All is quiet aboard the subway.

The cart is empty, save for her. No one else on the train had made it so far, at least not for tonight. Hilda allows herself this moment of calm. Her Pokémon are exhausted, herself likewise. Yet, for some reason, she can't stand to sit. Braviary's Pokéball shakes gently in her fist.

Leaning against the handhold, she feels the train veer along the tracks, and herself with it. Her knees ache, and she rubs the base of her jaw absent-mindedly.

In the back of her mind is a boy named N. In the image that she conjures, the boy stands upon the ruins of a broken castle. A breeze lifts up strands of green hair, which glisten in the light.

N is not here. N is not coming back.

But that's okay.

Down in the Battle Subway, Hilda is at ease. No badges to squabble over, no reputation at stake. Trainers here only want one thing: to sweat and to bleed, overtaken by the thrill of battle. She stays from morning to nightfall, until her entire body shakes and goes senseless.

Wheels groan, and Hilda catches herself just in time on the handrail. The train jolts to a stop. Metallic doors slide wide open.

On the platform, dutifully waiting, stands Ingo.

Serperior falls to the ground. It attempts to rise from the metal flooring, and fails.

"Fight," Hilda begs. "Please, Serperior. Please."

The Pokémon squirms once more, and collapses.

Ingo's voice cracks through the stagnant air. "It appears that I have won."

Once, her cheeks would have flushed hot with humiliation. Now, she is numb to such sentiments. Victory or defeat, what did it matter? N defeated Alder, and she defeated N. As Zekrom and Reshiram struggled in the sky, it was the last time she ever felt awed. After that, what could ever compare?

Haxorus disappears into the ball, which rolls from Ingo's hand into the side pocket of his coat.

Hilda advances, each step sending vibrations through the metal flooring beneath. It's a small station, not for passengers but rather the maintenance crew. Above, a dying light flickers.

Like always, she makes the first move.

Ingo's coat is thick and heavy. It smells like the rumbling of subway trains and the din of passengers. From the perspective of the floor, it closes over her, like a blanket.

It's hard to move, because Ingo is so big. There's Ingo standing, but Ingo over her on the cold metal flooring is another kind of big altogether. His body against hers is warm. The way he pins down her wrist gets to her in a visceral, savage way.

Her legs are cold. Really, what had she been thinking? It's almost winter. The leaves are nearly done dying. Deerling are already prancing around in their darkened coats. If she were back in Nuvema, her mother would scold her for running around in such a sparse outfit, weather notwithstanding.

When the conductor slides her out of shorts and undergarments, she almost feels warmer.

"You're wet."

Ingo means this as a statement of fact. His deep voice fills her ears. His gaze is fixed between her legs. He removes his gloves, and naked fingers brush against her.

What would her mother, Bianca and Cheren think? But then again, what would that change? She's just sixteen, damn it. Fourteen when she first set off, Professor Juniper's Snivy in her arms. By fifteen, she had snuck up on that Ferris wheel with Dirk, the dancer boy, where they felt each other up as she thought of N. By the time their cart reached the ground, she was pretty sure he'd ask to marry her. That's why she took off, running as fast as her legs could take, all the way to the roller coasters.

And now, at sixteen, she's back in Nimbasa, but this time deep underground, hair spilling over metal flooring. Lately, an ache has been growing in her chest, festering and gnawing. She would do anything, she thinks, to erase it away.

As Ingo unbuckles his belt, she thinks of N.

"Ingo," she cries. He's there, everywhere, filling all her thoughts with whiteness.

The platform shakes and shivers. A new train speeds by, belly full of passengers. From this angle, Hilda becomes aware of a few things.

First, of the disjointed parts of Ingo's body holding her captive.

Second, of the uneven texture of the metal beneath her head.

Third, of the great stillness all around them.

At one point, Ingo stops what he is doing. Neck glistening with sweat, he bends down. He leans in closer, lips nearing lips.

"No."

Her hand comes up. The microscopic stubble on his chin scrapes against her skin as she pushes him away. She can't help it, this reflex, this profound aversion.

"Sorry… I've forgotten," he murmurs. He settles, then, by lowering his upper body until it is securely pressed against hers.

All of a sudden, Hilda doesn't want to be here. No! What she wants is the sky, filled with Reshiram and Zekrom and N's light green laughter.

"Ingo…" she groans.

He misunderstands this as her wanting more. He picks up speed, and she whimpers. This encourages him. The air thickens with the smell of sweat and other things, mixing in the space between them. Silently, Hilda hopes that his coat won't get ruined. As another train rumbles past, her heart knocks inside of her chest.

Is this what it means to be happy?

The conductor's breaths become jagged, violent, desperate. The entire platform trembles. Suddenly, Ingo lifts himself off. Moments later, he is kneeling beside her. Hilda observes his shoulders as they shake, rough strokes of the hand substituting for her. Fluid spills across metal. Then he's back on the floor, sprawled next to her, eyes closed and panting in the aftermath.

She hasn't told him about the device the nurse had propped up inside her, a small piece of plastic bound by copper coil. Nor does she need to.

Hilda would want N to come inside of her, she thinks. N would be gentle, delicate. N would caress her, in a soft and scared way. She would show him how to do it, and make him tremble. But N is too gentle, too delicate. No, she needs Ingo.

For some reason, Emmet makes Hilda sad.

Maybe it's because she never comes for him, and he knows it. Hilda gets on Ingo's train, not Emmet's. Once in a while, she challenges the brothers as a pair. She's fought alone with Emmet before, but not very often.

Two identical twins could not be more different. Emmet's smile is light, shaky. Ingo's face is dark, quiet. Emmet is the older one, having come into the world first. But always, Emmet is the one stepping back. An oversized white coat, caught in the shadow of a black one.

Emmet stares at her, just like Cheren did after she told him that they would never be together. Of course Emmet knows. There are some things in this world that his brother can do, but not him.

More than once, with Ingo in her arms, Hilda has imagined Emmet watching. Sitting to the side, eyes hungry, hands desperately sliding. Other time, she squints, and by a trick of the light, Ingo transforms into Emmet.

It only makes her sadder.

After the fact, Ingo pulls Hilda close. Just enough, for comfort, before the last train comes. The watch on his wrist tells her that they have maybe ten minutes still.

It is hot under the coat, in his arms. Her feet, exposed, are freezing.

How lovely it would be, she thinks, to stay here forever beneath the ground. But sooner or later, she will have to crawl out again into the open. What she wants is speed, and not even the Battle Subway takes her fast enough. Somewhere, far away, N wanders the earth. Has he found what he is seeking? Hilda is looking for something too, but she's not sure what. At least, not yet. The ache is still there, burning in her ribcage.

Hilda shifts a little, in Ingo's arms. She doesn't mean to, but her hand bumps into his. Fingers close around hers, instinctively. It is a little awkward, to have her hand trapped that way. Still, she is surprised at how smooth and warm the naked fingers are. She lets her hand remain, for a little while.

Maybe seven or eight minutes pass by.

"I better get going."

Hilda pries herself out of Ingo's arms. He lets her. Her body, unaccustomed to the cold air, shivers. Her heart has become oddly light. She retrieves shorts, socks, and underwear. She dresses, balancing carefully on one foot at a time, and he watches from a seated position.

Finally, Hilda gathers her bag from the floor. She checks one last time that everything is inside: balls, wallet, Xtransceiver.

"Where are you headed?" Ingo asks from the floor.

Hilda stares back blankly. "To the train."

"I meant, after the train."

"I don't know."

Hilda walks to the edge of the platform, until the soles of her combat boots fall smack inside the yellow safety border.

"Be careful," Ingo warns. He crawls upright, stumbles in her direction, then stops.

"I'm not a child, you know." Her eyes never leave the naked rails below.

The train arrives. The force of the deceleration transmits from the rails to the platform, and into her body. Silver and green come into view. With one last tremble, the great metal beast comes to a halt. Hilda steps in, and her eyes are flooded by light. A few passengers glance up her momentarily, before resuming whatever they had been doing.

"Goodbye," she hears him say from behind.

Hilda turns around, as the ache migrates into the pit of her stomach.

"I'll be back," she calls, waving, as the metal doors close in.

She's not sure if Ingo hears this, because he is already walking away.

Hilda sets up camp just outside the city. Serperior curled up around her makes a fine substitute for pillow and blanket. It has almost recovered from the wounds incurred earlier in the day. Next time she heads down to Battle Subway… Will there even be a next time? She's not so sure.

N let his Pokémon go. He let Hilda go, as well. At first, she couldn't understand. But now, she knows that sometimes, freedom is the most selfless gift. She realized this after she set Reshiram free. Great white wings pulsated with tremendous power, and in the blink of an eye, Reshiram was gone. After that, she let so many more Pokémon leave her. Serperior was among the few that stayed. It chose to do so, just like Braviary. At the sight of the grass Pokémon gently dozing off, Hilda smiles a little, leaning closer into the long green neck.

Between her thighs, she feels a faint pulsation, the imprint of what she had done with Ingo just hours ago. Hilda thinks of N, whose presence feels like anything she wants it to. If she's never been with him, how should she know? If she'll never see him again, does it matter?

Earlier, she hadn't climaxed, but it had been good. Climaxes are what she gives herself at night, with no one else watching. What she can't give herself, however, is the weight of a coat and the heat of another body over hers. That's why she returns, again and again, to the rumble of the subway trains. Ingo is her prize, Ingo's naked, trembling fingers spreading her open.

Would N do the same? How she longs for him tonight! In her mind, they are already rolling in the grass, laughing as leaves tangle in their hair. When N pushes inside, it will hurt but feel good at the same time– so much that she will want to cry. Her fingers come out wet, just like N would.

Suddenly, she doesn't feel so good anymore. She is surprised as moisture blooms across her cheek. A tear falls, followed by another, and then another still. Something gives way, and she begins to sob. For the life of her, she can't figure out why.

Serperior awakens. It gazes at her, questioningly. Then, it wraps her just a little closer, just a little tighter. In this moment, Hilda realizes why N prefers Pokémon over people. She buries her face into Serperior's nape, howling as the old familiar ache rages in her ribcage.

At last, the tears run dry, and Hilda falls into a fitful sleep.

Lightning sizzles in the sky. A delicate figure stands in the distance. Strands of light green hair blow in the wind.

"N?"

She runs and runs, until her arms close in around his waist.

"I'm here," she breathes.

Arms close around her in return, and the feeling in her chest tightens. She presses closer, lukewarm arousal spreading where her thighs meet. His arms are strong and heavy, and they trap her. She looks up.

Whose grey eye does she find, staring right back down at her?

Ingo's.