The Present is a Gift

Chapter 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."