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His dreams are a whirlwind of colour and sound, the distant rumble of an explosion.[break][break]

His stomach lurches as if he's falling, and he wakes with a violent start and a splitting headache.[break][break]

Gavin groans as his sunlit living room comes into sharper focus, medical supplies strewn across the coffee table and a very concerned Alcremie blinking at him from her favourite perch on the armchair. A shifting weight against his lap draws his gaze downward.[break][break]

"Shit, sorry," he mumbles, words slurred with sleep, the events of the previous night coming back in hazy snatches. "Didn't mean to wake you."[break][break]

He'd passed out here, stiff neck and all, because he'd been loathe to move from this spot and risk disturbing Emma from a much-needed slumber. Amber eyes trace cuts and bruises that he'd done his best to tend to in the aftermath of — whatever yesterday had been.[break][break]

We're alive.[break][break]

Gavin twists and cracks his neck, nudges his glasses back to their proper position and rubs at his tired eyes.[break][break]

"Fuck, I'm dying for a smoke."

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Her dreams are also a whirlwind of colour and sound, and in them, she's fighting for the surface. Her breathing is rapid but shallow, eyebrows meshed together as she fights to stir herself from the nightmare. It's different this time from the one that normally plagues her. This one was real.[break][break]

Gavin's violent start is what forces her awake. She blinks awake, gasping as she finds her own body lurching in the real world. She catches herself on his knee, fingers curling around his leg as she pushes herself to a semi-sitting up position. Her heart is still pounding uncomfortably loud in her chest and doesn't slow even when she realizes she's safe.[break][break]

Perhaps it has something to do with the warm body hovering over her, mumbling apology and rubbing his eyes. Her eyes linger on the cuts to his face, the dried blood that she hadn't yet wiped away.[break][break]

And then she remembers that she's using him to prop herself up and she makes an effort to detach herself from him entirely. The intimacy is unexpected and overwhelming - too close. [break][break]

But it feels like she's been hit by a truck. Every muscle screams for help as their stiffness is shed its rust. She exhales sharply at the discomfort but otherwise manages to shift away from him and give him his space.[break][break]

"I don't blame you."

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The sudden absence of her warmth is palpable, and Gavin shivers — cold, despite the pleasant temperature maintained by central air. His muscles scream in protest as he works his stiff limbs and bends his elbows, wincing as the movement aggravates his newest injuries.[break][break]

Perhaps it should alarm him how close they've gotten — physically and otherwise. There had been real panic in her voice when he'd fallen, and gravity behind his decision to save her over his oldest Pokemon partner.[break][break]

I don't blame you, she says, and had there been a cigarette in front of him, Gavin wouldn't have been able to stop himself. It's only the daunting thought of staggering to the closest store in his current state that keeps him rooted to the couch and away from his addiction. His throat burns in spite of his attempts to quit, tarred and scarred lungs struggling with the after-effects of smoke inhalation. When he coughs, it's deep and racking and has him leaning forward to grip the edge of the table in support.[break][break]

Alcremie whines and holds out a delicately crafted mint, the only way she knows how to help.[break][break]

It won't help, but he accepts it anyway, crunches it between his teeth and leans back with his eyes closed and a hand against his throbbing temple.[break][break]

"What a fucking mess."

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Goosebumps spread across her skin too, an afterthought, but there nonetheless. While he craves a cigarette, she craves an epsom salt bath. Though she's sure that adding salt to her cuts and scrapes that mar her imperfect skin. In fact, she thumbs at the shredded fabric of the dress that remained of last night's operation.[break][break]

It's shredded beyond recognition, exposing skin and undergarments depending on the angle. But she's never been shy and so it doesn't bother her - in fact it bothers her more that she hadn't just discarded it entirely.[break][break]

Her fingers dig into the couch as his wracking couch shakes the couch. She holds on not for her sake but for his - there's a moment of concern in her eyes as she catches him gripping the table to steady himself. [break][break]

Emma glances to the Alcremie as she offers the man a mint. She looks away when he crunches it quickly beside her, though the smell of mint is overpowering and sort of soothing. She licks her lips.[break][break]

And then amusement, though self-deprecating, seeps through despite their sorry appearances.[break][break]

"Speak for yourself, Merlino."[break][break]


She watches him then while he isn't watching her, eyes growing softer. He's leaning back and pressing his fingers to his temple, and she takes this as an opportunity to vacate the couch and slowly make her way to the kitchen to fetch cold water and advil.

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Gavin huffs a tired, dry laugh, wincing as the movement causes another stab of pain in his skull.[break][break]

Quiet and quick though she was, Gavin feels the couch shift in the absence of Emma's weight, and his amber eyes crack open to follow her path toward the kitchen. The sound of running water is strangely soothing in its domesticity, a reminder that things — as always — are bound to return to whatever passed for normal.[break][break]

As Emma retrieves the Advil, Gavin reaches for his phone and scrolls through his recent messages.[break][break]

"Looks like all of ours made it out."[break][break]

It's a fact that surprises him. The explosion had been a decision made without warning that had very nearly gotten himself and Emma killed. That none of the Rocket agents present had lost their lives was sheer dumb luck.[break][break]

Mostly, he's relieved for Marcel, having been unaware of what had happened to their good friend when they'd been separated by rubble.[break][break]

If this was a victory, it didn't feel like one.

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The strain in her hip from an old wound is aggravated, likely more by her contorted sleeping position in Gavin's lap than by the explosion, but still. She favors it as she steps lightly into the kitchen, quickly returning with a glass for both of them and the Advil bottle. How she manages to carry all three is a feat only known to women's agile fingers.[break][break]

Regardless, she sets the man's glass down but remains standing. She is likely concerned if she sits back down she won't be able to get back to her feet. Or she's acutely aware of their sudden closeness, of the decisions that had been made that ensured both of them arrived alive, together. She could have left him behind, let him fall. She could have made it out of there much sooner and without injury. But she hadn't.[break][break]

Emma studies his face for a while, perhaps too long. Her thoughts are almost transparent on her face before she pulls herself away. The bottle is left on the table top as she glances toward his phone. Her own had been abandoned immediately, but she could see that a blue light pulsed.[break][break]

There's a sharp tug in her chest at the thought of reading the message left for her. Marcel's text that read 'ok?' had, for some reason that she couldn't even fathom herself, been left unread. She opts now to respond, sending a vague and aggravatingly Emma-like response. Perhaps some emoji or something, in response. It occurred to her sometimes that she was unfair to marcel maeda.[break][break]

The woman quickly sets her phone back down, screen down, before shifting her weight to favor her uninjured leg. She's waiting for Gavin to make use of the Advil first, though she sips at her drink quietly.

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Emma returns, and Gavin is acutely aware of everything: how she elects to stand rather than sit, the posture which favours her injured hip, the way she stares at him for longer than would be considered comfortable. There is something raw in her expression that he acknowledges in silence but does not call out, not wishing to scare off a woman he understands to take flight during emotional confrontation.[break][break]

That he doesn't want her to leave is something else to be parsed in the quiet, the familiar lull in conversation.[break][break]

He dwells on such thoughts as he swallows down pills, cold water soothing the ache in his throat.[break][break]

He, too, takes the time to respond to marcel maeda.[break][break]

'All good,' says the message, 'glad you're safe.[break][break]

He scrolls through the other messages and responds where it seems appropriate, then scoffs. The sound is sudden and loud in the subdued atmosphere of the room, and Alcremie jumps.[break][break]

His sister, normally concise and down-to-business in their communications, had delivered small novels to his inbox. Her worry is grating and endearing in equal measure, and he fires back a quick response to ensure her of his safety. He forgets, sometimes, that she keeps up with the Hoenn news as a way to keep tabs on him.[break][break]

'Come home, Gav.'[break][break]

Home. It's a place he hasn't thought of in a long time. Was Galar truly home any longer? Should Emma glance over at him, she'd find the normally composed scientist staring into the blue glow of his phone with furrowed brows and a slight frown.

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Emma startles in a similar manner to Alcremie at the sudden scoff. Silence is usually her sanctuary, but the silence between them seems deafening. To hear noise come out of him so suddenly is startling, apparently. [break][break]

Her fingers tighten around her glass, and, as she nears to fish herself some painkillers, she notices the furrow in Gavin's brow. The fact that he remains transfixed on a message glowing on the screen. She doesn't read it, maybe her slight sound-based concussion is preventing her eyes from focusing properly, or maybe she's just polite.[break][break]

But even still his concern paints a picture that she doesn't ignore. [break][break]

"What is it?"[break][break]

Gavin's expression is different from the look of forced concentration she had witnessed from Marcel in weeks past. Something had worried the man into a state - he wasn't avoiding the elephant in the room. Or did he even notice it?[break][break]

She focuses on the cold water soothing the rawness in her throat, her hovering had drawn her closer - but she remained unwilling to perch next to him.

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"Hm?"[break][break]

Gavin shifts and looks up at the sound of Emma's voice, the sound of it breaking whatever spell the text appears to have held over him. It's a few more seconds before he belatedly processes the question she'd asked and realizes he must've been wearing his thoughts.[break][break]

Had it been anyone but Emma, he would've lied.[break][break]

To her, he says: "Oh. My sister."[break][break]

It's not the first time he's mentioned her. She'd been of crucial importance to their mission involving Chad Valentine, and to helping decode whatever corrupted information had been available on the captured Porygon. Still, Gavin remains acutely aware of the trust he's fostered for Emma in the comparatively short span of time since getting to know her. Such a bond usually took years if it formed at all, and it was a fragile thing.[break][break]

It feels stronger, with Emma.[break][break]

"She saw the news, I didn't answer her calls... too clever for her own good, that one."[break][break]

He hadn't so much as breathed a word about the mission to Saoirse, but she knew of his involvement with Rocket and had likely inferred the rest.
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His phone lights up as she calls him, vibrating in his grip though the ringer was on silent. He swipes to deny the call, in no mood to deal with her high-energy mothering with such a splitting headache.[break][break]

'I'm fine' he texts instead.

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For a moment, Emma finds herself studying his face again. Her eyebrows knit together at his confusion before he ultimately answers her. There's no note of dishonesty in his voice, but she's come to realize the feeling is mutual. The truth spills from her mouth just as easily where white lies and deflected answers normally stem.[break][break]

He brings something out of her that she hasn't seen in a while. It's barely recognizable.[break][break]

But she also detects the urgency in the buzzing of his phone. Regardless of how quickly he declines the call, Emma takes a step back. Her gesture - a subtle nod to the phone in his hand - is her first response.[break][break]

"She's family. Answer it. I'll give you a moment."[break][break]

The woman averts her eyes, aware of how the gravity of her words made something fall away in the pit of her stomach. She turns away, opting to visit the room he'd organized for her, the room she'd come to think of as a home. It's there that she sheds her clothes and makes her way rapidly to the shower.[break][break]

It's only as the door gently swings closed behind her and she catches her ghastly appearance in the mirror does she hesitate. But only for a moment before disgust overtakes her and she disappears under a showerhead to rid herself of the grime that cakes her skin.

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Surprised by Emma's insistence, Gavin opens his mouth as if to formulate a response — but she's already gone, quick steps carrying her out of the room and leaving him alone with the phone that has predictably began to buzz once more.[break][break]

Sighing, he swipes left to answer.[break][break][break][break]



It feels as though their conversation drags on forever, but Gavin can still hear the white noise of the shower as he finally hangs up the phone. Talking to his sister has drained him of what little energy he'd had left.[break][break]

What did I just agree to?[break][break]

His hand pats idly at a pocket no longer containing his smokes, and he curses silently under his breath.[break][break]

He's refilling his glass at the kitchen sink when the water cuts off in the bathroom. Anticipating Emma's imminent return, he splashes at his face and fixes his hair in a window reflection. That he allowed her to see him at his worst was a sign of trust in and of itself, but preening his appearance affords a level of comfort that he desperately needs in the absence of his vice.[break][break]

Gavin nods to Emma when at last she emerges from the bathroom; she looks less haggard after having washed away the dried blood and dust from last night's mission. His gaze lingers as he leans against the island.[break][break]

"Ever been to Galar?"

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It's entirely possible that their call lasts forever - Emma leans against the wall of the shower with one hand for a long time, even after the shampoo has washed from her hair and the water grows colder. But it works to firm up her muscles, give her gooseflesh a moment longer. It reminds her of what pain she's survived, and it's then that she peels herself away from the shower.[break][break]

And, once again, the woman lingers at the mirror that reflects a tired woman. There's cuts along her temple, a gash hidden in her hairline that aches, and might even have been haphazardously stitched closed. It hadn't occurred to her to check before getting it wet. There's a chance it seeps blood as she disregards her marred appearance in favor of warm clothes.[break][break]

When she reappears, the towel is gone and she's wrapped in clothes likely borrowed from his sister - Emma had never been one to really appreciate or collect clothing. Still, it means something that she'd chosen comfort over practicality given the circumstance.[break][break]

Emma says nothing to him until he speaks to her, too preoccupied with the warmth seeping along her temple that coats her fingertips in crimson. The Advil seems to have worked to numb the pain, but she's definitely reopened stitches.[break][break]

She glances at him, raising an eyebrow.[break][break]

"Why?"

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"Saoirse says I need a vacation."[break][break]

His tone is edged with dry amusement as he circles around the kitchen island to close the gap between them. He halts a few feet away, frowns at the cut that weeps blood and stains her skin. Whether his own stitching had been compromised as a result of exhaustion or Emma herself had been careless in her aftercare was irrelevant to him.[break][break]

"Sit down," he instructs, gesturing to the couch. Head wounds bled like a bitch. "I'll stitch it back up."[break][break]

Thankfully, the medical supplies were still out.[break][break]

As he sorts through the first-aid kit to retrieve the relevant tools, he formulates a more direct approach.[break][break]

"I think we both deserve a break. I haven't booked my flight yet; I'd appreciate the company."[break][break]

His gaze meets hers, expectant.

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