Gavin enters the room with a characteristically guarded air, dark shadows under his eyelids betraying a lack of sleep. Even still, sharp eyes note the absence of Walsh, then settle on Dominic's silhouette leaning against the boss' chair.

Gavin does not sit. He stands to the left of his counterpart and gestures to the arrangement of files, frowning.

"What's all this, then?"

Absently, Gavin wishes he'd had a smoke before entering the room. It took a measure of patience to deal with Dominic, and his own was wearing thin. He could only hope Marcel would make up the difference.

marcel maeda dominic sinclair

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dominic inclines his head sideways for a moment to send his underboss counterpart a side-long glance - both quizzical and mildly amused - and then steps around declan’s chair to take a seat for himself.

pulling the stack of papers toward him, dominic’s gaze rests steadily on his colleagues, the ghost of a half-actualised smirk flitting across his features briefly. "no need to get so testy yet, gav," he drawls, blasé. "i want to talk about mauville."

marcel maeda Cillian Quinn

Even as Marcel wordlessly takes a seat and Dominic levels him with a questioning look, Gavin doesn't falter. It's not until the situation is explained — Mauville, of course it was about Mauville — that he curls his foot around a leg of the nearest chair and draws it toward himself. Sitting down was dangerous in his exhausted state, thanks to the overwhelming urge to lay his head down and pass out like he was still in high-school.

He doesn't. He props an elbow on the table, instead, leaning his weight against his hand.

"Could've said as much." Maybe he had. It had been Gavin's assistant who passed the message onto him, rousing him at his desk. "Gave my reports to Marcel. They in there?"

He thumbs toward the stack of papers.

marcel maeda dominic sinclair

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"yeah, yeah, yeah," dominic says in quick, uninterested dismissal. he read both their accounts, he read those of practically everyone from the newest and most inexperienced grunt all the way up the ladder; there is, it turns out, little to do on the submarine during the nocturnal hours for those that don’t crave sleep.

when taken in summation, the picture illustrated is the same as what he remembers in photographic clarity. dominic understands the whats and hows and whens, but motivation is what eludes him. he fixes an unblinking, steady stare on gavin.

"why the fuck did you go into a wormhole? what were you thinking, exactly?"

marcel maeda Cillian Quinn

To his credit, Gavin does not sigh or roll his eyes. Instead, he fixes his tired stare on Dominic and blinks, slowly.

"We make reports for a reason, you know." How many times, now, had Gavin justified himself to others? Too many, he thinks, and the weight of exhaustion is suffocating. "But, fine, I'll repeat myself: there wasn't time to think. Katherine jumped into a wormhole and someone followed her, so I followed them to make sure she got out safe."

He does not look at Marcel, but his stomach squirms as he remembers their argument. He could only hope they wouldn't gang up on him.

marcel maeda dominic sinclair

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"i can read," dominic says coolly, arching an eyebrow as he taps fingertips across the pages. there’s no mockery in his voice when he speaks, only something sharp and cold. "it doesn’t say why you abandoned your primary task - and the rest of us - for the sake of one individual. there wasn’t time to think isn’t good enough."

dominic tilts his chin up, his narrow-eyed gaze turning scrutinising as he takes in the hints of gavin’s exhaustion; he takes it as weakness. in truth, this is almost boring. dominic finds his gaze sliding over to marcel. "you need to pick better friends. maybe ones that won’t leave you behind in burning car wrecks or under assault from artificial pokemon."

marcel maeda Cillian Quinn