[Peter doesn't look at him, ashamed, hands fists at his sides. Quill's not the only one who feels sick. He can hear the other man's heartbeat, can hear too distinctly the speeding of his breaths and the crackle of the fluid in his knuckles as they go white. They're as loud as the Bulette, with his overly-sensitive hearing. He moves a step after him, but no more than that, and rambles with very little certainty on what to say:]

When you said to ask Mr. Stark, I did — and I... I swear, I would have found out how to tell you, I — I needed some time to figure out how to do it! I never meant to make anything worse or... or screw up your guys' chances back home, I just...!

[Against his attempts to avoid it, his voice cracks a little, hoarse and remorseful.]