[ He blinks at Pete for a second, like he’s completely oblivious. He can’t look that bad, can he? (Vanity, thy name is Peter Jason Quill.) A little self-consciously, he brings up a hand to scrub at his face, except—
... Oh.
He blinks down at his hand; by now, the blood has dried to a half-tacky, half-flaking mess. The worst of the chunks seem to have sloughed off during their trip here, which will surely be a happy surprise for an unfortunate sanitation worker, later.
And his mind races back. Gamora, coming home from a shift with the Perimeter Guard, trekking in monster goo that smeared on the floor, rubbed off onto the door frame, dried against the leg of her pants. Only one time, but of course Peter never let her live it down, because they had faced so many monsters before in their time as the Guardians of the Galaxy, and she would always come away miraculously spotless while everyone else trudged away covered in slime. So of course he would greet her as she came in from a shift, or when he’d come home after her, and make a show of inspecting the apartment and asking, Bring home anymore guts?
It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, the way every little thing sets him off, how every little stray thought launches him back like he’s been hit in the gut with a cannonball. It’s stupid, because Gamora’s going to be here. She’s coming back. She has to. And if she finds out he’s been brooding— A slow shuddering inhale, followed by an equally unsteady exhale, and he drops his hand to his side. ]
... Maybe, uh. [ Hoarse again. Quiet. This time, he doesn’t bother to try to pull it together. ] Maybe a shower.
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... Oh.
He blinks down at his hand; by now, the blood has dried to a half-tacky, half-flaking mess. The worst of the chunks seem to have sloughed off during their trip here, which will surely be a happy surprise for an unfortunate sanitation worker, later.
And his mind races back. Gamora, coming home from a shift with the Perimeter Guard, trekking in monster goo that smeared on the floor, rubbed off onto the door frame, dried against the leg of her pants. Only one time, but of course Peter never let her live it down, because they had faced so many monsters before in their time as the Guardians of the Galaxy, and she would always come away miraculously spotless while everyone else trudged away covered in slime. So of course he would greet her as she came in from a shift, or when he’d come home after her, and make a show of inspecting the apartment and asking, Bring home anymore guts?
It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, the way every little thing sets him off, how every little stray thought launches him back like he’s been hit in the gut with a cannonball. It’s stupid, because Gamora’s going to be here. She’s coming back. She has to. And if she finds out he’s been brooding—
A slow shuddering inhale, followed by an equally unsteady exhale, and he drops his hand to his side. ]
... Maybe, uh. [ Hoarse again. Quiet. This time, he doesn’t bother to try to pull it together. ] Maybe a shower.