An awkward flight transitions into an uncomfortable drive, and Gavin wonders if the grunt driving them can feel the tension crackling between their superiors. Wordlessly, Gavin had chosen to occupy the front seat as if to further separate himself from Marcel.

The safehouse is dark, and Gavin flicks on the lights. A small, utilitarian space is revealed and Gavin drops his suitcase at the end of one of the beds. The air in the room is thick with vitriol.

"You're a real fucking asshole, Marcel."

The words come unbidden, for he hadn't thought to speak them until they were past his lips. Eyes of cold amber settle on the Rocket admin.

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Gavin wants to punch him. Had there not been several feet of separation between them, he very well might have.

"Yeah." Marcel is right — Gavin has more to say, but, having not expected to say it now, it takes him several long seconds to collect his scattered thoughts. They'd built up over days of silence and uncomfortably professional interactions with his 'friend', to the point that Marcel's name in his inbox made his skin crawl.

"I'm not your fucking soundboard, Marcel. You'd have never been that bold with Dominic, or Walsh — but you're a right prick to me because you know you can get away with it."

His accent bleeds through his anger, fire blazing in his eyes as he stares Marcel down.

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"And I didn't?"

Failing to understand the real reason behind Marcel's anger, Gavin attributes the admin's attitude to venting. He knew all too well the dangers of speaking too openly in the submarine but his friendship with Marcel predated and transcended their ranks.

He crosses the room in swift strides, but does not resort to violence. Instead, he closes the laptop — forcefully enough to make a point, yet clearly holding back. No amount of anger was worth property damage.

"Who do you think I am?" Unlike with Wendy and Katherine where the words had been a threat, they now carry a different meaning. Fear, blind compliance — those were the last things he wanted from Marcel. "I want to know when my friend turned into an insensitive prick."

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"Oh, don't give me that shit," Gavin snaps back with vitriol. They're in too deep, now, and Gavin's tone shifts to one of mocking imitation. "'You know what I do when a ship sinks.' You think I'd let you get away with that if you weren't my friend first?"

Marcel knew, more than anyone else, how much Gavin hated the need to inspire fear in others — he also knew how necessary it was, to keep their flighty grunts in line.

"You didn't just speak up, mind." His tone turns cold and stiff. "You blamed me for Katherine's mistakes. 'Dominic did his job'; well why was it my job to predict her fuck-up, and not his? Yours?"

His phone is a weight in his pocket, a reminder of the recording he hadn't yet sent Marcel. "None of us knew she was crazy."

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