Drax sat in a corner with his eyes closed. The wound in his abdomen had left his face somewhat pale, but his breathing was much steadier than before.
Mantis sat beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder as she used her power to ease his pain.
Her antennae swayed gently in the breeze of the energy field, her expression calm.
It was not that she felt nothing; she had simply turned all her emotions into healing for Drax.
Groot lay by the entrance to the engine room, fresh shoots beginning to sprout from the wound where his arm had been severed.
They were tiny, slender, and pale green, looking especially fragile amid the golden energy light, but they were growing.
Groot's vitality was tougher than that of any tree. As long as even a single branch remained alive, he would grow back.
Quill watched the flowing colors beyond the window and thought of Gamora.
She had once sat in the pilot's seat of the Benatar and watched countless starfields like this with him.
Not the colored streaks of faster-than-light travel, but the quiet, slowly shifting stars of ordinary flight.
She had always sat in the copilot's seat, her legs propped on the console.
She would hold a cup of alien drink she had somehow gotten hold of, her green face utterly expressionless.
He had asked her, "What are you thinking about?"
She had said, "Nothing."
He had said, "Impossible. You're always thinking about something."
She had said, "I was thinking... if one day I no longer had to fight, where would I go?"
He had said, "You could stay here."
She had turned to look at him, and something had flickered in her dark eyes.
She had said, "This isn't a 'where.' This is a spaceship."
He had said,