Love and War

by Spruceton Spook

Part 1

It was hot—no, not hot, broiling. The muggy, thick air engulfed him, and the rays of the sun beat down brutally on his forehead, drawing tiny beads of sweat beneath his hairline. He reached up to brush them away and gulped, his mouth lacking the simple quench for thirst it cried out for. For about the tenth time, he pulled at the collar of his button-down shirt, yanking it back and forth to create a meager supply of ventilation for his sweltering chest.

Yes, it certainly was a hot day. But despite the small elements of discomfort it caused, nearly all was eradicated by the presence of what Ash had been anticipating for weeks on end, the one day that had preoccupied his thoughts and temporarily pushed aside his current string of training activities and quests. Just thinking about it gave him a pleasant, wonderful chill of content and excitement.

Ash breathed deeply and refreshingly, continuing to air himself out from the nasty heat. He couldn’t believe how hot these uniforms could be . . . or how cool they looked at that. Occasionally, he glanced down or extended his arms, smiling at the loose-fitting garment of camouflage that covered him from head to toe, the familiar blotches of green, brown, and yellow speaking of one thing.

“Ewww! These aren’t my colors!”

Well, that wasn’t it. Ash could disagree at that, but it would be difficult to convince Misty otherwise. He turned to her, catching her examining herself in the camouflage, a defeated grin edging her lips. She shook her head, throwing her unbound ginger hair about her shoulders, then looked up at her amused audience.

Ash smiled languidly. “What do you want the colors of camouflage to be? Pink and blue?”

Misty sighed. “No,” she said, looking down at herself again. “I just think I look funny in this.”

“How is that different from any other time?” Ash asked, shrugging casually, bringing a narrowing glare from the girl. He smirked, then gestured to her side with a nod of his head. “Is that how you plan on carrying your gun, too?”

Misty’s eyes rose as she threw a look to the gun she held away from her body. Her fingers wrapped around it in a loose grip, almost as it were dirty in some sorts. She shrugged, as well, letting out a laugh as she brought it to her other hand.

“It’s a gun,” she replied. “I don’t like guns.”

“It’s a paintball gun,” Ash said, rolling his eyes. “It just shoots out little balls of paint, Misty. It’s not going to kill anyone—or yourself, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He laughed.

Misty had to laugh, too, holding the gun better in her hands and scrutinizing it, her eyes cocking. It was all new to her, Ash knew. She had never been paintballing in her life, and neither had he for that matter, but ever since Pallet Town had begun holding its annual paintball challenge since he was a little boy, paintballing was a familiar concept to him. After years of sitting on the sideline, watching the challengers head off into the woods with their cool camouflage and guns filled with brightly colored balls, he was finally going to be part of it. Only took him till the age of fourteen, but even now Ash knew his mother wasn’t thrilled with the fact that she was sending her son out into target-infested woods filled with trigger-happy kids.

The day couldn’t have been more perfect. It was hot, but the sun was high and shining and the weather was remarkable. From where he and Misty stood on the front lawn of Professor Oak’s magnificently expansive preserve, Ash’s eyes swept over the numerous clumps of people, mostly older kids, some in uniform and guns in hand. It was just as it had been other years, exciting and filled with expectation. Nothing but pure bliss ran through his veins.

“Come on,” he said to Misty, drawing her attention away from her gun. He motioned her to follow with a wave of his hand. “Let’s go find Brock and Tracey. They’re waiting for me to come back with you.”

“I was that long?” Misty asked incredulously. She dismissed it gruffly. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have been if I wasn’t given a shirt ten times my size. It took me forever to tuck it in. And then I had to go put Togepi in a safe place, and walk around aimlessly to find one of these . . .” she went on, referring to the gun.

“And yadda yadda yadda,” Ash exhaled. “We still got get that gun filled with the balls, so let’s go.”

Misty growled humorously and gave him a shove, which Ash simply smiled at. If she was this temperamental about the game now, he couldn’t wait to see what she was like out in the woods—then again, he wondered what it would be like for himself.

They spotted Brock and Tracey, just where they had been when Ash left to go search for the missing Misty. Already dressed in their own camouflage, their smiling faces were drawn in the direction of a distant tree trunk, splashed with vibrant globs of yellow paint. Tracey was down on one knee, the viewfinder of the gun pressed to his eye. As the two approached, the gun made a sharp popping noise, sending Tracey flying back a bit, releasing another ball rapidly soaring to its destruction on the tree.

Misty stopped short at the pop, her eyes widening at the suddenness of it. She froze and gawked at the paint-splattered tree, then to Ash, who bounded energetically to them.

“Ooh, let me try,” he cooed stimulatedly, holding out his hands like a child wanting a cookie. His fingers wiggled unstoppably. Misty smiled and reclined, walking over as well.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Brock grinned, stepping aside as Tracey got up and handed his gun to Ash. “Got your pre-paintball primping done?” He flashed his derisive teeth.

Misty narrowed her eyes at him. “Whatever. I already had this conversation. Show me how to use this thing.”

Brock smiled calmly as Misty thrust the gun into his hands. He said not a word as he turned and crouched beside the large tin bucket. Filled nearly to the brim were bright yellow balls, gleaming in the early afternoon sun. Misty watched silently as he loaded her gun, snapped it closed, and handed it back to her.

“Now,” he said, gripping her by the shoulders and forcefully twirling her around to face the tree target, “see that tree?”

“No, I don’t,” Misty retorted wearily. “Could you point it out to me, Brock?”

“Very hilarious, Misty,” Brock gibbered, proceeding to yank her arms up so that the gun was at eye-level. He released her, and she stood with the gun propped in front of her face, her eyes studying the weapon fidgetly. She threw him a questionable glance, and he motioned towards the gun with a nod of his head.

“Put your finger on the trigger and shoot at the tree,” he said, his voice dragging. “It’s not hard, Misty.”

“I know,” she replied. “I’m kinda scared to do this.”

Brock shook his head. “Don’t be,” he told her. “Just try it. It’s fun.”

Misty gulped apprehensively and shot a glimpse out at the tree, its beautiful brown bark bludgeoned with dripping yellow paint. She stared at it for some time, wondering in part how she’d know if she hit it. If she could hit it, that was. Ash and Tracey had stepped aside, clearing her path. They stood silently, watching and waiting. The sudden attention placed upon her and the pressure that accompanied that, Misty shakily brought the gun closer to face, flicking her eye into the target-finder. The tree bounced before her, brought on by her nervous shivering. Her finger hesitantly pulled at the trigger, which was a lot tougher than she expected it to be, but after what seemed like forever and all the energy her finger had, the trigger snapped back, creating a startling pop that vibrated through Misty’s body in a flash.

Her eyes shut immediately and her muscles tightened. It was an odd feeling, one that Misty couldn’t say she entirely enjoyed. Her eyelids finally fluttering open, she blinked repeatedly, staring off at the tree.

Like she expected, she couldn’t tell her shot apart from any of the others. When she had shot, it felt almost like her gun had lurched upward, unsteadily wavering from her unstrung manner. She was still shaking now as she stood, patiently waiting for her heart to calm as she took deep breaths.

The silence from her friends was puzzling her. She looked to them for their reaction and the answer to how she did, clutching her hands around the gun expectantly. The three boys were simply gazing off as she had been, motionless.

“Well?” she asked.

They recoiled slightly, their faces simultaneously wrinkling.

“Um . . . that was good,” Brock said, a trifle of promptness in his voice.

“Yeah, th-that was real good,” Tracey agreed just as swiftly, his head nodding up and down energetically. A wide, anxious smile swept across his face.

“I mean, for a first try that was excellent!” Brock went on to say, his tone conveying sheer certainty. He clapped his hands and chuckled precariously. “You handled the gun so well.”

He sweatdropped, much to Misty’s bafflement. She cocked her head at him. For some reason, there was something rather odd about his and Tracey’s reactions. Their eyes darting around erratically and their smiles were peculiarly large.

“What are you guys talking about?” Ash suddenly asked, giving them a face. “That sucked!”

Brock and Tracey cringed, but Ash seemed oblivious to it. “She didn’t even come close to hitting the tree!”

Misty’s brow immediately furrowed in repulsion, and she growled at the boy.

“What was that, Ash Ketchum!?” she demanded, fire in her eyes. He reared back and cowered.

“N-nothing,” Ash stammered, shivering. Suddenly, he straightened himself, matching her rigid glare. “Hey, why are you mad at me? I’m not the one lying!”

Misty was ready to shoot back, but her face softened at the realization of what Ash had said. She could almost sense her other two friends nervously backing away, their attentions conveniently drawn elsewhere. Rolling her eyes, Misty decided not to bother with it, as it wasn’t even worth it. Instead, she turned back to Ash, her face lowering disappointedly.

“Did I really shoot that bad?” she asked glumly.

Ash was hesitant to answer, but seeing as how she craved his honest answer with her dejected tone, he sighed. “Well, it’s the first time you’ve shot the gun. You can’t be perfect on your first try.”

Misty nodded. “I guess so,” she said.

“Try again, Misty,” Ash encouraged her.

Taking a deep breath, Misty raised the gun to her eye again. She tried to stare through the target and at the tree somewhat determinedly, but once again her restless arms began to tremble.

“Don’t be so nervous,” she suddenly heard Tracey say. He and Brock had since wandered over again, seeing as the danger of a ravenous Misty was moderately averted. Misty held her breath at the advice, wondering if that would quit her shaking, but it was no use. Her friends’ eyes continued to wear her down. She found her eyes shutting again as her finger yanked the stiff trigger. She opened them immediately afterwards, intently scanning about the area into which she shot, hoping to see some improvement.

There was silence again, but it didn’t fool Misty this time. Hunching her shoulders, she let her gun droop at her side miserably.

“I’m so bad at this,” she said, her gaze set solidly on the tree.

“Hey, don’t let it bother you,” Brock said, nudging her shoulder. “You’ll do much better as you go along. It takes practice, you know.”

Misty tried to smile agreeably, but she couldn’t help it. Practice was not going to help her. In fact, she didn’t even want to shoot the gun again. Not only was she missing horribly, but she didn’t even enjoy doing it. She honestly couldn’t see the excitement Ash had over it; how he’d spoken of it ceaselessly for the past few weeks or the look of thrill he got when he shot the gun. The only pleasure she got out of the estranged sport were the pretty paintballs. Of course, uttering that to the boys wasn’t going to make anything better.

At that point, she wondered why she had turned down Mrs. Ketchum’s offer to stay with her instead, enjoy the afternoon without the boys . . .

“Hey Misty.” Ash’s voice jerked her out of her little world, drawing her eyes to meet his. He smiled affably, wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue. Misty was able to find her smile now. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll help you out there.”

Misty perked, cocking her head. “You would?” she asked, her tone peaking with appreciation.

“Sure,” Ash shrugged. “I mean, I’m not that great myself—”

“You certainly aren’t,” smirked Misty.

Ash grinned. “Yeah, well. You want me to show you how to do this or what?”

Pleased both with her witty remark and Ash’s willingness, she beamed and nodded. Not that she had plans on going off on her own anyway, but spending the day with Ash to see him struggle on the battlefield and an invitation to do so was something she couldn’t pass up. And a few pointers on how to shoot the pretty balls wouldn’t be bad, either.

“Thanks Ash,” she said.

“Sure thing,” he replied casually, hopping down immediately after to test his shot again. Misty was amazed to see that he wasn’t half bad. Some of his shots hit the tree dead-on, while others blasted into unknown infinitude to join hers. But no matter where they went, Ash was not hesitant to pull the trigger. His shots rang out one after the other, barely a moment of rest in between. He looked like he was having so much fun the way his smile spread eagerly across his face, and Misty sighed gently.

“Getting in some last minute practice there, Ashy Boy?”

Ash’s last shot burst upwards as his gun lunged skyward, blasting the paintball into the scorching sun. Caught off-guard, he let out a startled yelp, nearly stumbling back to a fall. His head twisted rapidly towards the voice, knowing quite well indeed who it was.

Gary smiled down at him as Ash found his feet, hoisting himself up stiffly.

“Hi, Gary,” he said apathetically, brushing himself off.

“Hey,” he waved. He, too, was decked out in his camouflage, and he tapped his gun rthymically against his shiny black boots. For a moment, he and Ash stared at each other passively, not uttering a word. Misty, Brock, and Tracey exchanged brief looks.

Ash slightly rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time he had met up with Gary since being home, but fortunately for him, nothing had been hostile between the two. He wanted to keep it that way, so with a gentle blink of his eyes, he smiled.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing much,” replied Gary. “Just came to pick you up, that’s all.”

Ash froze. “What?” he gasped, his voice cracking just a bit.

“You’re with us,” Gary informed, beckoning Ash to follow with a swift throw of his head. He started off, only to halt as he witnessed Ash’s face wrinkle with sparse confusion.

“I am?” Ash asked, surprised. He quickly glanced over at his friends, who’d frozen stiff themselves, taken by the proclamation. “But, I—I thought—”

“What?” Gary shrugged, smiling. “That you’d be on their team? Heh, Ash, don’t you know the customs of this game?”

“Customs?” Ash responded, shifting his weight to the other leg. He squeezed his gun tightly, giving Gary the most sincere expression of puzzlement, unable to figure out what he was possibly speaking of.

“Yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You’re from Pallet Town; you’re on the Pallet Town team. They—” his pointed finger swept along the bystanders, “—are the visitors. They’re on the other team. You didn’t know that?”

Misty drew back softly, her eyes planted on Ash. She was relieved, somewhat, to see that Ash was clearly shocked by this, that this just wasn’t something that escaped his memory. And even as the news had time to settle in his mind, it appeared as if he wasn’t ready to accept it in a swoop.

Ash swallowed, shaking his head. “No, I guess not. I just thought that I’d be with Misty and Brock and—”

Gary chuckled. “Well, then that would defeat the whole purpose of the game,” he exclaimed. “That’s the way it’s always been. The Pallet Towners against the visitors.”

Ash was solid as stone, his eyes falling momentarily to the ground. He lifted them again to Gary, his lips parting slightly. “Well . . . can’t I just be on their team for today? Is it that much of a big deal?”

Misty, Brock, and Tracey’s eyes instantaneously darted to Gary, intently waiting for the response. They knew Ash wasn’t ready to just retreat to the other team and leave them behind. It was a merely a simple desire to have their friend on the team, but nevertheless they hoped Gary would shake the situation off easily.

That was hardly what they received.

“Oh, c’mon, Ash,” Gary snorted. “You’re kidding, right? You can’t just break the tradition of this. It’s not right!”

“W-well,” Ash stuttered, finally finding his rigidity to object, “I was expecting to be with them.”

“He should be able to be on whatever team he wants to be on,” Brock suddenly put in, his voice low yet firm.

Gary shrugged again impassively. He reached up to scratch his head underneath his burdensome dark-green helmet. “It’s just the way it’s always been.” He diverted his attention to Ash again, smiling. “Don’t you wanna support Pallet? Don’t tell me you’re going to go against your own town to be with these losers.”

“Hey!” Brock growled under his breath. Misty and Tracey tensed irately.

Ash, however, seemed to have escaped that comment. He opened his mouth to disagree that he had no intentions of going against Pallet, but that he also didn’t want to abandon his friends, those of whom he’d shared the anticipation of the event with all that week. At the same time, Gary’s ideology and the fact of the matter clung to mind. If that was the way the game had always been played out, there was no sense in bringing negative—though harmless—attention upon himself. He shut his mouth as quickly as he opened it, shrugging in a defeated, glum manner, giving in.

“Fine,” he muttered inaudibly. “I’ll be on the team.”

Misty slumped as the words escaped Ash’s lips, feeling her excitement die and her disappointment excel. Biting hard on her bottom lip, she tossed her head irritably, blowing out the few wispy strands of hair that became trapped in the corners of her mouth.

Gary’s content smile returned, and he reached up to tap his face-guard, which fell over his eyes with a brisk snap. Ash winced from the sound, almost instantaneously regretting his decision.

“Good,” Gary chirped, extending his friendly smirk. “Game starts in ten minutes, Ash. Be ready to kick ass.”

Spinning around elasticity, Gary sauntered off towards the side from which he come, his gun bouncing off his leg as he walked. Ash’s eyes blazed at his rival—now his teammate—and blinked hard. What just happened? Ash immediately felt his thrill diminishing, his enthusiasm dulling. The feeling burned within him furthermore as he turned to his flabbergasted pals, their eyes set on him aghast.

“Ash?” Tracey exclaimed, shrugging insanely. “What the hell was that?”

“You’re just gonna leave us now?” Brock gasped, a pained look invading his formally capricious face.

Misty regained herself, her own outburst pouring from her mouth. “Ash . . . how can you not be with us? We were going to have fun . . .”

Ash shut his eyes, trying to rid himself of their perturbed simpers and digging questions. It was hard enough the situation he’d placed himself into, but to hear his friends’ anguished shock was simply worsening it.

“I know, I know,” Ash rapidly hushed them, Misty in particular. She sounded particularly hurt, as she had every right to be. As Ash glanced at her, her eyes lowering and her gun held languidly at her side, he felt his stomach sink in incomparable setback. For a moment, her almost pleading look altered his set decision, told him to screw the whole thing entirely and go with how he’d planned on originally: a fun-filled, exciting day with his friends, not with Gary, not with a bunch of kids from his town that he hadn’t seen in years, and some not at all. The thought of it further made him shudder.

“I don’t want to be on the team,” he confirmed, taking a deep breath. “But Gary’s right. Ya know, I think I do know about that after all, about the team thing. I just . . . I can’t go against it. That’s how it’s set up.”

Brock pouted disputably. “So what? Like anyone’s gonna care?”

“I live in Pallet Town,” Tracey frowned. “How come I wasn’t invited to be on the team?”

“Because it’s those native to Pallet,” Ash answered, though he knew the true meaning behind Tracey’s words. “I know, it’s dumb. But . . .” He shrugged, not really knowing how to explain what he was feeling . . . or if he wanted to feel it at all. “It’s all right.” He forced a smile. “It’ll be fun anyway.”

His friends were rendered speechless at that, just staring at him. Slowly, Brock and Tracey apathetically shrugged and turned away, picking up their guns. Misty, however, remained how she was, her eyes glued to Ash despondently. Ash met her gaze and smiled apprehensively, sweatdropping.

“Misty,” Ash sighed, hunching over.

“Ash,” she met his tone, adding a tad of whining to it, as well. “You said you were going to help me.”

Ash rubbed the side of his face, groaning gently. “I know, Misty. But, you-you’ll do fine! Stick around with Brock, he knows what to do!”

Glancing briefly at Brock, Misty growled absurdly. “Yeah, right. I am not getting paintball advice from someone wearing that on his head!”

She gestured outrageously to their enlivened friend, who had quickly gotten over the dilemma of Ash’s by entertaining both himself and Tracey with his extravagant, decorative helmet. What used to be a normal helmet Brock had covered entirely with long, green grass, which fell over his face and eyes. Laughing maniacally, he tried to unsuccessfully part the “hair” from his eyesight.

“Mrs. Ketchum!” he cried, gasping for breath from his giddy laughter, “give me a hand!”

Delia, who had been making her rounds on the preserve socializing, as she had done all the previous years, doubled over in laughter when she caught sight of Brock.

“Oh my goodness!” she giggled, trotting over to him. She tugged playfully at the grass. “You look adorable!”

As she went to tear some of the grass from Brock’s helmet, Misty just gave Ash another absurd look, shaking her head. Her face calmed then, her chagrin returning.

“Ash . . .” she groaned again.

Ash didn’t know what to do, but as the calls for the teams to assemble sounded off, his head twisted abruptly around. He didn’t have much time to change his decision now, to his dismay. Hopping around on fidgety toes, all he could do was set his eyes soothingly into Misty’s again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. But I have to go.”

Misty’s head hung and she reluctantly nodded. “All right,” she mumbled. “I’m gonna suck, though.”

“No you won’t,” Ash immediately replied, hoisting his gun high in preparation to depart to join his team. Taking a deep breath, he gave a wave to his pals.

“I’m off guys,” he said, giving them a small smile nonetheless. “Have fun out there. Hopefully we’ll run into each other.”

They sulked sadly but nodded, returning his wave.

“Ash,” Delia said, jumping over to him. “Be careful out there.” She immediately went to straighten his helmet, pressing down on it as far as it could go, making Ash cringe.

“I will, Mom,” he replied, brushing her hands away from his head.

“Don’t shoot anyone in the face or head.”

“Okay.”

“And keep that helmet on, you hear me?” she instructed, her eyes becoming serious to get her point across. “That’s all I want you to do.”

“I will,” Ash replied again, backing up bluntly as Delia reached to pull his eye-shield down.

“Don’t take it off for a moment,” his mother warned, making sure the strap around his chin was secured. Ash blushed and tried to pry his head away.

“Mom! Don’t worry, I’ll be fine!” he insisted, finally able to break from the clutches of her motherly concern. He smiled gently, reaching up to jiggle his helmet in assurance, as well. “I won’t get hurt.”

Delia’s eyes fell, and she smiled weakly. “All right then. Have fun, sweetie.”

“Okay, Mom,” Ash sighed, his eyes rolling as she strolled past him. He facetiously pointed the gun at her and pretended to fire repeatedly. Misty uttered a short chuckle, stifling it kittenishly. Ash just nodded, sticking his tongue out in farewell, and turned to shuffle his way over to the opposing team that huddled a few yards yonder.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .