bakerstreet | quote prompt.

[ terran, she has to remind herself. terran. but she knows that the sooner the bandage is in place, the sooner the bleeding stops (because he's already lost so much blood, a worrying amount, more than she thinks is safe by a long shot). it's a rare instance that causing pain twinges something inside of her, but unbidden, a sharp, barbed ache digs into her chest with every shout, every cry, and then with the second bandage, he's clinging to her, leaving his own blood smeared across her clothing, and she wants to reach out to him.

he isn't built for this, to be in this much pain, and she knows it.

(she knows it, and wishes there was something she could do to make it stop.)

but at least with the third strip, that added compression, maybe it'll be enough.

if nothing else, she doesn't reach for another piece of fabric, instead lifting her hands to peter's face (bloody hands, his own blood, she realizes). ]

It's done, Peter, breathe.

[ gentle, but firm, an attempt to be grounding, to give him something to focus on that isn't the pain she knows much be radiating through him. ]

Don't pass out.

[ she repeats it again, because she means it. he needs to stay with her, to stay conscious. ]

Stay with me.

[ He heaves in breath after breath through his mouth, fingers twisting into the material of her sleeves, and when she says, "It's done," he nearly cries with relief.

Technically, he's already crying. So, you know. Two steps ahead of the game.

Her hands are slick and warm against his cheeks, and he untangles one hand from her clothing to clutch her wrist – and on anyone else, it'd be a bruising grip. The kind to make bones creak and ache. He tries to anchor himself on the sound of her voice, the feel of her hands on his face, tries to focus on anything other than the fire lancing along his side with every breath.

It kind of works. ]

Not— [ Between desperate gulps for air. ] Not going anywhere.

[ Although passing out does sound really tempting.

Quietly, but with feeling, ]

This— this really sucks.

[ fortunately for peter, gamora can withstand whatever he needs to channel his pain, as long as it helps him. that grip doesn't even make her flinch or dissuade her from keeping her hands in place, holding onto him just as much as she lets him cling to her. ]

I know.

[ she's in complete agreement.

she finds herself reminded of her own most recent encounter with a bullet (months ago, now), and she'd at least been fortunate enough to have all the physical advantages she does — and it had still been incredibly painful.

she actually admires peter for his ability to stay conscious right now, brittle and fragile as terrans are by comparison. ]

We will have you treated properly soon.

[ with plenty of pain medication and all the sleep he wants (though, for him, it'll be in a hospital, rather than some shipside surgery like gamora had opted for). ]

[ After a few seconds, Peter doesn't quite relax, but his death-grip on her wrist and her sleeve loosens, and he sags a little. Canted forward as he already was, he falls against her, his brow resting against her shoulder.

He breathes. Because that seems like a good idea, he figures.

He answers her reassurances with a quiet grunt – more acknowledgement than agreement – and he licks his lips, gathering up his faculties, trying to find where his voice wandered off to.

(Seriously, it was just here—) ]

How... bad is it?

[ Because it certainly feels bad, but maybe Peter is a biased party. ]

[ gamora doesn't shove him away or try to stabilize him elsewhere, and instead, she wraps one arm around his shoulders, holding him steady as carefully as she can without jostling him more than necessary. her fingers wind into his hair, leaving slightly more of a mess (though that's hardly a concern for the moment), and she holds him close without a second thought; she's too preoccupied with keeping peter safe and alive that she doesn't think about how much contact this is, because for now, that doesn't matter.

she hesitates slightly when he asks about the wound, and she isn't sure if the honest answer is the right one. ]

I've seen worse.

[ which is...vague, and meant to be reassuring in her own strange way. ]

[ Earlier in the day? This would've been a scene out of his wildest dreams. Only without the blood. Without any of the blood. Peter may be okay with some kinky stuff, but this is not one of them.

(He has the distant, slightly hysterical thought that this? Was not how he imagined Gamora stripping him, either.)

As it is now, it's comforting, the warmth of her arms around him, the feeling of her fingers in his hair. He's already a mess as it is, and he'd rather have this than have Gamora become weirdly fastidious about it all.

(He's pretty sure they've both been drenched in worse, anyway, on those days when being a "Guardian of the Galaxy" was briefly synonymous with "Galactic Exterminator.")

He lets out a breath – probably something meant to be a laugh. ]

It doesn't count if you've— if you've seen worse on you.

[ Considering the gigantic differences between them, not the least of which is that Gamora has accelerated healing on her side. ]

Edited 2017-02-23 04:54 (UTC)

Why not? I have never seen another injured Terran, so I say it counts.

[ mostly, she keeps talking because she wants him to stay focused and conscious there with her in the little store. she doesn't want him drifting into the heaviness she knows come with too much blood loss, doesn't want him going into shock, either.

she needs to keep him stable, for as long as she can. ]

I would also like it stated that this is not how I anticipated we would spend our day.

[ it had started out so nicely, too. the market was enjoyable, the planet's weather was pleasant, and gamora had been genuinely having...a good time with peter.

as she so often had on their excursions lately.

(he needs to stick around for plenty more of those.) ]

[ He breathes out another laugh, his shoulder shifting a little in a half-hearted shrug. ]

Yeah. S-sorry.

[ Not for what happened, because for once, this hadn't been Peter's fault. And that was rare, for a fuck-up this bad to not fall on his shoulders. He is sorry for it happening at all, though, because that was unequivocal bullshit.

It was really going well today, he thought. Sunshine and color and sound, something new to look at every few steps. It was fun, as most of these outings are – even when the stuff they ended up doing wasn't fun.

What really mattered to him, anyway, was doing it all with Gamora. ]

Shoulda— [ He hisses in a breath, the hand wrapped around her wrist dropping and going to his side. ] Should've— been faster, I guess.

[ it does little to comfort gamora when peter's hand falls away, but she doesn't move her fingers from his hair or loosen her grip.

instead, she just shakes her head as she brushes curls back from his face (though she doesn't leave quite as much blood behind as it begins to dry). ]

You had no means of anticipating that shot.

[ she should have been more alert. she should have paid more attention, but she'd been so distracted, so wrapped up in taking a moment to enjoy the day without constantly being ready for an attack.

she'd relaxed, and peter had gotten hurt. ]

My guard was down, and it shouldn't have been.

What?

[ And Peter pulls back just enough to frown at her. ]

Gamora— neither of us saw this coming. Doubt either of us would have, anyway. This— this wasn't— isn't— your fault.

[ And, sure, maybe Gamora might've spotted that asshole taking the shot, but Peter remembers too well what happened last time something like this had happened, how she had taken the bullet for him. It's better that it ended up this way, he thinks, because Gamora is far more capable at handling the sort of odds they had faced back there. Two against seven.

Well, one and a half against seven, he guesses, considering how helpful he had been.

He takes a breath and tries to dredge up a smile – which he does, but it's a shaky, tenuous thing. ]

I meant— I meant I shoulda been faster— 'cause I wanted to buy you that necklace.

[ He lets his forehead fall back against her shoulder, huffing out a rueful sort of laugh. ]

Probably gone now, huh?

Edited 2017-02-23 19:54 (UTC)

[ there are a multitude of factors that gamora has considered in the wake of the fight, though the possible outcomes still felt wildly unpredictable. she had handled the kree well, because she often juggled multiple enemies with more grace than some of the others, but she still thinks that her ability to heal would have been better served here.

he's too vulnerable. too liable to be brought down by something small as this (though that isn't a thought she cares to entertain).

she doesn't argue with him as he pulls away to look at her, but it's that smile that catches that flicker of warmth in her chest, and what he says—

she's honestly caught by surprise. ]

You were going to—

[ but then she just shakes her head, something that might even share parentage with a laugh echoing peter's as she winds her fingers back into his hair, turning her face to let her nose rest against his temple. ]

Sometimes you are a foolish man, Peter Quill.

[ she doesn't say it with any measure of unkindness, with anything harsh or biting like the many other times she's called him a fool. it's quiet, but there's even warmth in her tone. ]

[ He echoes the laugh again, turning slightly into the contact – and he should probably be more startled by all of this, by the warmth of her arms around him, the brush of her breath across his cheek.

For now, though, it's comforting, and only that. And considering how fucking much getting shot hurts, he'll take what he can get. ]

Only sometimes? Better than usual.

[ Considering most of the time, she's throwing the word at him like it might actually be the most insulting thing in the universe.

He takes a shuddering breath, screws his eyes shut. They're safe for now, at least for a little while, but— ]

Those assholes are gonna be lookin' for us.

[ Not their assholes, that is. Those assholes. The one that put a bullet in him and tried to murder them on a busy street. ]

[ another time, another place, and gamora would be far more uncertain about how close they are, about this level of contact — but she also knows that peter is, by nature, a tactile individual. that it's comforting to him. and in this moment, as he sits in so much pain and genuine danger, she doesn't even balk at the opportunity to provide that comfort (because somewhere, in a space she can't quite parse or acknowledge, it comforts her to be this close to him). ]

I know.

[ she's kept her attention somewhat divided for that very reason: listening for footfalls, glancing towards any of their exposed spaces in the shop. she's kept on her guard, even as she ensures peter's own safety. ]

I will handle them, should they find us here.

[ she hopes they'll somehow pass by, that they'll hold out until the others can pick them up, but if the kree get to the storefront before then...

well, gamora has some unfinished business with them.

(namely, the fact that they still possess all of their essential organs. she'd like to fix that.) ]

[ She'll probably feel his nod more than see it. ]

Okay.

[ He should protest more, though. He should insist that he can help, or maybe he should tell Gamora to get out for her own safety, so she doesn't have to play bodyguard for him. He should tell her to slip out while she still can, to go find the rest of the guys and drag them back here to haul his sorry ass to someone who can sew him up.

And maybe he will, if this drags out too much longer, but for the moment, the idea of being left alone like this, unable to stand or walk without assistance, his side throbbing with a fire pulsing beneath his skin—

Well. It leaves him a little afraid.

But that's a decision for later. That's a decision for Future Peter, the Peter of ten, fifteen minutes from now. Right now, Gamora's in charge, because Gamora is the one who keeps her calm when things go to shit; Peter's the one to throw together haphazard plans held together by paperclips and prayers, and they don't need that yet. Hopefully not at all.

A small shudder runs down his spine and he curls up a little toward her. ]

Cold in here.

[ And maybe he's just saying that because of the loss of his shirt, but sweat collects on his brow, his neck, and it's just as warm inside the forgotten little store as it had been on the street. ]

[ gamora's chest tightens at his mention of the cold, because...well, it certainly hasn't gotten any colder in here. it's just as warm and pleasant as it has been, but here peter is, shivering and curling up against her. she distantly realizes that shock must be setting in, and their time is growing more and more limited.

(she's seen this many times before, remembers it from when she was a child and one of thanos's other "children" found themselves so terribly wounded that their lack of skills was deemed unworthy of repair. she'd watched their bodies shut down as their blood pressure dropped, watched the symptoms worsen until a crying, miserable child trembled in the last brutal moments of their painfully short life.

she won't let it happen to peter.)

reaching over, she gathers up his bloodied jacket, gently draping it over his shoulders before drawing him closer, her arms tight (but tentative) around him. ]

It won't be for much longer.

[ because their teammates will arrive. because they'll get peter wrapped up and whisked away to a hospital.

they will. ]

You're going to be fine.

[ He sighs into the warmth, moving to settle himself more comfortably into the circle of her arms. He keeps one arm crossed over his middle, the hand pressing against the wound, but his other hand tangles into the fabric of her shirt. Not the death grip of before, when she was bandaging his wound, but something firm to keep her in place.

For a second, he lets her words pass unremarked, but it prickles at him. Gamora isn’t given to empty reassurances; when she isn’t putting on an act (like she had been the first time they met on Xandar), she says exactly what she means, so a part of him wants to take the words at face value. But something about them feels... strange.

Eventually he lets out a breath, steeling himself, though he doesn’t lift his head to meet her gaze.

He repeats the question again, quieter this time: ]

How bad is it?

[ she doesn't think she wants to answer this question — either for peter, or perhaps really for herself. her grip is marginally tighter when she responds, her voice quiet, ]

Bad.

[ it isn't the answer she wants to give, but it's the honest one. ]

The sooner we can leave, the better.

[ she feels confident that if they can get him treatment, it will be fine. but quill moved so much after the shot itself, there's no telling where the bullet is now or what other damage has been done, other than the initial trauma.

it's unsettling, the unknown, and gamora doesn't like it. ]

[ That’s... about what he expected, if he’s honest. Bad. Logically follows, given how much this fucking hurts, how much it still hurts, radiating pain through his entire body.

All the same, something cold plummets in his stomach, and he lets out another shuddering breath. ]

... Okay.

[ This again, with a little more certainty than he feels. ]

Okay. So we just— wait, then.

[ Unease creeps into his voice, but he frowns at himself, tries to tamp it down. ]

The guys will be here soon. Give us cover. Right?

[ gamora nods in steady agreement. ]

Right.

[ the others will show, get them out of this shop, and it...it will be fine. peter will be fine.

she wishes it was more feasible to move in, to try and make ground on their own, but he's so unsteady that he's not going anywhere without a great deal of help, and that would mean she couldn't effectively protect them (while also leaving him too exposed and unable to defend himself).

this is far from an ideal situation. ]

We only have to hold out until then.

[ with the unspoken, "you need to hold out until then." ]

[ He nods a little against her, though it's slow, hesitant, and he echoes back, ]

... Right.

[ But that uncertainty returns to his voice, and his gaze flits down to his lap.

He's hurting. He's cold. He's tired. And as much faith as he usually has in his team (though he kind of figures that faith isn't returned much, most days), a part of him kind of thinks— maybe today's it. Maybe today's the day his luck finally runs out.

Which kind of sucks, if he's honest. Kind of really sucks, to survive a dogfight in the skies of Xandar, to survive the crashing of the Dark Aster, to survive all the shit Ronan the Accuser threw at them, to survive the fucking Infinity Stone and live on to have stupid little adventures with his new family—

And to get taken down in the middle of the day. Shot in the back, with hardly any ceremony.

It sucks. ]

Was gonna take you— this fair. Couple weeks away, on Nerian-6. Harvest festival. They— they have these— these big dances. Loud, fast.

[ He huffs out a bitter laugh, shutting his eyes. ]

Wanted to ask you— to dance with me again—

[ she can hear it in his voice — that uncertainty, that wavering of faith. this looks bleak, and she knows it, and for all her general realism, she still reaches for that belief that the other guardians are still coming. they'll be here in time, because they have to be.

(because peter is too important for him to die in her arms, covered in his own blood.)

but she listens as he speaks again, and his words only spark that curl of warmth in her chest, make it twist a little tighter, even if she can't quite grasp why.

they also bring back that small, impossibly genuine smile. ]

The fast dancing is more your strength than mine.

[ but that isn't in any way a "no" — or some token denial that she "doesn't dance." she wants to go, she wants to see that fair with him.

she wants to dance with him again. ]

[ The corner of his mouth twitches a little. ]

Just need practice.

[ Because Gamora knows how to move, has control over herself in ways that Peter can hardly imagine, in ways that'd make a Jedi master weep for joy. She just uses it in the only ways she knows how – fighting, killing.

Resourceful bastard as he is, Peter's always been of the mind that old skills can be easily put to new uses – and in this case, that just means dancing.

His hand at her shirt loosens a little, and when he speaks again, it's a bit more faintly. ]

Could always ask for... somethin' slow...

Then I'll dance with you to something slow.

[ but she feels his grip weakening, the fading of his voice, and she pulls back, just a touch, lifting her hands to peter's face to pull his attention back to her, to keep him there. ]

But I will not dance with you if you don't look here.

[ she brushes back his hair, a frown settling into her expression. ]

Here, Peter.

[ He makes a displeased noise when she pulls away, when she brackets his face with her hands, but stubbornly, he screws his eyes shut, keeps his head lowered. ]

'M tired, Gamora.

[ A little whinier than he usually goes for, but he doesn't much care. ]

I know.

[ she brushes a thumb over his cheek. ]

But I need you to look at me. You must stay awake.

[ and with another tug, ]

Peter.

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