[ Luckily for both of them, Peter’s own path to consciousness is far less explosive than Gamora’s.
He doesn’t wake immediately, of course, drifting in some state between sleeping and waking. He’s not entirely sure if he’s willing to commit to either and for a long while, he floats there. Or he does until he stirs slightly with the flurry of movement nearby. A familiar voice carried on a hiss.
Someone calling his name.
And that pulls him out of it, drags him out slowly, like he’s stuck in tar. He comes back to himself by degrees – hearing first. A familiar, constant beep. The creaking of metal. The whisper of sheets. Feeling comes next – his head throbs. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. His body feels like it’s been filled with lead. Then sight, as he blinks his eyes open to the pristine ceiling, though his vision is blurred, like staring out of a fogged-up window.
The fever had wreaked havoc on his system with far more speed and ease than it had Gamora’s, and later, Peter will feel a pang of envy for the way her mods will help her recover in a blink compared to Peter’s slow crawl. For now, though, he just knows he aches, feels heavy, and he’s almost certain his head will actually burst apart. ]
Shit. [ Wheezed out. He screws his eyes shut against the dim light of the room. ] Ow.
[ He reaches up, sluggishly scrubbing at his face to clear his vision, before his head lolls to one side. A familiar smear of green across the way, and Peter feels something in him relax. ]
no subject
He doesn’t wake immediately, of course, drifting in some state between sleeping and waking. He’s not entirely sure if he’s willing to commit to either and for a long while, he floats there. Or he does until he stirs slightly with the flurry of movement nearby. A familiar voice carried on a hiss.
Someone calling his name.
And that pulls him out of it, drags him out slowly, like he’s stuck in tar. He comes back to himself by degrees – hearing first. A familiar, constant beep. The creaking of metal. The whisper of sheets. Feeling comes next – his head throbs. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. His body feels like it’s been filled with lead. Then sight, as he blinks his eyes open to the pristine ceiling, though his vision is blurred, like staring out of a fogged-up window.
The fever had wreaked havoc on his system with far more speed and ease than it had Gamora’s, and later, Peter will feel a pang of envy for the way her mods will help her recover in a blink compared to Peter’s slow crawl. For now, though, he just knows he aches, feels heavy, and he’s almost certain his head will actually burst apart. ]
Shit. [ Wheezed out. He screws his eyes shut against the dim light of the room. ] Ow.
[ He reaches up, sluggishly scrubbing at his face to clear his vision, before his head lolls to one side. A familiar smear of green across the way, and Peter feels something in him relax. ]
‘Mora?