[ Guilt curls through him when she responds back in kind – maybe not in the same irritable manner as Peter, but certainly with the same sort of spirit – and his chin dips toward his chest, gaze skittering away to examine the metal panels of the floor. If it were the other way around, Peter would be asking the same questions – and he’d probably be a whole lot more overbearing than Gamora is right now, hovering and asking over and over if there was anything he could do.
He’s— kind of being a prick about this, he realizes, and he scrubs his face with a hand, not moving to stand. ]
... Sorry.
[ Mumbled out, muffled against his palm. He swallows thickly. ]
I didn’t— [ He cuts himself off, lips pressing together tightly. With his free hand he gestures to himself. ] Headache.
[ and it’s a piss-poor excuse, but it’s what he goes with. ]
no subject
He’s— kind of being a prick about this, he realizes, and he scrubs his face with a hand, not moving to stand. ]
... Sorry.
[ Mumbled out, muffled against his palm. He swallows thickly. ]
I didn’t— [ He cuts himself off, lips pressing together tightly. With his free hand he gestures to himself. ] Headache.
[ and it’s a piss-poor excuse, but it’s what he goes with. ]