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Metagross knew, and at the same time, it didn’t want to know.
It had long been said that psychic types shared a special connection with their trainers; a bond that lasts a lifetime. And that much was true. For as long as it could remember— and Metagross could remember nearly everything— it had always been able to feel the ebb and flow of Steven’s mind.
The nervous excitement on the day that they met, and the tumultuous fear on the day they almost separated. The curious interest when they were introduced to the charismatic water-type trainer, and the swell of pride on the day they defeated him. Overwhelming joy on the day of Metagross’s evolution, matched only one other time in the fleeting moment they stood atop the Pokemon League. The stinging disappointment when they were toppled, but that didn’t last long either, as it was buried in the deep sadness of his father’s passing. Tired resignation gave way to a strong sense of duty, and with a quiet apology to his pokemon, he had stepped into the role he was destined to fill.
Devon had flourished in the years under his watchful eye, and once Wallace’s (hypocritical) retirement talks had sunken in, Metagross relished the satisfaction that flowed from its trainer once he finally gave in to the suggested hands-off approach.
Without an heir to continue the family legacy, he had turned once more to the bright young man he’d come to know in Kalos. Sawyer had turned down his initial offer to pursue a position as Rustboro’s Gym Leader instead, but Metagross knew its trainer was a patient man. With a new Leader waiting in the wings, the second offer was accepted with much humble thanks. Watching the new Devon CEO hug his wife and infant son, Metagross had rumbled a short laugh; the spirit the Stones had poured into the company would live on even without their name.
With the rigors of management lifted from his shoulders, Metagross knew its trainer’s mind still would not stay quiet. So to fill their newfound free time, they traveled far and wide. Not like they used to; the aches and pains accumulated during his younger years kept them from delving deep into the earth. Metagross didn’t mind though, as the joy in discovering the unknown was not exclusive to the depths of a cave. Every so often its trainer’s thoughts were interrupted by a nagging tug, a bit of discomfort, but the people they met and the sights they saw kept his spirits high, and Metagross was glad for the distractions.
But all too soon, those interruptions were happening far too frequently, and Metagross felt the first flicker at his doctor’s insistence to cut down on their travels.
So instead, they settled down in Hoenn, spending much of their time wandering Devon’s halls, staying on top of all of the new inventions that their scientists turned up. There was a tinge of relief in being able to keep an eye on the company’s inner workings, although Metagross remembered the sleepless nights of diligence, and it would not let its trainer slip into that habit again; not when his body was not what it used to be.
Despite its best efforts, the tired sighs and the stifled groans would not vanish, and soon much to the reluctance of both, a walking cane became a regular part of its trainer’s daily attire. But even as the cane clicked up and down the polished floors, the youthful spark was alive and well in his eyes, for research was what he truly enjoyed. And Metagross was happy.
Until that day, when it knew.
With a tired sigh, Steven had rested his cane against the nightstand and settled down onto his bed. The same ritual of every night for the last few years.
“Metagross.”
At the sound of its name, Metagross shuffled up to the bedside, just as it always did, to wish its trainer goodnight.
But tonight was different, and as Metagross came close, Steven leaned down and rested a hand on either side of the cross that marked its face. Metagross glanced down only a moment, considering the time-worn hands laden with as many rings as calluses, as they always had been, as it always remembered they had been. Three simple silver bands scuffed and marked with memories. A fourth band, ever so slightly different and just a bit older, softer somehow, to complete the set. A plain gold band joined them, set with the first diamonds they had uncovered. And the last band, silver with a clear blue stone, the same pale aquamarine his hair had been in his younger days.
It all only lasted a second, every detail frozen in time, before Metagross’s gaze slid up to find its trainer’s eyes staring into its own.
“Metagross,” he began, and all of a sudden, Metagross couldn’t look away, couldn’t forget that it didn’t want to know. “You are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.”
For Metagross knew that steel types were long lived. And that humans were not. And for the first time in its eighty three year existence, Metagross wished it could act like the child it still was and curl up in its trainer’s arms and cry until it was too exhausted to cry any more. Because for the rest of its species’ several hundred year long life, it would never know a love like his.
But Metagross would not allow itself to falter. It couldn’t let him know that it knew. Did he even know himself? Metagross wasn’t sure if humans had that capability. So instead it closed its eyes and hummed, pushing all of its emotion through the reverberations of its steel hide. So many years of gratitude, companionship, and the reassurance that no, it did not have to “put up” with its trainer’s antics unless it truly wanted to. And it did.
Its trainer’s touch lingered for some time before softly pulling away to the rustle of sheets. Metagross opened its eyes.
“Goodnight, my friend.”
Metagross wasn’t sure how long it stayed frozen, red eyes scanning his sleeping form. It didn’t want to blink, it didn’t want to look away. The spark was still there, Metagross could feel it, but it knew . Not that it would forget what it was like, oh no, Metagross never forgot, but just in case...
So as if the very action could make time stand still, it began to catalog every line of his face. The crinkles at the corner of his eyes whenever he smiled. Metagross flicked through its memories, day by day, back in time, until the smile was youthful, and the crinkles disappeared. The crease in his brow whenever he was lost in thought. Image by image, until it smoothed to nothing but a fleeting thing. The lines of his mouth, deep with age. Frame by frame, and then they were gone, pulled taut, unblemished by time. The memory bank was endless, locked in an encyclopedic mind that could recall anything it had ever known in seconds flat.
And yet it still lost track of time. Only as the last line vanished in its mind, did Metagross realize the room had fallen silent. Eyes flicked from peaceful face to still form. There was no rise and fall beneath the covers. The spark was gone. And for the first time in its life, Metagross knew what it was like to be alone.