hand but he would not let go.
"You have really small hands, Waterflower." Gary announced his scientific conclusion.
Misty stopped trying to free her hand as she considered his observation. What? Are my hands freakishly small?
She followed his scrutinizing gaze: there was her hand – small, delicate, pale-ish — trapped within his quite large, strong, tan-ish one. Gary's fingers were nearly twice the size of her own, and undeniably smooth. He clearly wasn't too masculine to moisturize. Since he was studying her, Misty granted her own sight an exploratory stroll, skimming from his hand and up his forearm . . .
. . . tan . . .
. . . toned . . .
. . . tattooed . . .
When the hell did Gary Oak get a sexy man arm?!
Wasn't he just some scrawny little kid? No, Ash was the scrawny little kid. Gary had always been lean and athletic, even as a boy. But he certainly was never muscled like this. Was he racing Rapidash and wrestling Primeapes in his spare time?!
She tried to steal a look at his tattoo, his hospital gown sleeve was rolled up just above the wrist. Misty deciphered what resembled paws and flames. Part of an Arcanine, maybe? She was oh-so very curious if this tattoo was a full sleeve work-of-art or a small forearm decoration?
Misty blinked upward, Gary was focused on her -- his gaze like blue searchlights upon her face. Gary had been observing her observing him.
Misty retracted her hand, feeling unexplainably flustered and then irritated that she felt flustered! Was she irritated with herself or with him?
"My hands are not small. Yours are just big and brutish like Snolax paws."
Gary snickered, her words apparently inspired him to continue acting like himself. "You've got weenie little Gothita fingers. Like a little kid."
"Well, these Gothita fingers were strong enough to get your ass out of that car and onto this couch. Those fine muscles of yours didn't do you any good, did they?"
Gary straightened up now, amusement lighting his eyes. "My fine muscles?"
Misty could practically see his ego bloat. He would never be able to leave his apartment now, his head would never fit through the door. Misty had meant to insult him, not compliment him.
"You have okay muscles. Average at best." Misty shrugged nonchalantly, trying to cover her slip-up. But it was too late. Gary was beaming, showcasing his way-too-perfect white teeth. "Ugh, Oak, why do you even have muscles anyway? Aren't Pokémon professors all scrawny and nerdy?"
"How stereotypical of you."
"Do you lift weights?" Now she wanted to know.
"I box."
"Like, punching people boxing?"
"Yes," Gary laughed. "Five years ago I did a research project on a unique Hitmonchan. Boxing against humans was his favorite training regimen. He would box at every available opportunity. As a result his strength was record-breaking for his species. I wanted to learn more about the specifics of his training, so I took it up. Hands-on learning, I guess. Been at it ever since. I don't compete in tournaments or anything—it's strictly for exercise, stress relief, that kind of thing. I spend as much time hitting bags and sparring partners as I do the nerdy books."
"Oh." Misty tried not to look impressed. Boxing sounded . . . brutish, a dangerous waste of time and certainly NOT sexy. Well, okay, maybe just a little-bit-OR-a-lot sexy? "Well, I don't think you're as tough as you think you are, Oak. Even me, with my small-little-kid-hands, could out box you. I'm quick. When we were kids, I use to fight with Ash all the time and he could never even land a slap on me. But I left him black and blue on a weekly basis."
"As much as I can appreciate your desire to beat up Ash, it's hardly worth bragging about. That's like a Weedle trading blows with a Caterpie. Ridiculous. I could best you with one hand tied behind my back and a broken foot."
"I'm like a Machamp!" Misty put up her 'dukes' (or whatever boxers called their fighting fists) and leaned over him. "Try to get in a shot, Oak. I dare ya!"
Gary scoffed as though she'd challenged him to catch a Weedle with a Masterball. "Absurd. As tempting as it is, I'm not going to box you. But!" he flashed that perfectly smug grin again. "Perhaps we can settle this another way? Arm-wrestling? Less chance of you getting hurt."
"You're on."
Gary flexed his right-hand and began un-wrapping the bandage dressing. Apparently he intended to compete with his injured hand.
"For the record, I'm stating that this is a bad idea." Misty warned, blatantly copying his words from earlier at the car.
"No one asked you," he volleyed back. "It's fine, Waterflower, barely a scratch." He held up his bare hand as proof. He was not downplaying, his right palm did only appear to be slightly bruised with some minor scraping across the knuckle.
It was time to set the arena stage. Misty stood up to her full height, kicking off her shoes for dramatic effect. Next she set Gary's snack tray on the floor, clearing the table top for their impending duel. So what if Misty had never actually arm-wrestled before, she had seen wild fighting-type Pokemon do it plenty of times. It didn't look overly complicated. The winner pushed the losers hand into the table. Easy.
Misty nestled her elbow a top the table and opened up her hand, inviting his.
Gary licked his lips, nodding confidently. The blueness of his eyes contrasted with the thick dark lashes framing them. Misty could not squelch the inner admission that he was . . . irritatingly attractive right now. The key part being 'irritatingly', of course.
Cocking a cocky eyebrow, Gary placed his large, strong, smooth, tan-ish hand in hers.
Had an invisible Charmander just sighed upon her finger tips? Misty suppressed a shudder as a wave of not-so-unpleasant heat smoldered trough her veins, igniting her blood from her hand, up her arm, across her chest, to her cheeks and to other areas (she was grateful were) fully hidden from Gary's view.
"On three," he commanded. Gary was either choosing to ignore the obvious blush staining her skin OR he was so immersed within premature self-congratulations that he did not notice. Probably the latter.
Misty nodded, indicating that she was ready to duel.
"One, tw-"
Misty pinned his hand.
"You cheated," Gary stated, rolling his eyes. "Re-match." He squeezed her fingers in his hand and Misty's stomach muscles involuntarily squeezed in response. She upgraded the heat in her bloodstream to Charmeleon-level.
Misty had to laugh at Gary's unbridled annoyance at her cheating. Realistically she knew that she was 'all talk'. She knew that Gary would best her in a fair arm-wrestling match on sheer strength alone. If she wanted to win, then she had to be creative. "Okay, Oak, on three?"
Gary counted again: "One, two, three-OHHH-OUCH!"
With her free hand, Misty jabbed him in the armpit. Gary jumped and she won again. Misty sang her prideful laughter loudly. "HAAAA! Haaaahaa! Ticklish, eh, Oak?"
Gary rubbed his violated armpit protectively. "You're a scrappy little thing, I'll give you that. But you're still cheating, Waterflower. My foot is in a cast, my wrestling hand is bruised. Your opponent is physically handicapped and you still play it dirty. Shameful."
"Fine," Misty stuck out her tongue. "One more round?"
Gary eyed her with rightful suspicion. "Okay, but you can't move your other hand and you must wait until the THREE." And so he began his count for a final time: "One, two, three!"
This time Misty was determined to actually try . . . but, within a nano-second his more powerful hand was pressing hers down, down, down . . . ! If Gary bested her she would never - NEVER- hear the end of it. So, Misty defaulted to what her own sisters would do in a time like this. She pulled out a classic tactic from the Waterflower bag-o-tricks.
"Ohh, Oak, your hand is so-ohhh big and strong," she gasped, perfectly imitating the sultry, breathy coo her sister Violet utilized to manipulate men.
It worked like a charm. Gary was an annoying man, but he was still a man. He faltered, unsure of what he had just heard. He held Misty's hand an inch off the tabletop and stared at her as though she'd just transformed into a Jynx.
Misty had to seal the deal NOW NOW NOW, while he was still bewildered. Channeling her 'inner Violet', Misty released a dreamy, fan-girly sigh and boldly stroked his hand with her thumb. She circled his skin as suggestively as one possibly could whilst in the arm-wrestling position. She boldly met his stare, filling her gaze with lust, batting her lashes and asked: "Is it true that men with big hands have a big-"
"ARBOK!" the snake Pokemon popped his head up from the behind the couch like a jack-in-the-box! Arbok seemed instantly delighted to witness whatever human game they were playing.
Gary and Misty both startled. And with Gary's focus now slack, Misty saw opportunity knocking and she answered! She pinned Gary's hand to the table with an overabundance of triumphant force!
Gary yanked his hand away from hers-- realization hitting him like a charging Rhydon. "Dirty womanly trick. I can definitely say none of my sparing buddies have pulled that one on me."
Misty stood up and took a bow. "And for my prize," she snatched the television remote control from the coffee table. "I get to choose our evening entertainment!"
"Chaaaarbokaaaah!" Arbok was overjoyed. He slithered onto the back rim of the couch, eagerly staring at the television screen.
Misty paused in her triumph as she examined Arbok again. Her memory was nagging the hell out of her. She knew this Pokemon . . . she had definitely seen him before. But who did she know that had such an above-averaged sized snake? He didn't belong to Team Rocket. And she did not remember Gary ever battling Ash with an Ekans or an Arbok during their youth . . .
By Zapdos!
The truth punctured her memory like the Pokemon's famous Poison Sting to her brain.
Chaz.
This Arbok had once belonged to her ex-boyfriend.