Title: Mirror,
Mirror, on the wall whos the most foolish one of all?
Author: Shadow/Phantomness
Pairing: Championshipping (Lance x Red/Ash)
Fandom: Pokmon
Theme: #12, Mirror
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to Nintendo and Shogakukan Comics.
This non-profit, non-copyright infringing fanfiction belongs to me under
international copyright laws and taking it is plagiarism. Thank you.
*Phantomness bows*
Notes: <> for telepathy, ** for thoughts, italics
if a pokemon talks
Warnings: Shonen-ai, partner betrayal
Lance has decided that he does not like mirrors. He hates staring at his reflection. Partially, it is because he looks like a wreck, but even if he didnt look, he would still feel. Hes such a fucking idiot.
He wants to shatter the glass with his bare hands, but then hed have to pick shards out of his fingertips with tweezers and that isnt fun, so he simply covers it with one of his spare capes. Then he walks the requisite fourteen steps to his desk, uncaps his pen, and begins composing a letter.
Five steps to the door, down the hall, and he doesnt look back once.
Lance?
Ash knocks on the door, timidly. There is no response. The trainer from Pallet swallows. Hes not quite sure why hes here, but theres something important he has to say, so
He knocks again, louder this time, and when no reply comes, he sighs as he pulls the Master Key out of his jacket and unlocks the door. Theres no one inside, of course, but whatever he was expecting wasnt that, and he feels his heart stop as he sees a single letter lying on Lances desk.
He hastily tears it open, but there are only two printed words, good-bye, and hes not sure how he should feel but in all honesty, its miserable.
He falls to his knees, and he cries, but his tears are wasted since no one sees.
Its a bitch to do, and he likes long hair, so he almost cries as he snips it short. But it has to be done the spikes are too distinctive and he doesnt want Ash to find him ever again, and dye can only hide so much.
Hes watching his shorn locks swirl in the water, and his eyes sting as the peroxide does its magic, and soon enough, theres nothing but close-cropped blonde. He slips the contacts in his eyes one can never be too careful, even if brown eyes are commonplace and blinks bright blue.
His eyes hurt, but its a small price to pay. It really is.
The person in the mirror is a stranger, and Lance smiles, tightly, grimly, because he has succeeded.
Ash is cleaning Lances desk when he finds the rings.
Theyre not even hidden; two platinum bands, a touch of gold, nestled together in a small satchel of black velvet. There are no names inscribed, but Ash is smart enough to grasp the implications. Lance is a very private person, and Ash wonders how long he agonized, thinking about this.
It makes him feel inexplicably guilty, and he blinks back sudden tears, not sure why hes crying.
He isnt in love with Lance, is he?
No. Besides, he and Richie are going to be together so Lance is in the past, but some impulse makes him slip the rings into his pocket.
Perhaps he can still get some use out of them after all, if Richie is amenable to the idea, theyll get properly married
Lance is sitting at a caf when the news comes out, and for a second, the knife and fork in his hands tremble, but then its gone. He cuts the pancakes into careful pieces, and stills his traitorous heart. If he ever needed proof, he has it now, and hes lost nothing. Nothing.
He convinces himself of that fact that night, a glass of wine in hand and he makes a note to visit Charlotte the next morning he needs more antidepressants.
Charlotte hands him the bottle, blue-gray shaking inside, and says nothing.
Its almost amusing, but not quite.
Today is his birthday.
Ash is happy, and excited, and really happy, because there are fireworks going off outside, and hes full of chocolate cake with strawberries on top, and he and Richie had this great battle and now, its time to celebrate. With sex, of course! Ash is still a boy and very happy being one.
This is the right decision to make. After all, hes properly eighteen, and now he and Richie will be together forever and ever and wont it be wonderful?
It is.
He doesnt attend the wedding he has no reason to. Hes sure its beautiful and marvelous and a step in the right direction for the gay rights community (and Lugia forbid, hell never count himself among that number), but why should he? There are already knives buried in his heart, mirror-bright shards of steel.
Theres no sense driving them in any deeper.
Lance decides that he needs a new hobby, something to do when its not December and he has a duty to perform, and something hopefully completely unrelated to Pokemon Training. Its not that hard to find a niche, really.
Hes as happy as hes going to be, and thats that.
Three months later, Richie is dead, killed in a drunk driving accident, and Ash is alone again.
He walks past Lances empty room. He sees Lorelei and Agatha taking tea, and Brunos probably off in the gym lifting weights, but he never thought hed miss the Dragon Master.
But what if he only wants Lance now that Richie is gone?
Lance would be a good substitute but
What if he never comes back? What if hes dead or something? What if
Ash stops that train of thought before it can get any further, and is quietly, solemnly, sick in the bathroom.
Then he starts calling out the search teams.
It takes another three months before he finds Lance. Hes almost unrecognizable if not for his eyes, which are still brilliant, blinding gold, Ash would never have identified him. The short blonde hair looks rather good, but
Did you require something of me, Champion? Lance asks. Because if you do not, I have three orders to finish making. His words are sharp, and Ash flinches, not quite sure what to say, because theres something in that tone that warns him that everything has already fallen to pieces and theres no way to fix it.
Lance uses knives now, sharp little things, and he sculpts and cuts and makes delicate statuettes, pokemon mostly. Its nothing Ash would have ever imagined him doing, but in a way, it fits.
There is no need for my presence, Champion. The Elite Four still remain undefeated, and only the Champion is important.
Those words drive a knife into his heart, and Ash almost chokes, before Lance stands.
Now if you will excuse me, I should be going. Suffice to say that I am not dead and should any challenger require my presence, you know where to find me. Good day, Champion.
Lance turns around, and Ash snaps.
Youre lying!
Golden eyes slide over him, assessing, and then Lance says, very quietly, What did you say?
Ash fumbles in his desk, comes up with the package, velvet and gold, and throws it on the ground. Lance smiles, a long, slow smile that doesnt touch his eyes, and thats when Ash realizes that might not have been the best thing to do.
The rings have spilled out, platinum and gold, glittering on burgundy carpet, but Lance doesnt seem to see them.
Yes, theyre worthless, arent they? The Dragon Master purrs, and Ash feels his heart stop.
By the time he recovers, Lance is gone.
Hes very deliberately at work when Ash walks in the door, his knives cutting through clay as he finishes the wingtips on a preening Pidgeot. This ones lovely of course, will be proudly displayed in some rich fops mansion, and he traces one last feather-stroke before setting his tools down.
Yes? He asks, not looking up. He ponders, thinks, perhaps hell use that new glaze he imported from Johto, but no, this one wont be fired the man wanted air-dried clay. Its lovely though, calm adobe, and he sets it aside, carefully, on a shelf to dry.
Ash isnt quite sure what to say, he scuffs his sneaker against the floor polished wood, and probably pretty expensive, but he wants Lance to look at him.
He wants Lance to pay attention to him.
So he grabs Lances arm, and swings around, and tries to intimidate him.
Lances eyes are blazing, angry, and he shoves Ash to the ground, pins his arms above his head with one hand, stabs two knives through his clothing to keep him in place. Ash gasps, frightened, even as Lance practically rips his jeans off. Hes in for it now, he thinks, because he hasnt ever seen Lance this angry, and hes not sure what to feel.
Its not nice by any means, it hurts, and hes pretty sure hes crying, and why is Lance being so mean?
Lance pulls out with a disgusted look, tucks himself back in, yanks the knives out of his t-shirt, and tells him to get out.
Ash just stares at him, stunned, his mind awash with thoughts and emotions, and doesnt know why.
Lance sighs, looks at the blunted blade-tips, tosses them into his box of discards, and picks up a new razor. His next project is of a Jigglypuff, which will be slightly more difficult, but manageable, and he picks up another lump of clay.
Ash sniffles.
Lance ignores him, and proceeds to block him out.
Ash is sitting on the floor of Lances studio. The sun is setting outside. Lance is still at work, fingers moving softly, almost gently, over rough clay.
Ash wonders why Lance wont touch him like that, soft and nice. Lance used to be warm and cuddly, but now he isnt like that.
Lance is cold, and it hurts.
Ash doesnt think that Lance loves him any more.
Lance is not too surprised to find Ash still waiting for him, but he doesnt feel like wasting the energy to dump him outside, and if Ash dies on his doorstep it will be bad publicity, so he shows him the direction of the shower, and when Ash comes out, wrapped in a white bathrobe, Lance sits him at the table and feeds him spaghetti and meatballs with green salad, just to make sure he doesnt develop any vitamin-deficient disorders.
The guest room is down the hall. Lance says curtly, and takes a sip of wine. Ash nods, not too sure what to think. He spears a meatball, chases another around his plate, and looks at Lance without being too obvious. He eats the salad, and the bread rolls, and the spaghetti and meatballs, all of it, and then he follows Lance back to his studio as the artist gets back to work.
Lance can be gentle, Ash knows, but for some reason, Lance just isnt gentle to him any more.
Its not fair
The next morning, Ash was still in his house. Lance debated throwing him out as he ran the shower, rinsing his bleached hair, which was slowly beginning to regain its normal coloration, but when he came out he found that Ash had made breakfast. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of toast and scrambled eggs, but found it edible and the abundance of pepper was quite interesting and would keep him awake while he worked if nothing else, so he put a pot of green tea on to brew and went back to his studio.
He didnt mind Ash watching him as he worked, the boy was rather quiet, and as long as nothing distracted him it would be all right. He was halfway done with the Jigglypuff when the rich old man who had ordered the Pidgeot came to call.
The man gave him a bright smile, several fake words of praise, handed him a cheques, and departed.
Lance went back to work.
Ash jumped when he felt Lances hand on his cheek, he closed his eyes, but a moment later, the sensation was gone and Lance was hard at work on his next masterpiece.
Had he imagined it?
It wasnt a comfortable routine by any means, and Ash was starting to get frustrated. Maybe he was wasting his time. He should go back to the Plateau, deal with his duties as Champion, but how could he?
One minute Lance looked nice and the next he was flat on his back with the Dragon Master thrusting into him, and it hurt, it hurt, it hurt!
What was wrong with him?
Ash scrubbed himself raw afterwards, not sure what to do. He had planned to order lobster for them both tonight, but now
Was it over?
Was he deluding himself?
Didnt Lance care for him at all?
He leaned over the toilet bowl and was violently ill.
Somewhere, Lance smiled, a long, slow smile that lit his eyes with twin fires of flickering madness, because he knew he was winning.
End Fic
Started 5/11/07
Completed 6/4/07
I feel so sorry for Lance. And if anyone wants to know, the antidepressants I take are white but Lance needs some pretty strong stuff.
Ash is an idiot. I have no idea why Lance ever fell in love with him!
This fic took days and days to write because it came in bursts of inspiration.