[ "Pretty sure." That's comforting. A slow inhale, a slow exhale, as he tries to get his bearings again. There's still that slight tug at the back of his head, something that threatens to imbalance him, but he can ignore it, for now.
Balance mostly regained, he cracks an eye open, and—
Oh, that smile. Evidently someone wasn't too distracted to not hear the concern in her voice. ]
gamora's concern is instantly replaced by exasperation, and she just sighs at him, shaking her head. he's lucky she doesn't want him worsening whatever he's done to himself, or she might just shove him to watch him stumble onto his ass for the hell of it. ]
I can throw you to the floor and simply return to my bunk, Quill.
[ she lets her hands fall away from him properly, now that he doesn't seem to be on the verge of toppling over. ]
You may also benefit from taking it easy for the rest of the day.
[ she gives him an expectant little look, mildly enjoying the opportunity to tell him to rest after all of his insistence following the bullet wound. ]
[ Well, unlike Gamora, Peter simple offers a tight-lipped smile, something obliging and bright. ]
Funny. I was just thinkin' the same thing.
[ He says it as much to be an ass, considering the parallels aren't lost on him, as much out of an earnest desire to just. Not move for the rest of the day. Because stiffness is starting to settle in, along with that sharp sting across his shoulders and down his back. Bruises on his jaw, along his ribs, and Peter feels like he might actually sympathize with the hanging meat Sly Stallone tenderized in Rocky.
Not quite as serious as a bullet to the gut, sure, but enough to make him useless for the next couple of days, all the same.
(Maybe there is some merit to the "fragile Terran" thing, after all.) ]
Should probably put things back the way we found 'em, though.
[ His lips part to argue, thanks to that old stubborn part of him that insists on showing he can pull his weight, but—
One: he's pretty sure Gamora would be all too happy to give him a taste of his own medicine, and if there was one thing he hated, it was having his own words flung back in his face. And two: the aches of his body, the exhaustion in his bones, quickly shout down that lone, dissenting voice, and he slowly nods. ]
... Thanks.
[ And his shoulders drop slightly in relief. Peter could probably manage to help shove around the crates they had cleared away, he certainly didn't want to.
So he turns, making a beeline for the little space they graciously called the medbay before Gamora can change her mind. Or before she can get around him and trip him onto his ass again. Either way. ]
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no subject
[ "Pretty sure." That's comforting. A slow inhale, a slow exhale, as he tries to get his bearings again. There's still that slight tug at the back of his head, something that threatens to imbalance him, but he can ignore it, for now.
Balance mostly regained, he cracks an eye open, and—
Oh, that smile. Evidently someone wasn't too distracted to not hear the concern in her voice. ]
Why? You worried?
no subject
gamora's concern is instantly replaced by exasperation, and she just sighs at him, shaking her head. he's lucky she doesn't want him worsening whatever he's done to himself, or she might just shove him to watch him stumble onto his ass for the hell of it. ]
I can throw you to the floor and simply return to my bunk, Quill.
If your head is fine, I may do that anyway.
no subject
No more throwing today, please and thank you.
[ He presses a hand to his temple feeling that headache starting to come on, and he sighs quietly. ]
Right. Ice. Lots of ice. Probably some painkillers, too.
no subject
[ she lets her hands fall away from him properly, now that he doesn't seem to be on the verge of toppling over. ]
You may also benefit from taking it easy for the rest of the day.
[ she gives him an expectant little look, mildly enjoying the opportunity to tell him to rest after all of his insistence following the bullet wound. ]
no subject
Funny. I was just thinkin' the same thing.
[ He says it as much to be an ass, considering the parallels aren't lost on him, as much out of an earnest desire to just. Not move for the rest of the day. Because stiffness is starting to settle in, along with that sharp sting across his shoulders and down his back. Bruises on his jaw, along his ribs, and Peter feels like he might actually sympathize with the hanging meat Sly Stallone tenderized in Rocky.
Not quite as serious as a bullet to the gut, sure, but enough to make him useless for the next couple of days, all the same.
(Maybe there is some merit to the "fragile Terran" thing, after all.) ]
Should probably put things back the way we found 'em, though.
no subject
I will take care of it.
[ she inclines her head out of the cargo hold pointedly. ]
Go get your ice.
[ it's a small gesture, but intentional. with how admirably he trained for the day, she thinks he deserves a moment to sit. ]
no subject
One: he's pretty sure Gamora would be all too happy to give him a taste of his own medicine, and if there was one thing he hated, it was having his own words flung back in his face. And two: the aches of his body, the exhaustion in his bones, quickly shout down that lone, dissenting voice, and he slowly nods. ]
... Thanks.
[ And his shoulders drop slightly in relief. Peter could probably manage to help shove around the crates they had cleared away, he certainly didn't want to.
So he turns, making a beeline for the little space they graciously called the medbay before Gamora can change her mind. Or before she can get around him and trip him onto his ass again. Either way. ]