A thump could be anything. One of the dogs knocking something over, a wild Pokémon outside, a misaligned book falling off a shelf. Regardless of its origin, the sound drags Gavin from a restless sleep into the suddenly threatening dark of his room.

Barely seconds have passed before he's on his feet with his gun drawn, safety off, pupils dilating as they adjust forcefully to the gloom.

His dogs aren't barking. Why aren't they barking?

He creeps toward the living room, stepping carefully to muffle any sound. It's not until he sees a shape in the dark that he acts.

"Temp?"

Surprise, when he recognizes his boyfriend, then alarm as he realizes something is wrong. He puts the safety back on the gun and sets it down, flipping on the light and rushing to his partner's side.

He wants to touch, to coddle and comfort, but the burns give him pause. Fingers flutter anxiously before he curls them against his palms.

"Fuck, love, what happened?"

In the light, it looks worse than it actually is. His knees and elbows are scrapped bloody from falling. Reddened skin is shiny and irritated. Grunting, with more effort than it should be, Temp raises his head. A smile is forced and sardonic, no humor in the situation even as he tries to force it.

"Truck blew up." Which isn't even half of what happened but it's all he can force out.

He licks his lips, mouth dry, comes back with blood from a split.

"Can I have some water?"

Unconsciously he leans closer to Cillian Quinn, wanting his touch even if it would sting. Feeling secure now that Gavin is here, he loosens his arms, sits the kitten between his feet; hopes that'll keep it from wandering off and being eaten by something bigger and badder. It's eyes aren't even open yet.

For a moment, Gavin looks scared.

Eyes wide, lips parted with shock, a gentle tremble in the hand paused halfway in reaching for Temp.

Then something appears to shutter over his expression, and a panicked partner is replaced with a Rocket underboss who's seen worse, who's endured worse, who can handle these injuries like he's handled countless others. His throat clicks as he swallows.

"Of course. Stay here."

As if Tempest Quinn would go anywhere.

He goes into the kitchen and fills a glass with water, brings it out and nudges it gently into Temp's hands. He's also retrieved the first aid kit and sets it on the nearest surface, pulling out alcohol wipes to clean the wounds.

It's only then that Gavin notices the Shinx.

"Where'd you come from?" Voice soft for a moment, fond, before his attention is redirected to Temp. "Take your time," he says, "but tell me whatever you can remember. Why'd the truck blow up? What were you doing?"

Get him to think of anything other than the stinging pain as Gavin sets to work, kneeling down next to the ottoman and taking one of Temp's arms to inspect it. He doesn't touch the burns just yet, focuses on the cuts and scrapes that need to be tended to for risk of infection. His hands are steady, gentle, practiced.

The glass is taken. With some effort, Temp tilts his head back and drains it. His throat bobs as he washes the grit and blood and spit that had coated his insides down his throat. He sits in on the ground with a clink, takes a breath. Temp hums, tries to collect his thoughts. The ache of the alcohol, of Cillian Quinn tending him, doesn't bother Temp that much. It hurts, sure, but the motion of being cared for overrides any aches that could come of this. Temp wasn't dying. He wasn't even in that bad of shape. He would just need time to heal.

"I was... uh... Out at the docks with one of the new kids." And kid was literal. Temp hoped he got away okay. "Loading cargo for someone to pick up. Then this... weird... Luxray attacked. It was really strong. Vicious. Kept attacking us and it blew up the truck." A super basic rundown.

He doesn't move unless Gavin moves him. malleable to his boyfriend's whims. The Shinx starts to cry again, not used to the unfamiliar smells. Hungry. Wanting it's mother. It mewls pathetically, soft paws not even strong enough to push it up onto all fours.

His first thought at mention of kids is Pacifidlog, not Rocket. It's not until the mention of cargo that the wheels turn in Gavin's brain and it clicks into place: it had been a mission. They'd been attacked.

He doesn't look away from where he's bandaging the scrape, though he's conscious of the kitten mewling on his living room floor.

"Imagine it's pissed you took its kid. Your ankle looks sprained; prop it up on the couch."

Framed more as an order than a request, habit.

When he gets to Tempest Quinn's back, steady hands use tweezers to pluck shards of glass from bloodied skin. He's incredibly careful as he cleans these wounds, avoiding burned patches of skin with the stinging wipe. He'll get a cold compress, after.

"Good job getting it back, by the way. Was the other one shiny, too?"

He mistakenly assumes this is what Temp had meant by weird.

If Temp knew that Cillian Quinn thought of Pacifidlog before Rocket, he would have felt a spread of warmth in his chest. It was small but it would have meant a lot to him. But he doesn't know that, so Temp just grunts and goes through the effort of dragging his leg up to put on the couch as requested. He feels bad his grimy shoe is leaving dirt on the cushion.

"Shiny? No... I don't think? Are they blue when they're shiny?" Was the Shinx shiny? Temp hadn't been around the species enough to know anything about them. He glanced down at the kitten. Guess that's why this one was so special it had it's own container.

But it was weird, the Luxray, and he tries to place a finger on why...

He also wonders how to break it to Gavin he kind of popped the seal on this little guy. He'd recalled it into a pokeball to keep it safe from the explosion. So, technically he'd kind of just... stolen it. Oops.

Well, he'd pop that cherry when he got to it.

"It... hmm...." The whole time he'd seen it, he knew it felt familiar but why...

"That time when I tried to feed your Sandslash a treat. It was like that."

Gavin doesn't think about the mess Temp is making of the furniture. His thoughts are only of the injuries — some superficial at best, others requiring his careful attention as he continues to set bloodied shards of glass and bits of debris on the coffee table.

"No. They're gold, like that one." He turns his attention to the Shinx for the first time, gesturing to it. "That's why this one's such a valuable asset. Big money on the Black Market."

He still doesn't suspect what Temp has done.

The careful movement of his hands pause in their ministrations when it clicks.

"Like a Shadow Pokemon?"

Tempest Quinn

"Like a Shadow Pokemon?"

When Cillian Quinn says those words, a few things slowly click into place. The weird and uneasy familiar feeling the whole time he had seen the pokemon. The aggression. The raw power. Then, there was that attack it used right before it vanished. Dark miasma pouring off it's body, just like how Gavin's shadow pokemon did. Just how Gavin himself did.

Silence hangs in the air between them as Temp rolls these thoughts around in his mind.

"It was a Shadow Pokemon." Temp says, clearly, as if he only just realized this himself.

Shifting, even as it stings, Temp tries to turn to meet his boyfriend's eyes.

"It used a weird... move? And it spewed out all that misty stuff you do. I think I stole it's kid."

Shadow Luxray?

The only one Gavin knew of had belonged to Dominic. A vague memory of a report in the HNN regarding two Rockets whose Pokémon had been seized en route to Kanto flits through his mind. Could it be...?

It was irrelevant, he supposed; it told him no more about the creature.

"I always thought them infertile." He frowns. "It was spewing miasma, you said? Fascinating."

His attention flicks back to the Shinx.

"Well, either way, they'll be glad you didn't let it steal the cargo."

Tempest Quinn

A cut stings as Cillian Quinn carefully cleans it, alcohol burning over the gash.

Temp bites his lit and sucks air through his teeth. May as well bite the bullet.

"It didn't but... uh... I did."

He shifts his foot, gently rolling the Shinx over so he can lift it back into his arms. It mewls again, pathetic, soft paws working to pull Temp's thumb into it's mouth, suckling desperately for milk that won't come.

"I used a pokeball on it to protect it."

He can't look at Gavin, can't even think about it, something like shame burning him up inside.

But he didn't regret it.

There's a beat of silence as Gavin processes the situation, the note of hesitation in his partner's voice. His fingers continue their work, the pads of his fingers gliding carefully across raw and reddened skin.

"Well, you can just release it."

His shoulders lift in a shrug. It was only a temporary hitch, after all.

Tempest Quinn

A simple solution, right?

"I...."

The Shinx sinks baby needle teeth into his thumb. Not enough to hurt just to sting.

"I want to keep it, Cill." He pulls the Shinx closer to his chest, raises his other hand to stroke the fur on her head.

"The kid I was with, it was crying in that box, and he kept yelling at it and punching the box. I can't...." He bites his lip. Because Temp was soft. He wasn't like Cillian Quinn. More a broken bottle than the carefully carved knife his boyfriend was; only good at stabbing when needed but not intended for violence.

Only when Temp's intentions sink in do Gavin's hands still.

"Temp, you can't."

His words are sharp, stern, the voice of an underboss — but his expression hints not at disappointment, but fear. Eyes wider than they should be, brows knit together with concern. His fingers curl against his palm.

"What are you going to tell your superiors, the ones who set you up with the mission? Either you'll get in trouble for losing the cargo or you'll be in worse trouble for stealing it."

He doesn't bother suggesting that they let the kid take the fall; Temp is soft, and Gavin knows it.

Tempest Quinn