[ He doesn't know what's going through her head, but he at least understands a reluctance for hospitals. He spent more than enough time there as a kid, remembers the smell of disinfectant and medicine in the air, the shades of pale green on the walls and the humming of fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling, the quiet noise of machinery. The memory is inextricable from loss and death, from quiet sobs and screams when the constant beeps turned into a blaring squeal, from familiar faces turned pale and wane, fingers moving weakly across too-thin sheets like spiders.

--He gets it.

But even still, Peter shakes his head. ]

I'm sorry, but we need to get you somewhere with people who actually know what the fuck they're doing. [ Peter knows there are backalley quacks who will do these sorts of operations for a guy on the cheap -- he has the scars to prove it. But with how extensive Rose's injuries are, how difficult it is to find doctors with knowledge on Terran anatomy and biology, Peter's mind is already made up. ]

I'll be there the whole time, okay? You gotta trust me.