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"That," Melli panted, "was far too close."
Groaning and muttering, he hauled himself upright and dusted himself clean. Or, cleaner. He was dreadfully caked in filth, twigs and dead leaves entangled in his hair, and his clan garb was so dirty that its noble blue was hardly discernible. Ugh, he hated the Mirelands. It might be home to his clan, but the whole place was, as its name implied, a filthy, muddy mire.
The sooner they got back to the Highlands, the better.
Melli side-eyed his travel partner. Ingo was far less dirty. Lucky him.
"I suppose I should thank you for saving my neck." Melli gave up on separating nature from his hair and strode closer. "It would be Hisui's loss if I were to bite the dust from an Ursaring attack, of all things."
The Pearl Warden said nothing. He was too busy staring at the thing in his hands. Melli peered closer.
Sopping with mud and hanging in tatters was a peculiar dark fabric that Melli recognized. It was already in a rough state, he remembered, but now it was positively ruined.
Ingo had thrown his loose jacket in the Ursaring's eyes to hinder its charge and buy Melli the leeway needed to dodge and miss being gored by mere blind inches. It was brilliant thinking, but the coat had not survived as intact as they had.
"Hmph. Better that old thing than my neck."
Still, Ingo said nothing. Was he in shock from Melli's close brush with death?
Melli frowned and waved a hand in front of the other warden's face.
"Hellooo? We're wasting daylight out here. Staring at that thing won't get us home any faster."
As if waking from a dream far away, Ingo jolted, his weathered hands tightening around the remains of his ever-present jacket.
"Ah... yes. You are right."
He unfurled the garment and held it aloft. Several newly made gashes, ragged-edged and fluttering limply in the breeze, framed a fragmented view of the Mirelands beyond. One sleeve was hanging on by half its threads, and the coat seemed to be missing another button.
"I suppose I shall have to retire this," Ingo softly said, expression vacant.
"I certainly hope so. It was already in such awful shape. How you were able to wear that thing in public is beyond me." Melli dug some mud out from under his nails and frowned. "Maybe now you'll find some pride in dressing how a Warden should."
Not that he could say much about proud presentation while covered in muck.
Melli watched apprehensively as Ingo folded the tattered coat over his arm, so delicately that one would think he was transporting the finest silks. Somewhere else in the boggy ground, the man found his hat. Intact, and miraculously unsoiled.
Ingo placed it on his head, nodded at Melli, and began to stride towards their destination of the Highlands they both called home.
Melli shook his head and started after him. Strange man.
Before he could take four steps, a glint in the sun caught his eye, and he paused just long enough to spy something round and tarnished amidst the reeds.
Without thinking too hard about it, Melli plucked the button up, tucked it into a pocket, and promptly forgot all about it in favor of catching up to Ingo's swift stride and fantasizing a therapeutic bath.
- - -
When it was Adaman's turn to make the trip for updates on Lord Electrode's care and state (both impeccable, as always), Melli made sure to complain.
"Next time I come down there, you'd better spare me an escort. At least until the edge of the Mirelands! I nearly died on my way back last time!"
"You seem to be in one piece to me," Adaman said, offensively unconcerned with Melli's well-being.
He huffed and scowled. He was hoping Adaman would express some worry for him. "You would think so. I swear the Ursaring that charged at me was an Alpha. I'm lucky to be alive."
Adaman grinned. "Only a warden of the Diamond Clan could face a foe that great and walk away unharmed."
"W-Well— That much is obvious, you do know how to select the best of the best for the job. But still! Imagine if I got hurt," he said with a pout, tugging the ends of his hair. "Or mauled, or killed out there."
"I'd really rather not." Adaman's smile faded, and he fixed Melli with a look that said he found the concept wholly unpleasant. It was enough to make Melli regret poking at him like that, but he secretly felt happy that Adaman found the idea of an injured Melli so awful.
"Anyways, Melli, you got out in one piece. I'd rather celebrate that than waste time dwelling on what didn't happen." Adaman leaned back on an arm. "Warden Ingo was with you too, I assume? He accompanies you down the mountain regularly, doesn't he?"
"Hm? Oh, yes. Something about not wanting me to travel solo. He's so fussy like that." Melli pouted and drew his knees to his chest. How degrading, for someone in a rival clan to take more measures to protect him than his own clan leader. "But, I have to give him credit for his quick thinking back then. If he weren't there, I'd be fertilizing weeds right about now."
Adaman sat forward. Oh, now he was interested?
At his clan leader's prodding and prying, Melli finally recounted the story in detail, plus or minus some embellishments. The Ursaring might as well have been that gigantic and terrifying. Its claws were no joke, that was for sure.
"I'll have to extend my personal thanks to Warden Ingo for saving one of my people," Adaman said after the story had finished. "And an apology for the loss of his coat."
"Apology?" Melli repeated, baffled at the very concept. "Why be sorry? We both came out of the trip alive thanks to the sacrifice of a dingy old coat. Plus, it's about time he ditched those rags." He scoffed and folded his arms behind his head. Sometime throughout his recantation, he had migrated to reclining on the floor of his home. "Now he can wear his clan garb proudly like he always should have been. Not that affiliation with the Pearl Clan is anything to be proud of. Still." He sniffed.
Adaman gave him an unimpressed look. Melli pretended not to notice it.
"You do realize Warden Ingo wore it everywhere."
"Yes. And that's exactly what it is. Worn. Out." He wrinkled his nose and waved a hand. "He should have retired it so many seasons ago."
"It's an important object to him. You wouldn't ask me to get rid of my clan leader's haori, would you?"
"That's different!" Scandalized, Melli sat upright. "Yours is a symbol of your authority as our wonderful, brave leader. Ingo's is... well, it's just old rags at this point, isn't it?"
Adaman dragged a hand down his face. "I can't believe I have to spell this out for you. Especially when Warden Ingo obviously..."
"What? Obviously what?"
"Nothing. Look, Melli, you should pay a little more attention to him when he's the closest thing you have to a neighbor out here. Warden Ingo, according to the Pearl Clan, was found with no memory and nothing but the clothes on his back."
"So...?"
"So," Adaman continued, "the clothes on his back are all he has to connect him to a vanished past. It's expected that he'll mourn its destruction. And it's kind of awful of you to be celebrating his loss."
Melli was stunned quiet. His mouth made a few attempts at speaking. All failed. Pathetically, too, only a few stammered syllables at a time before he realized he had no leg to stand on.
Heat rose to Melli's face and he gustily huffed, arms crossed tight over his chest. "How was I supposed to know it was more than a plain, outlandish outfit?"
"...You know, I really worry about you sometimes."
Melli's jaw dropped.
"Ada—"
"I should head out. Give Lord Electrode my regards."
With a last lingering look that Melli refused to acknowledge as pity, Adaman left him alone.
Well. If nothing else, Adaman knew how to humble him. Melli huffed and flopped down onto the blankets he kept spread around the floor of his home. Great. Just great. He didn't plan to add guilt to his schedule today. He always looked forward to his clan leader's visits, formal as they were. Now his entire day was spoiled.
Adaman had really made it sound like he should feel sorry over a piece of fabric. It was either the jacket or his life, of course the outcome was the best one to happen! Nobody asked Ingo to risk something so important to him. He could have thrown a rock, or yelled with that absurdly loud booming voice of his, anything.
All he remembered was that Ingo had hurled the first thing his hands could touch—it was sheer coincidence that it happened to be his coat. Ingo wasn't wearing it at the time because of the unrelenting humidity and sun. If only the day was overcast, or less unbearably humid, Ingo might have had it clad safely around his shoulders instead of bundled in his arms like a baby.
Guilt curled like a creeping vine in his stomach, all squirmy and unpleasant in the space between his organs. Skuntank trotted over to check on him, and he waved off the pokémon's concern, sweet and appreciated as it was.
Maybe Adaman was right. Maybe he should find a way to apologize somehow.
A direct apology wouldn't feel appropriate, though. He didn't think Ingo regretted saving his life, even if he hadn't given Ingo much reason to be happy about saving him, so there would be nothing to say sorry for. Lightning quick as it was, Ingo had made the conscious decision to throw the old thing into harm's way anyhow.
He couldn't live like this. He was no stranger to the whole spectrum of emotions a human could endure, but guilt was his sole worst enemy. He hated how it made him feel. All... worthless, and wrong, a big fuck-up that people were justified in disliking.
He had done everything he could to no longer feel like that, years and years ago.
Melli mumbled and ground a knuckle into his temple. Think, Melli, think... Oh—Fine! He knew what to do.
He'd fix the damn thing himself if it meant so much to Ingo. His prowess with a needle and thread was known throughout both clans and beyond. Mending someone else's clothes would usually be beneath him, but he did owe its owner the favor.
The main problem now was getting his hands on the thing.
Like Adaman had so graciously reminded him, that jacket was a precious memento of Warden Ingo's. The man wasn't likely to lend it, especially in its new precarious condition.
Which meant Melli had to resort to borrowing it out from under Ingo's nose. Not stealing! It wasn't stealing if he had every intention of giving it back.
Besides, he was more comfortable with the sneaky route. If word got out he was helping a Pearl Clan member so generously, why, he'd never hear the end of it.
- - -
Lucky for Melli, they were practically neighbors. Distant neighbors—the Highlands were sparsely populated, as it was a harsh, inhospitable landscape—but neighbors nonetheless. He just had to trod down one of many barren paths, hang a left at the hulking cracked boulder, pass that cluster of scraggly pines, and continue down the rocky slope until...
There it was. Ingo's homestead, pale fabric cast in silver under the light of the moon.
Nobody in their right mind would be awake at this hour—and Melli was not in his right mind, indeed, he was out of it for attempting this foolish stunt—so hopefully he could sneak in, snag the tattered coat, and slip out, nice and simple.
Heart thudding and blood zinging with muted adrenaline, Melli crouched near the entrance of the yurt and waited. Listened.
No sounds of life.
He waited several minutes to make sure, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard rustling from within. A body turning in a cot. Tired mumbles, then a loud snore. Ingo was asleep.
Okay. No need to dilly-dally.
Stealthy as his own Skuntank trying to swipe food off the table, Melli eased the door open, and crept through the crack. He left it open so the moonlight could drift inside, and it fell in a graceful beam that led straight to the foot of Ingo's cot.
Thank Sinnoh, the man really was fast asleep. Melli's heart would have failed if he saw those luminous eyes piercing at him through the darkness.
Now. Where would a ratty coat be hiding?
He squinted through the darkness and scanned the place. It wasn't hung or folded anywhere he could see. It could very well be stored in a chest, or hidden someplace special. Someplace particularly safe.
Melli's eyes drifted to the bed, a cringe contorting his mouth.
It would be just his luck...
Following raw gut instinct, Melli tiptoed to the edge of Ingo's bed, praying that none of the floorboards creaked, and gingerly knelt. Okay. So far so good. The Pearl Warden snoozed away, brows slightly pinched in his sleep and lips slightly parted.
Up close, and not spouting loud nonsense, Ingo was rather handsome, Melli had to admit. He looked both older, without the cap covering his short hair, and younger, without its bill shadowing his eyes.
Ingo's hair looked like shorn moonlight. Short, but soft, little tufts of it sticking this way and that. The bristle of facial hair on his jaw seemed much less inviting. The man would shave in the morning, Melli hoped.
...Uncharacteristically, he was tempted to graze his knuckles along the stubble, and snapped out of his distraction with his hand halfway floated to Ingo's sleeping face. What in Sinnoh's name was he doing? He was wasting time staring. He didn't come here to be creepy.
Embarrassed at his actions, Melli ducked to the floor and swept his arm underneath the bed. Nothing. He silently cursed and sat on his heels. He thought for sure it'd be near here.
Just when he was about to give up and search elsewhere, the tiniest corner of dark fabric caught his eye from underneath Ingo's pillow.
Of all the— Of course. Of course the old man slept with the damn thing under his pillow. Just his luck!
He nearly gave up his quest on the spot. Ingo had saved his life weeks ago, it was practically old news at this point. Nobody would know if he walked out and retreated home for a good night's sleep.
But the Great Melli knew how to persevere, if nothing else. He already came this far. If he woke Ingo up, he could make up some excuse about seeing some strange creature near his hut and wanting Ingo's backup. Ingo was always ready to leap into action whenever he needed help with something, Sinnoh knew why.
Deep breath, Melli.
He flexed his hands and employed every dram of steadiness and delicacy stored within their bones.
Carefully... Carefully... Just slip his hand underneath the pillow, lift just a hair, grab the jacket, and tug...
"Thank you for riding the..."
Melli bit his lips to keep from screaming.
Ingo's brow pinched more deeply and his lips twitched. Melli dared not breathe, body frozen, his prize half tugged out from underneath the pillow.
"Subway today..."
Bewilderment loosened Melli's fright. What in Sinnoh's name was a subway? Hmph. Strange man.
He startled and held his breath again when Ingo groaned, only for the man to roll over in his sleep, murmuring more nonsense. The coat came loose, and Melli stole away into the night, not daring to risk another heart attack by lingering a single second longer.
- - -
Upon making it home, Melli hurriedly lit a lamp. It sputtered to life and filled his home with precious warm light.
Carefully, he unfolded his hard-won prize. Ingo must have washed it, because it was the cleanest Melli had ever seen it.
Guilt nibbled at his conscience again. It was all too easy to picture, Ingo on his knees near the gentlest runoff stream he could find, washing it clean of mud and trying not to exacerbate the damage.
And speaking of damage...
Melli winced seeing the extent of the destruction up close. That Ursaring spared no mercy for clawing it off its face.
Melli shuddered. If those claws had sunk into his flesh instead of empty fabric...
Ugh. Just like Adaman always said, no use thinking about the what-could-have-beens. He had a mission to complete, and only so much oil to burn.
He dug out his sewing materials, cleared his floor, and spread the coat out flat. It was a sturdy material, one his fingers told him would accept new stitches without fuss. Torn as it was, not much fabric was lost—not any more than was already missing from the lowest hem and collar, at least. Those would need brand new material to patch, and he didn't have anything on hand that came close.
He would have to be satisfied with repairing what he could.
Pins secured the rips and tears into alignment. The amounts of thread needed were gauged with eye and experience alone, and Melli nodded to himself. This would be doable. If he worked fast and didn't sleep tonight, Ingo would hardly notice it was missing.
He selected the right needle, and two of his hardiest threads: one stained berry black, the other darkly dyed with madder root.
Melli swiftly threaded the needle, bit the first thread to length, tugged the coat into his lap, and set to focused work.
Sewing had always helped focus his mind. His thoughts had a tendency to flit from one thing to the next, hungry for excitement and drama to keep from being bored, but with a needle and thread in hand, he could condense his concentration towards one singular goal. A not insignificant accomplishment for a task to make. Caring for his Lord Electrode was the only other thing that came close.
One by one, the ugly gashes sealed closed. Wounds healed with stitch and not scab. The stripes in the fabric forced Melli to alternate thread colors, and he did so without fuss. It was extra work, yes, but if he was going to apply his handiwork to something, he was going to do it right. Never let it be known that Melli was lazy when it came to his best craft.
With the worst of the gouges mended, Melli turned his attention to the littler holes. He was already on a roll—might as well. And, oh, why not, these wretched rips in the collar could use patching up, too. It'd help keep the frigid mountain winds off Ingo's neck. And these sleeve cuffs, too, how on earth did they get so ragged? And this seam was weak, and that hem needed reinforcing, and...
The oil in the lamp was close to burning out when Melli stood at last and gave the coat a gentle flap before him.
Beautiful work, if he had to say so himself. Some of his best. This old thing hadn't looked so good in all the years Melli had known its owner. Some holes couldn't be mended without sufficient spare fabric, but for such short notice, he had done an incredible job.
Unable to resist, he had even added some personal flair over the smaller holes that were so hopeless they couldn't have their edges pulled together, but needed patching instead. Over the particularly nasty tear just beneath where Ingo's heart would be, Melli had embroidered a small several flowers. Nothing too fancy. Only a little extra style for someone who never had any. One could call it a signature of the artist.
The pride in Melli's chest suddenly waned. Something felt missing... He frowned and scanned the garment from hem to hem. He hadn't botched a stitch, had he? Of course not—but what?
Old metal winked asymmetrically in the lamplight. Of course!
Melli hurriedly patted his pockets. How could he possibly forget something as important as a button, for Sinnoh's sake—ahah!
With a victorious vengeance, Melli set upon securing the button with its tarnished brothers. There. A matched set. He almost didn't notice one was missing, since one was already missing; Ingo's jacket only had three left.
He wondered if Ingo had the fourth safe somewhere. The man didn't seem like he would lose one sibling of a set so willingly. No matter.
"What do you think, darling?"
His Skuntank, dozing nearby, only yawned and settled back onto his pillow.
Melli stifled a yawn of his own. Goodness, how late had it gotten?
Curious for how many hours he had left for precious beauty sleep, Melli poked his head out of his home.
And promptly cursed.
The sky was light—it was dawn already!
"Damn, damn, damn!"
He dashed inside, grabbed the mended coat, and flat-out sprinted across the mountain, Skuntank grumbling and hot on his heels.
His lungs were screaming and his legs wanted to collapse into a molten pile of wrecked muscle by the time he made it close to Ingo's homestead.
Gasping and wheezing, he shambled around the bottom of the cliffside, and froze when he heard a voice.
A very loud, very panicked voice.
The guilt snuck its way through his guts all over again.
Gulping around his dry throat, Melli hid the stolen garment behind his back and quietly approached.
Several hulking pokémon milled nervously around their trainer's tent. The doors were thrown wide open, and Melli could see several things being tossed around inside.
"It is not here!" Ingo shouted from within, voice a pitch higher than Melli had ever heard it. "I was certain that I— it was right here, so where—"
Melli felt absolutely, horrifically dreadful. If the earth were to swallow him up right here and end his shame, he wouldn't complain. But that would mean nobody could return Ingo's precious memento to him.
The Machamp noticed his intrusion first. The towering beast tilted its head at him, arms stoutly crossed, and Melli begged with his eyes not to throw him out of the clearing.
The pokémon's gaze lowered, and Melli followed it down, and realized with a chill that it had noticed a dangling sleeve from behind him.
Oh, dear. Oh, oh, dear... He was in for a pummeling if he didn't come clean right away.
The Machamp took an imposing step towards him, and panic kicked his voice loose.
"I-Ingo! Whatever you're looking for, I have it right here!"
Before he could get himself thrown clear off the mountainside, Ingo stumbled outside, clutching the frame of the entrance, eyes wild and desperate. He was more visibly distraught than Melli thought him capable of.
Words abandoned him.
Instead, Melli scampered forward, body one tight cluster of nerves, and thrust the repaired coat at Ingo's chest. The instant it was taken, weathered hands slow and disbelieving, Melli tripped a step backwards, and flung his torso into a perfect horizontal bow, hair dangling loose and tangled towards the ground.
"I didn't mean to make you panic!" he babbled. "I didn't think you would let me take it without asking, so I— last night, I snuck in and stole it. I meant to return it before dawn, I swear by Sinnoh!"
He flinched at the dirt at the sound of unfurling fabric. The ragged bottom hem of it fell into the edge of Melli's vision, and he hazarded the courage to slowly, painstakingly peek upwards from his bow.
Ingo's expression was stiff as always, but his pale eyes were wide with shock. Mouth slack, eyes starting to shine...
"Ah... I..." Melli stammered, not knowing what to say.
Ingo slowly pulled on his coat. His arms filled the sleeves, all the way down to the smooth cuffs. He tugged it so it sat properly on his shoulders, and gave the breast another smart tug, and stared down at himself.
Self-conscious of his own handiwork for the first time in years, Melli wrung a lock of his hair. "It isn't perfect. I did what I could, I didn't have enough material to fill in the older gashes, but I tried to fix what I could. A-Ah, I can remove that embroidery if you don't like it. I suppose I did get a little carried away..."
He must look so foolish. Running around with stolen property that he tampered with without permission. What was he thinking by pulling this stunt? Stupid, foolish, thoughtless! And to make matters worse, he had to look dreadful, having stayed up all night and having sprinted the whole way here. He could take bitter solace in knowing he looked as awful as he felt. He deserved it.
Melli bit the inside of his cheek and toed the ground. This was humiliating, and rightfully so. He asked for this. Brought it all upon himself. The best thing to do now was remove himself from Ingo's sight and stop being such a troublesome, unwanted burden.
Face burning, Melli turned on a heel and tried to retreat.
He didn't make one step before a strong hand grasped his arm and hitched him into place.
"Please, wait."
Melli froze. The hand gripping him turned his body around, and he allowed it to happen in his daze, and—his mind went blank.
This didn't feel real.
Ingo was smiling up at him.
Melli blinked and gaped in surprise, and blinked again harder to make sure he wasn't hallucinating it.
It was barely there, just a slight tug of the corners of Ingo's lips, but sure enough, it was there. Ingo's eyes erased all doubt; the crease to their corners, the lift to their lids, and the warm, unmistakable light to them.
"Thank you, Melli."
Those words fired a bolt of lightning into his chest. He pulled his arm free and took a wary step back.
"Thank me? For what? I'm the reason that it got destroyed in the first place." He tried to twirl his hair into something more presentable. "I just wanted to repay you for saving my life," he guiltily mumbled. "We're even now, so there's no need for thanks."
"I do not think you understand how much this means to me." Ingo's bony hand ran down the length of one sleeve and clutched the mended cuff. "This... This object is one of my only clues as to where I came from, who I used to be. Losing it would be like losing a piece of myself, and I have precious few pieces remaining."
Ingo touched over the patched hole on his chest next, fingertips caressing the colorful flowers planted there. His eyes took on a sentimental shine, and his voice cracked like clay in the kiln. "So please, allow me to thank you. You have my deepest gratitude, Melli. I cannot express how happy I am."
What... Why, this... This...! Ugh!! What right did Ingo have to look at him like that!
A hot blush crawled up Melli's neck and blossomed on his face. He cleared his throat uselessly and shifted his weight onto one hip, twirling the ends of his hair like they might solve all his problems if he twisted them enough.
"I-It was nothing," he frantically said. "The least I could do, so enough with the thank-yous, I don't need any more of those! You've made your point quite well!"
Ingo liked his work. Ingo was thanking him for all this. So he did well? A good job? Of course he did, all his needlework was splendid—but seeing Ingo's appreciation for his talents, for his thoughtfulness, up close, it— It was doing funny things to his heart.
Melli cleared his throat uselessly and patted himself on the chest. He seemed to have caught a case of the flutters. Surely temporary, surely. Ingo may be handsome, and a quick thinker who saved his life, and oh, fine, perhaps he had a nice smile as well, and fine, he did look dashing in his newly repaired coat, and, yes, Melli was forced to admit, Ingo was also rather kind and considerate, not to mention those strong hands he kept noticing lately—but any feelings he was starting to harbor were temporary!
"Why don't you join me inside?" Ingo asked, dabbing his eyes dry on his sleeve.
Melli jolted and his heart did a cartwheel. "What? I mean, for what?"
"You have not eaten all night, I assume. You worked so hard. I will happily make something for us to share. I hope it will be to your tastes."
"I'm... sure it will," he weakly said.
Ingo nodded, satisfied, and Melli took another punch to the heart over it. Temporary, he reminded himself.
He tottered after Ingo, and noticed in a daze that the Warden's Machamp gave him an approving nod as they passed.
"I apologize for the mess. Please, sit down. I have tea for us, too, shall we share a cup after breakfast? Ah, sit! Please, be comfortable!"
He collapsed more than sat, and watched Ingo stride around inside, head held high and—was he humming? Ingo? Humming?
He caught Melli's eye on a turnaround, and offered another tiny, subtle, tremendous smile in Melli's direction.
It made him want to scream. If Ingo kept smiling and treating him so warmly—making tea and humming and being so happy because Melli had made him happy—temporary might not be so temporary after all.
Sinnoh have mercy on his heart.