pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ Alec's eyebrows go up, and he's struck by the candidness of that statement. Granted, in a group of alien assassins and modded whatevers and a tree, he supposes that lone human would feel a little bit like the ordinary one. The fragile one. ]

Just cause you can't punch a guy through a wall doesn't make you the weak link, you know.

[ He snorts out a laugh ]

Says the guy who nearly threw a dude through a wall tonight. And zapped another dude to kingdom come.

Yeah, yeah, it probably sounds like empty platitudes from a guy who can shoot lightning out of his fingertips. But you can act circles around me, and I can't shoot to save my life.

You're good at what you do.

Alright.

[ He doesn't bother in the slightest to sound convinced or convincing. ]

I appreciate the after school special, Brennan, but, I mean, I don't really need it.

I can't tell if that's a "please stop stroking my ego" or a thinly-veiled "please don't stop stroking my ego".

[ The corner of his mouth twitches up, though soon after he plasters on a bland sort of look. ]

Maybe it's a little of both.

[ Peter shifts in his seat, slouching down to stretch his legs out. He tips his head against the backrest of the chair. ]

Rocket still going through the info?

[ He finds himself echoing that little smirk, just for a second ]

Yeah. I figured I'd let him have at it. I'm too tired to care right now.

[ Too tired to keep standing, in fact. The events of the evening must be catching up to him, since he just feels kind of pleasantly warm and lethargic. He plops into the chair near Peter, the one with his ruined clothes hanging over the back of it. ]

They did a number on your suit.

[ He huffs out a laugh.

(He doesn't realize it, but he tips his head toward Brennan slightly when he sits down beside him. Just the barest little shift closer. ]

Yeah. That was the real injustice of this fucking mess.

[ The seam of one of the shoulders of his jacket is torn apart; the tie is a wrinkled mess. He plucks absently at the crease of his trouser leg with a bandaged hand, where there's a rip at the knee. His shoes are scuffed, and the cuffs and collar of his white shirt are stained with dried blood.

A mournful little sigh, as he lets his hand drop back into his lap. ]

Guess I won't be trottin' this suit out again any time soon.

[ He leans a little as well, as he settles back in the chair. Though he does lean forward when Peter picks at his pantleg, etching out a quick rune in the air over the torn fabric.

The mark vanishes, and the tear knits itself back together as though it were never there in the first place. ]

I'm afraid that's all I've got in terms of fix-it spells.

[ That flash of purple again, and it— doesn't grate as much as it used to. Doesn't send that flare of disgust through him like it would have done a day ago.

He's just tired, he tells himself. It's been a long fucking night, and getting his insides tenderized certainly didn't help. The annoyance will be back once he's in better form, probably.

(He doesn't really care whether it does or not.)

The magic does make him tense – not quite nervousness or fear, but more a wariness of the unknown. He stares hard at the fabric as the two sides of the tear weave themselves back together, tries to spot evidence of the rip.

When he spots nothing, he huffs out a breath, something approaching derisive but not quite meeting the bar. ]

Show-off.

Yeah, basically.

[ He turns to regard Peter with a grin. ] I won't be fixing your entire suit, though. Sorry.

It's fine, I guess.

[ He doesn't think on it as he reaches over, pats Alec on the arm as if in consolation. ]

We can't all be perfect, buddy.

[ That slight contact is enough to make something pleasant and warm drift through him. Something in the back of his mind distantly tells him to get away, but he doesn't care to listen to it right now. He's too tired, too content.

Whatever this is, he finds he wants more. ]

I didn't know I'd have to brush up on my Mending to hang out with you.

[ His head tips back against the bulkhead, eyes slipping shut. ]

If I knew what that meant, I'd have an answer for you.

[ He makes a vague motion with his hand ]

The fix-it magic. That's Mending.

Wizards have a lot of bullshit names for types of magic.

[ He huffs out a breath. ]

I mean, can't be that bullshitty. It does what it says on the tin, I guess? It mends. [ And he enunciates the word a bit more than necessary. ]

Unless you guys call, like that electricity thing you do something seriously stupid, like, the dance if Zeus.

[ He laughs a little. He wouldn't put it past some wizards to get that pretentious. ]

I probably never would have picked it up if that's the case. It's called Elementalism. The chameleon thing is Illusion. The throw people into walls thing is Destruction. The shield thing is Defense. And on and on. There's like ten schools of magic.

Edited 2016-11-03 04:07 (UTC)

Is it something anyone can learn? Or do you just gotta be lucky? [ asked mildly, but he's interested in the answer, all the same.

although no one should ever let peter quill have access to magic. that's just irresponsible. ]

I can teach you the marks, but the magic's genetic. Unless your old man was a wizard, you'll just be waving your hands in the air for no reason.

[ He puffs out a quiet sigh from between his lips. ]

Figures.

[ He tosses the ice pack onto the table, swapping it for the foul-smelling tea. He takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs before forcing himself to take another mouthful. It helps to dull the taste a little, but not by much, and he goes right back to making that disgusted face.

Once he’s convinced he’s kept the drink down, he flicks a glance over to Alec. ]

… Look, about earlier. [ An awkward beat, then he clarifies, ] The whole, uh. Accusin’ you of going Benedict Arnold on me…

[ He trails off. Clearly he’s working up to an apology of sorts, here. Give it a second. ]

[ He watches Peter brave through another drink, and Jesus that does not look pleasant. For a second he feels like he might be sick on the guy’s behalf.

Once the apparent nastiness has passed and Peter turns to offer what he assumes is going to be an apology, he holds up a hand. ]

Don’t. I get it. It’s not like I gave you any reason to trust me, so it’s fine.

You sure as hell haven’t.

[ Despite the words, he says it mildly. He agrees, certainly, but not with the spite he might have utilized a handful of hours earlier. ]

Still. Should’ve known better.

[ He falls quiet after that, contemplating the contents of his mug. The gears in his head are still audibly turning, still juddering with false starts and resets, until he lets out a slow breath. ]

Thanks for. [ A beat. ] You know. [ A vague gesture made small by his injuries. ]

I mean, I know it was just, like. A practical thing. [ Because leaving Peter behind risked the whole operation. ] But still, I, uh. Appreciate it.

Don’t mention it.

[ It was a practical thing, he knows it was. Leaving Peter in enemy hands was just plain stupid, regardless of how they felt about one another. But in the moment? It felt like life or death, with the sharp teeth of dread digging into him at the mere thought that something might have happened to Peter.

It seems weird to think back on now. The terror, the urgency, seem distant and alien in the face of lazy contentment. He settles back in his chair a little more, listing slightly towards Peter without thinking much of it. ]

Like I said, your friends would kill me if I ditched you.

[ He breathes out a laugh, a little dark and self-deprecating. ]

Yeah, yeah. The galaxy’s most insane guard dogs. I heard you the first time.

Still. Good timing. [ A pause, then he corrects, ] Kind of okay timing. Could’ve saved me a broken rib if you were just a few minutes earlier, but…

[ A shrug. ]

We can’t all be perfect, like I mentioned.

Uh-huh. I heard that the first time too.

I was kind of working at the time, then somebody- [ he gives Peter a gentle nudge with his elbow ] -didn't answer their comm.

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