bakerstreet | words words words

[ Peter's usually lucky in that getting sick was a rarity; his constitution is such that most viruses fall away from him like water from a duck's back. Or maybe his Terran biology just makes him an inhospitable host for most sicknesses? Or maybe even these illnesses don't want to spend any more time with him than necessary? In any case, on the rare occasions where he does catch something, it would inevitably drag him down, down, down, granting him no shortage of things to complain about. But he never had time for it, honestly, would push himself to suffer through his illness until he miraculously became better.

Or until he collapsed.

Usually, the latter happened more than the former.

A few days have passed since he's come down with-- something. A space cold, as he's fond of calling it, and his shipmates have been privy to his incessant whining and moaning about every headache and sore throat and cough; still, he pulled his weight on jobs and did what was expected of him with his usual panache.

When his body finally decides to mutiny, he has the luxury of being in his bed, rather than in a hallway or right in the middle of a firefight. His alarm clock is screaming at him to wake, and he's vaguely aware that they had something important to do today? Maybe? But his head is filled with cotton, and his mouth feels like it's lined with sandpaper, and he's coasting somewhere in that uncomfortable zone where he can't tell if he's freezing or boiling. When he rouses himself enough to reach out to shut off his blaring alarm, his movements are loose and imprecise -- more flopping than anything -- until he manages to finally find the damned switch.

And then he passes out for at least another half hour. Oops? ]

[Peter isn't the only one that hardly ever gets sick. Gamora's constitution makes her able to withstand a couple of minutes in space, of course a simple cold bug isn't going to bother her much. Still she's aware that it's a thing and before Nebula kept getting her upgrades she got sick, as well. She knows that some people handle it better than others, and she knows some people have a stronger constitution and won't even feel it and others will feel like crap. Logically she knows all this.

She's also pretty sure that Quill's levels of whining around aren't normal. Sure, he's sick- and they have tested and tested to make it was true because the crew had a hard time believing that someone who was able to hold an infinity gem would just get a 'space cold'. Part of her believes he's doing it for the attention. Or rather, she's sure he's doing it for the attention but she doesn't have any proof and even she realizes that accusing a sick person of lying or exaggerating would make her an ass.

Luckily for her she has the codes to all of the rooms so forcing Quill's room open ism't much of a hassle.]

Quill, we heard the alarm. We know you're awake. Stop acting like a Terran ba-[And that's when she actually sees his face, and raised both eyebrows in surprise.]

You look like shit.

[ When his door slides open, it rouses him a little; Gamora's voice pulls him the rest of the way out of his sleep, and he turns onto his side to regard her, eyes glassy and unfocused, face flushed with fever.

What she says last, though, makes him breathe out a near silent laugh. He certainly feels like shit, but even still, his natural reaction is to be an ass. ]

Good morning to you, too.

[ His voice is hoarse, like he gargled with gravel some time during the night. He licks his lips, and for a moment it looks like he might drift off again -- but then he bolts upright, only to groan and sway. He clutches his head with both hands, leaning sideways against the bulkhead for support. ]

Shit. Shit, we had that-- that thing today. [ He flops a hand vaguely. ] Brunch thing. With Nova Prime. Are we late?

[Okay, if he's worried about that she knows for sure he's feeling pretty bad. And the "brunch", or basically Nova Prime's way to keep tabs on them all was a little more than an hour ago, and it went as well as one would expect. Gamora can respect a woman as strong as Prime, even if she's been forced to stay on the boring side of the law. Peter's absence hadn't been unnoticed, but they had all assumed he had skipped the meeting on purpose.]

You will probably have a very angry Nova Prime contacting you soon. [She lets that be her answer. She takes a step forward, hesitates, then walks over to the side of the bed.]

You really are sick.

[ He turns to glance at his alarm clock and hisses out a curse, falling back onto his bed. The last thing he wants to do today is play at being an adult and trying to be diplomatic with Nova Prime. "Sorry I didn't show up, I was sleepy," doesn't seem like it's gonna cut it.

Peter looks over at Gamora as she approaches, and he lets out another bitter laugh. ]

'Course I am. Didn't all the tests say so?

[ He pauses, and his gaze-- doesn't soften, exactly; more accurately, there's an edge of disappointment there, something self-deprecating. If he were feeling more himself, he would've done better to hide it. ]

It's okay to say it. I already know you didn't believe me.

[She feels guilty for a second, then angry at herself for feeling guilty. She's used to rules, obligations, of being punished if she so much as steps out of line. Mistakes meant her death, or worse. She'd been following Thanos's orders for most of her life... until the day she didn't. So of course she will assume Peter's cavalier attitude means he doesn't care.]

I believed you were sick. [She assures him, adopting a defensive kind of tone even though she's talking to a sick man who's simply disappointed she basically assumed he was faking an illness.]

I just didn't think you were really this sick. You held an infinity gem, Quill. You saved me from dying in space. It's hard to imagine something like a common illness hitting you and leaving you like this.

[ He gives another little laugh, disappointment falling away. ]

If you wanna try yelling at my immune system to get its act together, then by all means -- be my guest.

[ He rubs at one of his eyes with the heel of his palm before he glances back up at her. ]

I'm guessin' you're too badass to get sick like this, huh?

Do your own yelling at your immune system, Quill. Mine knows better than to take it out on me.

[A joke, kind of. Because she's out of her deep so she'll try anything to get out of this awkward situation. Except being nice, probably, because when has being nice for no reason ever helped anyone? She pulls some hair behind her ear, pursing her lips together in frustration.]

I do not know what I'm supposed to do. How do I help you get better?

[ He does, at least, laugh a little at that -- joke or no.

As for her question, he frowns at her, the offer of assistance surprising him. Usually the Ravagers left him alone to sort through his own crap, help himself get better. He forgets, sometimes, that he has a team now. He forgets they are not the Ravagers.

He falls quiet for a second, sinking into the pillows, and he considers telling her that he doesn't need the help. Embarrassing enough as it is that he let himself get this bad -- even worse that she might baby him, treat him like porcelain. But that won't help anyone, he knows. ]

--Glass of water. [ He licks his dry lips, tries to swallow his pride. ] Cold, wet towel to help bring the fever down.

[For all the had a dificult childhood, Gamora didn't grow up alone. She always had Nebula. She always knew that she could fall, because Nebula would be there to grab her just like she would always be there to catch Nebula.

That isn't true anymore, but that doesn't mean she can just look at a sick, dizzy Quill and simply turn around.]

Okay. [And a glass of water she gets, with the same kind of determination she applies to everything. Soon Quill has a (dripping) wet towel on his forehead as she offers him a glass of water. She isn't the party kind but that doesn't mean she has never been around drunk people, so she connects the dots:]

This is a bit like hang over, isn't it?

[ Peter would be amused by the sort of grim way she goes about getting what he asked for -- almost as if she were preparing to face a heavily armed enemy, rather than looking after a practically bed-ridden idiot. And he is, at least a little, though he feels like he's watching events unfold through a haze.

And not the good kind of haze, either, the kind that would precede a hangover, as Gamora implies. Still, he concedes, ]

Yeah. Close enough to one. Just without any of the fun stuff the night before.

[ He manages to sit up, holding the towel in place against his forehead -- and shit, it's blessedly cold, and it's a welcome reprieve from his body's overheating. Soaked as it is, the excess water drips down his neck, under his shirt, cool and soothing for a few seconds. He takes the offered glass with a nod of thanks before chugging it down like his life depends on it. Then the glass is returned and he's flopping back into bed. ]

Thanks. Needed that.

Yes, you did.

[No 'you are welcome' because seriously Quill. She said she'd follow him, of course she's going to help him out. What more proof does he need?] I don't know the usual body temperatures for a Terran but if yours are usually at normal levels they are far too high right now.

[So, you have fever Quill. Gamora reaches for the towel, very carefully wetting the rest of his face.] How long until you are well rested and ready to go?

[ gosh saying thank you is just polite gamora gosh

Peter Jason Quill is a man with little shame; it takes a great deal to bring a blush to his cheeks. After all, his best plan to date had involved distracting a madman wielding an world-destroying weapon by doing the Running Man. But with Gamora sitting here, wiping away the sweat from his forehead like he was a child? It's a damn good thing his face is already flush with fever, or else his embarrassment would be coloring his face, right now.

Even worse, a part of him kind of liked the attention. He leaned into her touch, the coolness of the towel a balm to his feverish brow, eyes half-lidded from drowsiness. So maybe this was alright. Maybe this kind of thing was okay from anyone on his team. Well, maybe not Rocket. That'd be fucking weird. But-- from the others, this was fine, right? From Gamora, it was okay, wasn't it?

(He tried to ignore the little traitorous voice that says, Especially from Gamora.) ]

A day, probably. Or two, tops. [ Reluctantly, he reaches up to take hold of the towel himself. ] Just need to sleep it off. You don't have to stick around for that.

[Excuse her while she pauses for a second. What do you mean, 'days'? She had been guessing hours at most. She snaps Peter's hand away and keeps on wetting his face because if this is the only thing she can do to make him feel better she will do it and she will do it well, thank you very much.

There's a part of her that feels bad Quill got sick, as if she could have done anything to prevent it. It's an annoying lack of logic on her part but she doesn't know how to make it stop. All she knows is that seeing him get sick after all he'd done is disturbing. She doesn't follow people easily, and she had put all her faith on him. It's hard to remember he isn't actually immortal after all he's survived.]

I can wait until you fall asleep before I leave. [She pauses, then frowns.] I would like to wait until you fall asleep.

[ Her pause is pretty telling, honestly, and he offers a small, self-deprecating smile. "Yeah, days," it seems to say.

Still, the fact that she snatches the towel from him, and that she says-- that, wanting to wait for him to sleep. It gets him to laugh, a little disbelieving. ]

You wanna wait here. Until I sleep. Seriously?

You're gonna get awful bored.

[That actually makes her grin. ‘Bored’, that’s a word she used to know. She’s pretty sure she hasn’t been bored ever since she forced her way into the mission to get her hands on the gem and away from Thanos.]

Some people actually enjoy the calm, Quill. [And okay, Gamora is beginning to understand that she is not one of those people. But that doesn’t mean she can’t just sit by Quill a couple hours. Or less, because he really looks tired already.]

But I find it hard to believe a simple wet towel will help. Do you really not need anything else? How do Terrans handle these situation?

[ He squints at that, clearly doubtful that anyone could enjoy calm and quiet, but he keeps his opinion to himself. ]

I dunno. Usually it just takes care of itself. Sleep. Water. More sleep. More water.

[ A beat. ]

Obviously I'm not known for my medical expertise.

And I am known for killing. [She's just saying, this will go down awesomely.]

You have water. Both in the towel and in the glass. Now you need to sleep, correct? [And then, because it just occurred to her:] I could leave, if that would make sleep come easier.

[ Ostensibly, it would, but--

Peter kind of likes the company. He sort of doesn't want her to leave, but that's kind of a weird thing to say, isn't it? "Please, Gamora, sit there staring at me while I lie here, sick and sweaty and gross."

That'd be weirdly needy and clingy.

He licks his lips and tries to sound as casual as possible. ]

You can stay. If you want. Or not. It's-- you know. Up to you.

You have always been a master as pushing away any kind of blame, even if it's over dumb questions like this.

[She crosses her arms over her chest and slightly slumps down on the chair, ostensibly making herself comfortable. Staring at a sick sweaty Quill isn't her favorite way to pass the time but Quill is weak right now, something she never expected. And being weak is a liability.

That's her reasoning and she's sticking to it.]

Is there no calming music in that machine of yours?

[ He breathes out a quiet laugh, and the correction is automatic: ]

Cassette player.

[ Yondu had gifted him the ship when he was around twenty, which was a surprise in itself. The bigger surprise, though, was that the Centaurian had somehow salvaged a working tape deck and wired the ship for sound. He had also grumbled about the trouble it took to find the thing, how primitive and difficult the technology was to work with, and that Peter most certainly owed him for the trouble, starting with this job--

Little things like that made Peter's relationship with the man extra confusing.

Peter hauls himself up into a sitting position, snagging his Walkman from the nightstand to pop out Awesome Mix, Volume 1. He slides it into place in the tape deck installed in his wall and through muscle memory, he fast forwards the tape to 10cc's "I'm Not in Love." After that, he eases himself back down. ]

Mean, it though. There are better things to do than wait for me to pass out.

[Apparently she doesn’t look the part of someone who isn’t moving so she rests her feet on the edge of the bed, too, giving Quill a ‘try to kick me out’ kind of glare. The music is pleasant, she’s pretty sure she’s heard it before in Quill’s endless loop of ‘awesome’ music. It was a weird thing to get used to (Thanos hadn’t exactly raised her with tons of music) but she thinks she would miss it now if it were gone.

Eventually though the lyrics makes her squint. And she glares at the Walkman.]

He is lying.

[ The comment makes him glance up at her, and he-- sort of smiles, breathing out another laugh. ]

Yeah, you're not wrong.

[ He licks his lips wiping at his forehead again. ]

It's more like he's denial, though. Lying to himself and to her. Probably some weird macho thing about not wanting to reveal he has feelings.

words words words

Peter Quill | Guardians of the Galaxy

no self controoool

lmk if you want me to redo!

nope perfect!

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