[ While Kasumi spent her time hailing the Milano, Peter spent the time half asleep, the adrenaline finally wearing off once they were out of orbit. It's only then that he starts realizing, I'm going home. But he's still tense, and even if his body is exhausted, his mind is still sharp, still active. It refuses to rest until he's back on board his ship, until he can hear his footsteps echo against the bulkhead, until he can feel and hear the hum of its engines.
He fucking loves that ship. It's been his home and his baby for seventeen years.
The injuries Kasumi tends to are old ones: old bruises on top of older bruises; scabbed-over cuts; scars from where he's been stitched up without the aid of Medi-Gel. His left side looks worse than his right. She doesn't ask, which is all the same to him. He's ashamed to admit there were some nights where he was just too bone-tired to fight back, just curled up on his side and hoped that a misplaced blow to the head would knock him out and end their fun.
But he can see the worry on her face, see how upset it makes her, and he feels like a fucking shithead for putting her through this. More than once he wants to tell her to stop, that he can do it himself, because that look of heartbreak on her face is killing him. But he doesn't. Because-- because it's nice. It's so fucking nice to have her hands on him, and her touch gentle and kind, and his eyes prickle as he screws them shut, and he just-- he's missed this. He needs this.
(It's somewhere around month four that the realization that he just might need her had started worming its way into his mind, though it hasn't settled yet.)
The Guardians are not naturally a touchy-feely bunch. Being raised among enemies or just-- being an asshole will do that to you. But the moment Peter's back on the ship, the others nearly trample them in their rush. Gamora reaches him first, because of course she does, and her hold around his rib cage makes him ache, and then Drax is enveloping them both, then Groot, then Rocket begrudgingly leans against Peter's leg.
He thinks they must've gotten this from him, the whole-- physical contact thing. Lord knows he's the only one who'd have done something like this. And he laughs and laughs, and he-- and-- and he just-- he fucking just--
He loses it.
Because all of the adrenaline is gone, and there's nothing left but the raw edges of everything rubbing together. He's an exposed nerve, and he needs to heal, but for now he's just. Relieved. Happy. Because Kasumi is here and his friends are here, and he's home, he's really home, for the first time in five months and some change, and he knows he's called them his family before, but they really are. They're his family, and he hasn't had a family in such a long, long time.
He doesn't know the last time he's fucking wept like this, like a goddamn kid with a skinned knee, and the alarmed murmurs from the others are enough to tell him that they have no idea that sometimes Terrans cry when they're overwhelmed by emotion, even happiness. Somehow, that's hilarious to him, so he laughs and cries all the more until his sides ache all over again, and he pulls Kasumi into the mess, too, because why not? He wants her here. She's as much a part of his life as this group of assholes, whether she wants to be or not.
(He hopes she does. He really hopes she does.)
It's not until he sags, exhausted, that they finally let him go -- sort of, anyway. Drax half carries him to his bunk, and he feigns annoyance at how clean it is, how he was hoping it'd be just the way he left it.
"Like hell we were just gonna leave your crap lyin' around, you idiot," Rocket said, and Peter didn't even realize he had followed them. "Pretty sure there was shit growin' in 'ere.."
"You must rest," is all Drax says, and he deposits Peter on the bunk. "You must regain your strength."
Peter just murmurs something alone the lines of, You got it, dude, and sleeps the instant his head hits the pillow.
When he wakes, he doesn't know where he is, and he panics. The engines sound wrong. It's too quiet. His heart's pounding in his chest and his mind is racing, and he can't remember how he got here, how did he get here? Did they take him here? What the fuck kinda game are the playing at now? Shit, they kept saying stuff about selling him to the Collector, didn't they? But he thought they were joking, but-- fuck, he let his guard down and now he doesn't know what's happening and--
-- and there are hands on him, gripping his shoulders and he lashes out, pulls away on instinct, but then the grip moves to his wrists once he lashes out again to give himself room to maneuver. The hands on his wrist are strong, really goddamn strong, and fucking fuck fuck, he knows what comes next, the punching bag game, the say-please-right game--
"Peter!"
That voice makes him freeze. It's different, and his sleep-addled takes longer to register, "feminine."
"Calm down, Peter. You're safe. You're on the Milano. You're safe."
It takes him longer than he wants to admit to get himself under control, to get himself to stop shaking and to breath like a normal person. Gamora doesn't let him go until his breath evens out. Once he's finally calm he glances around and-- is deeply disappointed.
... He had the inkling she wouldn't stay. And it's-- okay that she didn't. He understands--
"She's in the galley," Gamora says with a small, kind smile. As she leaves the room, she tosses over her shoulder, "I'll retrieve her." ]
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He fucking loves that ship. It's been his home and his baby for seventeen years.
The injuries Kasumi tends to are old ones: old bruises on top of older bruises; scabbed-over cuts; scars from where he's been stitched up without the aid of Medi-Gel. His left side looks worse than his right. She doesn't ask, which is all the same to him. He's ashamed to admit there were some nights where he was just too bone-tired to fight back, just curled up on his side and hoped that a misplaced blow to the head would knock him out and end their fun.
But he can see the worry on her face, see how upset it makes her, and he feels like a fucking shithead for putting her through this. More than once he wants to tell her to stop, that he can do it himself, because that look of heartbreak on her face is killing him. But he doesn't. Because-- because it's nice. It's so fucking nice to have her hands on him, and her touch gentle and kind, and his eyes prickle as he screws them shut, and he just-- he's missed this. He needs this.
(It's somewhere around month four that the realization that he just might need her had started worming its way into his mind, though it hasn't settled yet.)
The Guardians are not naturally a touchy-feely bunch. Being raised among enemies or just-- being an asshole will do that to you. But the moment Peter's back on the ship, the others nearly trample them in their rush. Gamora reaches him first, because of course she does, and her hold around his rib cage makes him ache, and then Drax is enveloping them both, then Groot, then Rocket begrudgingly leans against Peter's leg.
He thinks they must've gotten this from him, the whole-- physical contact thing. Lord knows he's the only one who'd have done something like this. And he laughs and laughs, and he-- and-- and he just-- he fucking just--
He loses it.
Because all of the adrenaline is gone, and there's nothing left but the raw edges of everything rubbing together. He's an exposed nerve, and he needs to heal, but for now he's just. Relieved. Happy. Because Kasumi is here and his friends are here, and he's home, he's really home, for the first time in five months and some change, and he knows he's called them his family before, but they really are. They're his family, and he hasn't had a family in such a long, long time.
He doesn't know the last time he's fucking wept like this, like a goddamn kid with a skinned knee, and the alarmed murmurs from the others are enough to tell him that they have no idea that sometimes Terrans cry when they're overwhelmed by emotion, even happiness. Somehow, that's hilarious to him, so he laughs and cries all the more until his sides ache all over again, and he pulls Kasumi into the mess, too, because why not? He wants her here. She's as much a part of his life as this group of assholes, whether she wants to be or not.
(He hopes she does. He really hopes she does.)
It's not until he sags, exhausted, that they finally let him go -- sort of, anyway. Drax half carries him to his bunk, and he feigns annoyance at how clean it is, how he was hoping it'd be just the way he left it.
"Like hell we were just gonna leave your crap lyin' around, you idiot," Rocket said, and Peter didn't even realize he had followed them. "Pretty sure there was shit growin' in 'ere.."
"You must rest," is all Drax says, and he deposits Peter on the bunk. "You must regain your strength."
Peter just murmurs something alone the lines of, You got it, dude, and sleeps the instant his head hits the pillow.
When he wakes, he doesn't know where he is, and he panics. The engines sound wrong. It's too quiet. His heart's pounding in his chest and his mind is racing, and he can't remember how he got here, how did he get here? Did they take him here? What the fuck kinda game are the playing at now? Shit, they kept saying stuff about selling him to the Collector, didn't they? But he thought they were joking, but-- fuck, he let his guard down and now he doesn't know what's happening and--
-- and there are hands on him, gripping his shoulders and he lashes out, pulls away on instinct, but then the grip moves to his wrists once he lashes out again to give himself room to maneuver. The hands on his wrist are strong, really goddamn strong, and fucking fuck fuck, he knows what comes next, the punching bag game, the say-please-right game--
"Peter!"
That voice makes him freeze. It's different, and his sleep-addled takes longer to register, "feminine."
"Calm down, Peter. You're safe. You're on the Milano. You're safe."
It takes him longer than he wants to admit to get himself under control, to get himself to stop shaking and to breath like a normal person. Gamora doesn't let him go until his breath evens out. Once he's finally calm he glances around and-- is deeply disappointed.
... He had the inkling she wouldn't stay. And it's-- okay that she didn't. He understands--
"She's in the galley," Gamora says with a small, kind smile. As she leaves the room, she tosses over her shoulder, "I'll retrieve her." ]