Faol narrative Who: Faol (with mentions of Bo) What: Moving out, and making use of his Valentine's Day Wish Where: Hotel in NYC When: Currentish Warnings/Rating: Nah.
The frame was more than he had asked for, but he knew what it was before he touched it and even if he hadn't, the picture of Bo inside was a pretty clear indicator. He let it remain on the table by his bed instead.
It could show him anything. If it showed only darkness, then he was assured that Bo was gone. What it would not show were those things he'd deliberately outlined. Strange things, perhaps, and hadn't his Valentine questioned them? Not in the shower. Not whacking off. Not sleeping. Not having sex. It was invasive enough to have this five minute show without adding the creep factor of those things to it. And sleeping? It wouldn't tell him how Bo's life was now.
Though it was certainly better than his own. Charles was gone again, only this time he hadn't returned and Faol couldn't remain. It was one thing while the man was here to run the school, but as one of the few adults left, more eyes were turning towards him. He was no teacher, no trainer, and his desire to remain in a school full of teenage hormones was getting lower and lower on the list of things he wanted to do.
Leaving was easier. His goodbyes said, his things packed - including the frame - and off he went to NYC. His desire to return to SHIELD was as great as his desire to remain at the school - that was to say, non fucking existent. He didn't pick up the phone he had while he was theirs, and didn't go in search of his old ID. No, instead he checked into a little hotel, cheap, but not so cheap that he had cockroaches as roommates.
And there, far from Mutant High, he finally picked up the frame.
It was daytime back in Vegas. The sky that bright shade of yellow that came when it was earlier in the morning rather than the dim gold of later and Bo was leaving his car to walk up to a Game Stop. Fitting. His mouth lifted as he watched his former pseudo-captor unlock the door - did he own it? manage it? - and enter the building. Inside he opened up the grated security door, flicked on the lights to bathe the store with artificial light. He looked - healthy. A little weight loss, a little more gray at the temples, a little drag in his walk from that hip that had been injured, but he looked good.
And as he walked into the Employees Area door, the image began to flicker and fade until Faol was left only with the frame balanced thick pads of his palms.
He was doing okay.
He was alive.
Faol smiled, rubbed his thumbs over the ornate design on the frame and tucked it away in the small drawer of the bedside table. Maybe he'd put a picture in it later. Maybe he'd get a fucking dog and put its picture in there. That'd be fitting too.