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Emma's absence is felt in every subtle break in their routine, but Gavin does his best not to dwell upon it. It wasn't unusual for one or the other to be absent for some time on a job, though it does concern him that she'd not left a text or any other indication of what she was up to. As far as he was aware, they were on good terms. His biggest worry is that she's hurt, somewhere, and how would he know where to start looking? This anxiety visits him several times throughout the morning, suppressed but lingering.[break][break]

When the front door opens, it's his Lucario that clues him in to Emma's presence — ears drawn back in annoyance rather than any indication of threat. As Gavin, relieved, makes his way toward the front door, he hears the dual-type growl.[break][break]

Emma is unhurt, dusty and in higher spirits than usual. Gavin takes notice of the subtle things, the softness of posture and lightness of tone. He refuses to act like a nagging lover, doesn't want to imply any sort of neediness by letting on how much she'd worried him. He greets her with a grin, lets relief settle as he closes the distance between them and greets her with an affectionate peck. Her lips are sun-warmed, sweet.
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Undisguised curiosity glimmers in his eyes.[break][break]

"Do you, now? What is it?"

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If Gavin has been concerned for her at all, she is oblivious to it. There's more on her mind to dwell on and she addresses them first. He moves close to kiss her and she is brief in her response, driven in another direction. [break][break]

Excitement - to whatever degree was possible for the woman - turns her into a less affectionate being. Not that she is overly affectionate to begin with. [break][break]

It's ironic that her affection is so limited and yet she cares deeply for what she's about to show him. [break][break]

She leads him outside to the mess of puppies covered in dirt and dust just outside his door. They pounce against one another. One in particular misses and lands on Hades' shoulder, causing the beast to react viciously, grabbing the pup roughly by the scruff to toss him aside.[break][break]

"I want you to have one and raise it as your own."[break][break]

Though she would be chuffed to admit they would all be unanimously raised under his roof, really. It's the thought that counts.

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That Emma breaks contact so readily is surprising, but not disheartening. There is an energy about her that propels her forth and Gavin follows in her wake, front door opening to the excited yips and playful growls of Rockruff pups in his front yard.[break][break]

There's three of them, watched over by Emma's Lycanroc, and Gavin finds himself at a loss for words.[break][break]

Growing up, his family had not celebrated birthdays, nor any other holiday in which the giving of gifts was prevalent. His academic achievements were celebrated with only a curt nod of approval if he was lucky, and even then accompanied by the expectation that he was always to do better, climb higher, to never stop until there were no more accolades to earn. He'd built a life on this foundation, the understanding that nothing in life would be given for free. Even in Rocket, he'd clawed his way from the bottom on the weight of his worth.[break][break]

This was the first exception.[break][break]

The admonished pup lands at Gavin's feet, stunned by the impact and stumbling against his calf in a haste to get to his feet and return to play with his siblings. The scientist watches the steadfast Rockruff rush straight back into the fray.[break][break]

Gavin's gaze finds Emma's, questioning: Why?[break][break]

What he asks is: "Are you sure?"[break][break]

He trusts her, more than he's ever trusted anyone, but a breath of hesitation betrays his concern that there will be some sort of catch.

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She leans against the doorway or just outside of it and against the frame while he stands there, stunned. The pup crashes to his feet before getting back up, it's stubborn, not easily shaken. The fact that it throws itself back into the fray so readily is the reason she had chosen it.[break][break]

Emma feels the weight of Gavin's attention linger on her until she faces him. Her expression is almost irritated by his hesitation, unsure why his reaction is so strange.[break][break]

His question reflects his uncertainty, as does the breath he exhales.[break][break]

Her arms uncross in front of her and she blinks, glancing back to the pups.[break][break]

"You're the only one I trust to raise it properly. You and myself - but I wanted you to have one. I may be capable, but I'm not willing to split myself three ways for these runts."[break][break]

She says this with an underlying tone of indifference, but the way her eyes linger on each pup suggests she isn't as hard on them as she suggests. [break][break]

"What's wrong?"

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Her question is a hard one, for it's not something Gavin's ever had to put into words. How did you explain your entire worldview being called into question for something so silly as a simple gift?[break][break]

His lips part with the intent to answer, but the words don't come easy.[break][break]

He thinks of writing and rewriting academic papers until his fingers bled, of the trophy case in the living room that never seemed full enough. In a way, the Rockruff pup that springs back to its feet and throws itself back into the fray is a reflection of himself.[break][break]

He does not miss the trace of irritation, impatience, in Emma's demeanour. It twists in his gut, something like guilt over not reacting in the way she's expected. He doesn't know how. There is an imagine in his mind of how he could fake it — smile, thank her, scoop one of the pups into his arms and carry on. It wouldn't be real. He's getting used to being real with her. He's even told her his name.[break][break]

There's a knee-jerk instinct to apologise, manners beaten into him, but he holds it back. Licks at dry lips.[break][break]

"You don't want anything in return?"

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Emma finds herself studying his face the entire time he pauses to reflect. There's a story behind his eyes, one shrouded in a fog of war. She doesn't know what it is he's thinking, what sort of inner turmoil he's facing. [break][break]

It's just a dog.[break][break]

She's given Pokemon to fellow Rockets before - though this time was certainly more personal. His discomfort makes her uncomfortable, as if she's overstepped or stepped out of line. It makes her skin crawl.[break][break]

The puppies wrestle viciously, tearing at fur and rock in order to come out on top. It's the female that seems the most dominant, using her smaller size to outmaneuver her brothers.[break][break]

But Emma isn't watching her. She's watching him.[break][break]

"I want it trained right, that's all. Is that too much to ask?"[break][break]

She's sensitive, misreading his lack of reaction and his questions as a sign he's unimpressed or uninterested. That her efforts are wasted and she'd made a mistake. It gnaws at her, the not knowing what it is he's thinking.[break][break]

"Are you okay?"

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It's the wrong thing to ask.[break][break]

Gavin's uncertainty sharpens into something defensive at her challenge. Too much to ask? Was she mocking him?[break][break]

"Of course not!"[break][break]

It comes out with an edge that draws Gavin's Lucario from inside the house, the dual-type sensing the aura of tension developing between the two. Perhaps it's even delighted by the thought that this might go awry. Unfortunately for Lucario, logic and shame catch up to Gavin's train of thought, slam on the brakes before it can veer off course.[break][break]

"Sorry," he says, too-quick but sincere. "I'm — it's fine, I just—"[break][break]

He rakes his good hand through his hair, collects himself. This felt messy, not the cool composure the Rocket prided himself upon.[break][break]

"No one's ever given me something like this before." It's hard to look at her, but he forces himself to face the discomforts caused by his lackluster reaction, his defensive snap. The back of his neck burns hot. Embarrassment is not an emotion he wears often nor well. "Not without expectations."

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He snaps at her and she pushes off of the wall to stand up straight, to uncross her arms and stand against him, opposing. There's a hardness to her gaze, a warning. But as quickly as his frustration is vented he pulls it back, corrects himself. [break][break]

The woman's attention shifts to the Lucario, as does Hades'. Her werewolf peels back lips to reveal gums, a silent threat. [break][break]

It's become a mess of an interaction. Emma's good mood dragged through the mud of a misunderstanding.[break][break]

"You aren't fine. I've overstepped, clearly."[break][break]

She says this stiffly while he runs his hand through his hair. Her gaze is still hard and her stance unapproachable. [break][break]

"I expect nothing from you than what you've already given me."[break][break]

There's definitive hurt in her voice, his admittance jarring for her. The fact that he assumed she would want something in return, that she would demand anything more from him than what she had already received -- it felt like a mockery of her gratitude.[break][break]

He had given her his home and his trust, a puppy was nothing in comparison.

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She's right: he isn't fine. It's the reason behind his subtle correction, the stutter-step in his rushed reassurance. There was nothing wrong with the situation in which he'd been placed, nothing wrong with Emma — it's Gavin who's at fault here, whose inability to react to things like a normal fucking person was causing them so much stress.[break][break]

Lucario snarls, a ripping sound rarely heard from the bipedal canine. It's only then that Gavin notices him, snaps a frigid stare onto his Pokemon.[break][break]

"Get back in the house."[break][break]

His relationship with his once most trusted companion had never been the same since Littleroot, but the cold authority in Gavin's tone sees Lucario disappear obediently from the doorway in which it had stood. Gavin's attention returns to Emma, a hard lump forming in his throat.[break][break]

"It's not like that." While not pleading, something in his tone wills her to understand. She knows much of the man he'd become, but nothing of the frightened boy that still slunk in his shadow. He can hear the hurt in her voice — it drives a wedge between them, the closeness he'd come to take for granted slipping away with Emma's closed off stance. "I didn't mean to imply—"[break][break]

But he had. That was the problem. He'd treated Emma as if she were anyone else.[break][break]

He exhales slowly, frustrated not with Emma but with his own inability to provide proper explanation in the heat of the moment.[break][break]

"You're not like them. You're — not like anyone I've ever known." She's new, different. Jarring, confusing, wonderful. "You didn't know. Fuck, I didn't know."

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Emma raises a hand to silence her Lycanroc the moment he steps forward, accepting the Lucario's challenge. In kind, Gavin sends his Pokemon back into the house. The tension there is sated at least, for now.[break][break]

But tension lingers between the two, and it only seems to get worse.[break][break]

He's trying to explain, trying to rectify the situation and change it. And it's the tone in his voice that urges Emma to stay and listen despite the impulse she has to leave.[break][break]

She's tired of running.[break][break]

"Imply what, Gavin? Please, explain it to me."[break][break]

Her words are both biting with her muted pain and receptive to his attempt to rectify the situation. She's both angry and begging for an explanation.[break][break]

And then he exhales as if he's frustrated and it honestly makes her blood boil. His inability to communicate drives her insane. [break][break]

"Didn't know what?"

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Emma's biting tone is fuel to the fire that burns beneath the surface, a simmering heat that strives to burst free. It manifests in the way the fingers of his left hand clench at his side, the hard set of his jaw.[break][break]

She's demanding answers he only half knows how to give, and Gavin wants to turn on his heel and head back into the house.[break][break]

He wants a fucking cigarette.[break][break]

His fingers uncurl, slowly, as he draws in a deep breath and forces calm, calm, calm.[break][break]

"This has nothing to do with you." He stresses the last word, as if that stress alone can deliver understanding. "It's just not how I was raised."[break][break]

There's a defensive edge to his tone, as if he's subconsciously defending the parents who'd raised him without love and affection. He knew it wasn't typical, remembers classmates discussing presents after the winter break and being invited to birthday parties, but it was his normal. Their normal. Quinn family tradition.[break][break]

"I don't have a problem with it. With — you." His heart is beating too loud. "It's — it's really sweet of you, Em, I just didn't expect it. You can't overstep a boundary you didn't know was there, all right?"

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Emma's eyes narrow, her expression cold, quiet in her anger. She sees the way his hand clenches, the way the muscle in his jaw twitches. She takes it as a sign of distrust, dishonesty. It doesn't occur to her (and why would it?) that she's the one aggravating him, that she's asking too many questions, asking too much.[break][break]

And when his fingers uncurl she nearly flinches, half expecting to be reprimanded or scolded. Perhaps even struck.[break][break]

But no such punishment comes except for his exasperated breath, his attempt to reconcile and explain his situation. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, like bile creeping up the back of her throat. Emma only reads the defensive tone in his voice, misinterpreting it as aggression. It fuels her own aggression in kind. [break][break]

"It's just a dog," she snaps, overlooking his stumbling attempts to rectify the situation. She's overwhelmed, unwilling to see what's really happening. He's insinuating a scenario she hadn't anticipated - that she was showing him an act of affection. Perhaps her snarl is laid out for herself, not for him.[break][break]

"Forget it. I'll look after them myself."[break][break]

And she doesn't wait for him to interject, she's too lost in her own beating heart as she turns away with the intent to not look back.

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It's as if he's flipped some sort of switch — he recognizes her instinct, her expectations, because once they were his own. She expected him to strike her. It dawns on him, then, that this situation is all wrong: they are dancing to different rhythms, tripping over one another in their attempts to understand a routine they hadn't been taught. Guilt swims in his stomach.[break][break]

'It's just a dog.'[break][break]

A hot wash of shame burns his ears. It hadn't meant anything to her. It was just a dog, so why was Gavin getting so worked up over it?
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He knows the answer lies in the way she'd said it: 'I have something for you.'[break][break]

It hadn't been a simple request over a shared meal. It had been a gift, a responsibility bestowed upon him based on the trust she had in him. 'You're the only one I trust to raise it properly.' The trust that was fracturing beneath the weight of their anger and hurt, slipping steadily away like the sand in an hourglass. He's struggling to gather it up in his hands, feeling grains slip through his fingers as the situation escalates.[break][break]

She turns away, and he should let her go, but he can't, not when—[break][break]

It's too soon for those words, the depth they carry.[break][break]

"Emma, wait..." He doesn't physically move to stop her, thinks of the look her her eyes when he'd uncurled his fist. He's rooted in place, a crumbling statue. He doesn't know what to say to make her stay — he's only made it worse, worse. "Talk to me. Please."[break][break]

Don't leave, not again.

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