Kicking your legs on the desk, a whistle pushed past your lips. It had been awfully uneventful in the medbay, driving you to the brink of insanity. The sterile, fluorescent lights seemed to have no end. You had been tempted to just push onto your feet and go make a late lunch in the kitchen, before the raging cajun himself begrudgingly shovelled himself into your office, as Kurt guided him to the hospital bed. "Ah ain't need ta be here!" Remy protested, accent thick with an ambition not even his pain could overcome. "Gambit quite alright, he don't need help."