Pietro's head snaps to one side and he groans quietly. His eyes flutter as it lolls back into place, his conscious mind fighting through a layer of haze and confusion and a splitting headache.

It takes a moment before the world swims back to him, but when it does he's moving before he has the presence of mind to see who woke him - scrabbling up over the back of the chair. He doesn't remember much about how he got taken down, except a sharp crack on the back of his skull. He hadn't expected it - hadn't even really spoken to the bastard before, as far as he could remember.

Pietro freezes at her voice, though his heart pounds harder. For a moment, he almost wishes it was the man who'd taken him out, still. That'd be easier - he can take hostility, retaliation.

But it's Lourdes, and through his pounding head and the tight pain of bruises he's only just learning he has, he goes cold.

No. No, no, no, of all people, why does it have to be her, to see him like this? He can't answer, for a moment, can hardly breathe, his chest seized with adrenaline and dread. "Lourdes." He manages her name in a small, raspy voice. Licks swollen, bleeding lips as he makes himself look at her.

"I don't know!" He shrinks away from her, touching the back of his head gingerly, and winces. What had happened? He was still muzzy and dazed, reaching for the elusive threads of memory that were mixed up in his scrambled, throbbing skull. "Don't even know the guy. He blindsided me."

He makes a noise that's not a whimper, not quite.

Not if anyone asks him, anyway.

But he stays still, eyes darting to one side or the other, not really focusing on anything. He chokes down a surge of panic, forces his way through the pain. "I was just passing by. That fucking asshole-" He couldn't find a name, just now, though he could see the smug bastard's face. "Said... said something. I dunno. Some bullshit about my powers."

When had this happened? When had she dug herself under his skin, wrapped him around her fingers, filled him up with fear and want that burned so hot in his chest that he couldn't bear to pull away from her?

She catches his eyes, and he's trapped, eyes wide and naked and afraid. Still entirely ignorant to how his guilt's written across his face in permanent marker. "I just- I messed with Tarr, a bit. Guy completely flipped."

He flinches as she grabs him, his hands clenching involuntarily into fists. He digs his nails into his palm until he stops wanting to bolt, because Lourdes is the last person he wants to run from. Even when she's terrifying.

"I s-swapped his spoon with a butter knife. He tried to cut my tongue out with it. Got us both thrown in Zero."

...more or less accurate.

He's leaving out, of course, how Ricki had announced that this would be just the way to make him snap, push him over the edge. That'd he'd all but declared war on him, knowing it'd hurt Anya as much as her inmate.

The kiss stings where his lip's split open, but he moves against her anyway, appeasing and grateful as she takes the pressure off him.

"I guess he's got more friends than I thought." But it isn't a no. It's just that this new guy, Omar, changes the game.

Where Cole might be, or Tiffany. He takes her hand and starts to pull himself up. "I'm fine. Just gotta- gotta sleep it off." Which he almost believes himself, until he's on his feet. Then his head swims violently, and his knees threaten to buckle under him.

Definitely a concussion. He doesn't mean to cling to her to stay upright, but it happens anyway.

He nods, meekly, resting his head on her shoulder for a moment. Just until he can see straight and the lurching nausea in his gut settles. "Yeah, okay." He swallows, gets his feet under himself, and straightens up again. "You're the boss." He doesn't have the energy to argue, anyway. Especially not with her.

"Just... I don't want Cole, okay?"

He knows, on some level, that these moments of sweet compassion shouldn't be worth the fear and doubt and devastation Lourdes feeds him with harrowing efficacy. But it's like a drug. A gentle touch and tender word from her and he doesn't even care anymore. In this moment, everything it took to reach here was worth it.

"Morgana's all right, too. Don't care too much, though. Just. Anyone else."

"You're the boss." Because he's not stupid enough to do anything but what she tells him, just now. Because he's realizing that if anything's left to ground him, it's her.

Because he can't let her go.

"I'll cooperate."

He sighs, just softly. Just once. A soft, contented sound as her words make his pain seem to matter less than ever. Her touch. Her everything.

He figures, with his woozy, concussed logic, that he just might love her.