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Whenever he finds himself under a great deal of stress, Gavin throws himself into his work with abandon. Idle thoughts have time only to wander, so he occupies them with his research and his duties with Rocket. When his mind needs a break from the strain, he cleans.[break][break]

The house is already spotless, but he can always find more to do.[break][break]

Today, he finds himself in the bathroom, gloved hands steady as he scrubs at the caulking along the tub, gets down between the tiles to force out every last bit of grime. The air is heavy with the smell of bleach and lemons, a dizzying concoction that he's nevertheless used to. From the throne she'd claimed atop the toilet tank, his Alcremie watches him with undisguised concern.[break][break]

Though all of his Pokemon had been able to detect a shift in the intensity of his moods, it was the delicate fairy-type who expressed the most outward worry. She rarely left his side, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. The Pokemon who'd once shied away from him in fear was now a constant companion, but not one that could replace another living, breathing human. He forces that thought to the back of his mind, tells himself that he's lived alone for years and can easily do so again.[break][break]

That the front door is unlocked is a sign of confidence in his Pokemon to stand guard; he does not account for the fact that they know her by now, will not alert him to her presence.[break][break]

Her footsteps carry her silently toward the bathroom, but the perceptive scientist jumps into action the moment the shadows in the room shift. A nearby mop is the closest available weapon, and he whirls around with a white-knuckled grip upon its wooden shaft.[break][break]

There's a pause when he registers it's her.[break][break]

The mop is delicately returned to where it had rested up against the counter. Amber eyes blink at her, as do the pinkish-red of the Alcremie atop the toilet. The latter seems openly delighted to see her new favourite guest, where Gavin is more reserved.[break][break]

He almost asks if she'd forgot something, assuming she'd fully moved on from their unspoken arrangement, but he knows that's not the answer.[break][break]

"I can get out of your way," he says instead, gesturing at the cleaning supplies in explanation. His gaze rakes over the dried blood and grime she's no doubt eager to be rid of. It occurs to him, then, that perhaps she stayed with him because there was nowhere else to go. "You look like you need it."

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The smell of lemons and bleach is powerful, overwhelming, even, as she approaches the bathroom. What she isn't expecting is to find the man on his knees, clad in gloves and disinfectant. He's scrubbing the dirt between the tile, brushing away the grime that lingers on the edge of the bath. Emma blinks once, twice, three times.[break][break]

Her gaze shifts upward to the Alcremie who appears overjoyed to see her and some piece, buried deep, burns with relief. [break][break]

Gavin momentarily wields his nearby mop but Emma stands her ground, clearly unimpressed. [break][break]

"You're jumpy."[break][break]

But her insult falls flat because of course he would be. He clearly hadn't expected to see her again. Why did that make the burn begin to smolder?[break][break]

Awkward silence befalls the two of them as they judge how to handle the situation, and Emma isn't the first one to speak up in the end. He gestures to the cleaning supplies but she catches him looking over her appearance and she stiffens. Her footsteps pull her out of the entrance and her gaze drops.[break][break]

"No, I'm clearly interrupting something. I'll... I'll come back later."[break][break]

She doesn't move quickly, however, due to a slight limp in her steps that she manages to conceal with her light steps. It clearly pains her, but she's good at hiding her pain until it's too late. If Gavin chose to, he could stop her.

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"Just — wasn't expecting anyone."[break][break]

He's deliberate in his choice of words, careful not to insinuate that he wasn't expecting her in particular. He had misinterpreted the intent behind her week-long absence. That didn't mean she was no longer welcome... but he can't find the right words to let her know.[break][break]

He is used to silences between them being comfortable, but this one yawns with chasm-length and makes the back of his neck burn hot. It's awkward, and that's not an emotion he's used to fielding. He is a man of confidence and little shame, rarely one to second-guess any words or actions, but there is no mistaking the skin-crawling discomfort for what it was.[break][break]

Emma, clearly sensing the same, backs away from the door and makes to leave. His first attempt to stop her is reflexive, silent, his hand twitching at his side.[break][break]

Alcremie makes a worried noise in her throat.[break][break]

"You're really not," he insists, but she's already leaving. With his concentration on cleaning broken, Gavin becomes acutely aware of a pulsing headache brought on by the heavy chemical scent. When he follows her out, his cleaning rituals abandoned, he finds she's not gotten far. There's something off — her departure before had been swift, fluid. Though she conceals her pain, the limp, his perception picks up the wrongness of the situation. "Emma — are you hurt?" There's a sharpness in his tone that's more worried than angry. "What happened?"

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He hadn't been expecting anyone. She isn't sure what to make of that, so she chooses to say nothing at all. Stress makes her skin feel too hot, akin to a fever, and she is anxious to abandon the situation. She had never been a coward, but this suffocating feeling persists and she's uneasy.[break][break]

Emma chooses to retreat, backing up out of the room and making her way out. She doesn't expect him to follow her, but he does.[break][break]

The woman feels her breath catch in her throat as she hears him catch up to her and she silently curses the limp she bears. She's lame, slowed down by both her thoughts and the ache in her hip. Beneath her clothing, a blossoming bruise crawls up her hip. It's gruesome and painful.[break][break]

His voice cuts the awkward silence and she stiffens as she comes to a halt, favouring her other leg. Her hand rises as if to catch herself or use the wall as a crutch, but he takes immediate notice in her gait and addresses it, forcing her fingers to twitch as if she's been caught red-handed. It drops back to her side and clenches into a fist.[break][break]

"I bit off more than I could chew, but I'm fine."[break][break]

Emma sighs.

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The tension between them does not dissipate, but Emma does not leave. Gavin accepts this as a small victory, lingering in the small hallway that led to the front door. Faintly, he registers the soft squish of Alcremie jumping down from her perch, but does not glance back.[break][break]

Instead, his amber eyes study his unexpected but not unwelcome — guest?[break][break]

It occurs to him, then, that they've become housemates in all but name for the past couple of weeks since he'd rescued her from the Rocket grunts. She didn't have a key, but that's why he's taken to leaving the front door unlocked. Even when she'd disappeared without giving him any notice as to her intent, he'd never returned to his former rituals of locking up every window and door before turning in for the night.[break][break]

Sharp eyes don't miss her clenched fist, and her sigh is deafening in the relative silence of the house.[break][break]

Gavin takes a few measured steps back, relinquishing an unintentional choke-hold on the hallway and granting potential access to the living space at large.[break][break]

"You should sit." She's not doing herself any favours putting further strain on — whatever it was. It occurs to him she hadn't said. "Cut, bruise, fracture...?"[break][break]

Some of his discomfort ebbs as he falls back into familiar pattern.

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His closeness is suffocating and her fist only unclenches, her breath exhaling from her chest, when he takes a few steps back. In the light she appears defeated, exhausted. While not in the same condition that she had originally arrived in, suffering from infection and blood-loss, it's clear that she had sought some sort of sanctuary here. That she knew she could find it, whatever it was she was looking for.[break][break]

Emma's back is turned and she makes a mild effort to turn toward Gavin, though her cheek remains turned away from him.[break][break]

She was well aware of the fact he had left the front door unlocked for her, left the windows unlatched. While she hadn't returned earlier because of her own pride, she had visited. It both comforted her and scared her that he had been so willing to bend his rules for her. It still did.[break][break]

Despite how low his voice is it feels loud as he encourages her to sit. It hurt worse to sit because it was a struggle to push herself back to her feet. She can feel her jaw grind her teeth together painfully as she recalls the incident she had pulled herself out of.[break][break]

Emma had become distracted, it seemed. Working with a partner had become second nature to her, so much so that without Gavin she had misstepped. Her scuffle with a criminal had lead to his escape and her unceremonious fall from grace. She had narrowly missed being shot at but had, in turn, sacrificed herself to a generous fall.[break][break]

On the way down she had slammed against something that didn't break, and instead she had - or at least it felt like it. She momentarily forgets about it as she shifts her weight and pain surges up her side. It makes her catch her breath and she tucks her chin to her chest.[break][break]

"If I sit, I might not be able to get back up."[break][break]

Even still, the pain of standing has become too great as she hazardously makes her way to the couch.

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Breathing feels easier in the openness of the living area. He's never liked that small hallway — how cramped it feels. It had never been much of a problem when he'd lived alone, but sharing his space made him hyper-aware of all its little flaws.[break][break]

Emma's jaw shifts and Gavin wonders at the emotion behind it. She is difficult to read but harder to understand; they are alike, in that sense. Perhaps it's why Gavin does not pry for more detail. She will share what information she chooses, just as he would were their roles reversed. It is enough for him to know that she had survived her ordeal and chosen this place for her sanctuary.[break][break]

In spite of her comment, she makes her way over to the couch and Gavin is able to fully register the ache in every step. Her breath hitches with the pain and he knows it must be far worse than it appears.[break][break]

"I can get you something for the pain," he says, but does not yet move. His brows knit together. "Is there swelling, or just pain?"[break][break]

That would narrow down the effectiveness of their options, at least.[break][break]

"How long ago was this?"

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Emma melts into the couch but her face contorts as the muscles in her leg strain. Her breathing is short and rapid as she pushes to relax, to not tighten what's already stiff and tender. She leans on her good side, gasping at the effort it takes her. [break][break]

When she looks at him this time, the fierceness in her gaze is replaced with relief. Relief that he didn't ask too many questions, didn't pry. That he hadn't turned her away or given her a reason to turn around.[break][break]

But the truth behind her lack of answer hadn't been because she didn't want to - she hadn't had the courage to look. She had had the adrenaline after the fall to get up and get out of there before someone unfriendly found her, but she had soon spent the night somewhere no one would.[break][break]

The rest was a blur, she couldn't remember if it had happened yesterday or days ago. [break][break]

"Yesterday, maybe. It just hurts, alright?"[break][break]

Her voice is short, strained. She's frustrated, but not with him. Not really.

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Gavin colours in her lack of detail with reasonable assumptions: she'd avoided any question regarding the specifics, which meant that either she didn't know or she didn't want him to know. Given that she'd stayed, he defaults to the former.[break][break]

Recent enough, then, that it hadn't become readily apparent on its own through the natural healing process. There would still be swelling, likely adding to her discomfort as clothing and movement constricted puffy flesh. If there was a break, it wasn't severe enough to stop her from making her way here from... wherever she'd been. He wonders, but doesn't ask.[break][break]

Gavin nods to himself as he catalogs the information.[break][break]

His first-aid kit had been relocated to a living room cabinet during Emma's initial recovery process, and he swiftly crosses the room and slides back the thick wood-and-glass door. Alcremie has made her way from the bathroom to hover at the end of the couch Emma occupies, evidently wanting to reach out but fearing the rejection of the injured woman. Her red eyes drift between the two as Gavin fiddles with the kit before setting a couple of pills on the side table within reach.[break][break]

Wordlessly, he makes his way to the kitchen and fetches a cold compress and a glass of water.[break][break]

"For the swelling," he says, as he hands her the compress. "The pills'll help in the immediate, the ice'll keep the swelling down in the long term. If it doesn't work, it's probably been longer than a couple days and you should switch to heat."[break][break]

He finds himself comforted by what basic medical knowledge he'd picked up from living alone and avoiding hospitals.

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Fear of the unknown, of the damage, had prevented her from looking. It hurt too badly for it to be just a bruise or scrape. And yet she had remained stubborn, too proud to examine the damage. At first, she had been to proud to even come home.[break][break]

Her pants chafe the sensitive skin, blood still somewhat warm as it had seeped through the fabric. There was certainly an impact cut, likely infected or agitated that it was hot and painful to touch. Emma swallows hard as she lays her head back. Sweat glistens on her skin and she closes her eyes as she hears Gavin's footsteps draw away.[break][break]

Another warm presence hovers and she can hear the creatures soft breathing, picks up on the anxiety. Her fingers twitch and the smallest smile presses to her lip as she acknowledges the Alcremie's kindness and familiarity.[break][break]

Her smile falters as Gavin returns and with it her hand. He offers a cold compress and she finds the will to swallow her pride. Her fingers close around the cold and she takes a deep breath as she holds it against the bruising. She winces and averts her gaze from his.[break][break]

"I didn't know where else to go."[break][break]

She hesitates.[break][break]

"No one else I trust."

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Trust.[break][break]

The word hits him in in a place no others have reached in a long time; it's a warmth that spreads through him and almost makes him smile. His lip twitches involuntarily. It's mutual— he trusts her, too. Why else would he open his home to her, knowing as little of her as he did?[break][break]

It was a feeling he'd never truly experienced around anyone, let alone another Rocket.[break][break]

"Well, you're welcome here." Emma's averted her gaze, and Gavin crosses behind the couch to the kitchen and scrubs at the counter. The ritual of cleanliness was a comfort to help guide him through a conversation he hadn't expected to have. Amber eyes still watch her carefully, something she'd notice should she turn her head to look. "I did say you could stay as long as you like."[break][break]

There's an implication in his words that he allows to settle.[break][break]

She'd exposed herself with her admission of trust, and he feels it only fair to respond in kind. "I trust you, too."

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Her mouth feels unnaturally dry after the words leave her mouth. There's a silence between them that seems endless - and while it's uncomfortable, it's not the same discomfort she felt when preparing to leave. It does, however, weigh heavily in her chest, like she's just admitted something she never expected to find ever again.[break][break]

Emma reaches across the couch for the painkillers he had left for her. Her face contorts with the effort but she manages, sweat beading on her brow. She takes a moment to collect herself before swallowing them, willing them to work faster so she might actually get some sleep.[break][break]

While her eyes squeeze closed he walks past her, behind her, toward the kitchen. She can hear his footsteps against the tile in the other room, hear the scrubbing against the countertop. He says something that makes her heart startle, and she looks down at her hands, trying to fathom his response. It surprises her more when she glances over her shoulder thoughtfully to see his eyes watching her. She looks away.[break][break]

Genuine warmth fills her cheeks, something she can't force away, when he says he trusts her.[break][break]

"I'd like a bath. Please."[break][break]

It's clear that she doesn't know how to respond to the situation other than avoid it altogether. That, and she can see that he's put a great deal of effort into cleaning his home. Emma, meanwhile, is filthy and disheveled, a blemish on his effort.

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"Thought you couldn't get back up."[break][break]

His tone is light and teasing; a quiet acceptance of her desire to move on from the intimacy of such conversations. In truth, he's equally relieved. Exposing his emotions, even to someone he trusts, makes his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest.[break][break]

In spite of her injury, her pain, Gavin knows that a bath could well be a necessary evil. Dirt and grime from being on the move for a week could lead to an infection — the last thing either of them want.[break][break]

"I'll get it started," he offers, already dipping off to the bathroom. Away from potential scrutiny, he finds himself smiling as he turns the faucet on the bath.[break][break]

Alcremie hops up next to Emma in the meantime, seemingly encouraged by her lack of discomfort in comparison to their first interactions. Up close, faint hints of different colours streak through her pink cream.[break][break]

Gavin has composed himself by the time he returns to them, setting the mop and bucket aside. His lip twitches again to see his Alcremie's affection toward Emma: he wasn't the only one fond.[break][break]

"Do you want help?"[break][break]

There is no hint of hesitation or discomfort in the question: he tilts his head, studying her.

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