Title: Generation
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,977
Genre: Character Study, Drama, Romance
Summary: Morty/Falkner. Falkner discovers himself through loss, and Morty helps him find the way.
Disclaimer: Pokémon isn't mine.
Author's Notes: For stella_canela at LJ.
Falkner's staring at the window. Outside, the first drop of rain strikes the glass and slowly trickles down. He doesn't move when Morty comes up behind him; "I heard," the gym leader says. "I came as soon as..." The younger man says nothing, and Morty's words die in his throat.
"I'm sorry."
Falkner slides the window open, and the room is filled with the soft sound of rain.
"He's not dead yet," he finally replies.
o-o-o
Falkner's begun to take long flights on the back of his father's newly evolved Pidgeot. He never offers an invitation, and Morty never asks, standing with both feet planted firmly on the ground as the other man dwindles to a tiny speck in the sky.
He leaves around sundown, and doesn't come back until well after midnight. Morty finds that he stays up longer each night, waiting for the telltale sound of fluttering wings. When Falkner returns, Pidgeot looks tired, but its trainer looks unchanged, save for the fever-bright light in his eye.
Morty raises a hand in greeting; Falkner gives a brief nod as he strides past, not bothering to make small talk. He shuts himself in his room and the light under his door shines until false dawn appears. But he still walks out of his room every morning at eight, facing yet another day with an aplomb and grace that would make his father proud.
o-o-o
Morty follows him everywhere, a silent shadow, and Falkner doesn't comment on it. He watches him talk with doctors, entertain guests from the world over, accept their tokens of grief and love, and still find time to trample trainers into the dirt.
Something has changed inside of him. He battles with an austere precision now, his Pokémon flying like darts from his hands. As the challenger's last Pokémon slumps to the floor, Falkner lifts his chin, and his Pidgeot lands on the balcony behind him. For the first time, Morty thinks Falkner sees himself as a gym leader instead of a substitute.
Pidgeot's silhouette seems to give Falkner wings. Perhaps, he thinks, he is beginning to learn how to step out of his father's shadow and cast his own.
o-o-o
"Fight me," Morty says, a few days later. When Falkner looks up, he's wearing his first real expression in days.
"You've improved. I can tell. I want to know how much."
Falkner bends down, his fingers lightly scratching the Pidgey's feathers. There are more birds here with every passing day, as if even they have come to pay their respects. Falkner feeds the growing crowds without comment in the same grave way he handles everything else.
"It's not the right time," he replies.
Morty knows. "Fight me anyway."
Falkner shakes his head. He gives the birds one last scattering of grain, then moves to the edge of the high gym floor. In the blink of an eye he and his Pidgeot have swooped off the balcony. Morty walks over and watches the two of them soar low over the sun-drenched rooftops. People look up as they pass.
"You'll live," he whispers, though he knows he can't be heard.
o-o-o
During the day, he's only apart from Falkner for twenty-five minutes. That's the time he spends with his father. Morty occupies himself by walking through Violet City or giving his Gengar some exercise. The longer he stays, the more he chooses his Pokémon over the walk; the streets are filled with black, and Morty would rather not spend the time alone.
Gengar's permanent grin is a far cry from the waiting stillness of the city. He floats in the air, cavorts and plays, steals Morty's scarf. Sometimes, his trainer even finds himself laughing. But Falkner's appearance sucks the mirth from his face, and even the ghost Pokémon bows before it, going back into its ball without a whisper of its usual complaint.
"That's disrespectful," Falkner says. There's a hard tone to his voice. Morty takes a step back.
"Gengar doesn't understand." His tone is placating. The other man's hands ball into fists.
"But you do."
Morty can't explain it to him, and so he doesn't try. "When you fly," Morty says instead, and Falkner pulls up, thrown off by the topic change, "What do you see? Why do you go?"
Falkner stares at him for another moment; then the tension begins to drain from his body as he turns away. "Up there, you can't feel anything."
"Take me with you."
Falkner looks reluctant, but eventually he nods.
o-o-o
The air is roaring in his ears, and the sunset shines straight into his eyes; it's chaos, and Morty swallows down a swell of panic, refusing to acknowledge it. When he looks at the other man, his eyes are wide open, staring straight ahead, and somehow he isn't choked by the wind.
Somehow, Falkner belongs here. Morty isn't surprised, but he still thinks humans belong on the ground, where the sky stays still and trees are their normal size.
He feels Falkner's weight shift, and the Pokémon obeys immediately, taking a long slow bank to the left. Soon they're drifting over Goldenrod, Olivine, and then out over the sea, Pidgeot's flight smoothing out as he rides the ocean breeze. Falkner bends low over the bird's neck. The young man's body is warm against his, and his hair flicks against his face. Morty realizes that this is what the bird keeper looks like, under the surface—ocean and sky and defiance of gravity.
They rest briefly on an abandoned, rocky island. Falkner's cheeks are flushed from the wind, but he still doesn't smile. Morty stumbles when he dismounts; the bird keeper easily catches him. "You're stronger," he says. Falkner shrugs.
He takes off his sandals and tabi socks and walks into the waves, Morty a few steps behind. When he wraps his arms around the younger man's waist, Falkner doesn't lean back like he used to. Instead, he stands tall, a mountain strong and solitary in the surf.
"You don't have to do this alone," Morty whispers against his neck. He can feel Falkner's pulse against his lips, quick and strong. His kisses inch upwards, and a sigh escapes the other man, long and slow like the ebbing tide. When Morty reaches his jaw, Falkner turns his head away, and the next kiss finds empty air.
"I'm not," Falkner says quietly. There's something in his eyes that—for just one moment—looks like it's about to break, but it soon disappears.
o-o-o
The sun has already dipped below the horizon when they fly back over the mainland. Falkner seems unconcerned, and Pidgeot flies without hesitation, working from memory instead of landmarks. Below them, it's already full night, but up here the sky is still deep blue, fading sharply to orange near the horizon. The dark clouds around them merge with the blackness of the ocean and then the earth. The mystery of where the sky ends and the ground begins reminds Morty of his younger days, when night was still a great and terrifying unknown.
Goldenrod, the bustling center of Johto's commerce, looks like a child's toy, tiny lights suddenly blooming in the darkness. Above them, the sky is impossibly vast, impossibly high, and staring at it for too long feels like falling. It takes a certain kind of person to be more at home up here than down there; even ghosts stay close to the ground, too preoccupied with human life to want to leave.
Somehow, he doubts that many bird keepers have trouble moving on. The thought pleases and saddens him all at once.
o-o-o
When they finally land, Morty sits down hard in the middle of the courtyard, which makes Falkner give him an odd look. "Isn't it like being in the dark?" he asks, and Morty shakes his head. Darkness smothers him like a blanket; in the sky, he feels totally alone.
Falkner looks up at the stars. "It reminds me..." He stops, searching for the words. "It's freedom. No limits. Go anywhere. Do anything."
He turns to look Morty in the eye. "It reminds me—that anything is possible."
Morty finally understands.
o-o-o
Morty eventually asks to pay his own respects. As he has done for so many others, Falkner leads him to his father's room, bows low to the silent figure in the bed, and leaves.
The older man is swathed in bandages. The prognosis—what the seer knows of it—grows worse by the day. Machines feed him and breathe for him, but Morty can feel it—his soul is already gone.
Falkner's father was a bear of a man, a whirling dynamo who never stayed put, so seeing him in a strange parody of peacefulness—not alive, not dead—makes Morty feel uneasy. The last time he saw this man, he watched him walk out of his gym and his son's life. Outside, in the wild, was where he always belonged. Not here.
When Morty steps out of the room, Falkner is waiting, his fingers drumming against his arm. He stops when Morty stands before him.
"Why?" Morty asks.
The other man looks away. "People wish to pay their respects."
"Falkner." He puts a heavy hand on the other man's shoulder. "Falkner," he repeats. "He's already gone."
The gym leader goes still.
When he leaves, Morty doesn't try to stop him. He isn't surprised when, a moment later, he hears the thunder of wingbeats ascending.
"Like father, like son," he mutters.
o-o-o
Later, he finds Falkner on the roof. His knees are tucked to his chest; his eyes are red. Morty sits beside him and waits.
"He was never going to come back." The bird keeper's voice is quiet, carefully controlled. "That's why he never visited, and why he never called."
Falkner is still so young, just turned twenty. Morty tries to imagine what it must have been like when he received the call. Did he drop the phone? Did he cry?
No, Morty realizes. He flew.
"Falkner," he begins. But he doesn't know what to say.
What was it like when they brought his father's body home, the mangled wreck of the man who held his heart? What did he do? What did he say? He didn't leave—he stayed, then, and he organized the crowds who came to mourn.
He didn't fly. He became a gym leader instead.
But Falkner's eyes are red now, and they weren't before. He has to say something. The silence is growing unbearable, but his mind is drawing a blank.
Then, he knows.
"Your father loved you," he says into the waiting air.
Falkner tenses, his eyes going wide. The older man turns and wraps an arm around his shoulders. After a minute, Falkner begins to shake, and Morty tugs him close, letting him bury his face in his scarf.
"Your father is proud of you," he murmurs into his hair.
Falkner gasps once—twice—it turns into a sob. His hands fist in Morty's shirt, pressing against him as if trying to hide inside of him. Morty closes his eyes, drawing him in.
Falkner cries like his world is ending, like everything he knows is falling apart, like a man who has finally met that last insurmountable wall and knows nothing will ever be the same. He cries like a child who is losing his father, and all Morty can do is hold him, making soothing noises and saying I'm sorry, I'm sorry until the words fall apart.
o-o-o
Even Falkner is a little shocked by how many people attend his father's funeral.
He has arranged it as the man would have wanted it; somber and traditional, with little fanfare. Morty has never seen Falkner dressed like this, in formal wear of darkest black, his family's crest embroidered in heavy thread over his heart. He gives a short speech, simple and heartfelt. Morty can sense his relief when he sits down.
It feels like half the world is watching as Falkner gets on the Pidgeot—still, to him, his father's, though to the rest of the world, it's his—with the the small wooden box held tightly in one hand. The two of them wheel and dip in the sky, a final farewell salute as they scatter his father's ashes.
The service finally ends, and Morty and Falkner are alone again, standing in his bedroom. The younger man strips silently, still looking a little pale. "You should eat," Morty says. He shakes his head.
Falkner's down to just his pants, and he looks at Morty expectantly, waiting for him to leave. Despite this, Morty hovers uncertainly in the doorway. "Are you going to be all right?" he asks.
Falkner gives a little shrug, almost automatic. "I'm alive," he replies.
"I'm here if you need me."
Falkner nods, his lips pressing together. "I know."
The seer turns to leave, but stops when he hears Falkner's voice. "Morty—" He looks back, but the younger man just stares at him. Patiently, he waits.
"Thank you," Falkner finally whispers.
Still, Morty leaves while the other man changes. He goes to the kitchen and gets some food—rice balls, simple fare. Falkner frowns when he opens the door and sees the plate in Morty's hands, but he eats with only minimal coaxing.
o-o-o
The next morning, he finds Falkner waiting in the gym, arms folded. "You wanted a battle," he says.
Morty leans against the balcony. "Are you sure?" Falkner nods.
The match is quick and furious. Morty's ghosts are crafty, but he's constantly surprised by the new additions to the Falkner's team. Haunter scores the first victory over Pidgeotto with a combination of Substitution and Curse, but is knocked out immediately after when Falkner sends out Staraptor for a quick U-Turn. Noctowl is next, and Morty sends out Misdreavus. Perish Song makes Falkner switch out for Staraptor again, but Destiny Bond soon finishes them both. After that, Gengar lounges about, toying with the Staraptor until it inevitably faints.
Finally, they are down to Gengar and Pidgeot—as they had expected from the beginning. Hypnosis puts the bird to sleep, but it awakens before Gengar can eat its dreams. A powerful Gust sends the ghost tumbling and skidding across the battlefield, but it soon rights itself and fires a Force Blast. The bird barely dodges, but it's not expecting a second Blast on the heels of the first, and the shot nearly knocks it out of the sky. It recovers at the last minute and flies high, attacking with more Gusts; the match turns into a long-distance skirmish, exchanging buffeting winds for rapid-fire shots. A last Gust strikes Gengar just as a Focus Blast streaks across the battlefield, and the two Pokémon both topple to the ground and lie still.
Falkner's skin shines with sweat, and even Morty is tired as he tucks Gengar back into his ball. The younger man brushes his hair out of his eyes, looking at him expectantly.
"You've improved." Morty's still trying to catch his breath. "Have you considered challenging the Elite Four?" Falkner shakes his head. "You should. You'd do well."
"I have to run the gym." The response is automatic. Morty waves his hand, feigning unconcern.
"Let someone else run it for a while."
Falkner goggles at him, as he knew he would. He shrugs. "You haven't left Violet City since you took over the gym. You should see the world outside of it."
Falkner just shakes his head harder than before, as if he can't believe what he's hearing. He returns his Pidgeot to its ball and begins to walk away, presumably to the Pokémon Center.
"Falkner." Morty calls, stopping him in his tracks. He turns his head, but can't quite look at the concern in the older man's eyes. Morty doesn't move towards him, but says, softly, "Hiding in the sky isn't really living."
Falkner's eyes narrow briefly before he leaves.
o-o-o
Morty goes home a week later. He's been away from his own gym for too long, and stepping back inside the heavy, silent darkness is a relief from the long days spent looking at everything from a bird's eye view. For a few months, he spends his time talking to Eusine and training his Pokémon. Waiting.
Then Falkner comes to Ecruteak. He navigates the gym without hesitation, and the mediums let him pass without comment. "Come for a rematch?" Morty asks when Falkner stands before him.
"I'm going to challenge the Elite Four," he says instead.
"You are."
Falkner nods. Morty can sense his trepidation; he's trying so hard not to fidget. Morty steps forward, and Falkner's chin tips up in a challenge, meeting his eyes fearlessly.
When Morty hugs him, he freezes. Morty holds him there anyway, feeling Falkner's heart race through the thin layers of cloth that separate them, spreading his fingers out across the younger man's back.
He knows what's going to happen.
"I'll be waiting," he whispers, before he finally sets him free.
o-o-o
Five months later, Morty and Falkner stand in the Violet Gym. It feels as if they've never left, but Falkner's returned from Indigo Plateau with a new light in his eye. His loss doesn't matter. What matters is that he now sees what everyone else does: his potential.
His Pidgeot mantles on the railing, Falkner seated on its back like a king. It's his Pidgeot. No one else's. The young man finally knows that now.
Morty steps forward as Falkner leans down, and their lips brush. Then he looks up.
"Fly," he whispers, and they take off into the sun.
The seer watches them go, perfectly calm. And when Falkner finally comes back down as darkness skims across the sky, Morty's there to catch him.