There's a lot to unpack in Cillian Quinn's voice, in what he's telling Temp.

For now, none of that matters, because just hearing the timber of the other's voice is a relief that he's alive.

"I thought you were dead, dude." He thinks back to promises of Gavin never losing him- but what if he lost Gavin?

Was it normal that he was pretty sure it would tear his heart out of his chest?

He squeezes Gavin's hands a little tighter than before. Than intended.

"I didn't do much. Just packed up here for the doctors to patch up."

Tempest Quinn squeezes his hand hard, crushing in a way that's as comforting as it is uncomfortable. It's the kind of grip that makes him feel anchored, safe.

"You did more than enough. I think... I think it would've killed me."

Lucario couldn't have gotten him out of there on its own. With the amount of blood Gavin had lost, how he'd felt weak and tired and like all he'd wanted to do was close his eyes and drift off to sleep...

"I think it nearly did."

There is ice in his veins when Cillian Quinn admits that.

It takes him a few moments to catch himself, from the numbing anger that follows the admission. It takes a few quick breaths to keep from getting up and going to try and find Choi again. It's only Gavin himself, battered and weak, that keeps him centered enough to push back the urge.

Stiff, mechanical, to force himself to do something else, Temp picks up one of the apple bunnies he had made earlier.

"The doctor said to get you to eat a little bit when you woke up. Or the IV might make you sick."

Just- something to get his mind off the desire to beat Choi's face in.

Rarely, if ever, has Gavin seen Tempest Quinn angry.

He spots the change immediately and beyond the concern he feels and a need to stop his friend from going off to throw hands with the other underboss, there's a stirring of something in the pit of his stomach.

"You're pretty hot when you're angry," he hums, loose-lipped and grinning on account of the drugs they'd pumped him with.

He's a little less enthused about the thought of eating. He already does feel kind of nauseous, and weak, and the cute shapes Temp's cut the fruit into can do little to change Gavin's eagerness.

"I've been through worse."

Gavin's dopey smile does quell some of the fire in his belly.

Softens the edges, makes him feel a little less like he's about to shatter into something angry. It doesn't show it's head often but Temp's temper is furious and sudden.

"Don't make me chew this up and feed you like a baby bird. I will." It's easier to find his voice, focus on Cillian Quinn. As if to make good on his threat, he breaks the apple rabbit in two and pops it in his mouth. The other half is offered to Gavin with a raised brow.

"Dude, gross."

But effective, as Gavin's not sure if Tempest Quinn would make good on the threat and it's not like he's got the strength to bolt if he does.

Reluctant but compliant, he accepts the other half of the mutilated fruit bunny and pops it in his mouth. The fruit juice is nice to get the taste of dry mouth from his lips but nausea and his gag reflex conspire to make even this small act feel like hell.

Still, Gavin's never been one to whine, so he sucks it up and swallows, grimacing.

"Did the doctor say anything else?"

How much did they understand about what had happened? How much would he be expected to explain? Where the hell was Chu-e Choi?

One thing at a time.

Temp relishes in his small victory. At least he knows he can use the thread of chewed food as a threat in the future if he really needs.

"You'll need to stay in bed a few days so the stitches can set." Which, it wouldn't kill Cillian Quinn to take it easy, anyway. It was just a shame that this was the only reason he might actually be forced to do that. "And not heavy lifting for at least two weeks."

Straightening up, Temp flexes one arm to show off his muscles, slaps his bicep with his other hand.

"Good thing you got me, bro. I'll carry anything you want around!"

Then he narrowed his eyes, picked up a strawberry rose, and held it out.

"And if you try to go against what the doctor's say, you better believe I'll kick your ass." Temp figured Gavin was already devising methods to get out of his recovery in that pretty little head of his.

"Days?"

Gavin's never allowed himself to be out of commission for that long, not even when he'd taken a Dhelmise's anchor shot to the shoulder. But that hadn't hit near anything vital and he hadn't been drained to the point of almost-no-return afterward.

But it's not just reluctance; there's a tinge of worry in his tone.

"I still — there's work I've gotta do. Sootopolis is in a couple of months—"

He thinks of Walsh's words. Accolades. He needs it to succeed.

His hands are shaky as he accepts the strawberry, but doesn't yet take a bite.

Unfortunately for Tempest Quinn, the threat of an ass-kicking is both way more of a turn-on than a turn-off for Gavin but also, he's a hell of a lot more afraid of Rocket than he is of his friend.

Fortunately, even Gavin knows when he's hit a limit.

"If I give you my Klefki, can you bring my laptop and the burners from my office?"

There was at least some stuff he could accomplish from his bed.

There is a curl of Temo's lip as he thinks over Cillian Quinn's request. Gavin is his friend, his best friend honestly, but Gavin is still a Rocket Underboss and Temp is still just a Grunt with some special privileges. And those are only allowed because he's useful, not because he's sucking anyone's dick. What he's about to say is a risk.

"No." Temp grabs the thin blanket and pulls it up some, makes sure Gavin won't get cold. "At least not until you sleep a little more. You're half out of it on pain meds as is."

He sighed, offered a small grin in the face of having to be slightly stern, awkward and soft. "When they wear off, you'll realize you ordered everyone to wear tutus and made every dance on the beach or something. All that stuff will be there when you're feeling better, dude."

"No?" Gavin repeats, incredulous.

He could pull the boss card... but he doesn't. He sighs, instead, the soft exhale of breath mirroring Tempest Quinn's own, and allows himself to appreciate that the other is simply trying to care for him.

It's strange, but not unwelcome.

"I'll take it easy for today," he acquiesces, however reluctant. "But if I don't have that laptop by tomorrow, I will rip this shit out of my arm and go get it myself."

The cut of his smile suggests a joke but his tone says otherwise.

Temp feels the flare of victory, for now. Already he knows this will be a hell of a battle; Cillian Quinn worked himself to death on a good day, what the fuck was he going to do like this?

Was Temp going to have to go beg Walsh to force Gavin to rest? If it came down to it, he would. Facing down the leader of a criminal organization ring was a lot less scary than the idea of Gavvie somehow hurting himself worse just by not taking care of himself.

"When the doctor comes back to check on you, I'll go grab your stuff, okay?" Temp was, also, reluctant to leave him alone. "But it'll sit on the desk until tomorrow." It felt silly, being stern, most of all with Gavin. His mother had been a hell-raiser, though, and if Temp needed to channel her energy for this, he would.

Rather than reacting with anger or exasperation upon noting the sternness of his friend's tone, Gavin seems almost amused. Brows vanish beneath a messy fringe and he humours the other with a dip of his head.

"Okay."

One night of rest isn't going to kill him, and he's exhausted.