[attr="class","beck"]he braces himself for the impact, for the pain that's to come, and yet it does little to stop the excruciating agony of being bit by a luxray. his lips part in agony but nothing escapes.

survive, he tells himself. he repeats it with every jolt of electricity, every drop of blood spilled, because he knows this will pass. it always has.

he drops to the ground, writhing in pain.

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

[attr="class","blackwell"]whistle.

luxray releases its grip, fangs releasing a slumped-over body. it lingers on for a few moments, towering over its prey, before circling back to its master.

"he says i can't kill you yet, beckett. you're too valuable, he says."

it's not luxray that steps forward this time. silas advances, stalking, before reaching down to pick beckett up by his jaw.

"don't fail again. you too, merlino. am i clear?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Blood and burning flesh is not a smell you forget.

It's hard to ignore, even when Gavin is trying his hardest to retreat into the furthest edges of his mind; it winds through his nostrils and turns in his stomach. His stare is focused on a point of the floor but what he sees in the eye of his mind is something else entirely.

'He says I can't kill you, Beckett.'
Scream and I'll kill you.

'Don't fail again.'
You know what happens if you fail.

It resonates down the chain of command. Vaguely, he wonders if Silas will be punished for this, too. Should he feel empathy? Nothing. Hollow.

Safe, secure, in the lockbox of his mind.

Merlino. He's speaking to me.

Like a dog trained to bark on command. "Yes, sir."

[attr="class","blackwell"]the smell of charred flesh fills the room, overpowering all else. but it's a scent he's used to — in fact, it's a scent he craves. he doesn't bother sparing a look at the fallen admin.

"good boy. now get him out of my office."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

'Good boy.' Like a dog, trained.

Somewhere beyond the layers Rocket has forced him to adopt, Gavin feels a flash of resentment for the degrading remark. But it exists so far below the vault of the psyche that it's barely acknowledged as a passing thought.

Command registers clear, and he moves to follow.

Theo is dead weight, limp and fading in his grasp, but Gavin does not complain. His muscles protest where he will not, straining as he bears the burden. With some difficulty, they manage to stagger from the office and into the hall.

When the door closes, it's as if air rushes back to Gavin's lungs.

You know what happens when you fail.

His time will come, but there is nothing in his thoughts except the task at hand. At the end of the hall a staircase looms.

"You'll be fine." It feels like the right thing to say, but he's not sure why. "We'll need to climb the stairs, sir. Do you need a minute?"

[attr="class","beck"]vision blurs, almost fades, and by the time he regains some form of consciousness he's somehow in the hall. his eyes dart to the closed door, and though it brings some form of relief, it's not nearly enough to quell the fear that lingers.

"don't touch me—"

it's weak but the backhand still connects against the side of merlino's face. he gasps then, struggling to find ground as he reaches a hand into his blazer. a familiar bayleef appears, its curved green leaf brushing against his injured shoulder.

it takes a few moments for the HEAL PULSE to take effect. ruptured and burned flesh start to heal in the most crude of ways. it's not clean, but it's enough for now. after another breath, he reaches for the handrail, struggling.

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Theo comes back to himself, centers Gavin with a weakened slap that he does not flinch away from. He lets go, retracts his support of the other's weight and steps back to press his spine against the sturdy comfort of the wall.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Bayleef is a healer; sweeter than Theo's other Pokémon whom Gavin's had the misfortune of meeting, yet the sight of it fills him with a crawling discomfort. Like Absol, it heralds a certain kind of disaster.

You know what happens.

He doesn't move until the admin begins his slow, arduous journey up the stairs. Gavin follows, not offering to help. He knows better.

[attr="class","beck"]his memory is fickle. he doesn't remember climbing stairs, nor does he remember falling down with almost every step, and yet, here he is, back in the relative comfort of his office. it's a wonder what HEAL PULSE can do to prolong death. it'll come back to bite him eventually, but he leaves that issue for the future.

the AROMATHERAPY is calming, as it always is. it stabilizes his heartbeat, pulls him out of the depths, and gives him stability. he breathes, focusing on anything but the numbing pain. he chooses the grunt, then weakly gestures at his own throat.

"water."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Gavin doesn't sit down, because he isn't told to.

He lingers uncomfortably in the office like a decoration out of place, trying to ignore a scent that should be pleasing. Where for Theo it calms, for Gavin it serves as reminder.

His thoughts drift.

He stirs, though, at the sound of Theo's voice.

His head dips, and he does as he's asked. His hands only shake a little bit as they relinquish their offering.

[attr="class","beck"]the offering is taken with weak hands. his grip tightens as he twists the cap off, allows it to roll onto the floor, long discarded underneath some piece of furniture. he lifts it to his lips, drinks, and sighs after.

"this is why we can't fail, merlino."

his eyes are lazy, almost glossed over as he opens them. he peers up at the grunt, gestures to the chair, then takes another long sip. he tips the bottle to the side, pouring water onto the floor for the bayleef.

"sit."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

There's something raw to Theo's sloppiness in the aftermath of punishment; it's humanizing in a way that Gavin wishes it weren't. It's easier to look at Theo as nothing more than a vehicle for his own pain and suffering. It's easier when he doesn't look at him and see the glossed-over eyes of someone who'd endured the same.

He sits down when instructed, hands fluttering as if he can't decide where they should go. Eventually, he folds them in his lap, a thin scar on his index finger catching the light. His nails remain neat but there's a hardness to his hands that hadn't been there, before.

"I understand." And for what it was worth, "I'm sorry."

[attr="class","beck"]bayleef lowers its head to the ground, drinking whatever it can off the ground, and when it eventually peers up again, a smile graces its features. another HEAL PULSE forms but it does nothing at this point. there's only so much it can do. theo finds a pokeball, taps it against the grass-type, and returns it.

"don't be,"

because not everyone deserves pity. he exhales as he leans back in his seat, careful not to reopen any sloppily-tended wounds. he raises the bottle and tips it over his shoulder, tensing as water pours. when the bottle's empty, he drops it. he'll tend to it in a bit, he decides.

for now, he shifts his gaze onto merlino — it lacks the usual vigor and venom and detachment. he isn't sure why, and that scares him.

"you can leave now."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

'Don't be,' but it can't be helped.

He will never have the bleeding heart of a less selfish man, but he is not without empathy. He buries it deep beneath his layers when he can, but it rises up to ensnare him at the most inconvenient of times.

His head tilts as his mind processes a more complex string of words, stumbling over tone and implication. His heart flutters as the nervous energy he's built up over minutes finds itself with no release. He could leave?

You know what happens when you fail.

Perspective shifts. It would not always happen to him. Somehow, that's worse.

There's acknowledgement in the dip of his head, but he doesn't leave. He doesn't speak, but he sits with Theo as his breathing levels out and the shaking slowly, surely, stops.