[ And he pops the “p” sound, the corner of his mouth rising a little higher as he tries to smother his smile.
It only half-works.
And he knows it’s hardly an answer – but Peter’s already tipped his hand pretty badly, practically shy of holding his cards backwards to face the entire table, and a stubborn part of him feels like he ought to maintain some air of mystery.
Part of him wonders if she’s agreeing just to make him happy, some residual urge from that day in the market that he barely remembers, some little carrot dangling in his face to keep him moving forward. He wonders if she actually wants to indulge him because she would enjoy it, or if she’s indulging him because she’s gotten into the habit of holding the stick and has completely forgotten why.
The same reason why the team coddled him today. The same reason why Gamora kept casting concerned looks his way. Like they think that if they don’t keep an eye on him, he might disappear.
[ Gamora's not sure why she expected a straight answer, but she finds that she doesn't even mind — not when that smile is fighting its way onto his face all over again. ]
But maybe I will ask you first.
[ Because she sees no reason why she shouldn't ask him instead, if it's something she'll also enjoy. Gamora isn't one to sit back and let things happen, after all, and she's already danced with him more than once, promised to dance with him beyond that too, so why not beat him to the punch?
If only to see the look on his face when she does ask. ]
[ He huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shrugging a shoulder. ]
You say that like I’d mind.
[ Which he wouldn’t, after all. Peter already claims the credit for asking her first, and he can boast that he was likely the first person she’s ever willingly said “yes” to. So he’s pretty much set, in his own eyes.
(He almost thinks, I could die happy, but he shies away from the thought like it burns.)
He lifts a hand to carefully prod at the lump on the back of his head – the pain has dulled down, at least. Something present but not distracting. ]
Maybe wait till I’m not liable to trip over myself just standing, though.
[ But she can wait. She's in no immediate rush, not with the things she still feels like she has to parse through for herself, the unfamiliarity of emotion that she doesn't truly have a name for, the uncertainty in the wake of the party.
(The ferocious response that reared its head today during the fight.)
She watches him prod at himself, more considering than with blatant concern. ]
I should let you return to resting, since I disturbed you in the first place.
[ Which he absolutely doesn’t; sure, close quarters means they might get on one another’s nerves sometimes, but that’s true of everyone. He tips his head back against the bulkhead, letting out a quiet breath. ]
But you’re probably right. Could probably do with a nap or something. [ he makes a vague gesture toward his head. ] At least if I pass out I won’t have to deal with the headache.
[ Gamora gives him a look at "apple slices and a juice box" because she did not a) have naptime as a child, and b) has no concept of these things. That was as good as gibberish.
(But she's used to Peter saying things like that.)
At least he's settling in, and so she gets to her feet, giving him back all the space on his bunk. ]
I will try to keep them in line.
[ No guarantees, of course.
She heads for the door, but she pauses to glance at him over her shoulder. ]
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no subject
[ And he pops the “p” sound, the corner of his mouth rising a little higher as he tries to smother his smile.
It only half-works.
And he knows it’s hardly an answer – but Peter’s already tipped his hand pretty badly, practically shy of holding his cards backwards to face the entire table, and a stubborn part of him feels like he ought to maintain some air of mystery.
Part of him wonders if she’s agreeing just to make him happy, some residual urge from that day in the market that he barely remembers, some little carrot dangling in his face to keep him moving forward. He wonders if she actually wants to indulge him because she would enjoy it, or if she’s indulging him because she’s gotten into the habit of holding the stick and has completely forgotten why.
The same reason why the team coddled him today. The same reason why Gamora kept casting concerned looks his way. Like they think that if they don’t keep an eye on him, he might disappear.
He doesn’t know what to do with that. ]
We’ll play it by ear, like we usually do.
no subject
[ Gamora's not sure why she expected a straight answer, but she finds that she doesn't even mind — not when that smile is fighting its way onto his face all over again. ]
But maybe I will ask you first.
[ Because she sees no reason why she shouldn't ask him instead, if it's something she'll also enjoy. Gamora isn't one to sit back and let things happen, after all, and she's already danced with him more than once, promised to dance with him beyond that too, so why not beat him to the punch?
If only to see the look on his face when she does ask. ]
no subject
You say that like I’d mind.
[ Which he wouldn’t, after all. Peter already claims the credit for asking her first, and he can boast that he was likely the first person she’s ever willingly said “yes” to. So he’s pretty much set, in his own eyes.
(He almost thinks, I could die happy, but he shies away from the thought like it burns.)
He lifts a hand to carefully prod at the lump on the back of his head – the pain has dulled down, at least. Something present but not distracting. ]
Maybe wait till I’m not liable to trip over myself just standing, though.
no subject
That wouldn't be enjoyable for either of us.
[ But she can wait. She's in no immediate rush, not with the things she still feels like she has to parse through for herself, the unfamiliarity of emotion that she doesn't truly have a name for, the uncertainty in the wake of the party.
(The ferocious response that reared its head today during the fight.)
She watches him prod at himself, more considering than with blatant concern. ]
I should let you return to resting, since I disturbed you in the first place.
no subject
And you say that like I mind your company.
[ Which he absolutely doesn’t; sure, close quarters means they might get on one another’s nerves sometimes, but that’s true of everyone. He tips his head back against the bulkhead, letting out a quiet breath. ]
But you’re probably right. Could probably do with a nap or something. [ he makes a vague gesture toward his head. ] At least if I pass out I won’t have to deal with the headache.
no subject
[ If only because they're likelier to keep talking, but—
— it's more than they've really talked one-on-one in a while. ]
The nap will be better for you.
[ Even if she would rather stay. ]
no subject
Sure, sure. Just get me my apple slices and a juice box, read me a bedtime story, and we can call it a day.
[ But after a hesitant second, Peter eases himself down to lie on his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ]
Make sure none of those assholes set the ship on fire, please.
no subject
(But she's used to Peter saying things like that.)
At least he's settling in, and so she gets to her feet, giving him back all the space on his bunk. ]
I will try to keep them in line.
[ No guarantees, of course.
She heads for the door, but she pauses to glance at him over her shoulder. ]
... Get some rest, Quill.