[ ... It's hard to argue with that, since he's right, so all she offers is a disgruntled huff, annoyance, but her head falls against Peter's shoulder. ]
Don't think you're carrying me back to our room.
[ That would be a bad look.
She allows Peter to carry her the final blocks to the car without complaint. She doesn't need help getting into the car or buckling herself in, but as soon as she's settled, she just slumps into the seat, breathing an honest sigh of relief. ]
[ He doesn't buckle her in like a sleeping child – she can at least manage that on her own – and he slips back into the driver's seat.
Heading back up to the hotel is another twenty or so minutes, but Peter lets her rest for the entire trip, depending on the late night radio to fill the silence. Once they're near the hotel, Peter finds the same lot Gamora had parked in earlier, about a block away. The convenience of stopping right at the hotel is greatly outweighed by the inconvenience of a valet seeing the alarming amount of blood staining the car's leather interior.
This time, he lets Gamora walk back under her own power, though he keeps an arm wrapped around her waist. (He wonders, briefly, if he should let her rest an arm around his shoulders, but she's been pointedly avoiding doing so. Maybe because the height difference, but most likely because she wants to avoid looking obviously injured.)
He unlocks the door, admitting them into the bungalow. ]
[ Gamora is grateful for Peter's help (even if it still confuses her), but she's quiet all the way back to the bungalow. Again, after the door closes behind them, more of Gamora's tension and fight sinks right out of her. She's slow-going, carefully shrugs out of her jacket, hanging it over her forearm as she starts reaching behind herself, trying to find the zipper of her dress. ]
I don't think— [ A small wince as she strains to tug at the zipper. ] —I have any obligations tomorrow.
[ Translation: nowhere she might ask Peter to accompany her. ]
[ Once the zipper on Gamora's dress is dealt with, Peter busies himself with shrugging out of his own jacket, unfastening the first couple of buttons on his shirt.
When Gamora glances back at him, hesitant and wary, and when she offers that strange apology, he frowns at her, a little confused. ]
Why are you apologizing? Everything worked out how you wanted it to, didn't it?
[ The insults were different when he was still with them, obviously, and maybe they were less frequent when he was a "respected" member of the gang, but he's used to the shit they slung at him. ]
There's a reason why I quit.
Anyway. The silver lining here is that they didn't beat my ass, and you got what you wanted. Sort of.
[ He has the money for it now, and he clearly can't stay in LA.
Gamora toes off her shoes with a relieved sound, easing her dress down so she can step out of it, left in her slip. A faint smear of red has soaked through the silk and Gamora's bandages underneath, but she subtly folds her dress, holding it close to hide the blood. She'll see to her side shortly – preferably without worrying Peter.
[ He scrubs at his face, a mix of frustrated and slightly panicked.
Sure, he had plans to eventually move on, but that was after he had built up enough of a buffer to weather whatever weird shit he encountered in the next place. After he had figured out what the hell he wanted to do. After he had a plan.
Jumping in head first was what got him in such hot water, when he first came out here. He had planned on not repeating that particular mistake.
That may not be in the cards, apparently. ]
Cool. Awesome. I'll just add moving plans on top of everything else we're dealing with for this week.
[ Gamora nods. Her hesitation is less because she’s unsure of letting Peter come, and more that she’s not entirely convinced the offer would be welcome in the first place. ]
You have to deal with this because of me – and you’re helping me escape. You don’t have to stay, but if you need somewhere to start, come with me.
I already have plans, I’ve just been waiting for the way out.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Maybe you shouldn't strain yourself. I can bring the car around, if you want.
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I can manage, Peter. I'll rest when we get back to the room.
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[ Peter takes one more careful glance around before letting out a breath.
Then, with a quick warning— ]
Hang on.
[ He carefully scoops her up, one arm beneath the backs of her knees, the other around her back. ]
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[ But she doesn't try to jerk away from him before he's scooping her up.
(It strains her body less than just trying to keep walking to the car, at least.)
Her weight rests against his chest, her fingers coming up to curl in his rumpled shirt. ]
I said I can manage.
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[ And thanks to years with Yondu's gang and his time more recently in his current job, he's used to dealing with a certain amount of bravado.
He adjusts briefly before setting off toward the car. ]
Just 'cause you can manage doesn't mean you should. And you've already been on your feet for way longer than you should've been.
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Don't think you're carrying me back to our room.
[ That would be a bad look.
She allows Peter to carry her the final blocks to the car without complaint. She doesn't need help getting into the car or buckling herself in, but as soon as she's settled, she just slumps into the seat, breathing an honest sigh of relief. ]
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Heading back up to the hotel is another twenty or so minutes, but Peter lets her rest for the entire trip, depending on the late night radio to fill the silence. Once they're near the hotel, Peter finds the same lot Gamora had parked in earlier, about a block away. The convenience of stopping right at the hotel is greatly outweighed by the inconvenience of a valet seeing the alarming amount of blood staining the car's leather interior.
This time, he lets Gamora walk back under her own power, though he keeps an arm wrapped around her waist. (He wonders, briefly, if he should let her rest an arm around his shoulders, but she's been pointedly avoiding doing so. Maybe because the height difference, but most likely because she wants to avoid looking obviously injured.)
He unlocks the door, admitting them into the bungalow. ]
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I don't think— [ A small wince as she strains to tug at the zipper. ] —I have any obligations tomorrow.
[ Translation: nowhere she might ask Peter to accompany her. ]
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[ Peter steps forward, reaching for the zipper with a quiet, I got it. ]
Gives you a chance to finally get some rest.
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We'll see.
[ But she hopes that will be the case.
She lets her sleeves drift down her shoulders, and she glances back at Peter, a little more cautious. ]
... I'm sorry. For what happened at the Arrow.
[ Apologies are rare from Gamora, almost unheard of, but their excursion at that club...
That was awful. ]
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When Gamora glances back at him, hesitant and wary, and when she offers that strange apology, he frowns at her, a little confused. ]
Why are you apologizing? Everything worked out how you wanted it to, didn't it?
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[ He'd gone— so far out of his way for her. He's still doing it, and she doesn't— understand why. It still doesn't make sense to her, but here he is.
She keeps walking into the main room, dropping her jacket over a chair. ]
The way they treated you...
[ She shakes her head, her lips pursed in a thin line without looking back again at Peter. ]
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[ The insults were different when he was still with them, obviously, and maybe they were less frequent when he was a "respected" member of the gang, but he's used to the shit they slung at him. ]
There's a reason why I quit.
Anyway. The silver lining here is that they didn't beat my ass, and you got what you wanted. Sort of.
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It's more than I could have hoped for.
[ And that's true, too. This is the closest she's gotten to a tangible escape in... her entire life. ]
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[ He wanders after her into the main area, rubbing at the back of his neck. He tosses his jacket onto a nearby table. ]
Just gotta topple Taserface, or whatever it is Yondu expects, and you can be out of here before the end of the week.
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[ He has the money for it now, and he clearly can't stay in LA.
Gamora toes off her shoes with a relieved sound, easing her dress down so she can step out of it, left in her slip. A faint smear of red has soaked through the silk and Gamora's bandages underneath, but she subtly folds her dress, holding it close to hide the blood. She'll see to her side shortly – preferably without worrying Peter.
She had pushed herself today. ]
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... I dunno. I haven't really thought about it.
[ He returns to the common area, offering her a bottle. ]
I know this city pretty well. I haven't really thought about leaving it behind.
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After I leave, Thanos will send his people here. I can't promise they won't come looking for you.
[ And— she sounds remorseful. ]
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Clearly he hadn't considered this. ]
... Oh.
[ A pause, as he runs this new information over in his head.
Then, ]
... Well.
Shit.
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That means Peter isn't safe in LA. ]
You can afford to go where you need to, but...
I'm not sure you can stay in the city.
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Sure, he had plans to eventually move on, but that was after he had built up enough of a buffer to weather whatever weird shit he encountered in the next place. After he had figured out what the hell he wanted to do. After he had a plan.
Jumping in head first was what got him in such hot water, when he first came out here. He had planned on not repeating that particular mistake.
That may not be in the cards, apparently. ]
Cool. Awesome. I'll just add moving plans on top of everything else we're dealing with for this week.
No big deal.
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She hesitates, her hands tightening on her bottle. ]
... You can come with me, if you want to. If you need a first solution.
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... Seriously? You're— you'd be okay with that?
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You have to deal with this because of me – and you’re helping me escape. You don’t have to stay, but if you need somewhere to start, come with me.
I already have plans, I’ve just been waiting for the way out.
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You're not worried it'll be more complicated with two?
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