There are few people who've earned his ire enough to deserve killing twice, but in their number he finds understanding for Elisabeth Fiorelli's dark mutterings. He squeezes her shoulder, brief but tight.

"You were thorough enough the first time, I think."

His own joke, too, comes much too heavy.

I'd kill him, too, if I could.

"No, you're right." He had seen it countless times, the way they crumbled beneath the pressure. "I am far too stubborn to give up so easily. We're similar like that, I think."

He is slow and careful in his movement, giving her ample time to pull away should she wish to reject the gesture. It wouldn't cause offense; as a man who'd punched many a friend for getting too close, too soon, he was more than understanding of flightiness.

It does please him, however, when she doesn't jerk away from him. To have earned that trust.

"Elisa," he says, amused but patient as he meets her pleading gaze with his own, "I have no idea what you're thinking. Perhaps you could narrow it down, hm?" He nudges the plate toward her, silently encouraging her not to forget about her food. "Was it about Rocket?"

Gavin doesn't miss the way her gaze falls upon his scars. He never does. It had bothered Cillian Quinn, to the point where he'd covered scars on his arm with geometric patterns, but it did not bother the man who'd survived Kanto.

The war.

"Are you curious about it?"

As he'd done for Martín del Mar, Gavin lays his hand on the bar, that she might be able to get a better look at the ugly scars bisecting his palm. There is evidence of multiple surgeries, new scars mingling with the old.

But it's not the scar he's asking about.

"The war," he clarifies. "Kanto."

It feels different, now, than it had with Mars.

Gavin is not drunk. He is not even what could be considered tipsy. He is sober, and he is acutely aware of how vulnerable he feels in spite of it, perhaps because of it, as war creeps back into the shadows of his eyes.

She is vulnerable, too, childlike in curiosity.

He takes a sip of his Scotch.

"You can ask," he permits, after a hesitant pause. His thumb runs over the ridges of old scars. "I will answer what I can."

"It was."

Without enough alcohol to loose his tongue, the admission is clipped from discomfort. Though the Ultra Beast War was more recent history, it is Kanto's war that burns a path through his memories.

The smile he offers is humourless, tight.

"Had I ran, they'd have killed me." That was the punishment for desertion, even today. "Death seemed far more frightening than anything they could put me through."

Gavin shakes his head, though not in disagreement. A scarred finger traces the rim of his glass, the colour of his eyes drowned by the amber liquid within it.

"It's not something I know how to describe," he admits, shrugging. "Trapped, though. That's... yes."

He is shackled even now by the bonds of loyalty and obedience, but his chains are longer than they'd been in Kanto. The collar not so tight about his neck. An illusion of freedom, if he closes his eyes.

"War isn't glorious." He drinks, now, ice clinking against the glass. "But it is necessary for what comes after."

Peace.