bakerstreet | quote prompt.

[ gamora is exhausted by this point.

she's spent so long on high alert over the last however many hours since the marketplace, and despite the fact that she probably could rest easy, maybe nap a little, she hasn't. she's kept her attention on peter, kept herself awake, because she needs to see that he's alive.

(she can't sleep until she sees it.)

the instant he starts to shift in bed, her gaze snaps immediately to him. she pushes the headphones away from her ears, letting them hand around her neck in favor of listening for the soft, distressed noise peter manages to dredge up as he claws his way out of anesthesia-induced unconsciousness. but that's the thing that matters, isn't it? he's moving. genuine sounds coming from him.

proof that he's alive.

she slowly exhales as she shifts forward in her seat, reaching out to set her hand on peter's wrist ever so lightly. ]

I'm here.

[ quiet, but reassuringly firm. ]

You are in the hospital.

[ an explanation, if he can make sense of it at this point (one she doesn't mind repeating later, if he can't). ]

[ He hears her, even if he doesn't quite comprehend the words yet. His mind is still a haze – muddled by the drugs, by the sleep whose grip he still hasn't quite shaken.

The tone helps, though. The reassurance. It's comforting, but more than that, it's—

It's Gamora.

And if he were more awake, more lucid, he'd be embarrassed by just how easily her presence soothes him, would be mortified by the reminder of just how fucking bad he has it for her.

But for now, it's just how it is. ]

What—?

[ What happened? is what he was going for, there, except he interrupts himself by stifling a cry behind his teeth when he makes the poor decision of trying to sit up. He screws his eyes shut again, falling back against the mattress as the wound throbs, and he twists his hands into the sheets beneath him. ]

[ well, she would have had an answer for him, but peter tries to move in every way that he shouldn't. gamora immediately gets up from the chair (mindful that the walkman is clipped to her belt so it doesn't clatter to the floor), moving her hand from peter's wrist to his shoulder in an attempt to help him steady, to keep him from shifting all over again. ]

You really need to remain still.

[ ...as if that wasn't already obvious from how poorly his first attempt had gone.

but to make it less confusing: ]

You have only just had surgery, and the wound is still incredibly fresh.

[ and unlike others who shall remain nameless, he's not going to be healed in the time between going under the knife and finally waking again. ]

[ A hand on his shoulder, holding him steady, though he hardly registers it for the fire that burns up and down his side, reverberating everywhere in him. It feels like hours before it finally eases up enough to allow him to draw a full breath, to let him find his voice again, broken and hardly there as it is. ]

Shit—

[ —is the first thing he manages to say, once his lungs expand enough to admit enough air for a whisper. He draws in another breath, hands still clenched around the sheets of his bed.

The next thing he manages is, ]

Hurts—

[ Which isn't anything either of them don't already know, but apparently he still feels the need to share. ]

I know it does.

[ her tone is sympathetic, though, rather than clipped and exasperated like she may have been in another circumstance, in a different instance of peter finding himself injured.

(this is more extreme than previous injuries, though. this genuinely frightened her.)

she's still steady, unyielding but kind in the way she holds his shoulder, in the rest of her words, ]

But you're alive.

[ pain is a small price to pay — and a reminder that he is, indeed, alive.

on the other hand, she does know that terrans' pain tolerances are nowhere near her own, and with how much this clearly hurts, drugs wouldn't be the worst option. ]

I'll inform them that you're awake, and see about medication to alleviate this pain.

No—

[ And the word escapes him before he’s fully conscious of it. One hand untangles itself from the sheet, reaches up to grasp at her wrist.

The pain, the last dregs of drugs, and the film of sleep still clinging to him leave him wildly disoriented, but at least Gamora makes sense, is familiar enough to provide him some comfort.

Because even if he’s still not fully coherent, isn’t quite there just yet, he knows, at least, that he’s in a hospital – spent too much time as a child in waiting rooms and next to metal cots to not know, in fact. And hospitals are bad fucking news, are pallid skin and weak, barely there smiles, are thin sheets and squeaking bed frames, are blaring alarms and screams and the plummeting sensation of the bottom dropping out of the world—

He doesn’t want to be here. Still doesn’t quite understand why he’s here, except that being in places like this—

It means loss.

He’s glassy-eyed when he looks up at her, panic edging into his expression. ]

Don’t— please, don’t go—

[ that surprises her: the way he grabs her wrist, that desperate, panicked look on his bewildered, pain-ridden face. she hesitates, if only for a moment (if only because she thinks he might genuinely need the medication), but she finally nods. ]

All right.

[ carefully, she reaches for peter's hand to unfurl his fingers, to exchange her wrist for her own hand instead. something grounding, something concrete.

something real and safe in the face of whatever had shaken him so deeply. ]

I'll stay right here.

[ she can't pinpoint exactly what has him terrified, but she imagines the combination of so many different forms of trauma (either past or from their most recent misadventure) have done him no favors in offering comfort. if this can help, however, she'll gladly give it to him. ]

[ He clings to her hand a little too tightly, a little too desperately, and he screws his eyes shut again, trying to make sense of it all.

Gamora’s hand is warm in his, something steady while everything else is still a blur – the room, his head, everything. It takes a few seconds for him to catch his breath, for the pain in his side to fade to an ever-present throb, but when it does, he opens his eyes again, focusing on Gamora’s face.

(Jesus, she’s beautiful, he thinks distantly.)

He licks his lips; his tongue still feels like sandpaper in his mouth, his throat lined with gravel. ]

… Okay?

[ Another wheeze. He means to ask, Are you okay? but apparently can’t dredge up that many words right now. ]

[ she admittedly isn't sure at first of what he's trying to ask. is he asking about her? himself? the entire situation?

it's hard to parse specifics when he's struggling to get words out at all, but she takes a careful, tentative seat on the edge of his bed as she considers him. she doesn't release his hand or seem motivated to encourage him to ease up (she can handle whatever sort of pressure he can manage like this, after all), and instead, shifts her hand to let their fingers lace together, more of an anchor for him. ]

Everything is okay.

[ there, there's more comprehensive, she thinks. ]

You have made it through, and no one else is injured.

[ including herself. ]

[ That’s a relief, and Peter relaxes a little, his hand loosening its grip – not enough to drop her hand entirely, but enough that it probably shouldn’t be characterized as bruising, anymore. ]

Good...

[ Because that means they’re here just because of him, in all likelihood. That he doesn’t have to sit at the bedside of one of his friends, doesn’t have to reintroduce himself to that feeling of helplessness that used to crawl up his throat as a kid, doesn’t have to watch one of his teammates wither and fade while he could only watch—

They’re safe. Everyone’s safe.

So they can leave this place as soon as fucking possible.

With his free hand, he scrubs at his face, the heel of his palm rubbing at his eyes. His throat works for a few seconds – and confused as he is, dozens and dozens of questions crowd behind his teeth, fighting to be asked first. They all seem as viable as the last, and he’s quiet as he struggles to decide which he’ll put voice to.

He coughs a little, decides to give his first question a round two: ]

What... what happened?

[ Pat on the back, Quill. A full sentence. Multisyllabic words.

Lucidity might be reasserting itself. ]

[ now that's a much more workable level of articulation.

a full sentence, she can answer. ]

You fell unconscious after some time while we were hiding from the Kree who ambushed us. Fortunately, our companions were closeby, and the Kree were dealt with quickly.

I don't think any of them remain alive.

[ gamora regrets that she couldn't do the honors herself, but keeping peter sheltered and alive had been more of a priority at the time. ]

We brought you to the closest hospital, and you underwent surgery to remove the bullet from your abdomen and repair the damage that had been done.

You may be here for a short while, but you'll make a full recovery.

[ gamora spins with that reality, if only because knowing that peter is going to be fine, that he's made it through, still catches her off guard in the best way possible. it had been such a painfully close call, and in the face of that, gamora is just...grateful to know he's come out the other side. ]

[ It takes him a few seconds to sort through the explanation, to match memories to her words. A sunny street, with warm, pleasant weather. Booths and kiosks selling various odds and ends – the uses for which were largely incomprehensible to Peter, but they looked cool, nevertheless. A smiling old woman, holding a pendant hanging from a suede cord.

Then chaos.

Then hazy flashes of a quiet, dusty little room, and—

That’s where it stops. Peter frowns a little, tucking his hand under the edge of the blanket covering him to carefully feel along his side. He can feel the rough edges of bandages through the hospital gown they’ve put him in. He hisses in a breath as the wound pulses in warning, and he pulls his hand away. ]

Explains... a lot.

[ is what he settles on at length. It’s like peering through a window to a fog-filled expanse, catching only glimpses of everything below. It’ll clear up, probably.

He’s not sure if he cares if it does or doesn’t.

This time, he’s a little more careful as he shifts, moving slowly, gingerly, and stopping exactly when he feels that warning pulse again. ]

When can I leave?

[ Because maybe if he’s lucky, they can leave now.

(But when is he ever lucky?) ]

[ she doesn't find that she's especially surprised when peter's next question is about leaving. she holds no love for hospitals, either, but she does know he'll need to stay at least a while longer. ]

I believe a few days, at the least.

[ she gives him a slightly admonishing look. ]

Do you actually think you are well enough to leave sooner?

[ because given the extensiveness of the wound and the amount of pain he'd been in, she'd be surprised if he could even manage to be upright yet.

(and the surgery site itself would need time to heal, after all, even with the many medical marvels at their disposal.) ]

[ He makes a soft, dejected sort of noise at that. He had sort of hoped, of course, that maybe they could slap some bandages on it, load him up with painkillers, and call it good.

But it's the answer he expected, and he grimaces to himself, ignoring the look she gives him. ]

Don't wanna be here.

[ In answer to her question – so, no, he doesn't think he's well enough, but there's apparently a lot to be said for bullheadedness and a an overwhelming desire to be almost anywhere else.

The stomach of a sarlacc, for instance. ]

[ she can't blame him for wanting to leave, but his body genuinely needs the time to recover, and the hospital is, unfortunately, the best place for him to do that. she'd be similarly upset about staying, were she in his position, but she's too concerned about his healing and bouncing back from the wound to even entertain the idea of seeing about him leaving before he should. ]

I know.

[ and she offers a gentle squeeze of his fingers, that bit of reassurance. his protests aren't falling on deaf ears — even if she can't actually do anything about it. ]

I assume you'll spend the majority of the days asleep or well-drugged, so hopefully that will make the time pass more easily.

[ the rest will do him a whole world of good — and the medication can't hurt. ]

[ The reassurance is met with a quiet, flat, and drawn out, ]

Yay.

[ Apparently he's not particularly overjoyed by this bit of news.

He shifts on the bed again, the metal frame creaking under his weight, and he looks over to her again.

Pauses, frowning, as his gaze catches on her belt, as his eyes follow the line of his headphones up to her neck.

Then, ]

My Walkman...?

[ ah.

she takes her hand back from peter and gently pulls the headphones from around her neck, reaching down to unclip the walkman. ]

I brought it in case you wanted it during your time here.

[ well, that's not true. (it's a little true, because she would have brought it from the ship for him anyway, but she'd been the one needing it while he was still unconscious.

it...helped. though she doesn't quite understand why.) ]

[ If he were in a better place for it, he’d examine the pang of loss he feels as she pulls away, and he’d keep the feeling off his face.

But he isn’t, and he doesn’t, on both counts, frowning as she extracts her hand from his.

Her explanation is as logical as anything, Peter guesses, and he glances down at the device. The reels still turn, the button still depressed, and he blinks. The corner of his mouth quirks up a little, despite it all.

Gently, with a shadow of amusement, ]

It’s still on.

[ gamora pauses, looking down at the player in her hands, and—

he's right.

she finally hits the "stop" button, setting the walkman down on his bed (carefully, as she always is with the device). ]

I may have listened to it while I waited.

[ "may" as in "definitely did." ]

“May have.”

[ He parrots it back, that same amusement in his voice, as he reaches over to the device, fingers brushing over the silver lettering on the metallic blue case. Awesome Mix Vol. 1 is in the player, it looks like, and he smiles a little fondly. ]

‘S fine if you did, you know. [ He nudges the tape player a little closer to her. ] Don’t mind.

I know.

[ she knows he doesn't mind, that he's made the offer to let her listen whenever she likes — but in addition, she's also sure he doesn't remember trying to give her the tapes in his last moments of consciousness.

(she doesn't see a need to mention it.) ]

It passes the time well enough.

[ and it genuinely put her at ease like nothing else had. she'd been so unsettled and— worried? frightened? but she'd been fighting for her usual sereneness and hadn't found it, not until those headphones had covered her ears and offered some strange sense of grounding that she'd needed in that moment.

but she lays her hand over peter's on the walkman, shaking her head. ]

Keep it while you're resting.

[ He turns his palm upward, fingers curling lightly over hers to capture her hand again. For a few seconds, he lets his eyes drift shut, almost like he intends to go back to sleep, but—

Instead, he murmurs out,]

Where’s everyone?

[ The other Guardians, that is. It’s far too quiet in here without them, and Peter doesn’t like this kind of atmosphere. Oppressive, weighty silence interrupted by beeping machinery and hushed voices. He’d much prefer the noise of the team surrounding him, if he’s honest, even if they are, collectively, annoying as shit. ]

Edited 2017-02-28 20:46 (UTC)

[ gamora could pull away, but instead, she lets her fingers curl with peter's, her thumb brushing tentatively over the back of his hand. ]

They were waiting for you to wake.

[ she glances towards the door to peter's room, considering. ]

I should probably inform them.

[ but that would mean stepping away (which she should do, anyway, to see about having the medical personnel check on peter). ]

[ He makes a quiet, noncommittal sound, though it has more shades of agreement than anything. Still, he doesn’t let go of her hand – especially not with the way she returns the favor, her palm warm against his.

Peter does want to see them, because even if he believes Gamora, trusts that when she says they’re fine that they’re fine, he’d still like the visual confirmation. They hadn’t been caught up in the same mess as he and Gamora had, or at least he doesn’t think so, but he’d still rather know they’re safe.

But it’s— strangely serene, just the two of them here, and as much as he’d like the noise of his team surrounding him, another part of him doesn’t want to shatter that peace.

At length, though, he lets out a quiet sigh, his already light grip on her hand loosening all the more. ]

You’ll... come right back, right?

[ gamora nods without an instant of hesitation. ]

Of course.

[ she doesn't expect to go far, and the others will be enthusiastic about seeing peter alive and well, she's sure. she'd been insistent about remaining in his room, by his bedside until he woke, but she supposes it may be best to let someone else take up temporary residence in peter's company while he recovers.

(even if she would be completely content to wait there with him.)

she should probably sleep at some point, too, as tired as her body is. she is, however, used to pushing herself to remain awake and vigilant longer than she likely should, and staying up to wait for peter to stir had been well worth it.

now, with the relief of having him alive and conscious and speaking again, it's hard to maintain that insistent determination to keep her eyes open.

she'll sleep when peter does, she decides. that should be easy enough.

she gives peter's hand one last squeeze before finally pulling away. ]

I'll be back shortly.

[ with their companions in tow, inevitably, and hopefully a doctor or otherwise to check on him. ]

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