[ as predicted, gamora heals just fine. the wound closes over, and though she has to give herself time before she's back to full health, it's only a matter of days before she's at her proper strength. she makes a point of demonstrating for quill, too, just to ensure he doesn't come bothering her with his silly, overbearing concern (even if a small, tiny, minuscule piece of her warms at the gesture). she wants to move beyond the incident, given that she's no longer physically affected, and she's set on letting it go, as she has with all of her previous injuries; it's just another on the long list of seemingly mortal wounds that she's survived.
however, what she doesn't let go is the fact that quill needs to invest time into honing his reflexes. in comparison to the team as a whole, he's the slowest, the least durable in immediate combat, and, well, he could do with something more formal to keep him up to par. not that he's a poor fighter, by any means, but gamora has higher (probably the highest) standards, and after such a painfully close call, she wants to see peter adhering to said standards, at least a bit more.
it's why she insists that he train with her, at least until he has a firmer grasp of what he needs to polish on his own time. she wants to know that he's improving, that he's getting better and more refined, so that she doesn't have to—
—worry.
that's what it is, if she's honest. not that she sees reason to inform quill, to cue him in to her reasoning beyond "to make you less of a risk to the rest of us", but she wants to see quill safe. training, getting better, faster — it's the only way she can think to provide quill with the tools to protect himself.
she won't always be there to push him out of the way, after all, and the other possible outcomes are unacceptable.
however, just because she's doing something to help him, doesn't mean she's going to make it easy.
in the milano's cargo bay, they've cleared away a space that's usable, and while it's not much, it's enough. there's area to engage each other, and gamora finds herself actually enjoying it — even if she's not properly fighting him. if she was fighting, he wouldn't stand a chance, but for now, she's trying to make a point.
and that point being, he needs to improve. that this is critical to his survival.
of course, the way she chooses to make said point isn't necessarily the kindest method she could employ.
when quill comes at her, all she does is duck out of his direct path, stick out her foot, and watch with a vaguely amused look as his foot collides with her ankle and he goes down.
she steps forward, leaning over him with her eyebrow quirked, her hair falling over her shoulder as she considers the prone terran laying on the cargo bay's steel floor. ]
Have I proven my point, or do you require further demonstration?
[ Peter probably should've seen it coming, really, Gamora telling him in no uncertain terms that the two of them were going to start training. Part of him is surprised it didn't come earlier in the formation of their team, really, when the name Guardians of the Galaxy sort of stuck, when they all came to the tacit agreement that maybe they should stick together, when they were presented with a newly repaired Milano and all filed onto the ship without complaint.
Because he knows he's something of the weak link, here. Rocket is modded to hell and good with tech. Drax is practically a brick wall incarnate. Gamora is the galaxy's deadliest assassin. Groot is nigh indestructible, as they found out after his stint with shattering into a bajillion pieces. And Peter...
... well. He owns the ship.
He can hold his own just fine in a fight, though, against normal dudes; he managed just fine in the clusterfuck of the Dark Aster, after all. What the Ravagers lacked in any kind of formal training, they made up for in decades of experience in bar brawls and morally suspect jobs. So Peter knows how to throw a punch, knows how to duck one, too. Knows how to fight fucking dirty, if necessary, using his teeth and nails and occasional under-the-belt kicks that a more honorable person would find reprehensible. But Peter's a survivor, and he's going to damn well survive.
It's when they start running into other folks just as big and burly as Drax, or just as well trained as Gamora, that things get a little touch and go for him. Usually Peter's happy to keep his distance, taking potshots where he can, but sometimes—
—sometimes he ends up in dingy, rundown clubs, with a laser sight flickering on his chest.
A liability, a small part of him whispers, and Gamora only confirms it: to make you less of a risk to the rest of us.
Peter complains, still, because of course he complains. He bitches about nearly everything. But god damn, was Peter not prepared for how that comment stung.
So here they are now, sparring in the cargo bay. Gamora is taking it easy on him, which Peter supposes is kind of the point. He knows how she fights; he's seen it over and over again during the course of their work. He experienced it firsthand on Xandar, but even while Peter was in her way, she still held back, even then. She didn't have aims to kill him at the start, even though it would have neatly solved all her problems.
(Peter, rather foolishly, had thought he handled himself pretty well. Sure, it took a whole lot of distractions for him to get the upper hand, but he made it out alright. It's only later that he realizes that if she had really set her mind to it? He'd be dead at least twenty times over, just from that fight alone.)
And when Peter fights, he tends to depend on his tools, his wits, his speed. Strip that away from him, match him with someone who's just better than him, and you get this:
Peter, swinging at Gamora – only instead of Gamora, it's empty air. And how did she move so fa—
Only he can't finish that thought, because the momentum of his swing takes him over her waiting foot, trips him up entirely, and he twists as he falls. His back slams into the deck, knocks the breath from his lungs, and he stares up at the overhead in a daze. And isn't this a familiar sight, Gamora staring down at him, her hair cascading over her shoulder, only instead of frustrated and angry, like that day on Xandar, she mostly looks smug. ]
... Point made.
[ This, on something of a wheeze. He pushes himself up onto an elbow, rubbing at the back of his head, feeling for any bumps. ]
Should we have, like, laid practice mats down or something?
[ when peter tries to sit up, gamora just pointedly puts her foot on his shoulder and shoves, intending to pin him right back to the floor.
...this is likely payback for all of that complaining he'd done up until this point. she knows he's made a near sport out of complaints, but that doesn't mean she necessarily appreciated all the whining leading up to this.
but she could also just pass this off as even more of a demonstration of why this is important: if his reflexes are terrible, he leaves himself even more vulnerable by falling on his ass and getting pinned down. ]
If you're fragile enough to require them, that may have been a better option.
[ gamora doesn't see the need for practice mats, because she certainly never used them — but, then again, quill doesn't take getting slammed into the floor quite as well as she does. ]
But if you don't think you can take a fall, we could always practice that first instead.
[ she's speaking perfectly casually, but still hasn't pulled her foot off of him. ]
[ He falls right back to the floor with a startled yelp, managing to save himself from hitting his head again. Good thing he's got a thick skull, he thinks, scowling up at her. ]
I thought the point here was to not kill me?
[ Because Peter's starting to have some doubts on that with the way she's speaking.
He moves to sit up again, only Gamora's weight keeps him pressed down to the ground, and a distant part of him thinks, Pretty sure I had a dream like this, once. But there's a time and a place for these things (never and nowhere, respectively, when it came to Gamora), and he swallows thickly. ]
[ Another scowl, because he knows she heard his question, but she's choosing to ignore him, for whatever reason. ]
Rubber mats.
[ The ones they stick under cargo, to help keep the crates from sliding around on the deck. Not padded practice mats, which Peter would prefer (and will probably purchase, next time they're someplace civilized), but it's a whole lot better than getting slammed around on the metal deck.
Which is clearly a thing Gamora intends to do to him, and he winces inwardly. ]
That work? Or is that, like, a show of too much weakness or whatever?
[ she considers him for an extended moment, then finally shrugs and straightens up. ]
It will do.
[ she steps away, pulling her foot off of quill, since she might as well let him up so they can spread out the mats. she supposes that quill and his terran head might benefit from the mats, given they'll be more forgiving than the ship's deck, and while she might never use them herself, it's an allowance she's willing to make for their sessions (because she expects there to be more than one). ]
[ He lets out a relieved breath as she finally backs away, letting him sit up. He hauls himself to his feet, brushing himself off, rolling his shoulders experimentally. His fall to the deck hadn't been particularly graceful, but neither had it been too damaging – but he knows that any more of those are bound to get painful, over time. ]
Or you could, like. Not trip me.
[ He fishes out the rolled up mats from their storage in the cargo bay, bringing them back to the cleared out space. He unfurls them onto the deck. ]
I thought this was supposed to be sparring, not "Get Quill flat on his ass"-ing.
[ gamora probably could be helpful, but instead, she's content to watch and let quill set the mats out on his own. ]
You wouldn't be flat on your ass if you could counter more quickly. The point is for you to get faster. Forcing yourself to avoid falling will do that.
[ if he has to end up flat on his back to make that happen, then that's what it'll be. ]
This is not something as simple as a fighting tactic I can teach you step-by-step. This must be honed through practice and repetition.
[ Another unimpressed look up at her when it becomes clear she's not going to help, but rather than ask, he just grumbles to himself, the words nearly shapeless in favor of the tone.
Long-suffering, is what he's going for, here.
Once the mats are laid out, he brushes off his hands, standing. ]
So you don't have any tips? Just "get fast or else"?
[ she steps forward again, bringing up her fist to crack her knuckles against her opposite palm. ]
To respond quickly, and therefore fight and protect yourself more effectively, you must learn to sense and react to whatever stimuli you may encounter from an opponent. You do this until it becomes instinct. My possible "tips" are limited, Quill, because this isn't "how to fracture your enemy's sternum"; this is a matter of putting you through your paces until you adapt.
Is that acceptable, or would you prefer something less challenging?
[ because this isn't going to be easy. this isn't something he can pick up overnight, and gamora is aware of that.
it should speak to how much she values quill's safety that she wants to put the time necessary into this with him. ]
Which is not a thing Peter appreciates. There was a reason Peter spent most of his adult life stealing things for a living, rather than doing things like working hard or being diligent. His fighting style, such as it was, had been enough to get him by for this long. He does have good reflexes, and he is fast, but more and more they're running into folks that outclass him, and—
You're a risk to the rest of us.
Peter winces, looking down at the mats. ]
Fine.
[ Quietly. Not much of a grumble, as it might've been only a few minutes ago – more resigned, than anything. ]
But I'm just saying, I'm pretty sure we're missing a training montage, here, where I, like, wash cars or punch meat or something.
[ there's a flicker of emotion on that usual deadpan of gamora's, and she looks— pleased by the fact that quill just agreed to this undertaking. it will be hard, because gamora has no intention on slacking in his training, but also because the truth is that quill is good — for the level of skill he's had to maintain in the past. now, however, held up against the rest of the guardians and the ilk they find themselves mixed up with more and more often...well, it just means that something like the most recent incident isn't acceptable.
gamora doesn't want to see quill at risk like that again, not when she won't be there to do something about it, and the reality of the universe is that she can't always be there. the rest of the team can't always be there. quill is going to have to step it up, because...they need him.
peter quill is the glue holding the foolish, reckless band of misfits together, and that means they need him to stay safe.
and if gamora forcing him to improve is what will do that, then she's more than willing to keep pushing him until progress is made. ]
I don't see how any of that would help with your training.
[ don't be dumb, quill. ]
Now, are you ready to continue?
[ which also means, "are you ready to get knocked off your feet all over again?" ]
[ His expression sours for a second as he rolls his shoulders. ]
Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna enjoy this a whole lot more than I will?
[ But he shakes out his hands, rolls out his neck, and falls into a defensive stance. The expression on his face reads as wary, though he knows Gamora wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.
She’d prove a point, or whatever she’s calling it, certainly, but she wouldn’t hurt him.
... Right? ]
Just— go easy on me, okay? Not all of us in here are Speedy Gonzalez-fast.
[ fortunately for quill, now that gamora has made her point (or most of it, at least), she won't go too far out of her way to knock him down without giving him a chance to learn from the experience. this sort of training comes with incremental improvement, not immediate, so she knows that the intensity will have to vary based on his progress.
however, that doesn't mean he won't end up flat on his back repeatedly, anyway.
she just raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, "i really have no idea what a speedy gonzalez is," but then she's sliding into her own stance. ]
I won't maim you, if that's a comfort.
[ the reality is that getting thrown around is going to hurt, but she won't leave him with anything worse than a few bumps and bruises.
it's the last bit of warning he'll get before she quickly closes the space between them on the mats, swinging out with her forearm, aimed right for his head. ]
[ Peter has time enough to make his customary, Oh, shit, face before he reels away from the swing, narrowly avoiding the blow to his head.
Won’t maim me, he thinks bitterly, as he tries to dodge her next few strikes. Kinda doubt that.
Early on, Peter learned that in a lot of cases, his speed and his wits would be his greatest assets. He was stronger than an average human, from what he could tell, but there were some folks here out in the black who were practically built of stone. He had to be clever about how he went about attacking them, using his blasters to empower his punches, his jets to speed his kicks, keeping his distance when necessary. Had to be fast, too, to get in as many blows as possible at once before dodging and dancing away to some unheard rhythm.
(“Cherry Bomb,” usually. )
But Gamora is faster and stronger and just— better. He manages to dodge out of the way for a bit, though all of his focus has to go into not getting hit; he never has time to retaliate. She feints, and Peter falls for it, ducking left when he should’ve gone right. He leaves himself open and pays for it, taking a few hits, and—
He tumbles to the floor all over again, the air punched from his lungs.
Well. At least the rubber mats cushioned his fall. Kind of. ]
[ gamora doesn't go after peter like she would if they were actually fighting, so, in a manner of speaking, she does go easy on him. she doesn't give him the time or the opening to fight back, but that's not necessarily the point at this juncture. he needs to dodge, to react to the stimuli of her attacks, and she adjusts her attack accordingly.
after they get started, he doesn't do poorly.
in fact, she's pleased that he holds out long enough to avoid getting immediately thrown to the ground, but then he reads her wrong, doesn't sense the move like he should, and she takes the opening without a second of hesitation.
a quick blow to his sternum, another to his ribs, and then she knocks him right to the ground without even blinking.
straightening up, she steps forward to hover over him again. ]
That was less embarrassing for you than the first time.
[ but instead of pinning him to the ground, like she so easily could, she sticks out her hand in an offer to pull him back to his feet. ]
[ He props himself up with a wince, a hand smoothing over what’s sure to be a bruise over his breastbone. For a few seconds, he tries to catch his breath, frowning at himself. Gamora is good, has spent decades of her life training, but he knows she’s holding back. He’s not sure if it bodes well for him that he, working at around 90% effort, was hardly a match for Gamora, topping off somewhere around 25%, if that. ]
Oh, good. That’s super encouraging.
[ Grumbled, though without much heat in his voice. He takes her hand to haul himself up. ]
[ He doesn’t notice that she holds onto his hand for a second longer than necessary, distracted as he is with using his free hand to rub at his neck, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. ]
“Terrans are naturally slow.” You kinda keep hammering that point home, you know.
[ He says it lightly, without any resentment. ]
I bet this is gonna feel like teaching a fish to breathe on land for you, sooner or later.
[ gamora considers him for a moment, quietly, like she's actually gauging what he's capable of. ]
I doubt it'll come to that.
[ she gives a small, dismissive shrug. ]
If I didn't think you were capable of learning and improving, I wouldn't bother trying to help you. It's not that you're unskilled, Quill. You're unrefined.
This kind of training is demanding, but I think you have the ability to improve. It will just take time.
[ and that may be the closest gamora has gotten to genuinely praising quill in, well, mostly ever. ]
[ He falls quiet, eyebrows rising as she speaks. A second or two, he keeps his silence, blinking, because— ]
... I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me.
[ Well, no, that’s not true—
(“He’s about the only family I have.”
“No, he wasn’t.”)
—but it’s definitely the nicest thing she’s said to him that wasn’t prompted by him going through some sort of traumatic experience and cutting the last tenuous ties with the shitty folks who raised him and kind of sort of bothered to give him the time of day, when the fancy struck.
[ He rolls his eyes at her warning. (Because of course he wouldn’t let a lackluster compliment like that go to his head. His ego is already healthy and overstuffed as it is; there’s hardly any room.)
That little challenge sticks between his ribs, as she likely knew it would, flung with the same precision as one of her daggers. He recognizes it for what it is: she’s prodding at him, goading him, trying to get a reaction.
... He kind of hates that it works. ]
We can go again. I’m good.
Peter puffs out an aggravated little sigh – directed mostly at himself – moving into position atop the mats again. He sinks back into his usual defensive position – a boxer’s stance, with both fists up, knees slightly bent. Influenced by one too many viewings of Rocky, certainly, but it’s worked out for him over the years. Mostly. ]
[ the challenge was just as calculated as the rest of the way gamora operates, because she knows quill, and she knows how to provoke him into action. ]
Try to keep up.
[ she knows that he can't truly keep up, but if he can maintain the level that she holds with him, he'll be doing well. he's bound to make mistakes, obviously, and she's absolutely going to keep knocking him down when he does, but it's a matter of practice, of refining his skills even further.
who knows, maybe she'll start teaching him more than this simple way to exercise his reflexes — if he wants to learn.
she doesn't give him any warning before she's moving in again, and then she's on the offensive. she's not trying to overwhelm him, but she's also not willing to give him proper time to counter with blow after blow, strike after strike. she alternates between crowding into his space and pulling back again, and it becomes something of— a dance.
rhythmic, to let him practice, to let him learn how to sense where she's coming from, to dodge accordingly. weaving back and forth, in and out, with something that could almost be called a beat—
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
are u ready for quill to get knocked on his ass
however, what she doesn't let go is the fact that quill needs to invest time into honing his reflexes. in comparison to the team as a whole, he's the slowest, the least durable in immediate combat, and, well, he could do with something more formal to keep him up to par. not that he's a poor fighter, by any means, but gamora has higher (probably the highest) standards, and after such a painfully close call, she wants to see peter adhering to said standards, at least a bit more.
it's why she insists that he train with her, at least until he has a firmer grasp of what he needs to polish on his own time. she wants to know that he's improving, that he's getting better and more refined, so that she doesn't have to—
—worry.
that's what it is, if she's honest. not that she sees reason to inform quill, to cue him in to her reasoning beyond "to make you less of a risk to the rest of us", but she wants to see quill safe. training, getting better, faster — it's the only way she can think to provide quill with the tools to protect himself.
she won't always be there to push him out of the way, after all, and the other possible outcomes are unacceptable.
however, just because she's doing something to help him, doesn't mean she's going to make it easy.
in the milano's cargo bay, they've cleared away a space that's usable, and while it's not much, it's enough. there's area to engage each other, and gamora finds herself actually enjoying it — even if she's not properly fighting him. if she was fighting, he wouldn't stand a chance, but for now, she's trying to make a point.
and that point being, he needs to improve. that this is critical to his survival.
of course, the way she chooses to make said point isn't necessarily the kindest method she could employ.
when quill comes at her, all she does is duck out of his direct path, stick out her foot, and watch with a vaguely amused look as his foot collides with her ankle and he goes down.
she steps forward, leaning over him with her eyebrow quirked, her hair falling over her shoulder as she considers the prone terran laying on the cargo bay's steel floor. ]
Have I proven my point, or do you require further demonstration?
step on him!!!
Because he knows he's something of the weak link, here. Rocket is modded to hell and good with tech. Drax is practically a brick wall incarnate. Gamora is the galaxy's deadliest assassin. Groot is nigh indestructible, as they found out after his stint with shattering into a bajillion pieces. And Peter...
... well. He owns the ship.
He can hold his own just fine in a fight, though, against normal dudes; he managed just fine in the clusterfuck of the Dark Aster, after all. What the Ravagers lacked in any kind of formal training, they made up for in decades of experience in bar brawls and morally suspect jobs. So Peter knows how to throw a punch, knows how to duck one, too. Knows how to fight fucking dirty, if necessary, using his teeth and nails and occasional under-the-belt kicks that a more honorable person would find reprehensible. But Peter's a survivor, and he's going to damn well survive.
It's when they start running into other folks just as big and burly as Drax, or just as well trained as Gamora, that things get a little touch and go for him. Usually Peter's happy to keep his distance, taking potshots where he can, but sometimes—
—sometimes he ends up in dingy, rundown clubs, with a laser sight flickering on his chest.
A liability, a small part of him whispers, and Gamora only confirms it: to make you less of a risk to the rest of us.
Peter complains, still, because of course he complains. He bitches about nearly everything. But god damn, was Peter not prepared for how that comment stung.
So here they are now, sparring in the cargo bay. Gamora is taking it easy on him, which Peter supposes is kind of the point. He knows how she fights; he's seen it over and over again during the course of their work. He experienced it firsthand on Xandar, but even while Peter was in her way, she still held back, even then. She didn't have aims to kill him at the start, even though it would have neatly solved all her problems.
(Peter, rather foolishly, had thought he handled himself pretty well. Sure, it took a whole lot of distractions for him to get the upper hand, but he made it out alright. It's only later that he realizes that if she had really set her mind to it? He'd be dead at least twenty times over, just from that fight alone.)
And when Peter fights, he tends to depend on his tools, his wits, his speed. Strip that away from him, match him with someone who's just better than him, and you get this:
Peter, swinging at Gamora – only instead of Gamora, it's empty air. And how did she move so fa—
Only he can't finish that thought, because the momentum of his swing takes him over her waiting foot, trips him up entirely, and he twists as he falls. His back slams into the deck, knocks the breath from his lungs, and he stares up at the overhead in a daze. And isn't this a familiar sight, Gamora staring down at him, her hair cascading over her shoulder, only instead of frustrated and angry, like that day on Xandar, she mostly looks smug. ]
... Point made.
[ This, on something of a wheeze. He pushes himself up onto an elbow, rubbing at the back of his head, feeling for any bumps. ]
Should we have, like, laid practice mats down or something?
that's what she's here for t b h
...this is likely payback for all of that complaining he'd done up until this point. she knows he's made a near sport out of complaints, but that doesn't mean she necessarily appreciated all the whining leading up to this.
but she could also just pass this off as even more of a demonstration of why this is important: if his reflexes are terrible, he leaves himself even more vulnerable by falling on his ass and getting pinned down. ]
If you're fragile enough to require them, that may have been a better option.
[ gamora doesn't see the need for practice mats, because she certainly never used them — but, then again, quill doesn't take getting slammed into the floor quite as well as she does. ]
But if you don't think you can take a fall, we could always practice that first instead.
[ she's speaking perfectly casually, but still hasn't pulled her foot off of him. ]
no subject
I thought the point here was to not kill me?
[ Because Peter's starting to have some doubts on that with the way she's speaking.
He moves to sit up again, only Gamora's weight keeps him pressed down to the ground, and a distant part of him thinks, Pretty sure I had a dream like this, once. But there's a time and a place for these things (never and nowhere, respectively, when it came to Gamora), and he swallows thickly. ]
You gonna let me up at all?
no subject
[ because a concussion isn't exactly going to make him a better fighter.
but if he's incapable of taking a fall in training, then maybe working on something softer is a good idea. ]
Do you even have mats?
[ she pointedly ignores the second question, still looming over him with her foot on his shoulder. ]
no subject
Rubber mats.
[ The ones they stick under cargo, to help keep the crates from sliding around on the deck. Not padded practice mats, which Peter would prefer (and will probably purchase, next time they're someplace civilized), but it's a whole lot better than getting slammed around on the metal deck.
Which is clearly a thing Gamora intends to do to him, and he winces inwardly. ]
That work? Or is that, like, a show of too much weakness or whatever?
no subject
It will do.
[ she steps away, pulling her foot off of quill, since she might as well let him up so they can spread out the mats. she supposes that quill and his terran head might benefit from the mats, given they'll be more forgiving than the ship's deck, and while she might never use them herself, it's an allowance she's willing to make for their sessions (because she expects there to be more than one). ]
And then you can try not to trip again.
[ "try" being the keyword here. ]
no subject
Or you could, like. Not trip me.
[ He fishes out the rolled up mats from their storage in the cargo bay, bringing them back to the cleared out space. He unfurls them onto the deck. ]
I thought this was supposed to be sparring, not "Get Quill flat on his ass"-ing.
no subject
You wouldn't be flat on your ass if you could counter more quickly. The point is for you to get faster. Forcing yourself to avoid falling will do that.
[ if he has to end up flat on his back to make that happen, then that's what it'll be. ]
This is not something as simple as a fighting tactic I can teach you step-by-step. This must be honed through practice and repetition.
no subject
Long-suffering, is what he's going for, here.
Once the mats are laid out, he brushes off his hands, standing. ]
So you don't have any tips? Just "get fast or else"?
no subject
[ she steps forward again, bringing up her fist to crack her knuckles against her opposite palm. ]
To respond quickly, and therefore fight and protect yourself more effectively, you must learn to sense and react to whatever stimuli you may encounter from an opponent. You do this until it becomes instinct. My possible "tips" are limited, Quill, because this isn't "how to fracture your enemy's sternum"; this is a matter of putting you through your paces until you adapt.
Is that acceptable, or would you prefer something less challenging?
[ because this isn't going to be easy. this isn't something he can pick up overnight, and gamora is aware of that.
it should speak to how much she values quill's safety that she wants to put the time necessary into this with him. ]
no subject
Which is not a thing Peter appreciates. There was a reason Peter spent most of his adult life stealing things for a living, rather than doing things like working hard or being diligent. His fighting style, such as it was, had been enough to get him by for this long. He does have good reflexes, and he is fast, but more and more they're running into folks that outclass him, and—
You're a risk to the rest of us.
Peter winces, looking down at the mats. ]
Fine.
[ Quietly. Not much of a grumble, as it might've been only a few minutes ago – more resigned, than anything. ]
But I'm just saying, I'm pretty sure we're missing a training montage, here, where I, like, wash cars or punch meat or something.
no subject
gamora doesn't want to see quill at risk like that again, not when she won't be there to do something about it, and the reality of the universe is that she can't always be there. the rest of the team can't always be there. quill is going to have to step it up, because...they need him.
peter quill is the glue holding the foolish, reckless band of misfits together, and that means they need him to stay safe.
and if gamora forcing him to improve is what will do that, then she's more than willing to keep pushing him until progress is made. ]
I don't see how any of that would help with your training.
[ don't be dumb, quill. ]
Now, are you ready to continue?
[ which also means, "are you ready to get knocked off your feet all over again?" ]
no subject
Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna enjoy this a whole lot more than I will?
[ But he shakes out his hands, rolls out his neck, and falls into a defensive stance. The expression on his face reads as wary, though he knows Gamora wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.
She’d prove a point, or whatever she’s calling it, certainly, but she wouldn’t hurt him.
... Right? ]
Just— go easy on me, okay? Not all of us in here are Speedy Gonzalez-fast.
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however, that doesn't mean he won't end up flat on his back repeatedly, anyway.
she just raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, "i really have no idea what a speedy gonzalez is," but then she's sliding into her own stance. ]
I won't maim you, if that's a comfort.
[ the reality is that getting thrown around is going to hurt, but she won't leave him with anything worse than a few bumps and bruises.
it's the last bit of warning he'll get before she quickly closes the space between them on the mats, swinging out with her forearm, aimed right for his head. ]
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Won’t maim me, he thinks bitterly, as he tries to dodge her next few strikes. Kinda doubt that.
Early on, Peter learned that in a lot of cases, his speed and his wits would be his greatest assets. He was stronger than an average human, from what he could tell, but there were some folks here out in the black who were practically built of stone. He had to be clever about how he went about attacking them, using his blasters to empower his punches, his jets to speed his kicks, keeping his distance when necessary. Had to be fast, too, to get in as many blows as possible at once before dodging and dancing away to some unheard rhythm.
(“Cherry Bomb,” usually. )
But Gamora is faster and stronger and just— better. He manages to dodge out of the way for a bit, though all of his focus has to go into not getting hit; he never has time to retaliate. She feints, and Peter falls for it, ducking left when he should’ve gone right. He leaves himself open and pays for it, taking a few hits, and—
He tumbles to the floor all over again, the air punched from his lungs.
Well. At least the rubber mats cushioned his fall. Kind of. ]
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after they get started, he doesn't do poorly.
in fact, she's pleased that he holds out long enough to avoid getting immediately thrown to the ground, but then he reads her wrong, doesn't sense the move like he should, and she takes the opening without a second of hesitation.
a quick blow to his sternum, another to his ribs, and then she knocks him right to the ground without even blinking.
straightening up, she steps forward to hover over him again. ]
That was less embarrassing for you than the first time.
[ but instead of pinning him to the ground, like she so easily could, she sticks out her hand in an offer to pull him back to his feet. ]
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Oh, good. That’s super encouraging.
[ Grumbled, though without much heat in his voice. He takes her hand to haul himself up. ]
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she helps pull him up from the mat, and though the contact lingers for a brief moment, she's soon pulling her hand away again. ]
I warned you this wouldn't be easy.
[ but he's trying, and that's admirable enough on its own. ]
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[ He doesn’t notice that she holds onto his hand for a second longer than necessary, distracted as he is with using his free hand to rub at his neck, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. ]
“Terrans are naturally slow.” You kinda keep hammering that point home, you know.
[ He says it lightly, without any resentment. ]
I bet this is gonna feel like teaching a fish to breathe on land for you, sooner or later.
[ That is to say, impossible. ]
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I doubt it'll come to that.
[ she gives a small, dismissive shrug. ]
If I didn't think you were capable of learning and improving, I wouldn't bother trying to help you. It's not that you're unskilled, Quill. You're unrefined.
This kind of training is demanding, but I think you have the ability to improve. It will just take time.
[ and that may be the closest gamora has gotten to genuinely praising quill in, well, mostly ever. ]
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... I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me.
[ Well, no, that’s not true—
(“He’s about the only family I have.”
“No, he wasn’t.”)
—but it’s definitely the nicest thing she’s said to him that wasn’t prompted by him going through some sort of traumatic experience and cutting the last tenuous ties with the shitty folks who raised him and kind of sort of bothered to give him the time of day, when the fancy struck.
But that’s just splitting hairs. ]
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[ and just like that, the momentary acknowledgement of quill's abilities has passed, and gamora takes a step back from him, gesturing to the mat. ]
Are you ready to continue or do you still need to recover?
[ she says it with a lift of her eyebrow, more of a challenge than an offer to give him a breather. ]
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That little challenge sticks between his ribs, as she likely knew it would, flung with the same precision as one of her daggers. He recognizes it for what it is: she’s prodding at him, goading him, trying to get a reaction.
... He kind of hates that it works. ]
We can go again. I’m good.
Peter puffs out an aggravated little sigh – directed mostly at himself – moving into position atop the mats again. He sinks back into his usual defensive position – a boxer’s stance, with both fists up, knees slightly bent. Influenced by one too many viewings of Rocky, certainly, but it’s worked out for him over the years. Mostly. ]
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Try to keep up.
[ she knows that he can't truly keep up, but if he can maintain the level that she holds with him, he'll be doing well. he's bound to make mistakes, obviously, and she's absolutely going to keep knocking him down when he does, but it's a matter of practice, of refining his skills even further.
who knows, maybe she'll start teaching him more than this simple way to exercise his reflexes — if he wants to learn.
she doesn't give him any warning before she's moving in again, and then she's on the offensive. she's not trying to overwhelm him, but she's also not willing to give him proper time to counter with blow after blow, strike after strike. she alternates between crowding into his space and pulling back again, and it becomes something of— a dance.
rhythmic, to let him practice, to let him learn how to sense where she's coming from, to dodge accordingly. weaving back and forth, in and out, with something that could almost be called a beat—
—if gamora was a dancer. ]
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