"She's not like us."

At last, something cracks. His voice trembles with the weight of emotion held back, but his eyes are dry. He does not look at Theo, studying the scotch in his glass as if he might lose himself within its depths.

"Rocket never broke her. Not like it did us."

Not like Theo had broken him.

He's not talking about Plank.

[attr="class","beck"]the urge to comfort rises but it's then that he remembers he doesn't really know how to. he notices the tremble but does nothing to acknowledge it. so he looks away and distracts himself with his drink.

"i take it she wasn't happy with what happened to vela."

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

"Mm."

It's all he can manage, at first. In the absence of the anger that had shielded him from other emotions, grief winds itself tight and squeezes the air from his lungs.

He hadn't been in a good place for confrontation. He'd been conflicted, raw.

"I left. I shouldn't have, but—"

He shakes his head, sips the scotch as an excuse to end the train of thought.

[attr="class","beck"]the scotch merely delays the train of thought. he forces it back with a question.

"but what?"

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

There's a long silence before he answers.

"Your name came up."

It's uncomfortable, and he won't look at Beckett.

Unlike with Walsh, or Lugia, or his father — of all things, Theo had been the tipping point. Years of complexity buried deep beneath layers and layers of conditioning and false loyalty and real loyalty, in the end, real enough to be the catalyst for his anger.

"We were engaged, you know."

His thumb traces circles in the moisture of the glass. Were.

[attr="class","beck"]were engaged. were.

"ah."

he doesn't feel anything. he feigns something akin to sympathy but it doesn't really translate. it never has.

"never thought wolfe would want to get married. nor you."

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

"Neither did I."

He closes his eyes against an unwelcome tide of emotions. Bitterness, grief, love, regret so strong that it almost consumes him. He loves her, still.

"Rocket's changed. Thought I could, too."

But in the end, Rocket hadn't changed as much as they'd hoped, and neither had Gavin.

[attr="class","beck"]"you have changed."

in more ways than one. he tilts his head, eyes glancing over.

"but you don't need me to spell it out for you."

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

Gavin shifts his gaze, eyeing Theo carefully.

"For better or worse?"

[attr="class","beck"]he meets his gaze, then raises a glass between them.

"for better."

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

He does not know the word for the feeling that settles somewhere atop the hollow grief in the pit of his chest. It's somewhere between affection and relief.

Gavin's lip quirks as he lifts his glass, toasts.

He takes a long drink but doesn't drain it. It clunks as he sets it down.

"I'm glad you think so."

[attr="class","beck"]"i'm not the only one who does."

he sets his now-empty glass back down, slides it away. he doesn't beckon for another just yet.

"choi, for example. i hear he's quite fond of you."

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

Gavin's expression settles on a fond sadness at mention of Chu-e Choi.

"It's mutual. I helped him get back in." It had been Chu-e's choice to return, but it remained a touching detail that it had been Gavin he'd reached out to. They'd barely known each other, then. "Don't think he'd have come back if it were like Kanto, here. Not after what Silas put him through."

It's strange, to call Blackwell by his first name, but after a pause Gavin lets it stand. There's power in stripping away the formality hard-coded into his brain.