[ He frowns at her, lips pressed together in a tight line. He swallows around the painful knot in his throat.
She’s giving him permission to ask, and Peter has so many questions – all of them painful, and though he hardly knows if he wants to hear the answer to any of them. He and Mantis never had much of a chance to speak in the aftermath; all he knows is that she had a hand in hauling Peter out of the fire, that she was the one who clued Drax and Gamora into the weird, fucked up shit his father had gotten up to before the Guardians arrived.
Mantis chose to help. She could have stayed back, could have let things unfold and waited to see how the whole thing shook out, but she didn’t.
And Peter realizes for a brief, clear, moment that that’s what really matters. That she made that choice. And a part of him is always going to remember that she helped Ego, but he can forgive it, he thinks, as long as she keeps trying to do the right thing. ]
We’re fine, Mantis. We’re still friends.
[ And this comes out with a lot more certainty than it has any other time during this conversation. He tries for a small smile, and while it’s not entirely successful, thanks to the confused mess of whatever the fuck it is that’s coiling in his chest, he figures it’s the effort that counts.
After a second, he clears his throat, glancing around at the room to see if she’s laid out her uniform for him to muddle his way through sewing this patch on. ]
no subject
She’s giving him permission to ask, and Peter has so many questions – all of them painful, and though he hardly knows if he wants to hear the answer to any of them. He and Mantis never had much of a chance to speak in the aftermath; all he knows is that she had a hand in hauling Peter out of the fire, that she was the one who clued Drax and Gamora into the weird, fucked up shit his father had gotten up to before the Guardians arrived.
Mantis chose to help. She could have stayed back, could have let things unfold and waited to see how the whole thing shook out, but she didn’t.
And Peter realizes for a brief, clear, moment that that’s what really matters. That she made that choice. And a part of him is always going to remember that she helped Ego, but he can forgive it, he thinks, as long as she keeps trying to do the right thing. ]
We’re fine, Mantis. We’re still friends.
[ And this comes out with a lot more certainty than it has any other time during this conversation. He tries for a small smile, and while it’s not entirely successful, thanks to the confused mess of whatever the fuck it is that’s coiling in his chest, he figures it’s the effort that counts.
After a second, he clears his throat, glancing around at the room to see if she’s laid out her uniform for him to muddle his way through sewing this patch on. ]
What am I attaching this to?