[ At that question, Peter sort of— blinks. Because he knows about as much as Gamora knows, honestly. Which is basically nothing. ]
Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine.
[ With more conviction than he feels.
He should’ve asked for more details, but— that’s not important. Not really, anyway, in the face of everything else. His hand tightens around hers, wincing at that unnatural heat she’s giving off. He should— get another towel. Get her some water. Give her those disgusting fever reducers. Something, because that helplessness is clawing at his ribs again, climbing up his throat, and—
Is this happening again? Really? A million things left unsaid. Someone else slipping through his fingers while he can only watch—
No. No. Okay. He sucks in a breath, pushing himself to his feet. Towel. Then water. Then medicine. He should’ve done this earlier, should’ve done literally anything, but something had come over him, something had clouded his head, made him think with his dick before his brain.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
He stumbles over to the sink, grabs a new towel and dampens it with cold water, fills a new glass with water. He digs through a nearby cabinet, retrieves the little tube with that shitty-tasting medicine, and brings it all back to Gamora. He brushes the towel across her face, wiping away sweat. ]
no subject
Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine.
[ With more conviction than he feels.
He should’ve asked for more details, but— that’s not important. Not really, anyway, in the face of everything else. His hand tightens around hers, wincing at that unnatural heat she’s giving off. He should— get another towel. Get her some water. Give her those disgusting fever reducers. Something, because that helplessness is clawing at his ribs again, climbing up his throat, and—
Is this happening again? Really? A million things left unsaid. Someone else slipping through his fingers while he can only watch—
No. No. Okay. He sucks in a breath, pushing himself to his feet. Towel. Then water. Then medicine. He should’ve done this earlier, should’ve done literally anything, but something had come over him, something had clouded his head, made him think with his dick before his brain.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
He stumbles over to the sink, grabs a new towel and dampens it with cold water, fills a new glass with water. He digs through a nearby cabinet, retrieves the little tube with that shitty-tasting medicine, and brings it all back to Gamora. He brushes the towel across her face, wiping away sweat. ]
Just— gotta wait, alright?