22. In Which a Heart-to-Heart is Had

They made it home in one piece, though it took them until nightfall to complete the half-day journey they had left after a brief pit-stop where Twig had to chug several oran berries and reapply the numbing agent she had slathered thickly across her leg to keep the pain down. She was looking forward to collapsing into her bed and getting the first real sleep she’d had in months thanks to that hard-won lunar feather. 

It would be a severe understatement to say that she was somewhat baffled by the sight of Grovyle and Celebi waiting for them on the roadside outside her home. 

Celebi fluttered over in a concerned flurry of humming wings and rapid words. “Oh, Twig, you poor thing! You’ve been walking this whole time? That looks like it hurts terribly. At least it’s still attached, though. Ark, dear, with how you made it sound, I was convinced you’d be carrying Twig here sans a limb!”

“I may have panicked in the heat of the moment,” he murmured. “My apologies. I should have provided you with an updated assessment of the situation, but I was rather preoccupied by navigating our way back.”

Twig gave Celebi a flat glare as she realized something. “You guys can talk to each other… using telepathy. You don’t have to be around to chat.” 

“Well of course, Twig! What good would Legends be at managing the universe without keeping in touch every now and then across the globe? Grovyle, get over here, Ark and I will handle food and whatnot if you will tend to our injured friend.”

Grovyle was standing in silence a ways off until then. He sighed and shook his head as he approached and readily accepted the burden of Twig leaning against him instead of Darkrai without a thought. “Stick to edible ingredients.”

Celebi fluttered away with Darkrai in her wake. “I’m not so lethal a chef as you claim, Grovyle, dear. And you’re certainly one to talk when you eat the grimiest stuff I’ve ever seen!”

He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it, ultimately bearing no valid argument against what she said. Twig snickered despite herself, and he gave her a frown that twitched at the corners, amused as well. 

He helped her into the guest room, and Twig was grateful for the privacy, even if there was no furniture to cushion the floor. Grovyle looked aghast at the lack of furnishings, and Twig reminded him that he said that a potted plant was enough to decorate most rooms. 

“This isn’t about decor, Twig, this is about you living here for goodness-knows-how-long and you not even buying a settee.”

“I’ve only lived here for like, two years.”

“You’re not helping your case.”

“Back off, man. I don’t have to take this.”

“You’ve got a broken leg. You’re pretty mouthy for someone who’s not not going anywhere without help any time soon.”

She shoved him over from where she leaned against the wall beside him. It was worth the pain of jostling her leg to see him give her such a dirty look in response.

He righted himself— out of her reach this time— and sighed. “You’re awful.”

“You’re worse.”

“That’s fair.”

Silence. 

Twig couldn’t help but feel the weight of the unspoken conversation they weren’t having— she’d never really addressed her words that had hurt him so deeply, about the Darkrai she knew being dead. She needed to say something. Why wasn’t she saying something?

Grovyle looked like he was going through the same struggle across the room.

 “Hey, um…” She swallowed dryly. “I’m sorry. About before.”

He looked up, brow furrowed, but didn’t respond. 

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was messed up.”

He opened his mouth and closed it several times, no noise escaping him. He sighed. “You weren’t saying it to hurt me.”

“Doesn’t change how messed up it was.”

“Twig—”

“I know this whole deal with Ark— Darkrai— whatever you wanna call him— I know it’s hard to wrap your head around. But I have to do this. And I’m not even as worried about what you were saying as I used to be. Like, I was scared about his memories coming back, even if I didn’t admit it, but I think that we’re good now. He hasn’t had anything return, and it’s been months. And he was really nice on the expedition. I think he’s just… I think he’s just weird and lonely, to put it in a nutshell. He’s really happy to have a group to be with, even if half of them hate him.”

“That’s— Yeah, that’s…” He trailed off, frowning. “That’s the idea I got after I spoke to him myself.” 

“You talked to him? I thought you wanted to go as long as possible without giving him more than one-word responses wherever you could.”

“It wasn’t pleasant chit-chat. Do you remember when you asked me about when you were human, and you started crying?”

She frowned.

“I pulled him aside and told him that if he messed up and hurt you somehow, I was going to find a way to kill him. And he thanked me. He said he’d appreciate it if I figured out a way and asked me to tell you about my promise.”

“He thanked y—” She closed her eyes. “Yeah, no, that sounds pretty Ark-like. And it tracks with some things I found out from Cresselia.” 

“Speaking of— did you get a lunar feather?”

“It’s in my bag. She said it’d work in a pretty wide radius, so I don’t need to worry about it being at my bedside or in the same room or anything the folktales say. Apparently one is enough for a single household.” 

“Good to know you’ll stop looking half-dead, then.”

Twig let out a weary huff. “It’ll be nice to stop feeling half-dead. I didn’t really stop to consider how much the lack of sleep was slowing me down. I got hit by a shelgon, Grovyle. And not even a fast one.”

He hummed, a small smile on his face.

She wrung her hands. “I’m…” A pause. She swallowed dryly. “I’m really sorry, you know. I shouldn’t have said what I said. About how the Darkrai I knew is gone.”

He gave her a sorrowful look. “It’s true, though. He is.” 

Silence fell for a moment. Twig couldn’t stand to let it remain for long. “I don’t— I know it’s hard for you. It’s weird to have me be me and not the Twig you used to know, and I’m really sorry that I replaced her, and you probably hate me, but—”

“Twig, stop. You’re… you’re different, sure, but you’re still you. And I don’t hate you. You’re still the human I picked up all those years ago, even if you changed a little bit. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. It’d be nice if you remembered some things, but I’d go through this all again if it meant I didn’t have to lose you forever in that passage of time.” He crossed his arms, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “It’s hard at times, but having you around is more important to me than some untouched memory of you saying my name for the last time. That memory would fade, but you would still—”

“I knew your name?” Twig interrupted.

Grovyle sputtered for a moment. “I was trying to say something heartfelt and inspiring, but yes. You were the one to give it to me.”

“Wait, I did? Not your family?”

“I didn’t have any siblings that made it too long past hatching, and my parents weren’t the most sentimental people, so no.” He quirked a brow at her. “Are you really so surprised that you knew me on a name-to-name basis? I’ve called you Twig the entire time we’ve known each other and then some.”

“I don’t know, pokemon customs are still…” She groaned. “What did I name you? Can I ask? Is that weird?”

Grovyle once again made to speak, but words failed. He choked out a name that his throat seemed to close up around as it left him. “Clover,” he finally said in a quiet murmur.

“Oh,” Twig said dumbly. She recalled a storybook she loved as a human talking about lucky clovers and how they would keep you safe and happy if you carried them around. “Oh. I think I… I think I might remember that, actually.”

“You do?” Grovyle shot her a look of surprise. 

“Not like an actual memory, but a kind of— like a gut feeling that it makes sense, if that… makes sense itself?”

“I think so.” His voice fell in tone, disappointed. Twig’s heart tugged with the urge to tell him about her returning memories, but she didn’t have the guts to go through her conversation with Dusknoir all over again. Soon, she promised herself. I’ll tell him soon.

He stood up, the world seeming to weigh on his shoulders with the heaviness of the motion. “I’m going to help make sure Celebi doesn’t burn the house down trying to cook.”

“Oh. Okay.” The door was about to close when she found the courage to quickly call after him, “Thanks, Clover.”

The door clicked closed. Celebi’s voice rang out through the wood as she squealed, “Grovyle, dear! Are you alright? I’ve never seen you weep so suddenly as this!”

“I’m alright,” he said, voice warbling like Twig had never heard it. “Really. Had a talk with Twig, and— it was a good one.”

“Oh, I’m so glad, dearest, really. Could you help me find where Twig keeps her mulch? Ark here is being no help at all.”

“You do not cook using mulch,” said the other Legend, sounding uncharacteristically frazzled.

“Well, how else are you meant to get the good vitamins and whatnot into you? That’s how plants work! Why can’t it be how mortals do, too?”

The chatter outside moved on to the kitchen, becoming muffled. Twig curled up on the rug beneath her and found it easy to relax with the three’s combined presence a short distance away. She let out a sigh of relief and the tension in her body slowly melted away. The house was warm, and maybe she wasn’t asleep in a bed, be it one styled after pokemon tastes or human ones, but she was okay, and so were the people she loved. 

She was okay.

She was okay.

Twig fell into an untroubled sleep, and for the first time in months, she wasn’t lying when she told herself that.