[ He should leave. He should absolutely leave. Holy fuck, he should leave.
But he doesn't want to. Not while Gamora is clearly in pain.
He's being practical, he tells himself. He's being practical, because if Gamora dies here, it's a totally bad look for him. He'd be a prime suspect, after all, and the hotel staff has seen enough of him that any of them could easily pick him out in a lineup.
He's being practical.
(That familiar sense of helplessness claws up his throat, choking him, and he thinks of his mother, swaying on her feet—)
She leans more of her weight against him, but he can tell she's in no state to be standing right now, much less walking. He clenches his jaw before gently, carefully, scooping her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her shoulders. ]
no subject
You got shot. You're not fine.
[ He should leave. He should absolutely leave. Holy fuck, he should leave.
But he doesn't want to. Not while Gamora is clearly in pain.
He's being practical, he tells himself. He's being practical, because if Gamora dies here, it's a totally bad look for him. He'd be a prime suspect, after all, and the hotel staff has seen enough of him that any of them could easily pick him out in a lineup.
He's being practical.
(That familiar sense of helplessness claws up his throat, choking him, and he thinks of his mother, swaying on her feet—)
She leans more of her weight against him, but he can tell she's in no state to be standing right now, much less walking. He clenches his jaw before gently, carefully, scooping her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her shoulders. ]
You really need to go to a hospital.