Digging through the cargo bay on a wild goose chase.

[ For his part, Peter doesn't seem to mind the company. (A part of him says he should bite and snap like a wild dog on a chain, bark and snarl until Alec just goes the hell away, but the voice is distant and soft. Buried beneath layers and layers of comfort and exhaustion.)

He sets the mug aside to gesture to the ice pack. His shirt covers the damage, but his torso is a mess of dark splotches, concentrated on his left side. ]

Gamora's got some ointment she likes to use on bruising. They used it up all up last week, but those assholes never listen to me.