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breakingdreamsTitle: Blissful Ignorance
Pairing: Grovyle/Hero
Summary: She was always good at that, telling people what she thought in the most neutral way possible.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon or the Mystery Dungeon games.
Notes: Again, there are some spoilers.
Blissful Ignorance
"Celebi likes you."
The jaws of Sharpedo Bluff are emptied of everything but them. Her partner lays there, asleep by the still crackling fire, but they cannot rest. Instead, they too lay there, on opposite sides, too far for either to reach.
"Excuse me?" Of all the things she could say, this is the last he would expect.
"Celebi. She likes you." She rolls over with an ease that feels unnatural to him. A human, now Pokemon— he does not expect her to be so comfortable in that form. But she is.
"No." He shakes his head. "She doesn't." He wonders where she even got the idea from. There is no time, no purpose for that sort of thing. She knew that, once.
"Yes, she does." She seems oddly determined about this, although he cannot understand why. "She said as much, before we left. She said that you're always in a hurry, and that she wished that you'd spend more time with her. She also got really embarrassed when she realized what she said, so..." She gave him the equivalence of a shrug, an oddly familiar gesture on this strange body of hers.
Her words ring of truth, and he recalls a moment not many days before where those three— she, her new partner, and Celebi— all huddled together, talking as he made the preparations needed before they returned to the past.
After a pause, she continues on, delicately, carefully. She was always good at that, telling people what she thought in the most neutral way possible. "When this is over," she begins. "it wouldn't hurt to try to spend some more—" She cuts herself off once she catches sight of his expression. She may not know what it is, but she clearly knows she said something wrong.
She doesn't know what. Of course she doesn't, can't. It's only now that he realizes the full implications of her predicament. She can't know that there is no after for him, for her, for them. She can't know that stopping the planet's paralysis will be the last thing that either of them will ever do.
She can't.
And she looks at him with that expectant look, and he knows that he should tell her, that it's only right that he knows, her right to know, but somehow he just can't bring himself to say a word.
He can't bring himself to destroy her blissful ignorance, her ignorant happiness.
Not yet.
Pairing: Grovyle/Hero
Summary: She was always good at that, telling people what she thought in the most neutral way possible.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon or the Mystery Dungeon games.
Notes: Again, there are some spoilers.
"Celebi likes you."
The jaws of Sharpedo Bluff are emptied of everything but them. Her partner lays there, asleep by the still crackling fire, but they cannot rest. Instead, they too lay there, on opposite sides, too far for either to reach.
"Excuse me?" Of all the things she could say, this is the last he would expect.
"Celebi. She likes you." She rolls over with an ease that feels unnatural to him. A human, now Pokemon— he does not expect her to be so comfortable in that form. But she is.
"No." He shakes his head. "She doesn't." He wonders where she even got the idea from. There is no time, no purpose for that sort of thing. She knew that, once.
"Yes, she does." She seems oddly determined about this, although he cannot understand why. "She said as much, before we left. She said that you're always in a hurry, and that she wished that you'd spend more time with her. She also got really embarrassed when she realized what she said, so..." She gave him the equivalence of a shrug, an oddly familiar gesture on this strange body of hers.
Her words ring of truth, and he recalls a moment not many days before where those three— she, her new partner, and Celebi— all huddled together, talking as he made the preparations needed before they returned to the past.
After a pause, she continues on, delicately, carefully. She was always good at that, telling people what she thought in the most neutral way possible. "When this is over," she begins. "it wouldn't hurt to try to spend some more—" She cuts herself off once she catches sight of his expression. She may not know what it is, but she clearly knows she said something wrong.
She doesn't know what. Of course she doesn't, can't. It's only now that he realizes the full implications of her predicament. She can't know that there is no after for him, for her, for them. She can't know that stopping the planet's paralysis will be the last thing that either of them will ever do.
She can't.
And she looks at him with that expectant look, and he knows that he should tell her, that it's only right that he knows, her right to know, but somehow he just can't bring himself to say a word.
He can't bring himself to destroy her blissful ignorance, her ignorant happiness.
Not yet.
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