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She's perceptive, he'll give her that.[break][break]

Gavin appears utterly unconcerned with the reprimand, however, shifting from where he'd been studying his Pokemon to turn his amber gaze upon her. She seemed more or less fine — at least, as fine as she'd been when she'd gone in.[break][break]

"You could have passed out, hit your head, bled out on my nice bathroom tile... I just cleaned them, you know?"[break][break]

Though his statement begins with a serious tone, it quickly adopts a dry, humorous edge. He had been worried she'd black out and hit her head, but more for her own well-being than that of his floor.[break][break]

"Nothing particularly quick, unless you fancy leftover pasta." He tended to cook his own meals, having grown up in a large family where dinner was an every-evening affair. "Or I could order something in."[break][break]

Upon hearing the woman complain of hunger, the Alcremie waddles over to Emma and plucks a particularly ripe strawberry to offer up. Gavin chuckles.[break][break]

"Don't mind her, she likes to fuss."

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She leans her temple against the cool exterior of the wall as she uses it to hold her upright. Her stomach growls loudly and she visibly frowns. She couldn't quite remember the last time she'd had an actual meal. Being constantly on the move and without a proper home would make fancy things like 'dinner' unobtainable.[break][break]

"The tiles could use some colour."[break][break]

Emma neglects to comment on how concerned he is for her. Even despite his flat tone and indifferent stare she can see the kindness in him.[break][break]

"Whatever you want - I don't care."[break][break]

She quickly looks down at the Alcremie as it approaches her. At first she is cautious, leaning back and away from the Pokemon due to its unfamiliarity. It offers her a strawberry and she hesitates a long while, until Gavin assures her otherwise. The woman takes the strawberry and lifts it gingerly to her lips, unsure what to make of the unexpected kindness.

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Uncertain of whether she actually doesn't care or whether she's simply trying to appear as such, Gavin elects to believe the former and nods.[break][break]

"Leftovers it is. They'll be quicker."[break][break]

Cheaper, too, but his wallet wasn't exactly hurting as of late. His house is an older bungalow that's been renovated to have a more modern, open floor plan, and as such the kitchen is mostly visible from the living space. Like the rest of the house, it is spotless, pristine. As he lives alone, there is no dining table, with only a small breakfast bar along the island.[break][break]

He fetches a dish full of lasagna with only a few portions missing and scoops out a generous helping; she'd said that she was starving, so he takes this to heart.[break][break]

He loads up a smaller portion for himself, hungry but not famished, and heats them both before handing Emma hers.[break][break]

"Don't feel pressured to finish it," he shrugs, not knowing her appetite, before digging in to his own.

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He takes the lead and she follows him at a distance. The ache in her belly increases when he warms the lasagna and she takes it from his offering hands with some ferocity. Leftovers are never overly satisfying but she's grateful especially in this moment. That and lasagna is always good, even reheated.[break][break]

And while she eats she takes in her surroundings. Gavin's place is immaculate, no blemishes, nothing amiss. The baseboards are clean and his cabinets are free of fingerprints. The fridge practically reflects a perfect rendition of whoever stood in front of it. It was very, very different from the situations she had been in.[break][break]

There was a time she survived in an abandoned house. When it rained the roof leaked and it was crucial to stay warm despite the lack of insulation.[break][break]

In here, she was unnaturally warm and comfortable - but there was still an edge to her like she should be afraid. This isn't permanent. This isn't home.[break][break]

The sheer amount of food and the dulling and tiring effects of the alcohol from earlier make her movements slow. She yawns despite her superior self-control to not show weakness, but she can't fight the way her eyes feel heavy.[break][break]

Emma is well aware of the doting, mothering Pokemon at her heels. She feels the burn of her insistent stare boring into the back of her head. She gives the Alcremie a sideways glance, still suspicious and unwilling to be babied.[break][break]

Eventually, however, the woman slides off of the bar stool and makes her way to the living area, purposefully avoiding the basement. Mindful of her bandages and making her best attempt to not ruin the furniture, she finds a semi-comfortable position leaning on the arm of the couch. [break][break]

"Is this a habit of yours? Picking up strays?"

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Silence stretches between them as they eat, with Gavin hyper-conscious of the way her eyes rake over his various possessions, appliances. His home.[break][break]

He does not keep it immaculate for the sake of others, for no one but the scientist has stepped inside it for years. It is a mixture of pride and an obsessive need to control his surroundings that drive him to go above and beyond. It also serves as an excellent task to occupy idle hands when his sleepless nights don't coincide with inspiration for research.[break][break]

She yawns, and he wonders at the last time she'd slept. Was the exhaustion brought on by blood loss? It matters little; he's already decided to keep an eye on her if she can be convinced to stay the night.[break][break]

They make their way back to the living room with Alcremie in tow, the fairy-type electing to hover near Emma rather than Gavin for once.[break][break]

Emma questions him, and he offers a throaty laugh.[break][break]

"No," he says simply. "You're the first."[break][break]

Perhaps not the last, but seeing as it took a special sort to earn his respect... it could be a while.

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As she explores the room with her gaze she can feel his own bore straight into her soul. She licks her lips, both savouring the remaining taste of the red sauce on her skin and subtly displaying her discomfort with being watched.[break][break]

"I'm not a thief, if that's what you're worried about."[break][break]

And it's then that she worries she's overstayed her welcome. That this situation, staying here, in his protection, was too good to be true. It had to be, after all. She was probably more than capable of taking care of herself... right?[break][break]

Her peak of irritation causes her muscles to tense automatically, defensively, and she glances at her shoulder as blood seeps through the bandages. The bare skin surrounding the white protective barrier is red and warm to the touch. The rest of her skin seems too pale, almost clammy. She looks a mess.[break][break]

The Alcremie remains close to her side and she pulls her hand away from its prying eyes. Her bad attitude had returned - maybe she was sobering up.[break][break]

It's also clear that being called his 'first' strikes a chord in her she isn't expecting and clearly doesn't know how to respond to. She moves to stand, moves to get out of there and out of his hair.[break][break]

"I need to get out of here."

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A dry huff of amusement in his throat aggravates a smokers cough, and Gavin's expression scrunches up. It's been a while since he's had a cigarette, having been laser-focused on the task at hand.[break][break]

The craving returns with the thought, nagging.[break][break]

"If I was worried you'd steal anything, I wouldn't have brought you here."[break][break]

He can't speak to her character, as they're practically strangers, but he was confident enough in his own security and her compromised state that she wouldn't find anything, nor get very far if she did.[break][break]

What he says next seems to put her immediately on edge, and he frowns as she gets up too fast. It's then that he notices the bandage on her shoulder is stained with red: had that happened just now, or earlier?[break][break]

"Slow down, you're reopening the wounds," he cautions, tone sharp-edged but not cold. "Where would you go?"[break][break]

She hadn't been coherent enough to provide an answer, earlier. He tilts his head, watching her.[break][break]

"Fallarbor's remote." It's why he'd chosen it: sandwiched between the ashen path toward the desert and the Falls to the south, it wasn't a place most people just ended up. "Not somewhere you want to be wandering around in the dark."

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One hand lifts to the blood-soaked bandage pressed to her skin. It's damp and warm and she hisses at the touch. It would be foolish to leave and, while she knows the risks, something about Gavin and the situation she's in makes her panic. [break][break]

Loneliness was a feeling she had long since come to accept, and to be shown any sort of kindness was rattling. She didn't know how to process it, how to handle it. Like a foreign entity her body fought to destroy it in any way it knew how.[break][break]

Dizziness clouds her judgement as well as renewed pain. It seemed the alcohol really was starting to wear off. Sweat beads on her brow as she remains unsteady. His sharp words draw her back but she feels unfocused, hazy.[break][break]

Fallarbor? Is that where she was? Whatever colour remained in her face drained immediately. She had never intended to return here, not since the Rocket invasion, the coup that had ended in her brother being killed.[break][break]

"N-no. I can't be here."[break][break]

Her voice is a whisper as she reaches for something to hold her up, desperate to reach an exit.

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She's spiraling.[break][break]

Something's triggered her and Gavin's not sure what — only that it likely had something to do with him, or at least what he'd said. You're the first. Had that scared her, somehow? Why?[break][break]

Emma trips over the words, still trying to leave.[break][break]

He stands up, but doesn't move to block her exits. He knows what it's liked to feel cornered. He lifts his hands slightly, a gesture of surrender. Instinct screams at him to check on her wound — how badly was it bleeding, how much had it reopened? — but her cautions against being touched during their initial encounter stay his hand. She's in fight-or-flight mode right now, and he's not looking to escalate.
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"Talk to me," is half-demand, because he's losing control over the situation and it's sending up red flags. "You were fine until two seconds ago, what's got you worked up?"

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He stands up and despite the distance between them he looms over her, more so now as her fingers clutch a nearby surface - probably a side table. She doesn't know, she can't focus. The throb in her shoulder turns to an ache and she can feel the damp running down her pale skin, staining the edge of her bra.[break][break]

Emma can feel herself slipping, the fire in her cylinders puffing smoke with every attempt to turn. She's running on steam and she feels powerless and afraid - two things that humiliate her and scare her even more. [break][break]

But someway, somehow, his demand is grounding. It gives her a moment of clarity as she stops staring at her hands pressed against the smooth wooden surface, pulls her attention back to the man who was currently risking something to protect her.[break][break]

"You don't know me. You don't owe me anything. We are strangers. I... I don't even know your name."

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Blood seeps through sterile cloth and kisses skin, bright red against snow white. She's lost enough blood already, too much.[break][break]

Thankfully, she stays. For now.[break][break]

He blinks as she states a fact he hadn't realized. He'd never properly introduced himself, had he? Gavin knew who she was, Rocket's infamous assassin, but he'd only recently begun to distinguish himself within their ranks. She'd already left by the time his name circulated the ranks with any regularity, and their mutual friend in Marcel hadn't meant they were on any kind of terms.[break][break]

He hesitates. Should he give her his civilian alias, or...?[break][break]

No, he decides, just as quickly.[break][break]

"Gavin," he tells her; still an alias, but the same he'd given to Marcel, to Cadis. "Gavin Merlino. I'm a — scientist."[break][break]

That he was a scientist in Rocket's employ is the obvious he doesn't feel the need to state. His focus and role in the organization has shifted, recently. It's the cause for the slightest break in the flow of his sentence, as if he'd realized something.

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Even in her haze she manages to pick up on social cues, on the way he hesitates to tell her who he is. It lingers on his tongue, like he's choosing between the truth and a lie. Or perhaps between two lies. [break][break]

It doesn't stir a reaction in her because she had never given out her real name either. She had made it a promise to retract any semblance of her past, of her truth. Rocket had turned her into the wolf and she had embraced it.[break][break]

But it does make her skin crawl the way he hesitates on his occupation - like he himself isn't convinced. She opts for a dry joke because social cues elude her despite her expertise on picking up on others.[break][break]

"Oh, so the creepy laboratory downstairs belongs to you? I wouldn't have guessed."[break][break]

Exhaustion creeps back in and it prevents her from fleeing. She can still feel the weight in her chest, the desire to escape from whatever emotionally charged situation she was in. And yet it appeared that Gavin had a knack for reigning her in.[break][break]

It mildly unsettled her.[break][break]

The hand that brushed blood from her bandages drops to her side, smearing the crimson against her pants. [break][break]

"Fuck, this hurts."

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Though seemingly more guarded than she'd been before her panic, Emma's attempt at dry humour is somewhat reassuring. Gavin's laugh scrapes his throat, reminding him yet again that he needs a goddamn cigarette.[break][break]

"You think that's creepy? My lab is downright tame."[break][break]

Maybe the containment chamber seemed a little macabre, but it was par for the course in any lab that studied Pokemon. Some of them were volatile... though not nearly as volatile as the one he'd sought to contain.[break][break]

He's quietly relieved that she seems to be calming down. He'd been half-worried he might have to deal with an unconscious Emma if she exerted herself too much in her haste to escape him. Such a threat still looms, her hand coming away bloody.[break][break]

"Does it need redressing? I can bring up my supplies." He'd brought her down to the lab initially due to its sterility and his own uncertainty at how severe the wounds might be on closer inspection. With his own dry humour, he adds: "I can bandage a wound but I'm afraid my creepy laboratory isn't equipped for a blood transfusion if you lose too much."

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