He has been here as often as he can.

Sootopolis is in shambles in the aftermath of the Darkest Day. Rocket is more frantic than ever. Though Walsh has expanded the ranks of his underbosses in response to the chaos, Gavin finds he has no less work to do than before. Perhaps that is only because there is no end to work — there will always be something else. There is no getting on top of his duties.

He comes to the medical bay on his breaks, ragged and exhausted, and sits by the bedside of his beloved. The monitors beep and flash and declare Temp as stable as he can be expected to be, but he is never awake when Gavin arrives.

This time, he expects to be no different.

He's half asleep slumped in the chair he's pulled up to his lover's bedside, head in his hands and hair ruffled from dragging his fingers through it one too many times. A nervous habit.

He doesn't look up at the soft whimper, nor the shift. There had been too many false hopes. It's the sound of Tempest Quinn's voice that jars him, Gavin's hands pulled away from his face in a jerky, startled moment and instantly hovering over his partner.

He's awake. He's alive.

Whatever Gavin had intended to say sticks hard in his throat. There's heat behind his eyes that he blinks away. A hard, painful clearing of his throat.

"I'm here," he manages at last. I'm so, so sorry.