[ He can't help it this time – a puff of air escapes him, something that shares a few distant relatives with a laugh. ]

What, do you want my life story? "I was born on mild day in February"?

[ He takes a slow breath, shaking his head. By his reckoning, he can't see how dragging his personal history into the light might help anything. The past should stay firmly in the past, and knowing him won't help them figure out their current predicament.

But he also needs this Gamora to stop staring at him like he might draw a blade at any given opportunity, because if she doesn't, then he genuinely might. He understands her wariness – knows that if he had encountered someone like her back home, had been forced to accept her company, he would absolutely act the same way.

His next breath is more resigned, and while his gaze doesn't drift from her, he instead focuses on a point over her shoulder. ]

I answer a question, you answer a question. Fair?

[ Even if he knows he's in no position to bargain. Still, it's worth a try. ]