Work Text:
"Dear Father,"
Falkner's brush froze over the mostly blank page.
There was so much he wanted to say to him, to hope this would convey to him.
But why couldn't he move his hand?
Falkner's hand started to tremble as he let his mind wander, hopes of finding some inspiration.
It had been three years since he had taken the role since his father left.
All those years.
All these years he had been holding the fort on his own, taking leadership over the Violet City Pokémon Gym.
He was more than willing to do as his father told him to, was confident he could do it, and would rather die than let his father down.
Was he watching?
Would he fly past Violet City and see how he was doing?
Would he be able to see how far he had come?
But some more thoughts clouded Falkner's mind.
Would he also see some pitfalls he had let the Gym fall into?
Would he be able to see the slump his Gym had gone through due to lack of challengers, and the funds barely enough to maintain the upkeep of the Gym and the bird Pokémon he cared for?
Did he want to tell his father about that?
Or did he already know?
Would this be a reason he did not want to return, if at all?
Falkner gripped his brush tighter, still determined to write, yet nothing was coming to mind. As he pressed the tip, he realised the brush did not have any ink, and the ink well was empty.
Groaning, he went to his drawer and picked up a new block and started rubbing the block against the grooved part of the well, to produce more ink.
At least the act of doing so kept his mind focused, and a small smile crossed his face.
There was something about writing letters by ink that made him feel nostalgic. He was determined to keep this practice alive. Despite the modernity seeping into the world, Violet City was where he still felt like the old customs and traditions of Johto were kept alive.
There was also Ecruteak City, which Falkner was grateful that his fellow Gym Leader Morty was more than happy to make sure the history is never lost.
Perhaps it was the feeling of nostalgia and being surrounded by the old and familiar was what drover Falkner's father away?
What if traveling would change his perception of him? Of the world?
Sometimes it was a good thing to broaden his horizons. Falkner was more than happy to do so, given the chance.
Yet, what did Falkner expect?
Would his father still think of him the same way?
Was he going to be able to accept the changes that his father might become?
Or was a part of him still holding onto the image of his father before he left?
Falkner shook his head. He was a grown man now. He would be treated differently. He might be able to be given the same treatment as he would an adult.
He felt himself seethe with jealousy when he saw how his fellow Gym Leader Janine interact with her father Koga. At the very least, he hated to admit that she was blessed for the fact she could see him often.
The whole of Violet City knew of his father, so there was some credibility that he existed.
Yet when presented with the question "Where is your father?", Falkner felt like a caged Pidgey.
He wasn't sure what to respond. He only could tell them he was away.
But the question was where.
They are asking for a location.
Falkner did not know.
Birds fly wherever they pleased. There was no telling where he would perch in between flights.
The vague answers he could give was hopefully enough to keep the nosy askers at bay, while also enough to shield himself from humiliation and grief.
Why did it feel like he was grieving?
He was sure his father was out there somewhere.
But where?
The letters he had sent had never been returned, so had the birds he had sent to find him.
Falkner did not expect them to want to return, but he also was hoping to be able to get a response.
He did have a PokéGear he could use, but he had never been able to get his father's number.
He asked everyone in Violet City, even around Johto and Kanto. None of them knew.
Why did his father want that much of a life of secrecy?
What did he want to do with the cloak of anonymity?
Was he really trying to escape him after all?
Falkner started to think that his existence may have been a mistake.
Was what he had with his late mother...nothing? Just a one off thing? A mistake?
In a city where everything was tradition bound, some resentment was bound to come around for acts like this.
Falkner shook his head as his hand started to ache from vigorously rubbing the ink block.
No...if he had treated Falkner like an afterthought, he would not take the trouble to raise him.
Falkner was very sure that his father had his way of raising him, and wondered if this whole departure was a rite of passage.
Of growing up. Of taking over his father's legacy.
Things he were proud of.
Yet the part of him that missed him cried loudly into the walls of his mind, seeping out through the tears he could feel in his eyes.
Father... Please...
As the thoughts consumed him, Falkner had accidentally knocked over the board of ink he had newly prepared. Its contents spilling all over the table, smearing the pristine white sheet.
Falkner could only blankly watch the ink make its way across the four corners of the sheet, covering the salutation he had only managed to write onto the page.
Perhaps he had too much to ask of him, but could never put them into words.
A fully inked page with nothing written on it was as good as an empty one.