~Falkner~

We had all been intent at the gym leaders meeting last night when the fire in Ecruteak came on the breaking news. It was only some odd coincidence that Chuck had insisted on watching his recorded soap opera through his laptop because a battle had come up during the time it was on earlier. Clair had been viciously nagging at the man, making us shriek in laughter as the fighting gym leader wanted to view such dramatic things. Sadly I had to agree with Clair this time, because it had been so damn funny for all of a second. Even listening to Bugsy trying to defend his hefty best friend (who I still thought he had a sexual relationship with) was hilarious.

Of course it was short lived until we all peered in on Chuck's laptop home page to see that google was supplying us with life saving information. Clair, Bugsy, Chuck, Whitney, Jasmine, and even Pryce had stared in terror at the news report of a fire destroying the brass tower in Ecruteak. There was no further information given at the time, but we had all—despite our differences—managed to pull together swiftly and act upon our actions.

Clair had run off as fast as she could to find Lance, who could fly the other gym leaders to the destruction with his team of dragonite, and while they waited I had taken off on my own. Pride was the fastest, strongest bird I ever trained and so it was to no avail that I got there way ahead of time.

My heart had been aching when I saw that the roof of the massive Brass Tower had come crumbling down, and I could see a distinct hole all the way through into the basement, where in the right light I managed to spot Morty through the frantic smoke and roaring flames. I had never been so scared in my life.

Morty… Morty who I hadnt talked to in over a week, was most likely supposed to be dead when I found him, but somehow I managed to sweep in through the flames that had barely begun to latch onto his clothes. I remembered vividly how the fire scorched the ends of his scarf, ripping them to near shreds and making the fabric coil up and crumble away.

"MORTY!" I had shook the ghost trainer violently before dragging him onto Pride's back and having the fearless bird bring him to safety. I didn't know if it was just a body at the time, or if Morty still had a chance, but I knew that I had been a wreck.

Replaying every sickening memory in my head, thinking that the last thing I would have said to Morty was for him to get out of my house. I was completely guilty about what happened between us, and it was only after forcing myself not to cry did I realize that I was not the only one left stranded in that smoke filled basement. I stepped on the hand of someone else—who also looked very dead—and just barely managed to pull him to safety with me when Pride came back.

By the time I had gotten Morty and the stranger to safe grounds I myself had passed out because of the toxic fumes, but woke up a little later when Lance had cradled me in his huge arms and hoisted me up onto a hospital stretcher. The last thing I remembered was thinking that I wasn't going to make it, and then changing my mind when a tiny shriek caught my attention and Zephyr landed on my strapped, but bare chest.

I knew that at that moment I would not die because no one would take care of mine and my father's birds. If there was any reason in the world for me to survive it was that. And more or less I was just too damn stubborn to let death take me. I wasn't ready to leave this world, not while I was finally just getting into it. I promised myself as my bloody hand twitched, tightening between something that felt soft. I didn't know at first, but came to find out later that it was Jasmine who had been there in the ambulance with me.

Nothing else pertained to the eight hours more that I was completely knocked out. Not just because my lungs were weak and they had me resting with breathing machines, but because I was mentally exhausted. All that time there was nothing but blackness, not even a dream to disturb me, and yet I had woken up feeling like not a second hand gone by since I left that burning tower.

Everyone was hovering when I woke. All six other gym leaders holding flowers in their arms and Jasmine especially close to me. She cried again, but this time it was with relief as she squeezed my bandaged hand and laughed a sort of shaky laugh.

The first words out of my mouth hadn't been appreciation for the friends that cared about me, it hadn't been tears of my own, and it hadn't been about the immense pain I was in. I had asked where Morty was, just like that with my raspy smoke-filled chest wheezing with effort. No one said anything at first, which made me assume that I had been too late, and that Morty was already dead.

I thanked Arceus when finally Pryce spoke up and said that no one knew if he was going to make it, that he had gone into a coma late last night and that there was nothing the doctors could do in the meantime. It was then that I really broke down around all the other gym leaders who shed very few and far between tears with me. I had made myself sick with grief, hating every ounce of my human being because I knew that this was all my fault.

If I would have called Morty at some point he wouldn't have skipped out on the meeting that night, and he wouldn't have seen the tower burning and he wouldn't have gone into a coma because of me. I forced the morbid truth upon myself in that hospital bed, blaming everything on myself and hurting, throbbing with at the agony of knowing that I had lost the one person who relied on me to be his friend. He lost everything because of me.

A day went by, long and careful and completely stoic. The hospital told me to rest up while I was here, and that they wouldn't dare charge me for any extra days because of what I had done. Everyone seemed to think that I was the big hero in this situation, because it had been me to bring Morty from the tower to "safety" or more likely a comfortable death bed. I wanted to rip my hair out everyone dare try and comfort me. This was no place for that.

I wanted to dwell. I wanted to suffer.

Two more days later and the only thing that had been spoken to me was about Morty's heartbeat being bipolar, which apparently was a good thing because it meant that his brain was functioning accurately, and that when he woke up he wouldn't be damaged mentally. That is… if he woke up at all.

Clair and Lance had gone back home first, followed shortly by Chuck and Bugsy, and later Whitney announced that if she didn't get out of here soon SHE would die. I couldn't blame her… the smell of medicine was quite potent to those who didn't have it in their systems. And not to mention she had a horrible phobia of needles. I was glad to see her go, simply because she was acting the most normal of all of them.

She had cried in grief with me, she had refused to look when they put an IV in my arm, and she had even claimed having to eat when the others wanted to stay by my side. I appreciated that Whitney was able to overlook the "hero" everyone was thinking I was. Clair also went back to normal after the first day, telling me to shut the hell up and get over it because in all honesty… if she were in my place she would be thriving in the attention. She didn't like that I was so unhappy with it, and I was alright with that. I would rather have her mad at me than coddling me like Jasmine.

Bugsy and Chuck were a bit out of place the whole time, but they were the ones giving me the doctors word on Morty so I figured it wasn't worth it to be mad at them for trying to comfort me. At least with them I knew that Morty was still alive…

Jasmine stayed with me until her eyes were dull and lifeless with exhaustion, and the doctor—agreeing with me—ordered her home. It was peace and quiet for a short while, almost a whole day, until she was back again claiming she couldn't sleep. This time I snapped at her and said quote: If you don't fucking leave me alone Jasmine-!

Those were the only words I got out before she turned tail and fled, sobbing and making me regret it instantly. I was completely selfish in the sense of not wanting help, but that itself couldn't be helped. I didn't want her there… I didn't want anyone there.

So long hours alone went by again, failing me, shutting me down with nightmares and sever grief "attacks" as a foreign therapist with spiky honey colored hair and forest green eyes had said one morning after observing me. I was so secluded into myself that nothing felt right anymore. I hadn't the time of day to give anymore.

That is… until Pryce came to me personally one afternoon, speaking in a voice so determined I couldn't choose not to listen.

"You listen to me boy." Pryce hobbled over in his old age, tapping the room door shut with his cane and sitting at my bedside. I was propped up on my own, hunching over and fighting the intensity of hunger once again. I couldn't manage to eat anything without vomiting.

I looked up at Pryce, the one gym leader who I hadn't considered being here. Part of me wanted to tell him to go away as well, but the other part was relieved to have someone of his age and wisdom to talk to. Plus he was not sympathetic towards me, he seemed rather pissed off actually.

"You know what trouble I went through to get this?" He scooted forward slowly, stretching his hand forward and setting a pokeball in my lap.

I stared in confusion for a long second, picking up the ball and turning it around in my hands. It was white with a blue lid, so it was obviously my father's ball, but it looked unused and almost new.

"Open it son." Pryce insisted. "You need it."

I swallowed hard before clicking the ball with a flinch. It was against hospital rules to have pokemon here, however I was sure Pryce managed to finagle his way into letting him bring that to me. A blast of lovely white light erupting into the dark world that I had fallen into.

"Ma—Mama Bird?" My eyes filled with tears as the old Pidgeot perched herself before me, eyes tender and soft and so loving that it took my breath away. I wasn't sure how Pryce managed to pinpoint something so critical like this for me, but if all else was failing I figured he just had a way…

The brilliant old bird slunk towards me on the bed, fluffing up her wings and stretching her neck out to rub against me. Her thin feathers felt like the tips of thousands of tiny paintbrushes whisking at my skin, and through the pain and regret of everything that happened in the last two days I couldn't bring myself to be angry in the slightest.

"Tha—thank y—you." I sobbed to Price while clinging to the only mother I had ever known. My father's beloved Pidgeot meant more at this moment than anyone else did. I hadn't even realized it, but seeing my birds again was exactly the kind of medication I needed. Heaviness lifted from my heart as if we had taken flight, and though the grief still sat there in my throat I felt relieved.

"Well son. Let me tell you something." Pryce cleared his throat gruffly. "Has anyone here asked you what your father would say in an instance like this?"

Those words pierced me hard as I shook my head, trying but failing to look the old gym leader in the eyes. I had been trying my hardest to keep my father out of this whole thing. I didn't want to think about how he would tell me to get over it and move on. I didn't want to think about how he would scold me for not leaving the hospital and going home to make sure the birds were ok and cared for. He would have been heartless to the fact that I felt as though I had lost someone close to me.

"Well…" Pryce muttered. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but I'm going to say it anyways… Falkner your father and I were very close in our youth, and he bestowed it in me to look after you after he passed away. Now I knew that I couldn't just take over your life like that, so I stayed back, watching and hoping you wouldn't get yourself into trouble. You are a good kid Falkner; your father knew that better than anyone else, why? Because he made you that way."

I bit my lip, holding back sobs. "Bu—but Morty—

"Now here is the thing." Pryce cut me off. "Falkner you are not the same person your father was. You're heart is much, much too soft. You care, something your father found very hard to do in his lifetime, other than for birds that is. You see, son, this is your downfall, but my goodness is it a powerful one."

I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me, so I just stayed quiet, ripping the ends of my fingernails off nervously, tears slipping past my chin as Mama Bird gently sorted through the mess of my hair.

"Falkner…" Pryce said very quietly to me. "I know you care about Morty. And I know that the only reason you are still here in this hospital is because you won't leave until he's either dead or wakes up."

How? I found myself wondering how Pryce could read me so easily. How did he know my subconscious reasons?

"I think you need to go see Morty for yourself." Pryce suggested. "Try talking to him… you know they can still hear you in a coma."

"I—I don't know wha—what to say to him…" I shook my head. Was I supposed to apologize for never calling him? For rejecting him in the first place? My heart was is a horrible knot.

"You see now… that's another thing you are better at than your father was." The old trainer chuckled darkly. "You know how to use your words. That's also something… very powerful."

I could only bite my lip and shake. There was no answer to the things Pryce said to me. It seemed far too impersonal from my side, and yet he was so very personal to my father. He seemed to know more about the both of us than I did. I cursed at myself as he went to stand, sliding his thick old hand onto my shoulder and gripping tightly as if to reassure me. His touch was both comforting and demanding.

"Tha—thank you." I choked out as he caned his was over to the door.

Pryce cackled darkly. "You really are nothing like your father."

But I didn't understand… I had always been the spitting image of the man that raised me and birds. I was constantly wondering what to do and what he would have said to me had he been there. Since the day he died I was thinking that maybe I could live up to his expectations, fill his shoes and be the master bird trainer he once was.

Pryce made it sound as if I wasn't cut out to be that man… and yet he was happy about it. It was as if he wanted me to fail in a loving kind of way. I couldn't understand… I just didn't get it.

Mama Bird crooned to me—her original baby—softly while nuzzling my shoulder and soaking up my tears. I hugged and held her tightly, muttering thanks and love you's and deciding right then and there that I didn't need to know what Pryce meant, so long as I knew what I had to do now.

I had to see Morty.