Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ Parmesan ❯ One-Shot

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Parmesan
For, and dedicated to actual-chan.

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"So, where do you want to go first?"

Misty seemed exceedingly cheerful, standing with Ash and Brock in front of a
large sign that said 'Art Museum Directory' at the top. After staring at the map
and menu for a bit, Ash moved forward and pointed to a purple box labeled G6.
Nodding, Misty ran her finger along the side of the menu - G4, G5, G6: Gift Shop.

"Gift Shop!? Ash...you always save that for last."

Not noticing the subtle shaking of Brock's head and uneasy glare, Ash responded,
"Well, it wasn't my idea to come here. What I meant by 'Getting together to do
something' was to go to an arcade, bar, or something. Definitely not this."

Brock now cringed as Misty calmly reached her hand up and grasped Ash's tangle of
hair firmly. Pulling down hard, and leaning forward, she hissed in his ear,
"Live with it."

He even had the nerve to roll his eyes when she turned her back, obviously
expecting the two men to follow by the way her feet were placed so intentionally.
And they did follow, clearly aware that there wasn't any point in arguing.



First to the right, then to the left, his head tilted.

"So?"

"Nope, sorry, I don't see anything."

Brock had to agree, "Yeah, me either."

Red hair swaying, she shook her head, "You two are hopeless, that just screams
water!"

Well, the painting was, indeed, blue, but it didn't seem very waterish. There
were a couple of smears of black on the right, and at the top of the canvas tiny
droplets of green were splattered. Other than that, it was blue.

"You know," Ash nodded decidedly, "I could do that, no problem."

"For some reason, I sincerely doubt that, since you are not an artistic person."

Staring at her slightly scowling face, he asked himself a question that he'd
already answered in the past. 'Why do I consider her a friend if she's almost
continually mean?'

Ash clearly remembered the first time he'd answered this for himself; he'd been
19, nearly 20. Good thing he'd waited that long too, since it was almost assured
that his head would've exploded if that question had been tackled at, oh, say, 15.
Imagine the contemptuous look on her face that would've occurred after being
splattered with blood and brain fragments. Yes, it was a very good thing he'd
waited.

This time, like the first, he came up with the same answer, 'Because she's nice
when she's nice.'

It clearly wasn't the most scientific or complete answer, but it worked for him,
and he was the only one who needed it.

A long, defeated sigh brought him out of his thoughts. "Come on, let's just go to
the gift shop."

Ash smiled at these words before calling to Brock. He was still trying to
discover his 'artistic side' and was now sitting cross-legged on one of the large
marble tiles that made up the floor. The well-endowed tour guides that had just
walked by were clearly the reason for this odd sort of meditation.

Brock wasn't responding to Ash's call, so he decided to try the fail-proof way.

"Misty, I think you'd better scrape Brock off the floor before he starts to float."

Sure enough, a hard pinch on the ear zapped him back into reality.

"And I was almost there too!"

Neither Misty nor Ash felt like clarifying where, exactly, he almost was.



"Ugh, I need a Tylenol and caffeine."

Misty trudged over to the couch and sunk down, closing her eyes and sticking her
hand out, palm up. Brock and Ash followed her in, but couldn't really sit down
comfortably, since she had taken up the whole couch. A kitchen chair was drug
into the living room by Brock though, as Ash ran frantically around the house
looking for acetaminophen.

"It expired last December Misty. Still want it?"

"Hell yes." She groaned in response, "It's better than nothing."

Two red and yellow pills dropped into her outstretched palm, prompting her to
awake partially. She sat up, now holding out her other hand to receive the can of
Coke Ash held. Regular Coke. Diet beverages had always been a form of insult to
her, not to mention the fact that they tasted just plain nasty.

Seeing a spot on the couch open up while Misty swallowed the pills, Ash snagged
it. Misty - on the other hand - just glared, stretching out to her fullest extent,
her feet pressing on his femur.

"I still can't believe you two. Even in the gift shop you couldn't behave!" Misty,
obviously, was less than thrilled with the actions of the two full-grown men.

"Well, it's not our fault they sell snack items, magazines, and those cool
miniature Etch-A-Sketches there." Ash said, while trying to push the feet off his
leg. But, her knees were firmly locked and weren't about to give in that easily.

"Yeah," Brock added, "I could tell that the saleslady was pretty impressed with
my artistic abilities."

Pointing her toes in order to increase Ash's lack of comfort, Misty snapped, "On
that damn Etch-A-Sketch? Get real."

"You just wait. When I'm a famous artist you'll be sorry."

Brock stood up, grinning slyly at the two on the couch, who were now totally
engrossed in the battle for more sitting space.

"Guys, I'm leaving..."

Neither of them looked up.

"I'm leaving now...see you two later."

Still, they didn't seem to notice. Each continued to strain against the other.
Ash was now holding on to each of her feet, trying to push them away while she
kicked frantically. This went on for a good couple minutes, before Ketchum
finally got smart and stood up, yanking her fully off the sofa. He was then able
to scramble up and take up all the space before she could even realize what
happened.

"Ooo..." Misty glared down at his victorious and mischievous grin, "That was a
cheap trick."

"I know."

This, she didn't like. It deserved punishment, and he got it in the form of an
elbow to the gut. While watching him sputter and hack she gathered up her
scattered shoes and socks from the floor.

"Now that was cheap." Ash said after recovering, "What if I have internal
bleeding?"

"Ah, who cares? Well, except you."

After her footwear was back on, she made her way to the door.

"Though I'd just love to torture you more, I think internal bleeding is enough
for you to deal with."

"Don't remind me..." He groaned, flinging his shirt off, "See, I bet I'm going to
have a bruise."

"Oooh, poor you." Misty turned the knob and opened the door, "Well, just don't
die or anything. I'm not sure you could handle it."

And with that, she was gone. That manipulating redhead was just plain despicable.
He hated the way she dressed; jean-shorts, with a yellow tank top and red
suspenders was getting old. He hated the way she talked, the way her eyes would
narrow in a positively conniving stare.

Maybe he should get a girlfriend? That might help things, getting his mind off
this friend-friend. But...he really didn't want someone hanging on his arm or
calling him day and night. That'd just add to his extremely small list of worries.
He could see only one solution...



The sound of voices and laughter met his ears immediately as the door swung open.
This overall lull was cradled by an unknown, yet rhythmic beat of music. Familiar
and comforting, it always remained the same, perfectly contrasting with a certain
person whom he had come here to ponder over. Surely gulping down a couple glasses
of hard liquor would do the trick.

Sitting down at the bar and being presented with a glass of tequila, Ash began to
realize yet another reason for his coming here.

Often times he'd snooped through Misty's house in search of some sort of
high-tech tracking device. It was quite peculiar; every time he went out to get
himself most thoroughly and admirably drunk, Misty always seemed to show up. The
next thing he knew, he was looking up at her with a pounding headache and other
undesirable effects of a hangover. Exactly how he came to be in Misty's house,
lying on her couch, he never knew. But, he suspected, it was almost assured that
the same thing would happen tonight.

Unless...

Ash's eyebrows moved upward in a very sly expression while he tilted his glass
and allowed a bit of the alcohol to burn its way down his throat. It would be
hard, indeed, as he could already begin to feel his brain detach itself from his
head. But, it could prove to be rather worthwhile, not to mention the fact that
it solved his problem.



Behold, there she was, not a couple of hours later. And she wasn't exactly a
pretty sight either. The blue plaid pajama pants and baggy green shirt didn't do
her figure any justice, not to mention the ratty state of her hair or the way a
dark gray coat hung haphazardly from her shoulders. But really, it was the
positively evil smile of hers that turned him on. Oh yes, she was the seeming
goddess of misguided perfection, and no one even cared to notice.

Ash quickly snatched his glass from the bar table and sloshed the remaining
liquid quickly down his throat. If he allowed her to get there, that tablespoon
of glorious alcohol would've been gone forever; and he paid good money for it too.

"Damn you Ash! I hate it when you go for the tequila, it always makes you talk in
your sleep."

He was about to answer, but decided against it as she clutched his shoulder,
fingernails digging into his tee shirt and flesh.

Did she do this every time? God, he hoped not, it was rather embarrassing. Misty
was leading him out as if she were a guard and he a prisoner. Objections to this
were not on his agenda though - damn those fingernails were sharp! A deadly
weapon, without a doubt; airport security should be wary.

They were out the door and nearly to the car when Ash tested her grip a bit,
pulling away slightly. Apparently she had been concentrating on something else at
the moment, because her fingers, and nails, slipped from his arm. Ash stumbled
away, trying to steady his body as quickly as possible so his face wouldn't meet
with the cement. Crap, and he wasn't succeeding either. But just before he was
about to test the durability of his knees, an arm looped through his and yanked
him upright.

"Sorry..."

There wasn't more than 10 feet remaining to the car, and they were over half way
there when it struck him. Sorry. Sorry? Apparently drunken-Ash deserved apologies.
He'd always imagined that it would be rewarding to hear her own up and admit a
mistake, but it wasn't really. There wasn't any magical tingle or an unprompted
fit of laughter. Hmm, maybe he couldn't down the alcohol as well as he thought.

"Get in."

Misty pointed to the now-open car door. Though those two words would usually have
an overly commanding air, they were now softer, almost as if it was a suggestion,
rather than an order. But he complied, and would have either way.

It seemed that his redheaded friend was oddly quiet. The little recollection he
had of these, um, occurrences were all very loud. Perhaps that'd been him
speaking, so maybe he should start.

"Still mad at me about the museum?"

Oh, he was proud of himself now, actually remembering to slur his speech. For
added effect he turned towards her and gave a puzzled smile that he hoped was
considered mildly cute. He'd never find out though, since she kept her eyes on
the road.

"No Ash, I'm not. It was stupid for me to ever expect you to be pleased with the
idea."

"Really?"

Leaning over, he placed a hand on her shoulder and scowled slightly. This sounded
like the simple truth from Misty to him, which had never graced his ears. But he
had to mentally kick himself pretty hard for this unplanned, random action. More
of these and he would find out exactly how it felt to be thrown from a moving
vehicle.

"Hands off."

This snapping, sudden command was preceded only by a shove, which caused his hand
to fly back into his lap.

Now this he didn't understand. Misty herself had always been exceptionally touchy;
clinging to him because of the silliest things, pounding him with a mallet to
ensure the maximum amount of brain damage, and the recent addition of yanking his
hair so as to administer as much pain as possible while allowing her to look him
in the eyes. Either she was more fickle than he thought, or there was something
he wasn't aware of.

"Why? I don't bite or anything."

His left hand went to her shoulder again.

"Because," Not a second was wasted as she administered the exact same shove as
before. "You have a tendency to get out of control."

"Out of control?" Ash snapped, pleased to hear a subtle slurring.

Actually turning her head to reply, she used her eyes to emphasize the single
word, "Yes."

Misty's gaze returned to the road, mumbling something to herself. Ash, though
trying to pick up everything, could only decipher 'stupid' and 'remember'. And
this didn't help him in his quest for enlightenment.

"When?"

"Well," She began, shifting slightly while banging the lever for the left-hand
turn signal down, "A little over two weeks ago, and the week before that."

"Oh."

This would make sense; it matched up with these occurrences quite well -
perfectly, to be exact. But then, there wasn't any reason this should be a shock;
Misty had always been razor sharp with her facts.

Out of control though. Hmm, what exactly did he do? By the way she was speaking,
it sounded pretty bad. Deciding that he would be more comfortable, and be able to
increase his brain capacity, Ash put his hands behind his head. Unfortunately,
this was done a little too quickly, his right elbow banging on the window.

"Ahh...my arm is numb!"

He began ranting, swearing at random intervals; in general he was making an
exceptionally large fuss about nothing. Misty just rolled her eyes as she stopped
the car, finally to their destination. She remained calm, unbuckling her seatbelt
and trying to answer his stream of stupid questions without laughing or knocking
him out with one of the larger river rocks that made up her landscaping.

"You just hit a nerve..."

"No, it won't stay numb..."

"Yes, you've done this before..."

"My house has always been blue..."

By the time they got inside Ash's arm felt completely normal and he'd nearly
forgotten all about it. Well, that's what Misty observed.



Once inside, and after his jacket was ripped off, Ash was promptly shoved onto
her living room couch, the cushions swallowing him up comfortably. Now this felt
familiar; every fiber of the upholstery brought back some memory, though most
were related to pounding headaches. But it was still nice. For some reason, even
things that boast not-so-good memories are comforting. The angle his head was
positioned in, however, was not. Couch armrests don't usually make the best
pillows.

Just as he was about to adjust his head so that his spine didn't have to endure
such torture, a slightly cold hand slid underneath his neck, lifting it up. When
his head was let down again it met with a cool, soft pillow.

"Wipe that smirk off your face." Misty ordered, giving her scalp a good scratch
just above her ear, which made her look even more un-ladylike, if at all possible.

Yawning, she ambled over to the other end of the couch and proceeded to untie
Ash's shoelaces with half-open eyes. Apparently the lack of light was getting to
her, along with the lack of sleep.

Tugging madly on the first lace, and succeeding in getting nowhere with the
unmanageable knot, her tired face began to twist into an expression of
exasperation.

"Don't worry about it Misty; never have been able to tie, or untie, them
correctly. I think this pair has been cursed by the devil himself."

Misty stared blankly as he stretched both his legs out, heels firmly on the
armrest. Both shoes dropped to the floor when he slid his feet out with unusual
swiftness and ease. This had been done before, obviously.

Though perhaps a little surprised at this, Misty just proceeded with her in-mind
task, the next thing on her checklist being blankets. She'd already brought over
a couple with the pillow, so she merely unfolded them and tossed them on top of
the now semi-conscious Ash. He grinned lopsidedly while yanking the blankets up
to his chin. This task being done, Misty then proceeded to the kitchen.

Unaware, or at least presumably unaware, that she was gone, Ash rolled over to
face the coffee table.

"You know what I think?"

Yeah, I guess blurry shadows and a piece of furniture could be mistaken for a
human being.

"I think you could save yourself a heck of a lot of time by not having to go
through all this trouble. I mean, you have a fu-" He hiccupped, "-ing queen bed,
yet you go out of your way, making up the couch when you know perfectly well that
I would be more than happy to share the bed with-"

Behold, the shadows did seem to meld together into a real living creature, red
hair and all. But what the heck, maybe he was hallucinating? Might as well finish
what he started.

"You..."

Let's just say that she has a pretty strong grip, and Ash could certainly vouch
for that, now well aware of the fact that his jawbone could, indeed, be bruised.

"Not that I'm extending an invitation or anything, but do you really think it'd
be in your best interest to sleep in my bed?"

His reply? A hiccup.

"Well, goodnight Mr. Ketchum."

Raising her hand up, she kissed the tips of her fingers lightly before placing
her palm on his cheek.

"Though I'm sure the table would love the social interaction, I'd prefer it if
you kept the conversation to a minimum..."

Now it was her turn to grin, raising her eyebrows briefly before retreating to
her bedroom. Only the bar of light from under the door remained as evidence that
someone other than himself was in the house.



Was this a good or bad thing? Misty, in her right mind and still-awake was on the
other side of a very thin door. Ash - himself - still feeling most of his mind
and only slightly drowsy was on this side of that very thin door. Think of all
the mischief he could cause, all the ruckus and mayhem, and that's not even
mentioning all the Brock-like stories he could tell from this. But that would
involve at least some minor discomfort; more likely, even, was life-threatening
pain, so screw that.

But something still had to be done. Perhaps it wasn't the most intelligent thing
to do, but it would have to suffice. He'd just ask her himself, though he knew
that the chance of actually getting an answer was extremely slim.



It was with great apprehension that his knuckles met with her bedroom door. The
way it swung open, however, was quite deliberate.

"I'm not prepared to deal with sleep walking, Ketchum."

Ash threw his hands up in defense, "No, no! You see I'm not actually drunk."

Her eyes narrowed, prompting him to either explain further or pass out. Seeing
that he couldn't exactly faint on demand, clearing things up seemed to be the
best option.

"I had one drink, that's it."

"Get out then."

There wasn't any hesitation on her part as she walked over, snatching his jacket
from the back of the couch. It was presented to him firmly; well, more like
shoved into his chest. He, however, would not accept it.

"Why?"

Just by the look in his eyes anyone could tell that he was now dead serious.
Though it doesn't seem quite possible to make this attitude change so quickly, he
somehow managed it. Misty couldn't help but falter.

"There, there's no reason for you to be here. If you are able to go home, then
that's where you should be."

Either he was becoming deaf, or he just didn't wish to hear; but either way,
those two sentences never got to his brain.

"Misty, why do you do this?"

A hand went to her hip, or at least it appeared that way. One couldn't be
entirely sure with the massive amounts of baggy pajama-like clothing she was
wearing.

"Honestly?" A peculiar scowl formed on her face, "Well, it's probably not my
right to assume, but I don't think you'd be too thrilled to wake up in cold hotel
room bed, clothes strewn randomly on the floor, with the still-strong scent of
cheap women's perfume lingering on the pillow beside you."

He couldn't deny the fact that she was right, but if he were actually to speak
this it would give her far too much pleasure. Best keep it unspoken.

"Why for me then? Why not for Brock as well?"

A small, yet bright laugh escaped her lips, "I can't believe you still don't get
him; you see, he likes it."

It couldn't be seen under the mess of black hair, but Ash's ears slowly turned a
nice shade of red. His thoughts, though not nearly as innocent as before, still
held the essence of childlike naivety.

"Surprised?" Misty began, spitefully. "Surprised that you're one of the very few
males left with morals? Or is it in the fact that you were the only one unaware
of it...?"

He looked like he was about to say something numerous times, but his mouth always
closed before anything could come out. Luckily, her sly, evil attitude wore off
quickly. Just as he began to run a hand through his hair and avoid her gaze out
of pure nervousness, Misty moved closer, placing a hand on his right shoulder.

"You're a good man, Ash Ketchum, you really are."

Though a bit surprised at this, an unreadable grin began to form. But, it didn't
have much of a chance to last long. Abruptly, Misty pulled him into a lopsided
hug, arms wrapped loosely around his neck. Both heels slowly lifted off the floor,
allowing her to become a bit more level with him.

Ash - still a bit surprised - gently rested his hands on her back. What really
threw him for a loop, though, were her whispered words.

"To hell with anyone who thinks or says differently."

Her warm arms slid off; in fact, she was gone entirely. Well, that's probably not
true, he just couldn't see that far in the dark. Still standing there, baffled,
one question after another ran through his mind:

'Just how did we get on the topic of me?'

'Is Brock really that perverted?'

'Shouldn't green be easily visible in the dark?'

Something draped over his shoulder, causing him to jump slightly and look behind
him. It didn't take much time to recognize his coat, but as soon as he did, two
hands could be felt on each of his shoulders. Those hands gave pressure, shoving
forward.

"It's getting late. You need sleep, and I need sleep."

Quite odd, the things he noticed; Misty's palms were quite warm, the subtle
friction against his tee shirt probably helped cause it. Ignoring that odd
observation, Ketchum decided to skip the bothersome ponderings and wing it.

Too late...

Click. He quickly spun around, meeting only the raised paneling on her front door.
But, just like the sound of the door closing, something peculiar clicked; the
second answer to his question.

"Misty!"

Apparently, the sound of his fist banging on her door didn't drift into her
bedroom. Either that, or she ignored it. The latter was more likely.

"I'm not leaving!"

Back against the door he sat there, shivering a couple times because of the cold.
He hadn't really expected any action on her part very soon, so when the front
door opened he fell backwards, staring into her oddly amused face.

"Guess what? I figured it out!" Ash chimed with a very peculiar sort of glee.

Oh, the early morning hysteria was setting in. It would seem that he'd lost it.

"Figured what out?"

"Why I like you so much."

He still lay there across the threshold, staring up with a happy smirk.

"I already know that," Grasping his wrists, Misty dragged him back inside and
shut the door again, "It's because I've just always been around."

"No, that's not it."

Apparently lying on the ground didn't bother him at all, because he made no
attempt to get up. Instead he just continued his odd explanation.

"It's because you're nice when you're nice. And intoxicating when you're mean."

A slow grin formed on Misty's formerly perplexed face, finally ending in a short
giggle.

"That's one of the best compliments I've ever gotten."

Scrambling slowly off the ground, Ash's brown eyes were wide, taking in all the
surroundings as if they were actually visible in the nearly complete darkness.

"I know. It's because I'm just so good."

"Well..." She was quick to object, "I wouldn't say that all the time."

They were standing pretty close together, so she didn't have to move much to
place a soft kiss on his cheek. At this, Ash merely tilted his head slightly then
leaned down, pecking her lightly on the lips playfully.

That evil smile appeared, almost identical to the one she always had when barging
recklessly through the bars to get to him. For some reason, it always brought out
her hair; the red seemed intensified by this grin, giving her an almost devilish
appearance. Now, this might be not so good...for Ash that is. Who knows what
malicious scheme she was cooking up?

It turned out to be one of the last things he expected, since all of his
conjectures involved violence and pain. She ended up kissing him back. But, it
was a little bit more than that...certainly not equal to the one he gave. His
mouth was shoved open by hers, allowing her to freely tease him with her tongue
before abruptly pulling away, leaving poor innocent Ash dazed.

Misty face now read, plainly, 'beat that'.

But that ingenuous boy, er, man still just stood there, drooling ever so slightly.
So much for the moralistic side of him...he felt tainted, though in all reality
his naïve nature had only been scarred. However, he'd never really learned the
meaning of 'giving up' or 'retreating'.

Reaching out a hand he slid it down the side of her neck, hooking the collar of
her shirt and dragging it sideways along her collarbone. The green fabric inched
along, now beginning to slip down her shoulder-

Nah.

For once, he gave up. This was one area he had a right to be beaten at, and it
would stay that way. Sure, he could've winged it, but it would be a lot easier if
he were drunk. Hmm...maybe that's what she meant by 'out of control'.

"Got any chocolate?" Ash perked back to his semi-hysterical state abruptly.

"I have those brownies Brock gave to us today."

Again, he began drooling, "Yum...what about ice cream?"

"Chocolate. In the freezer."

His mouth opened again to ask yet another question, but Misty beat him to it.

"Hot fudge too. And I think I may even have some whip cream."

From here on out they read each other's thoughts, grinning mischievously before
sprinting off to the kitchen.

"Hehe, Misty...I found the vodka..."

end