Rich's voice was as gentle as he could make it. He was worried, but he probably didn't have the right to push. Maybe apologize, or at least explain.
... and yet all the words felt wrong. One of us alive here was better than both of us stuck there could do, but it wouldn't. Your life matters more than my death just didn't work, when he could practically feel misery roiling off Peter.
Instead, he just bowed his head. "You seem less fine than I was after ripping Annihilus's guts through his mouth. And that's okay. Not wanting to talk to me is... I guess okay. I just had to... see you."
The lump in his throat stopped any further actual words. He was trying not to cry, he really was, but, for the first time since he fully came to, for the first time from being busy and rebuilding and fixing things that could be fixed, he could feel the enormity of what had happened. The enormity of hurt - to others, more than to himself - and and it felt horrible. He had done it to them. To Peter. He had no right to cry or be comforted.
And yet Peter could sense that pain, almost as if it were radiating through that mark on his arm, but it was so much simpler than that. He knew this man, had fought and lived beside him through one of the most harrowing experiences a living creature could go through. He knew pain. Peter looked up to the kid and saw how he was fighting to hold back his tears and everything else. He finally swallowed his own feelings to reach out and take hold of the kid's arm.
"It's kind of scary, seeing a scar turn back into a normal mark, kid. It's kind of like tearing a wound open again." And that was exactly what it was - the scar had torn itself open, only to quickly heal itself in black. It hurt. Not as much seeing Rich in pain hurt, though.
Rich took a breath, though it was kind of shaky, and tried to apologize. Tried to at least ask that Peter knew he had to do what he did, right? But it didn't come out. It didn't matter, did it? It was a wound he had torn in the man he loved, and now he had torn it open again. This time, maybe, for the better, but it didn't matter.
It was a wound all the same.
"What can I do?"
It came out raw, raspy, but he owed it, to both of them. Because Peter gave him honesty. I'll be fine was better, infinitely more likely, than I'm fine. Sometimes, others could help bring that 'fine' about.
Other times, not even the nearest and dearest people couldn't.
If Peter knew which one it was, Rich would do that. If not...
"Nothing," Peter replied quickly, putting his hands up in protest. He put on a smile, trying to just turn this situation away from the tense mess that it was becoming.
"Like I said, I'll be fine and we've still got to get you back to Earth. People're gonna be missing you."
Rich flinched, his eyes wide on Peter, at the quick response. There's nothing you can do. The last person in the universe he'd have expected that from, though perhaps he should have.
But Peter Quill was also the person who knew best just how ofter Rich accepted that statement. Never, in particular. Rich's jaw set, and his eyes grew harder, from helpless and lost to determined. Whatever damage he had done, he'd find a way beyond it. He had to, for both of them.
"I was there. My brother has learned to throw a good punch." Not that he hadn't earned it. "Though that's still got people left, if you're stir-crazy or something. An old Nova ship with the Worldmind and an older Nova and maybe a few trainees."
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no subject
Rich's voice was as gentle as he could make it. He was worried, but he probably didn't have the right to push. Maybe apologize, or at least explain.
... and yet all the words felt wrong. One of us alive here was better than both of us stuck there could do, but it wouldn't. Your life matters more than my death just didn't work, when he could practically feel misery roiling off Peter.
Instead, he just bowed his head. "You seem less fine than I was after ripping Annihilus's guts through his mouth. And that's okay. Not wanting to talk to me is... I guess okay. I just had to... see you."
The lump in his throat stopped any further actual words. He was trying not to cry, he really was, but, for the first time since he fully came to, for the first time from being busy and rebuilding and fixing things that could be fixed, he could feel the enormity of what had happened. The enormity of hurt - to others, more than to himself - and and it felt horrible. He had done it to them. To Peter. He had no right to cry or be comforted.
no subject
"It's kind of scary, seeing a scar turn back into a normal mark, kid. It's kind of like tearing a wound open again." And that was exactly what it was - the scar had torn itself open, only to quickly heal itself in black. It hurt. Not as much seeing Rich in pain hurt, though.
"I'll be fine."
no subject
It was a wound all the same.
"What can I do?"
It came out raw, raspy, but he owed it, to both of them. Because Peter gave him honesty. I'll be fine was better, infinitely more likely, than I'm fine. Sometimes, others could help bring that 'fine' about.
Other times, not even the nearest and dearest people couldn't.
If Peter knew which one it was, Rich would do that. If not...
He'd come up with something.
no subject
"Like I said, I'll be fine and we've still got to get you back to Earth. People're gonna be missing you."
no subject
But Peter Quill was also the person who knew best just how ofter Rich accepted that statement. Never, in particular. Rich's jaw set, and his eyes grew harder, from helpless and lost to determined. Whatever damage he had done, he'd find a way beyond it. He had to, for both of them.
"I was there. My brother has learned to throw a good punch." Not that he hadn't earned it. "Though that's still got people left, if you're stir-crazy or something. An old Nova ship with the Worldmind and an older Nova and maybe a few trainees."
If. Or when. Whichever was more applicable.