"'He is called Prince Charming. Don't you like the name?' said Sybille. 'Oh, you silly boy, you should never forget it-"

"Hilda?"

The brunette glances up from her place in the book that's perched in her lap, although judging from the way it's teetering it won't stay that way much longer. One meticulously plucked eyebrow rises, practically daring the man in the hospital bed to continue interrupting her in this way. This marks the third time he had stopped her reading in the middle of a line, and frankly, she was getting ready to smack him, injuries be damned.

"As much as I appreciate you attempting to keep me entertained, I do not need you to sit by my bed and read me fairytales."

The book closes with a snap as she glares at him. He had caught a glance down at the title when she had first began her reading, and had almost scoffed when it had read 'The Picture of Dorian Gray.' Who cared about a fictional story of vanity? He liked his head where it was, though, so he hadn't said a word up until now.

"It's not a fairytale! It's my favorite story." She persists.

"The man dies by stabbing his own picture. Tell me again how that is not the stuff of fairytales?" Hilda lets out a huff that bordered on a growl, standing as if to leave.

"Fine. I'll take my stories elsewhere and read them. I don't need an audience." She whirls on her heel, making for the door, only to turn back when slender fingers wrap around her wrist. She shoots a glance over her shoulder at the contact, and is met with N's placating smile that borders on wan. And though she knew he was manipulating her with blasted circumstance, she still sighs and gives in, taking a seat on the side of the bed. Her fingers card through his hair, almost shoulder length now, in an attempt to keep from hitting him.

"Do you really have to read to me? I could read perfectly fine by myself, you know." Again that smile, the small head tilt into her hand. She's not stupid; she knows when he's carding her into staying just a little longer. She's had enough Pokemon to know when they want something, she just doesn't have the resolve to say no.

So instead of jumping up and leaving him to pout, she grins in return, tangling her fingers into his locks absentmindedly. "Could you? With your behavior, I'd never have guessed." His smile sours immediately as he tenses, and she bursts into giggles.

"I'm kidding." Her grip in N's hair tightens momentarily before releasing itself, and he gradually relaxes. She grows serious when he grabs almost greedily for her hand, her answer coming when he succeeds in the endeavor. "I know you can read. I'm sure you can read much better than I can. I just…" she stares down at their joined hands, noting how different they look from her memory. In her memories, her hand is pale, not this tan shade that it has acquired after living in that bright sunshine world with Will. When she pictures it, his hands are long and willowy, not bandaged and ugly looking as they are now. If he had the capacity to master piano before, he has lost it. She shoves away the thought that their hands are not the only differences between them, and attempts to scrap up a finish for her sentence.

"I love you, that's all." It does not make him smile like it is supposed to. Instead, it draws a small crease between his brows, and it's his turn to stare at their hands as the silence turns from comfortable to awkward. He does not return her sentiment.

"You said you would wait." His voice is very quiet for a grown man.

She lets out a humorless laugh that more resembles a hurt noise. "For six years? You wanted me to wait on you for six years, never knowing where you were or if you were coming back or if you had found someone else?" Her own voice is as nonchalant as if she were making comments on the weather. She is too strong to be vulnerable these days. She is practically made of steel with everything that she has suffered through.

His grip on her fingers tightens to the point of pain, and when he answers, his tone has dropped from strangely quiet to a harsh whisper. "Yes."

"You said you would wait. I never said I would." It's a low blow, and she immediately regrets it, but when he looks up and searches for that regret she hides it. She wants him to hurt like she has. She wants him to think she means it. She wants him to put up a fight, to be passionate about something for once.

But instead of fighting her, he sighs and releases her hand. She jerks it back like he's burned her.

"You may go, then." She would be offended at the idea that she needs his permission if she wasn't so focused on the stinging feeling in her chest.

"W-what?"

He gestures towards the door with an injured hand. "I am sure he's out there, waiting for you. If you like your new toy so very much, go play with it."

She cradles her own fingers in her lap, wondering if he's bluffing. She does not like Will at all, but it seems that N hasn't quite caught onto that yet.

"Go on, then. Do not wait on me. I do not need you anymore." His voice is cold and hard. There is not a hint of affection lingering around. There are no "please do not go" undertones, no remorseful gazes left over, and she realizes that she is not the only one made of steel.

"And what if I need you?" She knows his answer before it leaves his lips.

For a split second, he drops his façade as his face softens. He shakes his head very slowly, deliberately. "You do not."

And he's right, she doesn't. She is perfectly capable of standing on her own. She has faced gym leaders and Pokemon and Kings and organizations and has come away with a pleased team and a champion's crown. She does not need a crutch to support her, does not need a husband or a boyfriend or even friends. She can survive all by herself, true enough. She just doesn't want to.

"You…but…I don't…"

He chuckles, and the noise is empty. "How very articulate you have become."

Her hand itches to crack across his cheek bone, and in the effort to restrain it she forgets not to laugh. She quickly covers her mouth afterwards, too stubborn to let the odds be in his favor even slightly, but the damage is done. He grins.

"You should laugh more often. It does you more good than that sour face you pull all the time." If there was tension between them before, it's dissolved as she slaps his leg through the covers, cursing him.

"I do not pull a sour face!" He responds with a rather bad imitation of her, earning him another smack. "Stop that!"

"Oh, look at me, I am Hilda and I can act like an angsty teenager all the time. Please, put another camera on me."

"That is so not me!"

He smirks. "Isn't it?"

"No!"

"You have a warped perception of yourself, then."

"Or maybe you're just a jerk."

"No, I think you just have a warped perception."

She lets out a mumbled "damn you," before grabs his hospital gown, tugging him closer and kissing him hard.

[]

The cafeteria rumbles with voices, and Will ignores every one of them in favor of stabbing his food with his plastic fork. He doesn't know why he's still here. Maybe he's waiting for Hilda to make her mind up in his direction, even though he knows from the Goddess's pitying looks that the chances of that are painfully slim. He never had a chance at all.

Anthea must be omniscient, because she grabs his free hand and squeezes like she knows.

"Why him?" He says bitterly, and she gives his digits another squeeze as he wonders why she sticks around.

"This started long before you came into the picture. It's not your fault." He stabs a piece of chicken with vigor, but she doesn't jump at the noise it makes.

"She never loved me."

"As a husband? No. As a friend? Dearly."

He scoffs. "Yeah, because that's definitely an improvement."

She rubs her thumb across his palm, and Will lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"You'll find someone. It isn't the end of the world."

He glances up at her suspiciously. "How do you know?"

She beams at him. "I'm the Goddess of Love. I'm the most trustworthy source there is."

For the first time, he smiles tiredly. "Yeah, I guess you are."

Her free hand pats his forearm before gesturing to the untouched hospital food. "Of course I am. Now eat something before you wither up and float away."

He thinks he catches her smiling when he bites into his food.

[]

"'When they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome in visage. It was not until they had examined the rings that they recognized who it was.'" As Hilda reads the last line, she glances up at N from her spot on the bed beside him with expectant eyes. "Did you like it?"

Honestly, N thought it was dull, but he doesn't voice his boredom. He instead kisses her hair and pulls her tighter against him, the book forgotten. "I loved it."

She smiles like he's just given her a diamond ring, her finger prodding into his chest accusingly. "You better. That story is the best one Oscar Wilde ever wrote."

N doesn't know who Oscar Wilde is, and he really doesn't care, so he just nods and smiles before changing the subject. "The nurse says I'll be released by tomorrow."

She curls into him, hiding her face in his chest. "We'll ride out on Reshiram first thing in the morning, then."

Of course, it is so like Hilda to crave adventure at every turn.

"And where will we go?"

She makes a noise of contemplation, but N suspects she's had this planned out for a while. "Johto, maybe. I hear there's a professor who gives National Pokedex to the trainers with the best potential." He can practically feel her ambitious side leaking through.

"Johto it is." He returns the kiss that she practically attacks him with, and unwillingly pulls away when she props herself up on her elbow.

"Do you think Alder will ever get out of the castle?"

"Unlikely. Ghetsis used to constantly remind me of how strong it was, how sturdy. Alder will probably die down there, looking for an exit."

"Why do you think he wanted to use..y'know..your father's rooms? For what he did?" N shrugs in reply.

"Probably emotional torment as well as physical." He leaves out the part about it working extremely well, and instead of noticing, Hilda huddles back down with him.

"That won't happen again." A statement, not an inquiry, and he bites back the reminder that she's made that promise before.

He kisses her forehead instead. "No, of course not."

[]

[A!N: this chapter was kind of short, since it's really just a filler for the epilogue. Sorry guys! Also, yes, I've decided to make the epilogue another chapter, since I can't stand to leave this story on an odd number. ;-; As always, R&R, and thank you to my lovely followers/favoriters/reviewers. This story would not be where it's at without you all. :3]