Trauma seeps into the heart.

"It's definitive, I've received her data from the hospital in Verdanturf," the nurse knocked the board against the wall, huffing at her Gym Leader in a sort of reprimand, "she... cannot feel pain at all."

Wattson was confused for a long moment, then everything sank in.

"That explains all the injuries," he breathed in disbelief, hands reaching over to mask his expressions, "it explains so much."

Logically no one would allow themselves to be injured so badly that they had so many injuries. It was like she climbed out of the sea, crossed a waterfall of rocks, fought in the mud with angry Poochyena before raiding a Zubat cave. And then, walked across a desert of cacturne before reluctantly deciding she needed a hospital.

The nurse, marring dark eye circles, scowled (not at Wattson. But at herself, her fellow nurses, the head doctor, everyone,) and sharply turned away in shame.

"You won't like to hear this, Mister Wattson," the nurse's expressions were morose as she folded her arms, shameless beginning to repeat the lines she'd spent the night tearfully eyeing, "not counting the innumerable scratches, bruises and lesions from her fight with the Zubat; she has a broken elbow, a dislocated left knee, a torn ligament in her right thigh, clustered veins in her left arm, three broken fingers, and seven broken toes...

Her liver was bloated and her lungs had been punctured. Several ribs were shattered and even with operation we are unsure if we've removed all the shards present. All these are old wounds, so healing is much more difficult for us. We have a healer Pokemon with us, but Chansey is still so worried for her she wants to leave the Center and bunk down with the girl."

At some point, Wattson had stopped breathing. A haunted look came over him and settled, yet the nurse felt the exact same way.

"The medication is barely working on her," the nurse muttered, "she required no anesthetic. But she was supposed to be out for another few days, yet there she was, barely three hours later, awake and so eager to continue her studies. Can you believe this, Mister Wattson? Cause I sure as hell can't."

Wattson felt himself trembling at the bare thought of this horror, and deep inside he realized just why Roxanne, of all the people in the world, asked a favour of him. That girl never got attached to people, and sure as hell would eat a Geodude before she asked a favour from the man she proudly declared to have no similarities with.

"That girl's a fighter, Mister Wattson," the nurse told him firmly, "please, please take care of her."

ー

"What do you mean, I'm not allowed to walk?"

"It means you're not allowed to walk, young lady!"

Wattson sighed. Entering the house near noon with warm Tupperware and cold drinks, he wasn't expecting to walk into his usually wimpy pal lecturing a young girl.

"But Chansey took off the bandages on my legs! I'm fine now!"

"Your feet are barely functional, missy! You are not perhaps forgetting the stitches on your belly, are you? You are staying down and letting your Pokemon do the work for you."

"But only Lotty has arms! It's hard for her!"

Lombre squawked at the sight of Wattson (that thing was really timid) and scrambled over to hide behind the Whismur that was less than half its size.

The Whismur bounced excitedly to the smell of food, greeting the Gym Leader readily.

"Whismy's so close to evolving! I wanna see that happen!"

"Don't be impatient, there's a storm coming and it'll most likely hit us hardest tonight. You can do your mad training on a wheelchair, with our supervision, after it passes."

Wattson could swear the girl erupted into the uglies baby tantrum he'd ever seen. A strangled, kicked puppy noise ripped from her throat as she batted uselessly at the blankets, muttering something about stingy bike shop owners and overpriced bikes.

(No, I do not sell my bikes at a million coins, where do you get that idea??)

And Citrine pouted like the child Wattson had honestly forgotten she was.

With one determined sigh, Wattson tucked his hands on his hips and mightily declares his presence, "LUNCH TIME!!!"

Synchronously, the bickering duo swirl around and shriek in his face. "AAAHHH!!!!"

"Oh my gOD Mister Wattson!" Rydel gasped out, legs failing him as he collapses and gawks at the man like he was a ghost, "how long have you been in here??"

"I've been standing here the whole time," he snorted. Raising the lunch box and cold flasks, he spurted into a grin, "I brought some protein for dear Citrine!"

The mood of the room abruptly dropped cold. Cascoon actually sneezed. Whismur tripped over and began uproaring in protest. Lombre ran around the plush toy Pokemon, waving its arms over it in a panic as if that would help.

Citrine burst into giggles.

"That was incredible, Mister Wattson," Rydel offered dryly.

"Really? Thanks!"

Pushing out of the roller chair she reclined in, Citrine sighed fondly, curling a loose golden lock between her fingers.

"If there's going to be a storm, I wonder if the Zubat would be fine..." she wondered, looking out the window, in the general direction of the Zubat cave.

Mean Pokemon or not, bad storms were bad.

"So, I'm thinking," Wattson coughed as he seemed to notice her plight, "for the night, I"m suggesting we seal off the Zubat cave, with bricks, sandbags, anything we can get from the stores around y'know, so the Zubat can have a decent, not waterlogged shelter?"

Citrine perked up at that.

"Rydel with help me," Wattson jabbed a thumb in the man's direction (wait, I'm helping? Mister Wattson?!) and he slung a rough shoulder over the man, "don't worry, thunderstorms are like my backyard! I'll make sure the Zubat are barred from most of the danger."

"Yeah, and I'm going to end up charred," Rydel added pessimistically.

Citrine burst out laughing.

"Rydel, you and I should form a comedy duo."

"WIth all due respect sir, hell no."

ー

Scooping a handful of Dry Poffins into Cascoon's mouth, Citrine hummed. Cascoon munched with a sort of contentment. The Pokemon sat on the edge of Citrine's desk, a silver plastic ring tucked into one of its barbs.

"Hey, Wurmy," Citrine whispered, rubbing its head carefully, "it's kinda convenient that you can't move much in this form, since you can keep me company while I heal."

Cascoon seemed to purr back in its natural language, soft and hardly heard.

" ᴵ'ᵐ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ˢᶜᵃʳᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ᴰᵘˢᵗᵒˣ ⁿᵒʷ "

Citrine flinched, her hand tensing on Cascoon's head, then snapping away, her gaze shooting away to still on her papers. She knows Cascoon is surmising her sudden change in mood-- but she can't bring herself to put her hand back on top of the Pokemon.

She can't feel pain.

But somehow, her spirit is telling her that her back, a cold stripe that shattered the large of her back-- something inside her screamed about the horrifying pain, the burning lacerations, and the seeping poison.

She can't feel pain.

But the one inside her, who fully remembers what pain is, recalls how agonizing it is.

The pain isn't real, so it just burned a stronger, more vivid imagination into her heart, plaguing her dreams with agony that she hasn't felt in so long it hurts.

She looked at her hands and someone she remembered the blood. The swimming vision. The numbness and the freezing cold. Her brother's angry face. The poisonous stench of medicine that made her want to throw up.

Then she remembered the knives and the slit wrists and the basins of red water and the final step off the edge of the building. She remembered the emptiness in the heart and-- and this time, the pain is real and she felt it hit the air out of her chest so strongly she could double over and just sob.

But she didn't.

She let out a noise of distress, and so sorely hoped that Rydel couldn't hear her. She clawed at her hair, not caring if she could accidentally scratch through her scalp.

She buried her head into the edge of the desk, and squeezed her eys shut, taking in short, rapid breaths, clutching her chest and only thinking of No, No, No.

Then, a song spills from the corner of the room.

It reaches her ears-- a grassy, lyricless tune, dancing in the air and filling the room with the soothing aroma of petrichor--

Citrine chokes on a breath, and suddenly she regains the ability to breathe.

She barely remembers that Dustox from so long ago. Why is it still haunting her now? It's almost pathetic. Especially since Wurmy's going to evolve soon.

She turned to Wurmy, who, in its mute and motionless state, looked so wide eyed it was ready to roll off the table to call for help.

It looked distressed, bouncing around its spot and frantically trying to inch closer to the girl-- Citrine hesitated for a moment before grasping the Pokemon with both arms, desperately cradling it closer and assuring it.

"Sorry, Wurmy," she whispered, almost too weakly, "I'll get over this. I can."

I swear. I have to.