Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
UNSHED TEARS GLISTEN IN THE SULLEN EYES OF ANALISA MORGAN, yet not a singular droplet falls; the act of crying once more seeming to be far too exhausting in that moment. Slouched over upon a seat inside the plane, the hero, who, beneath her brave facade, was merely human, clutching a gold wedding band within her shaking hands. The golden item was the very one which Quentin Beck had gifted her upon fighting the fire elemental, which he had so beautifully concocted to fool both her and Peter.
"What was I thinking?" She mutters softly, emotions seeping out from her every word. Recent memories of how she'd so quickly come to trust Quentin flood her mind as she stares down upon the ring; memories of how she'd fallen for him with such ease. Looking back upon those times, a sickly feeling arose from deep in her stomach, as she can now realise that he had taken the same things that had made her love another man, love Tony, and duplicated them. That same charm, the kind nature, and the care that radiated from Tony, Quentin had put upon a facade to replicate this. "I thought the lies were finally over. I'm still so fucking naive."
Happy, whom Analisa, in her moment consumed by despair, had failed to notice was close by, and thus, in hearing range of her mumblings, sends an empathetic glance toward the woman; his heart cracking ever so slightly for his friend. Yet, he utters not even a single word in an attempt to comfort her, as he had come to learn that while she is entangled by her emotions, his words, for the most part, would only fall on deaf ears. It mattered only to her if she was within the presence of those she trust, and from there, she must seek her own salvation from her thoughts.
Picking up the supplies needed to stitch a wound on Peter, Happy wanders over to the boy after one last glance at Analisa. Sliding on a pair of glasses so he could more accurately see his work, he sits down on a chair behind Peter, taking the needle required in his hand. He gently begins working upon stitching up the boy's wound, offering a few words seconds before he does so. "Okay. Hold still. Here we go."
As the, albeit unpleasant, process of stitching up his wound commences, Peter winces at the feeling of the needle entering his skin. "Ouch," he mutters lowly, a grimace worm upon his youthful, yet worn down by the reality of the world around him, features. It takes every ounce of self-control not to flinch away from the item intended to fix him, knowing it'd only further the pain.
"I thought you had super strength?" Happy inquires, continuing to stitch up the wound of the boy despite the stinging sensation it causes Peter, knowing that the wound may get infected if left untreated for any longer. He composure at that moment is far better kept than that of the boy, an odd sense of calm still upon him.
"It still hurts," Peter responds with a slight annoyance seeping into his tone, the events of that godforsaken day weighing heavy upon his shoulders, and sending his usual emotions into a skyrocketed state. As Happy continues to stitch up his wound, the sharp pain in his shoulder erupts once more, and this time, he flinches. "Happy-"
