This part of Slateport has never felt safe. Even during the height of Rocket's brief occupation of Hoenn's heart, the outskirts to which Gavin's financial struggles have confined him were rife with danger. He was only a grunt, here, a nobody without the protection of his squad in Kanto, so if someone in their upper brass decided that what meager possessions he owned might look better in their own pocket, there wasn't much he could do. Double-bolting the shoddy, weatherworn front door would only offer so much protection.

Now, with Rocket scattered to the far corners of the region with no leadership to guide them, he's a fugitive of the law. If someone wronged him now, broke into his apartment or jumped him in the alley between buildings, what could he do about it? He couldn't go to the cops. He was still saving up for a proper civilian alias that might allow him to roam the streets in safety.

So in spite of the knowledge that he'd anonymously provided his address upon hearing that another Rocket agent from Kanto was putting out feelers, he does not immediately open the door.

He pats his pocket, assuring the presence of his knife. He draws his pistol, holding it steady as he squints through the clouded peephole.

Zev.

Recognition is instant, but not much of a relief. He had a lot of respect for the other in Kanto, but would that mean anything now? What if this was Kanto sending their soldiers to clean up Blackwell's mess? The infamous Black Hand was a hitman.

It's a testament to his Rocket training that his hands don't shake as he disengages the bolts, the lock, and opens the door.

"Come in, quick."

He's not pointing the gun, but it remains drawn at his side. Just in case.

Zev Harcourt

"Can never be too careful," Gavin grunts.

Still, when Zev places his pistol and knife on the kitchen table, Gavin follows suit with his own gun and the knife in his pocket. He does not disarm himself of the knife in his boot; trust could only extend so far.

Jerking his head toward the balcony door, he says, "Only other viable exit is the fire escape."

He'd seen the sweep, and knew it well. He, too, performed a similar examination of each location he entered. It was important to understand one's vulnerabilities in any situation, even simply going out for dinner.

You could, as he'd said, never be too careful.

He doesn't know.

Amber eyes widen a little, and Gavin licks his lips before recovering from the surprise.

"Blackwell's dead." They're alone in his tiny apartment, yet Gavin whispers the man's name as if he might manifest from the shadows. "There's whispers Rocket turned on him, but I don't—" He shakes his head, brows knitting. "I don't know, but everyone's scattered. We had the city for a while but the League moved in once he was killed and..."

He trails off, making a vague motion with his hand.

"I've kept in touch with whoever I could. The ones who haven't gone dark." Silas Blackwell had been a psychopathic tyrant; many in Rocket were glad to be free of him and the organization both. It was Gavin's chance at freedom, but conditioning in Kanto saw his loyalties bound to the organization for good or ill. He had nowhere else to go, here. No one else to rely on. "There's whispers about reforming, but I haven't heard anything solid yet."

His eyes dart to the exits, as if assuring himself they're still there.

"Thought at first you'd been sent over from Kanto to clean up the mess."

Zev Harcourt

"They have him?" Surprise mingles with concern in his tone. "Like, in jail?"

That was not good. See, an imprisoned Rocket was almost as bad as a deserter in the eyes of some — a prisoner might talk, and someone who might've talked was no longer of use to the organization. Gavin has twice known the primal fear of imprisonment. Once in Kanto, and once here, in Hoenn, when Calem Pollet had dredged up memories from the deep. Tasting saltwater in the back of his throat, Gavin swallows, a minute shake of his head seeking to clear unwanted memories.

There's nothing I can do.

He hates feeling so powerless. Years of conditioning have doused the fires of his ambitions, but deep within him still exists that need for control.

Well. Perhaps he can do something — he can keep a secret.

"I won't tell a soul," he vows, solemn, "and I'll keep an ear out."

They were not friends, but respect had a lot of weight in Gavin's books.

Zev Harcourt

There is, perhaps, another way that might make sense of Caleb Harcourt's sudden disappearance from Rocket's radar... but Gavin won't voice it, and indeed barely entertains it with a passing thought. If treachery felt like a possibility, surely Zev would have said as much.

So, in assuming against ignorance, he maintains the idea that the League have captured one of their agents. That wasn't good. Even if they could get him back, Rocket weren't the most sympathetic to those who'd been held in custody for too long. Torture someone long enough, or make the right promises, you never knew who would crack.

"How long's he been missing?"

The question alone betrays his concerns, even if Gavin's expression is stoic.

It does falter somewhat under the intensity that Zev levels him with, surprise leaking through the mask before it settles into neutrality. There's a hint of warmth, a byproduct of Gavin's empathy, as he recognizes the trust that the other has placed in him.

People like us. Because Rocket's disbandment didn't make Gavin any less of a war criminal.

He nods, solemn so as not to seem too eager.

"That's a good idea, yes. I can give you the contacts I've managed to keep, too."

In time, though he doesn't know it, those contacts will be the ones to bring him into the fold of cadis von klaussner.

Zev Harcourt

Three weeks.

It was a long time to be imprisoned. Would the League resort to torture, as Rocket did? Yes, if rumors among his criminal colleagues were to be believed, but Gavin's never been in League custody long enough to find out. Still. Caleb was with Rocket's secret police. Surely if anyone was trained to withstand interrogation tactics, it would be him. Maybe there was hope yet. For Zev's sake, Gavin wills it to be true; he hasn't spoken to his sister since they'd clashed in Kanto and he'd driven her off, but he'd be devastated to learn something had happened to her all the same.

Gavin nods as Zev mentions getting an apartment.

"Avoid this area, if you can." His lip quirks with a humorless smile. "It's a shithole."

So when Zev departs, Gavin gets up to double-bolt the door and engage the lock, his only line of defense against potential intruders.

Zev Harcourt