[ Impossibly, his smile widens at her agreement, as their fingers lace together. ]
Good. Great. Awesome.
[ And he forgets how to breath as she leans in, goes stock-still as she studies him. Her lips brush against his cheek, and considering the kind of stuff Peter got up to before he and Gamora started dancing around each other, a kiss like that is hardly anything. But it warms him, all the same, makes something sweet curl in him, and his fingers tighten a little around hers. ]
So— we’re doing this? You and me? We’re— like. Together? Together-together, I mean.
[ The kiss may be fairly slight by comparison, but it still holds meaning to her: she wouldn't offer anything of the sort to anyone else. She feels this way about Peter, and that's massively different.
She offers a nod, squeezing his hand lightly. ]
Yes. Together-together.
[ ... Whatever that actually means.
(Why doesn't he simply say "together" and leave it at that?) ]
I mean. [ He clears his throat, shoulders rolling a little as he tries to regain that confident air. ] Yes. Yeah. That's what I want, as long as you do.
[ Gamora doesn't quite laugh, but her huff of a breath is still warm, pleased. He'd responded so quickly that it's much easier to take him at face value. ]
I do.
[ And to offer more reassurance, to make sure he knows she means it, she leans in again, and this time, she presses her lips properly against his. It's different from the night of the motel, where it had been driven so much by emotion and a fear of loss, of wanting to have something real to cling to. She'd wanted to feel grounded and alive, and that had tangled itself together in a mess of her outstanding feelings for Peter.
Those kisses resolved no questions, but only created more.
[ It's— soft, and sweet, the kiss she presses against his lips. It's chaste, and again, not what Peter's used to, when shit got hot and heavy in the dark corners of bars and clubs, with drinks flowing and hormones flying.
Peter had kind of figured that the first time they properly kissed, if they ever did at all, they'd be on a hilltop or something. Under the stars. Or maybe in the privacy of one of their rooms, sitting hip to hip in the silence of the ship. Or finding a moment of peace on one of their little not-dates, turning to one another and feeling something click. Leaning forward until their lips pressed.
... But this is better.
When she pulls away, he puts on that awful, stupid, uncool smile, but it's hard to care about that right now. The softness of her lips, the warmth of them, still lingers against his, and he wants to feel it. Again.
And again.
And again.
And he feels like the luckiest bastard in the universe.
He reaches up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear – reverent and fond and man, he loves her hair. ]
[ And there's that smile, back again, warm and unrestrained (and she wouldn't have it any other way). That soft smile of her own hasn't gone anywhere, either, and she isn't preoccupied with maintaining appearances, not with how that warm thing in her chest flutters and dances with delight. Being close to him, having... understanding makes all the difference in the world, and despite their surroundings, she's so at ease.
Her hair is a mess, curls everywhere, but she appreciates that little gesture, the way he just reaches out to lightly brush her hair away from her face. (Where so many months ago, she might have bristled at the touch, now she likes that he just does it without hesitating, instead of treating her like an animal liable to bite.)
She gives a small shrug in response, though it isn't an attempt to deflect. ]
Better. My mind is clear and the fever seems to have disappeared entirely, but I am still somewhat sore. Even that seems to be easing the longer I'm awake.
And you?
[ Admittedly, she's much more concerned about Peter's wellbeing. Whatever that was hit him far faster than it did her, and his system could be more easily compromised; the fact that it was able to overtake her at all means that it was something terrifyingly intense. ]
[ He's almost shocked that she gives him an honest, straightforward answer. A part of him expected her to dismiss it all again, to tell him she's fine, she's fine, that he needs to stop worrying so much. But she doesn't, and maybe that's because of what a shitty turn things took if it landed them both here.
However it was they ended up in a hospital room, anyway.
At her question, reflex has him say, ]
I'm fine.
[ — which, after everything he just thought, makes him something of a hypocrite. ]
Tired. Sore. [ He still thinks his brain is on a countdown to exploding, but that's whatever. ] But I'll live.
[ That reflexive answer of his earns a flat look, not entirely banishing the softness in her eyes, but displeased nonetheless. She could have brushed him aside with her own response, but considering she didn't, she doesn't appreciate the disregard.
But he tries to make up for it, so she's willing to let it slide.
Mostly. ]
It seems obvious we both will, if we're here now.
[ They hadn't succumbed to the fever, so that must be an improvement. ]
[ He huffs out a self-deprecating sort of laugh. ]
Just a hangover from hell. But I've had worse.
[ The night after he had spilled his guts to Gamora about how much he liked her, for instance. He still doesn't realize he had confessed everything to her, already, but he does remember waking up feeling like death warmed over. ]
We oughta figure out where everyone else is. I'm assumin' if they aren't in here, they probably didn't get a whiff of whatever shit we did.
[ He looks a little disappointed when she pulls away, but considering she seems to be much further along on the recovery thing than Peter is, he lets her go.
He lies back in his bed, rubbing circles at his temples, but when he hears Gamora's exasperation, he looks up. ]
[ She tries the door twice more in demonstration, and it clearly refuses to open. ]
They've locked us in.
[ She glares at the door, and though she's inclined to break it down, she decides to refrain. She knocks on it instead, peering out of the small window into the dimly-lit hallway. She can't see much, and she doesn't earn a response from the knocking, so she reluctantly steps away with a disgruntled huff. ]
[ A cursory look around the room, before Gamora spots the panel near Peter's bed. A button is lit and ready to be pressed, with a little "help" symbol on it.
Well, that should be useful.
She goes over to hit the button, and it sinks into the panel in response with a soft "bing!"
... No one immediately appears at the door, which is already unacceptable, but Gamora settles herself back onto the edge of Peter's bed to wait. ]
There had better be an explanation for all of this.
[ Gamora purses her lips, agitated by the fact they have to wait. Despite that, she still reaches out to set her hand on Peter's knee, continuing to glance towards the door as they wait.
Fortunately, it doesn't take too long before the door is unlocking, and in steps a Krylorian in a uniform. She smiles brightly at them, and Gamora takes note of the fact that she isn't wearing a hazmat suit or otherwise.
Does that mean the room itself isn't contaminated? ]
How nice to see you both awake finally.
[ Gamora's eyes narrow slightly. ]
How long were we asleep?
Nearly five days. Ah, I see you've removed your IV. [ The nurse tuts quietly. ] We should replace that.
I don't need it.
Your body could still do with some additional hydrati—
I am fine. [ Gamora is exceedingly adamant about that part. ]
[ It's a relief, at least, when someone steps in not covered head to toe, like something out of the Andromeda Strain. It bodes well for the state of their illness, whatever the hell that was, and he feels a part of him relax a little.
(The rest of him is still buzzing, though, with familiar agitation over being in a hospital.
The sooner they leave, the better.)
He watches the exchange between Gamora and what he assumes to be a nurse – five days? What the fuck? – and when the woman tuts over the IV, Peter frowns. ]
Gamora.
[ Softly, not disapproving, but something that quietly says, "Mind the tone."
To the nurse, ]
It'll be a much easier time for all of us if you just let her chug some water instead.
[ Gamora doesn't sigh at him, rolling her eyes instead – though she also doesn't comment, because she's not exactly in a position to criticize his openness with the people responsible for their treatment. ]
Well, considering the toxin should be fully removed from your system now, it should be much easier for you to nap.
[ The nurse offers him a light smile, gently dismissing Peter's vitals before she moves to the other panel to check Gamora's – or at least whatever they last displayed before she got up to migrate to Peter's bed. ]
What was it?
[ Gamora feels most disgruntled by the lack of information, by not knowing what had hit them. The nurse glances over at her, and shakes her head apologetically. ]
I'm afraid I'm not in a position to answer that question. A representative from the Nova Corps is supposed to give you a proper briefing when you're released.
[ Peter lets out a breath, letting his arm fall across his middle. It did seem late, even if Peter has no idea what time it actually is. And it'd make sense, the team getting kicked out once guest hours were finished; they were a scary bunch, and he doubts any of the staff felt particularly comforted if any of them stalked around Peter and Gamora's room, waiting for news. ]
So— [ and he raises his head a little to peer at the nurse. ] —when can we go?
[ Because he's pretty sure that's the question they both want an answer to. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Good. Great. Awesome.
[ And he forgets how to breath as she leans in, goes stock-still as she studies him. Her lips brush against his cheek, and considering the kind of stuff Peter got up to before he and Gamora started dancing around each other, a kiss like that is hardly anything. But it warms him, all the same, makes something sweet curl in him, and his fingers tighten a little around hers. ]
So— we’re doing this? You and me? We’re— like. Together? Together-together, I mean.
no subject
She offers a nod, squeezing his hand lightly. ]
Yes. Together-together.
[ ... Whatever that actually means.
(Why doesn't he simply say "together" and leave it at that?) ]
As long as this is what we both want.
no subject
[ ... oh, shit. That answer was too quick. ]
I mean. [ He clears his throat, shoulders rolling a little as he tries to regain that confident air. ] Yes. Yeah. That's what I want, as long as you do.
no subject
I do.
[ And to offer more reassurance, to make sure he knows she means it, she leans in again, and this time, she presses her lips properly against his. It's different from the night of the motel, where it had been driven so much by emotion and a fear of loss, of wanting to have something real to cling to. She'd wanted to feel grounded and alive, and that had tangled itself together in a mess of her outstanding feelings for Peter.
Those kisses resolved no questions, but only created more.
This kiss is an answer. A promise. ]
no subject
Peter had kind of figured that the first time they properly kissed, if they ever did at all, they'd be on a hilltop or something. Under the stars. Or maybe in the privacy of one of their rooms, sitting hip to hip in the silence of the ship. Or finding a moment of peace on one of their little not-dates, turning to one another and feeling something click. Leaning forward until their lips pressed.
... But this is better.
When she pulls away, he puts on that awful, stupid, uncool smile, but it's hard to care about that right now. The softness of her lips, the warmth of them, still lingers against his, and he wants to feel it. Again.
And again.
And again.
And he feels like the luckiest bastard in the universe.
He reaches up, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear – reverent and fond and man, he loves her hair. ]
How are you feeling? Honestly.
no subject
Her hair is a mess, curls everywhere, but she appreciates that little gesture, the way he just reaches out to lightly brush her hair away from her face. (Where so many months ago, she might have bristled at the touch, now she likes that he just does it without hesitating, instead of treating her like an animal liable to bite.)
She gives a small shrug in response, though it isn't an attempt to deflect. ]
Better. My mind is clear and the fever seems to have disappeared entirely, but I am still somewhat sore. Even that seems to be easing the longer I'm awake.
And you?
[ Admittedly, she's much more concerned about Peter's wellbeing. Whatever that was hit him far faster than it did her, and his system could be more easily compromised; the fact that it was able to overtake her at all means that it was something terrifyingly intense. ]
no subject
However it was they ended up in a hospital room, anyway.
At her question, reflex has him say, ]
I'm fine.
[ — which, after everything he just thought, makes him something of a hypocrite. ]
Tired. Sore. [ He still thinks his brain is on a countdown to exploding, but that's whatever. ] But I'll live.
no subject
But he tries to make up for it, so she's willing to let it slide.
Mostly. ]
It seems obvious we both will, if we're here now.
[ They hadn't succumbed to the fever, so that must be an improvement. ]
Tired and sore – is that all?
no subject
Just a hangover from hell. But I've had worse.
[ The night after he had spilled his guts to Gamora about how much he liked her, for instance. He still doesn't realize he had confessed everything to her, already, but he does remember waking up feeling like death warmed over. ]
We oughta figure out where everyone else is. I'm assumin' if they aren't in here, they probably didn't get a whiff of whatever shit we did.
no subject
I could see if I can find someone who works here. They may have answers for us.
[ Reluctantly, Gamora draws away from Peter, going to check the door.
... It, of course, is locked. ]
... Really?
no subject
He lies back in his bed, rubbing circles at his temples, but when he hears Gamora's exasperation, he looks up. ]
What? What's wrong?
no subject
They've locked us in.
[ She glares at the door, and though she's inclined to break it down, she decides to refrain. She knocks on it instead, peering out of the small window into the dimly-lit hallway. She can't see much, and she doesn't earn a response from the knocking, so she reluctantly steps away with a disgruntled huff. ]
Is it possible we're contagious?
no subject
That's worrying.
And by worrying, it's actually kind of... uh.
Well. It's not good, Peter thinks, and he's back to sitting up in bed. ]
Maybe. [ Uncertainly. ] Or maybe they didn't know what they were dealing with and decided better safe than sorry.
[ He casts around, looking for some kind of call button.
A little tensely, ] Kinda don't like the idea of bein' stuck in here.
no subject
[ A cursory look around the room, before Gamora spots the panel near Peter's bed. A button is lit and ready to be pressed, with a little "help" symbol on it.
Well, that should be useful.
She goes over to hit the button, and it sinks into the panel in response with a soft "bing!"
... No one immediately appears at the door, which is already unacceptable, but Gamora settles herself back onto the edge of Peter's bed to wait. ]
There had better be an explanation for all of this.
no subject
How did he miss that?
He huffs out a breath, flopping back into bed again as he brings up both hands to his face. ]
Other than "hey, we thought it'd be fun to lock you crazy kids into a room and see how long it took for you guys to go stir crazy?"
Yeah. Agreed. 100%. They'd better let us out soon, too.
no subject
Fortunately, it doesn't take too long before the door is unlocking, and in steps a Krylorian in a uniform. She smiles brightly at them, and Gamora takes note of the fact that she isn't wearing a hazmat suit or otherwise.
Does that mean the room itself isn't contaminated? ]
How nice to see you both awake finally.
[ Gamora's eyes narrow slightly. ]
How long were we asleep?
Nearly five days. Ah, I see you've removed your IV. [ The nurse tuts quietly. ] We should replace that.
I don't need it.
Your body could still do with some additional hydrati—
I am fine. [ Gamora is exceedingly adamant about that part. ]
no subject
(The rest of him is still buzzing, though, with familiar agitation over being in a hospital.
The sooner they leave, the better.)
He watches the exchange between Gamora and what he assumes to be a nurse – five days? What the fuck? – and when the woman tuts over the IV, Peter frowns. ]
Gamora.
[ Softly, not disapproving, but something that quietly says, "Mind the tone."
To the nurse, ]
It'll be a much easier time for all of us if you just let her chug some water instead.
no subject
That may be allowable. I'll have some water brought in.
[ But she wanders over to a panel next to Peter's bed, gently expanding the holo screen to take a look at his vitals. ]
Your fever broke about twelve hours ago. How are you feeling now?
[ At this question, however, Gamora also looks pointedly over at Peter again. ]
no subject
Peter grimaces at that bit of news, rubbing at his forehead. ]
Fine.
[ Apparently both of them are just going to be awful patients. ]
Nothing a nap won't fix.
no subject
Well, considering the toxin should be fully removed from your system now, it should be much easier for you to nap.
[ The nurse offers him a light smile, gently dismissing Peter's vitals before she moves to the other panel to check Gamora's – or at least whatever they last displayed before she got up to migrate to Peter's bed. ]
What was it?
[ Gamora feels most disgruntled by the lack of information, by not knowing what had hit them. The nurse glances over at her, and shakes her head apologetically. ]
I'm afraid I'm not in a position to answer that question. A representative from the Nova Corps is supposed to give you a proper briefing when you're released.
no subject
The answer, however, is hardly satisfactory, and Peter grumbles out, ]
Oh, okay. That's not foreboding at all.
[ But it won't help, getting snippy with the nurse, and he huffs out a breath. ]
But we're not, like. Contagious? Neither of us is gonna sneeze and cause some sort of epidemic?
no subject
Not even a little. This toxin was transmitted through contact, and now that you're no longer affected by it, you can't spread it.
[ ... Well, that's a small piece of information, and that explains how she must have given it to Peter. ]
Then can we see our friends?
Of course. They can visit in the morning.
[ Gamora wants to demand "why not now?" but she also realizes that isn't the best approach. ]
no subject
Everyone's fine, though? It was just us that got hit with whatever classified bullshit you're "not at liberty to discuss" or whatever?
no subject
We ran many tests, and none of the others have been affected. They're completely fine.
[ Gamora relaxes with the news, though it's somewhat more incremental. ]
They haven't been kept here?
Not at all. They were allowed in after your fevers had broken, but they left once visiting hours were over.
no subject
So— [ and he raises his head a little to peer at the nurse. ] —when can we go?
[ Because he's pretty sure that's the question they both want an answer to. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)