#peter m

You sat across from Peter, who held an iced pack to a bruise that was forming on his cheekbone. His eyes met yours and he smiled, but only for a second. Only when he could. He was glad you were somewhat okay, as were you, him.

The smile was a good thing to think about until the jet landed and the people were moved out. Peter caught you before you could go. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You replied. Peter was a good friend, but he wasn’t a super close one, so the approach wasn’t off, it was more… rare. You liked him as a person and to be honest, you might have had a minor crush on him, but your head ached as well as your arm, you were both pretty fucked up.

“Would you mind helping me with bandages? Sounds pathetic, I know, but I really can’t move my-“ he went to gesture how he can’t really move his arms and in doing so, hurt himself. You didn’t mean to chuckle, but he let out a small laugh too. “All the medical people are busy, so… I’ll have to get my first aid things from my room.”

“Of course not. After you,” you nodded, limping slightly. You were battered up pretty badly, but he led the way and helped you up a few steps.

The solemn attitude was lifting. “Welcome to my room, please excuse everything.” He chuckled, opening the door with his foot. The room was an organized mess with a made bed. You kind of chuckled yourself at the fact he was twenty-something and part of the mess was a bunch of action figures. Mess aside though, it smelled nice, like air freshener.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, hissing in pain, stretching out as much as he could. He pressed his hand to his head to where he had a cut with near-dried blood. Something within your stomach burned at the sight, you blinked it off.

“My first aid stuff is in the bathroom,” he said. “I should probably go in there-“

“You’re looking pretty pale, I think you should just stay there,” you said. He bowed his head, then put it up again due to the cut on his forehead. You walked over to the washroom and found the big kit with ease- everyone had to have one if they were part of the team. “What hurts the most?”

“I think I’m concussed. Either that or you have a twin.” You turned quickly, but he smiled. “That was a joke. But I do think I’m concussed.” You shook your head, walking back to him and smiling a little. “You look just as bad.”

“Thank you,” you smiled. He smiled a little. “I need a full rundown of what I can help with.”

He nodded a little. “My head, you can see. I think I dislocated my shoulder, my upper chest here is fucked up and the rest are just bruises and scratches, I think. Pretty hot, right?”

“Mmm yeah,” you said, pulling out what you needed from the first aid kit. “I hate to ask this with the context of what you just said, but could you take off your top?”

“On the first date?” He joked. You sighed, blowing hair out of your face. “I would for you, but I don’t actually think I could if I tried. And I hate to ask this with the context what you just said, but could you take off my top?” He used your own line back at you, altered. You fought both a smile and a blush. That was a new feeling here.

You set down your things and carefully undid the straps around his neck. You were vaguely aware of how close your face was to his as you moved down his back, undoing the pieces that kept him in.

“You still smell good,” Peter said, “Despite the fight that almost took us all out.”

“Thank you,” you finally got all of them loose and pulled gently. He winced, but you were careful and slowly maneuvered it off of him. He hissed a few times, but stuck it out with his jaw clenched. “You okay?”

From the looks of it, he was not. He had a good scratch from his collarbone to his shoulder, a cut that bled through his undershirt on his chest, and bruising everywhere, along with more minor scratches. “Hurts, but I’ll be okay. I’m more worried about you, with that gash on your cheek…” he touched your cheek just a little and you turned away. Now was definitely not the time to start feeling things. You poured out the disinfected water onto a sanitary cloth.

“I’ll be fine. Unfortunately I think you have to take off your undershirt too,” you anticipated his joking but he just grabbed the scissors and cut it off with the arm he could move without hurting too much. He winced and could barely even finish cutting, but he did. It was the easier method. No joke, but he did have an awful smirk. A really awful smirk.

He was the kind of guy who was fit in the healthiest way. Not super toned but there was definition in his arms and chest, but not a lot. Soft, was the right word, and you might have been staring before you started to clean the wounds the best you could with just the water. There was some form of tension in the air, thick, and it only worsened.

“Fuck that hurts,” he winced, but didn’t move much more than tensing up. You backed off, taking off the top of your suit too, leaving you in just a black t-shirt. You pretended like his eyes didn’t linger.

“I know, wait until we get to the alcohol.”

“Ugh,” he kept tense as you cleaned him up, his body, then his face. He was better with his face. You leaned over him to clean it. He let you. He didn’t need any stitches, which was a good thing, and you easily bandaged up his forehead and put some healing ointments on his other cuts. “You should let me help you with your face.” He said. “While you do the rest of me.”

“I’m fine,”

“It’s still bleeding. If it’s not dealt with in time it’ll ruin your pretty face.” you dismissed the pretty part. It was in Peter’s nature to joke around.

“Fine.” You said, continuing to tend to the wounds on his chest and shoulder. Shoulder was a little discoloured, it was dislocated. He used the arm he could somewhat use and tidied the wounds on your face while you prepared the alcohol. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re here to distract me from the pain I’m in.” He said. You smirked a little.

“Distract how?”

“You know how,” he said. You didn’t fully know, you just pressed the alcohol pad to his shoulder cut. He would have taken too long to prepare for the pain anyways. He grit his teeth and jerked just a little, trying not to make noise. “God, fuck that hurt-“ he practically growled it.

“I know, I know, but it needs to be done.” You wiped it a little, he kept his teeth together. He was gripping your other hand, you noticed. You didn’t know when that happened, but he just was. It was okay, you kept it as you applied the alcohol to other wounds. “This might not even be the worst part. This part is really going to fucking hurt so you’re going to want to listen to me.”

“I’m going to pretend like that sentence wasn’t the hottest thing said to me in a while,” Peter said, letting go of your hand and touching his hair. You smiled a little, fanning his scratches of the alcohol. “You’re not being very receptive of my flirting.” He said. Well, you weren’t expecting that.

“I’m focused on making sure you don’t bleed out,” you replied, trying to hide your smile as you pressed bandages to where he needed them. Was there really tension, or was he just done for? “I don’t think you actually want to flirt with me, I think you’re concussed. You said it so yourself.”

He tried to shrug, but hissed a little. “The fact I’ve liked you since I met you is such a strong truth it shines through my concussion. It’s the concussion that’s making me admit it.”

“You’re severely concussed, oh my god.” You said, walking over to his shelf, finding immediately what you need. No clue why he had a wooden spoon, but then again why did he have a giant collection of Twinkie boxes… or a box of elastic bands?

“You’re not unlikeable, I don’t know why you wouldn’t believe me.” He questioned.

You shook your head, “I think with your lack of filter and spontaneity, you would have said something sooner.”

“No. You scare the shit out of me. Not because you’re scary, but because you’re you. You know? So yeah right now my confession might be due to blood loss or my concussion but I mean what I say. It’s kind of like I’m dazed but I’m not.” Peter rambled. You blinked a few times, thinking about it.

You liked Peter. It wasn’t a huge crush… more a small one, but you did. Did you admit it to him right now? Or wait until he’s healed to see if he really means it all? “I think that you should bite down on this,” you held out the spoon and reluctantly he bit it. “This will hurt.”

“Mhm,” and you readied yourself at his shoulder. It was good you studied this, or this could have gone wrong. You grabbed his shoulder at first with gentle hands and he tensed. You counted down.

“5, 4, 3,-“ and you grabbed his arm suddenly and shoved it back into place with a sickening crunch. His whole body convulsed and he made a sound in reaction to the pure pain, breathing hard. “I do like you too.” You admit while he was still writhing. Maybe he would forget it later, blinded by the pain.

He spit out the spoon. “You didn’t even count down to one,” he complained. You started tending to your own bodily wounds, cleaning and bandaging. “That really hurt.”

“It’s over with, though.” You said, now wrapping his arm with supportive cloth. “You’ll be okay, you’re all patched up. I’ll get you a new ice pack after I finish up on myself-“

Peter pointed at you, “You’re pretending you didn’t just admit to liking me back. You wanted me to forget.”

“Really, it’s not huge.”

“You like me too.” He laughed. It was almost like he laughed at you. Cocky. “You admit it out loud.”

“Yeah. I did. I’m probably concussed.”

“You know this means I should probably kiss you before you walk out the door and regret all of this,” he shrugged and sped over. His legs were in working order, seemingly.

“I don’t know about that logic,” you replied. “This is definitely a concussion thing, it’s got you all screwed up. You’ll probably regret it first, if your brain ever goes back to-“ he kissed you. Hand on your jaw, he kissed you. And it was better than you expected. Sweeter. You kissed back, then he stopped. “-normal.” You finished your sentence.

“We should definitely talk this over when we’re not injured super badly.” Peter suggested, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I’m thinking tomorrow night, when the scratches turn into scabs. Like 8:30?”

“Smooth.” You said. It was funny how he didn’t even move an inch back from you to say his words. Your noses still touched. “Sure.”

“Great. Looking forward to doing this again.”

“How do you know I’ll let you?” You mumbled, looking at his lips again.

“You kissed me back right now, didn’t you? I think that sends a certain signal, so I don’t think I read this wrong.” He grinned a devilish grin and you sighed, smiling back. “So 8:30?”

“8:30,” you repeated. He got back onto his bed, smiling as you continued your task, going to get him an ice pack for his head and one for your head as well. The pain was a little more bearable now, somehow.

That was definitely a strange turn of events in an odd situation, but it worked out. You found yourself smiling as you sort of limped to find an ice pack. Jean seemed to be doing the same thing and she had a gleam in her eye as she passed you two of exactly what you were looking for.