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Though the great silvered bird upon which Gavin rode utters no sound, the shadow from its wide metal wings falls across the mouth of the alley and chases away what little light filters in from a distant street lamp.[break][break]

Corviknight lands heavily with its talons scraping concrete, blocking escape.[break][break]

Gavin recognizes the pair of grunts harassing their victim. New blood, inexperienced and eager to prove themselves. Unfortunately for the duo, he also recognizes the woman they've chosen for a target.[break][break]

"Enough." His quiet voice carries easily in the confined space. When they fumble over attempted explanations and excuses, he lifts a hand. "Shut up and fuck off. That blade won't save you against Corviknight."[break][break]

As the implication dawns on them, Gavin signals his Corviknight to step aside and form the smallest of gaps through which the grunts could slip through. The large bird steps back as soon as they've gone, standing silent sentry and leaving Gavin alone with their would-be victim.[break][break]

"My apologies for their stupidity, Wolfe."[break][break]

She's bleeding, wounded; they must have been lucky to catch her off-guard.[break][break]

He steps closer, shrugging off his jacket. It's expensive, tailored, but he doesn't hesitate before offering it to her.[break][break]

"To staunch the bleeding. We ought to go somewhere less conspicuous and get you patched up."

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The lights go out for a moment and she glances up briefly, watching as something dark and intimidating scrapes the concrete. It's like nails on chalkboard and it annoys her but disorients her assailants. [break][break]

They choke on their words when Gavin arrives and, while he offers her assistance she feels more humiliated and cornered than she had been before. As soon as they dip and run, eager to avoid being mauled to death by the bird.[break][break]

Emma's shoulder is dark with blood and it drips down her fingers, but she still doesn't make a sound. Gavin remains and his Pokemon blocks her escape. Her first instinct is to get to the rooftop, to climb the ladder to her immediate right and avoid the following conversation.[break][break]

But maybe she's lost too much blood, or she's too disoriented, or the pain in her shoulder is too intense for her to climb.[break][break]

Gavin steps closer, shrugging off his coat and she stands stiffly, defiantly, staring him down.[break][break]

"Do not touch me."[break][break]

Her voice is a growl, akin to an animal backed into a corner.

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Like the wolf for which she'd been named, Emma snarls at his approach. Gavin doesn't falter, his eyebrows lifting at her demand.[break][break]

"I wasn't planning on it."[break][break]

He knows what it's like to feel cornered. Glancing back over his shoulder at the bird, a subtle hand-gesture sends it up to the rooftops so that its bulky frame was no longer enclosing the space. Gavin steps to the side, giving her space while still remaining within reach.[break][break]

"You won't get far on your own like that."[break][break]

He nods to her injuries, dark blood soaking cloth. She's a strong woman, resourceful, but he hazards a guess that she's a ways from any safe place. She'd have to be, for those buffoons to corner her like this.[break][break]

"Let me help," he insists, but does not force himself into her space. "If you try and do it yourself you'll only aggravate the wound."

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The woman's eyes narrow as she watches him. He stops just short of her, arm still extended with the expensive jacket dangling from his fingertips. But she still does not reach for it. She doesn't need his help.[break][break]

When the bird leaves she feels the tightness in her chest relieve itself a bit. She no longer feels as breathless and cornered. But the feeling does remain with Gavin in her direct path, and she feels herself swallow what feels like an impossibly hard lump in her throat. [break][break]

Blood continues to drip down her fingers despite the pressure she's putting on the cut with her other hand. It leaves a damp pool at her side. [break][break]

Her own pride had always been her weakness.[break][break]

"You'd be surprised."[break][break]

But her voice barely reaches a whisper as she struggles to concentrate. It feels like every move of her mouth caused a twinge in her shoulder. Her fingers press harder against her skin, nails digging to find purchase.[break][break]

She grows dizzy from standing there in her defensive position, so she relents with a gasp.[break][break]

"Fine."[break][break]

Emma takes a small step forward, knees trembling, but doesn't dare remove her hand from the open wound in her shoulder.

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She relents. A small victory, and one that Gavin will not take for granted.[break][break]

He reacts immediately, closing the gap between them as she manages a shaky step forward. Regardless of her stubborn remark, he remains certain that she would not make it far on her own.[break][break]

His focus begins on her shoulder; it's in the least difficult position to bandage. The muscles of his forearms pull taught as he tears the arm from his jacket, quickly binding the wound. He works with a speed and deftness that suggests perhaps he's done this before.[break][break]

The chest wound is more awkward to work around, though he does his best.[break][break]

"They'll need disinfecting as soon as possible," he remarks as he works. "I doubt that blade was clean."[break][break]

Nodding to the laceration on her neck, he asks, "Is that superficial or serious?"[break][break]

It was hard to tell; large amounts of blood did not always equate to the worst injuries and it was nigh-impossible to tell where the blood from her neck stopped and her chest began.

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"Shut up and do it then."[break][break]

She hisses through her teeth as he wraps her shoulder. It twinges and she flinches, feeling her breath catch and her vision blur at the intense pain. Every time her shoulder shifts it reopens the wound, aggravates it just enough to remind her that she'd made a mistake.[break][break]

Gavin glances at the cut on her neck and she raises her other hand to touch it. It feels shallow - capable of infection of course - but shallow.[break][break]

A part of her is thankful for the deftness of his hands, his quick thinking, his help. Maybe she's just delirious and crazed with pain, desperate because she can't help herself. [break][break]

Fortunately, the bleeding slows enough to warrant moving her. Unfortunately, she buckles and leans into him.

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He might've laughed, were the situation less dire. Possessed of more tact than that, he simply says, "I'm afraid I don't carry any form of disinfectant on my person. That would draw looks."[break][break]

His lab, however, was equipped with all the necessary fixings and more. He was a scientist, not a doctor, but he often found himself needing to patch up either his Pokemon or himself after an experiment gone awry.[break][break]

She collapses, staggering into him. His reflex lends well to steadying her, carefully avoiding her injuries.[break][break]

"I live in Fallarbor," he says, not bringing any attention to her fragility. Just as he understands being cornered, he understands a deep-seated hatred for weakness as well. "I can take you there, but it's a bit of a flight. Unless you have somewhere closer?"[break][break]

He's not entirely sure she's in a state to be giving directions, but he leaves the option open in case he's mistaken.

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Even through the heavy throb in her arm, she finds the strength to scoff at his stupidity, at the humor that tinges his voice. He doesn't laugh but that doesn't mean she pick up on his humor.[break][break]

Her fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in her hand to help stabilize her. He's speaking but his words have become slurred as she fights for consciousness.[break][break]

Her cheek rests against his chest and, while normally she would be disgusted with the closeness she's exhibiting, the desire for help - she can't find the energy to fight it. Emma can feel her strength giving out as the pain starts to disappear. Her fingers slacken and she prays on the resolve of Gavin's personal strength as her eyelids drift closed.[break][break]

It's clear that she is incapable of lending him directions.

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It becomes rapidly apparent that words and directions are beyond her, so Gavin grimaces and takes charge of the situation. She could find the strength to be angry with his decisions later, when she recovered.[break][break]

He supports her weight with his own and struggles to help her aboard his metallic mount, who flutters down from the rooftops at Gavin's quiet whistle. The bird possesses a trained stillness and a patience that lends well to the arduous task. The mega-stone contained within a band around its foot pulses in reaction as Gavin pulls the pin from his lapel. Corviknight would appreciate the extra strength required to ferry them both safely to Fallarbor.[break][break]

---

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Gavin's lab is bright, sterile, absent of the nefarious fixings one might expect of a Rocket scientist. A row of berry plants flourish beneath artificial sunlight along one wall, offering a splash of vibrant colour to an otherwise stark room.[break][break]

A containment chamber lies empty, the inner glass tinged with frost.[break][break]

His work space is neat, notes contained within flash drives in a drawer of the desk. He pulls that drawer open to retrieve a pair of gloves, fetches disinfectant and bandages from a first-aid kit.[break][break]

He'd gotten Emma situated on a couch on which he'd spent many sleepless nights with his research, seemingly indifferent to the fact that it was now stained with her blood. He cuts away at fabric and sterilizes her wounds, silently sympathetic to her pain.[break][break]

"You've been in and out of it," he says as he works with steady hands. "Are you with me, now?"

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Emma is only conscious for a part of the flight, when a current of air jostles her or a twinge of pain forces her muscles to spasm. It wakes her for a moment, just long enough for her to complain that his flying skills need work before she's out of it again.[break][break]

She wakes briefly as she's laid down on a couch. It's surprisingly soft and, while comfort is not usually something she seeks, she allows herself this window of opportunity. Her half-sleep is fitful as she occasionally squirms.[break][break]

In the dim light she had caught sight of his artificial lamps, but in her daze she couldn't fathom what they were. The room smelled sterile and it nearly stung. [break][break]

But it stung worse when he began tearing at her clothes and prodding at her injuries. [break][break]

The woman hisses, her accent coming across thick because she's cursing him in her native language. As she pulls herself out of it and forces herself to not fight him, she lays back again, exhausted.[break][break]

"Pass me that."[break][break]

Her free hand, the one that had latched onto Gavin's arm like an iron vice in response to a jolt of pain that had startled her awake relaxes. Despite the fight to maintain control, her hands shake. Possibly shock. She gestures to the bottle of alcohol - or whatever it might look like, as long as it was strong.

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Sharp eyes follow her gesture to the bottle in his hand. His arm throbs where she'd gripped it hard.[break][break]

"You don't want to drink this."[break][break]

Even the smell of it put him off. It would mess her up, that much was certain, but Gavin had other liquids that could accomplish that with far better taste.[break][break]

"I've got booze. What's your fancy?"[break][break]

He rises from where he'd knelt next to the couch to treat her injuries, rolling his shoulders back. Joints pop, releasing built-up tension from the long flight. He half expects her to answer 'anything', but offers an expectant pause regardless.

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Emma leans back into the couch, clearly defeated by a simple phrase. She has no energy to argue - but she is genuinely annoyed at his disgust. She wasn't drinking for the taste, she was drinking to dull the pain. The faster, the better.[break][break]

The warmth he offers from kneeling so close to her disappears immediately and she can feel goosebumps rise along her exposed skin. She clenches her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, but her lack of clothing along her chest and the state of shock she's fighting due to lack of adrenaline is problematic.[break][break]

"I don't care.. your stiffest."[break][break]

With a groan, the woman digs her nails into the cushion to try and pull herself into a slight sitting position. She winces, gasping, but manages to pull her legs closer to her chest a little bit.

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In his youth, Gavin had often times turned to alcohol to dull pain, emotion, apathy — he's moved on from the vice, but still retains his preferences.[break][break]

She demands something stiff, and he nods.[break][break]

He returns with his strongest Scotch and hands her the bottle. Galarian-made, it's a favourite from the years before he'd bid his home-region farewell. Only a small amount is missing from it, suggesting either that it was a new purchase or that Gavin drank only in moderation.[break][break]

He offers no insight as to what the answer might be, merely sitting in the chair at his desk and turning a watchful gaze on his unfortunate guest.

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