[ He looks at her incredulously for a long second, eyebrows knitting together and lips parting. ]
Just 'cause that's the way it is doesn't mean it's okay to just— roll over and take it.
[ ... which, admittedly, Gamora probably knows, but it's frustrating to see how she's been forced to accept it. He grits his teeth for a second, forcing a breath out through his nose and trying to redirect his anger. ]
[ Gamora doesn't turn her eyes from Peter as she tries to make sense of— whatever this reaction means. He seems... genuinely upset by Maw, and Gamora realizes she's never had anyone actually care about how she's treated. Usually, she doesn't tolerate it, but she has no choice when it comes to her father.
Tolerate it or be forced to tolerate worse. ]
... Why?
[ She doesn't mean to sound condescending or snide, and her expression betrays her hesitancy for its true sincerity. ]
[ And he still can't believe he has to spell it out like this.
... But maybe he should make allowances, considering she did, as he keeps pointing out, get shot and probably lost a lot of blood between then and now. ]
Seriously, where the hell does he get off treating you like shit when you're already hurt? Like, what's even the point when you already know something went wrong?
[ He looks at her uncertainly again, frowning. She's exhausted, obviously, and he should seriously stop ranting at her about how fucking shitty that dude was and let her sleep. ]
[ There’s likely an edge of delirium to her gratitude, given the extreme pain and blood loss – but she huffs a soft noise, almost a dry laugh. ]
A lot, probably.
[ For staying, for helping, for actually caring about the way people treat her? She’s so desensitized to her life with Thanos, and she’s learned to live with sharp teeth and claws at the ready. Protesting the brutality that feels normal doesn’t even occur to her, now. ]
[ His lips thin into an unhappy line. Peter's pretty sure he hasn't done anything out of the ordinary, or at least, nothing beyond what a sane, decent person in his shoes would have done. He's not entirely sure how to respond.
The bag is nearly drained, though, and he should probably think of a better way to get rid of it than ditching it in the kitchen trash. ]
You should take one of those painkillers and get some sleep.
[ Gamora nods without protest this time, pushing herself up enough to pluck up the bottle and her water. She manages to swallow a pill and a couple mouthfuls of water, before she sets it all aside again.
When she looks back up at the blood bag, she can see the tube clearing, and she finally reaches for the IV. She doesn’t flinch as she pulls the tubing free, and she grabs a few tissues from the nightstand to wrap around the bloodied end.
Not the most sanitary option, but triage leaves little room for being fussy.
[ He winces a little as she frees the tubing from her arm, as she does a haphazard job of cleaning it up. At her request, he starts to hand it over on instinct, but he thinks better of it half a blink later, pulling back. ]
Put it in with the trash already present, then take all of it to the waste disposal outside. They’ll take it with the all the other garbage, and it should go unnoticed.
[ It’s inconspicuous enough that people shouldn’t find it going through things on a surface level. Even if the police were somehow involved eventually, it would be a proverbial needle in a haystack to find amidst all the waste from one of the biggest hotels in the city. ]
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[ He glances back at Gamora, frowning a little as she slumps back against the pillows. ]
Should you take one of those painkillers now?
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Probably.
[ The sooner she sleeps, the sooner she can start tot truly recover from this.
She turns her attention back to Peter, more hesitancy in her expression. ]
... Are you still leaving?
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He doesn't meet her gaze, switching the bag of blood to his other hand. ]
Gotta wait for the bag to drain, at least.
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I can hold it, if you’d like.
[ ... holding a bag of blood isn’t the most charming pastime. ]
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[ Why does he need to remind her of this?
His voice is sharp, angry as he continues. ]
That prick of a doctor shouldn't have asked you to hold it up in the first place.
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That's how things always are.
[ Honestly, the fact that Maw hadn't protested when Peter took the bag is still surprising. ]
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Just 'cause that's the way it is doesn't mean it's okay to just— roll over and take it.
[ ... which, admittedly, Gamora probably knows, but it's frustrating to see how she's been forced to accept it. He grits his teeth for a second, forcing a breath out through his nose and trying to redirect his anger. ]
I didn't like the way he treated you. That's all.
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Tolerate it or be forced to tolerate worse. ]
... Why?
[ She doesn't mean to sound condescending or snide, and her expression betrays her hesitancy for its true sincerity. ]
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[ And he still can't believe he has to spell it out like this.
... But maybe he should make allowances, considering she did, as he keeps pointing out, get shot and probably lost a lot of blood between then and now. ]
Seriously, where the hell does he get off treating you like shit when you're already hurt? Like, what's even the point when you already know something went wrong?
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What's different is the fact that someone else finds that unacceptable. ]
Getting shot was my mistake. They treat it that way, no matter the circumstances.
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[ He gestures with his free hand at her side. ]
You got shot. Obviously you don't want that to happen again. Lesson over.
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One would think.
[ She sighs shakily, her eyes sliding closed for a moment, before she turns to look up at the nearly-empty bag. ]
... Thank you.
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What are you thanking me for?
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A lot, probably.
[ For staying, for helping, for actually caring about the way people treat her? She’s so desensitized to her life with Thanos, and she’s learned to live with sharp teeth and claws at the ready. Protesting the brutality that feels normal doesn’t even occur to her, now. ]
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The bag is nearly drained, though, and he should probably think of a better way to get rid of it than ditching it in the kitchen trash. ]
You should take one of those painkillers and get some sleep.
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When she looks back up at the blood bag, she can see the tube clearing, and she finally reaches for the IV. She doesn’t flinch as she pulls the tubing free, and she grabs a few tissues from the nightstand to wrap around the bloodied end.
Not the most sanitary option, but triage leaves little room for being fussy.
She holds her hand out for the empty bag. ]
I can take care of it.
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Just tell me what to do with it.
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There are trash bags under the sink in the kitchen. Put it in at least two, then make sure you wash your hands.
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[ Double-bag it. Sounds simple enough. ]
Then what? 'Cause I'm guessing I shouldn't just toss it with the other trash.
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[ It’s inconspicuous enough that people shouldn’t find it going through things on a surface level. Even if the police were somehow involved eventually, it would be a proverbial needle in a haystack to find amidst all the waste from one of the biggest hotels in the city. ]
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So he should toss it with the other trash. ]
... Right.
Okay. I'll take care of it. Just— get some rest.