Gavin has cleared his schedule for the next couple of hours, sits behind a polished wooden desk with eyes closed. Music plays softly from buds in his ears, and Rocket's underboss is strangely serene.

It falters only when he gets an alert from his assistant, Ellis, that his guest had arrived. Send him in, is Gavin's instruction. He pockets the buds.

The heavy door moves with difficulty, swings shut of its own accord when released. It clicks loudly into place, the pink shimmer of a fairy lock outlining its edges. Yet in spite of the intimidating atmosphere, Gavin regards Killian Decker without threat.

"Decker," he greets. Remembers. "Killian. I heard your excursion to Fortree was successful."

By heard, he of course means he'd read the report. In full.

There is, in fact, a single chair available.

Outside the portal window to the ocean, a shadow passes. Gavin inclines his head in acknowledgement; yes, was aware.

"The fire." His lip curls. "Not your doing. Whose?"

It hadn't said in the report. Gavin assumes Killian Decker does not know, for the report was thorough, but perhaps he's learned more in the time between now and then.

Gavin gestures to the chair, a silent offer.

Gavin does not shift to look at the window behind him; he feels the shadow pass, rather than sees it, the knowledge of Lugia's presence an ever-present comfort. It reveled in its newfound freedom just as he did.

One of ours. He'd expected as much, but the knowledge irks.

He blinks, slow, when Killian Decker questions him. Right, there had been another motive for the summons. He'd lost himself momentarily in thought of the excursion.

"Oh, you'd know if you'd upset me. You're a smart one." He says it casually, as if he weren't discussing the hypotheticals of Killian's murder. Old Rocket settles in the cadence of his voice, the sharpness of gaze. "No, I wanted to congratulate you."

He breathes deep, leans back in his chair. Light catches a scar on his index finger as he laces his hands.

"You've been promoted, if you're up for it. Intel needs an Admin."

Killian sits, and a flash of red from the window greets him.

"Would you not say you've earned it?" Gavin has the files, the reports. He pulls them from a desk drawer and sets them on its polished surface. "In spite of your incarceration, your track record is otherwise good."

He was not Marcel. There remains a hollow in Gavin's chest where thought of the man sits. No one could replace Marcel, not for Gavin, but Killian could do the work.

"That's why you're here," Gavin agrees.

There's no use for modesty in Rocket. Gavin reads him as confident, rather than arrogant, and thus appreciates the shift in tone.

He doesn't however, seem to appreciate the excuse. His lips purse. "Afraid that doesn't matter, in the grand scheme. A record is a record." But they were willing to overlook certain things if the rest of that record was clean, and so they had. "But Rocket looks out for their own."

Gavin's legs ache from sitting too long; he rises to his full height and rolls back his shoulders to work the stiffness from his spine. A glance is spared toward the window, red eyes meeting amber before Lugia's dark wing brushes glass and it swims away.

"If you accept, we can see about getting it scrubbed."

Gavin turns away from the window, a sharp gaze falling on Killian Decker.

"No," is blunt; there were secrets Gavin would keep from everyone but Chu-e Choi and Walsh. Avatars, not unlike shadow Pokémon, were unique. To have all of the information that Rocket had on Avatars, one would have to intimately understand its own. Understand him. "Why do you need that information?"

He sits back down, hand twitching toward a desk drawer before it retracts.

Though the intent behind his stare had not been murderous, Gavin offers no apology in catching the muttered comment.

Power, Killian tells him, and Gavin hums low in his throat.

"I can, yes."

Miasma spreads from the tips of his fingers, curls slow around the digits as if exploring the planes of his flesh. Though he is months into his newfound power, the thrill in the pit of his stomach upon feeling it surge through him has not abated.

"You are not the only one who will protect her." Killian Decker had not said Alexandra Briarwood's name, but he didn't have to. "Rocket looks out for its own. More than that, Ms. Briarwood is fairly capable of looking out for herself." The recent excursion had been an unfortunate exception, but capture on the field of battle was an inevitable risk. Once, Rocket would have seen its agents die rather than submit themselves to the League's prisons, but that mindset had shifted. "That's not to say I don't understand."

He would risk his life for Emma Wolfe just as readily.

"This power," and he closes his fist, miasma swirling around it, "is not so easily acquired. But Choi and I have been exploring a certain... initiative." Something like hunger burns in amber depths. "How much of a risk are you willing to take?"