Quill frowned thoughtfully at Gamora when she said her head hurt — leaning over a little in order to see if there was any visible damage. But nothing looked too bad. She might bruise later, but luckily, even sick, Gamora was tougher than most people.
“I’m fine,” he said, too, although he wasn’t overly sure if anyone had asked — the adrenaline of it all was still taking a second to properly wear off. Whatever. It was all good. “You need my belt?” He asked Nebula, fingers already unbuckling the leather. He had thigh holsters so it wasn’t like his blasters were going to get lost any time soon. Though he kind of figured he’d used them enough for one day. Quill liked a good fight. He did. But this didn’t have the same feeling as blazing through something or someone that deserved it.
“I dunno,” he said, glancing up at the sky and the full moon there. “I guess technically it happens every month. They just deal with it some other way. Behind the doors. I think we have a doctor here. Either of you need to see her?” Well, Nebula didn’t, probably. She said she’d see Stark later.