He felt the familiar sting, the pain that accompanied a bullet piercing his body. Before the next shot could be fired, the man was dead and Pietro was looking back at Summer, “I told you not to follow,” he said as the blood started to fall down his body as he started to get woozy, using a nearby car to hold himself up. ”Are you ok?”
“Sometimes I really hate you, Pietro.” She sighed, compressing her lips together. “Fine. I need you to put your arms around my neck, and I need you to let me tap your emotions, and when we get there you are going to shut up and listen to why they would not have arrested you.”
Pietro nodded, “I hate myself most of the time, so I’m right there with you.” He did as she asked, “So how exactly do you plan on getting us there? And the letting you in my mind thing is easier than you think, I’ve had it ingrained in me enough not to let anyone. And just because I’m shot doesn’t mean they’re not going to cuff me to a bed.”
“I’m going to fly. Trust me.” She didn’t think he realised quite how much she could do just with the emotions he was broadcasting, whether he realised it or not. She locked her arms around his waist, spun off a little ‘reminder’ to the minds of anyone around that there was nothing there, and took off.
She probably wasn’t ever going to tell him that his being in pain actually made this part easier.
