[ He can't quite help it – his eyes still narrow with learned mistrust. He's on an unfamiliar ship, with unfamiliar people – who, regardless of how much they might look like his team, might act like his team, absolutely are not his team. Half-remembered episodes of Star Trek float to mind, of evil doppelgangers running rampant through a so-called "good" universe.
Hard to say who is whom. As much as he doesn't rule out the possibility of this being some twisted mirror universe, they're also well within their rights, he thinks a little wryly, to assume he's the evil one.
Unconsciously, his dominant hand folds into a fist before he lets out a slow breath, forcing tension out of his frame. Nothing about his posture screams relaxed, but neither is he poised to spring. ]
The sooner the better.
[ It's as close to a "thank you" as he might be able to manage.
His jaw clenches again as he regards her. ]
I don't know what I can tell you to make you believe me, and neither do I enjoy the idea of the two of us prowling around one another, waiting for a false move until we can get this... sorted.
[ Because by his estimations, he thinks he can handle the majority of these Guardians – assuming, of course, they're of similar skill to the Guardians of his universe. It's this Gamora that's the wild card – so wildly different and so sickeningly familiar, all at once. ]
I can only swear on my loyalty to my own team that I won't harm any of you without provocation. I know that means nothing to you, but it means everything to me.
[ Gamora continues to follow every shift and movement of his body, but instead of it seeming to put her on further alert, she's taking careful stock of Peter's mannerisms. There's a familiarity to him, so distinctly Quill that she can't lose sight of him through the silver scars and hardened edges. He's Peter, she thinks, but with her father's fingerprints all over him. ]
It means enough.
[ It means that she's not going to demand Peter remain in shackles or a locked room his entire stay, so... that's probably better for his overall comfort. ]
But now I need to know who you are.
[ Where do the differences begin and where do similarities end between him and her Peter. ]
[ He can't help it this time – a puff of air escapes him, something that shares a few distant relatives with a laugh. ]
What, do you want my life story? "I was born on mild day in February"?
[ He takes a slow breath, shaking his head. By his reckoning, he can't see how dragging his personal history into the light might help anything. The past should stay firmly in the past, and knowing him won't help them figure out their current predicament.
But he also needs this Gamora to stop staring at him like he might draw a blade at any given opportunity, because if she doesn't, then he genuinely might. He understands her wariness – knows that if he had encountered someone like her back home, had been forced to accept her company, he would absolutely act the same way.
His next breath is more resigned, and while his gaze doesn't drift from her, he instead focuses on a point over her shoulder. ]
I answer a question, you answer a question. Fair?
[ Even if he knows he's in no position to bargain. Still, it's worth a try. ]
[ Peter is, of course, not obligated to share his history, and Gamora is slightly convinced he may end up denying her entirely. He's technically within his rights to do so – but that won't help ease the tension between them.
That bargain, however? ]
Fair.
[ Because as much as Peter is clearly in the least advantageous position, Gamora also knows it won't necessarily be productive for the both of them to keep treating each other like snarling beasts until Peter goes home. ]
How old were you when Earth fell?
[ She posits the question so that Peter can correct her if the assumptions are incorrect – but she's already leapt to a few conclusions of her own about this Peter's past. ]
[ Of course, that question makes his gaze snap right back to her. Straight to the point then, he supposes, though his jaw clenches with resignation. ]
Eight.
[ Which is enough to answer her question, and he nearly leaves it at that. Their bargain, after all, hadn't been particularly specific, but—
That'll hardly engender the tolerance (not trust; he doubts they'll achieve that much) he's hoping to attain, will it? ]
... He was after the Infinity Stones. He was led to believe that Terra housed at least two.
[ The words come slowly, reluctantly, but he still forces them out. ]
They eluded his grasp, assuming they were ever there to begin with, so rather than his usual mercy— [ and the word drips with poison ] —he razed the planet.
[ A beat, then he adds a little more levelly, ]
It probably won't surprise you that my question for you is similar.
[ Though Gamora keeps her expression carefully cool and composed, her heart aches with what Peter shares. Her Peter may have had a rough life, but he was spared these horrors – and she finds an odd irony behind her own relief in knowing the awful could-have-beens that were avoided.
That doesn't make it easier to see the potential grief before her eyes.
She listens, thumb absently twisting a ring around her finger occasionally. She's not nearly as intent on withholding everything with the current truce between them, so she doesn't hesitate in her reply. ]
He culled my people early in his conquests.
[ Flat, a cold statement of fact.
Unlike Thanos's bold claims, her planet did not survive well after the murder of half its inhabitants. She never tried to look for or return to her homeplanet, and she considered there to be no point when the Nova Corps' records reflect that she is the only surviving member of her race. How odd that a completely random murder of a significant population didn't solve their hunger crises or cure the diseases ravaging a fairly undeveloped society.
It's almost like Thanos's plan was not well thought-out.
Like a badly written plot or something.
How odd.
She flicks her fingers once, a dismissive little wave. ]
I was young. [ She doesn't remember how her age was recorded before Thanos, and after, it didn't matter much: she was a weapon at six, just as she would have been a weapon at nine.
[ The vague answer is familiar enough – something in line with what his own Gamora has told him. How her planet was similarly razed, how young she had been. His empathy is written in the details: in the minute softening of his gaze, in the subtle press of his lips, in the slightest downward turn of the corners of his mouth.
I'm sorry, though he doesn't speak it aloud.
He wouldn't wish Thanos' attentions (not affections, as Thanos would consider them) on even his worst enemies, but he sees the evidence of it on her for himself – the control in her posture, the silver scars etched into her skin, the Godslayer like a damning brand. It's difficult seeing Gamora like this. She's a different woman entirely, he knows, but he can hardly imagine her without her easy smiles, her relaxed posture, the look in her eyes when she glances his way, like he had hung every star in the sky.
At her next question, he doesn't smile, but there's a wry twist to his mouth. As if to ask, "Is there truly an escape from Thanos?"
But he understands the spirit of the question, and his answer is relatively rehearsed. The Nova Corps had a lot of questions for the nascent Guardians, after all, after the smoke had cleared around the wreck of the Dark Aster. ]
Thanos assigned me to assist a Kree zealot named Ronan the Accuser. He was searching for an Infinity Stone on Thanos' behalf. I was meant to assist, but...
[ He trails off, grappling with the words, before he ultimately settles on, ]
... I decided otherwise.
It's how I met the others, and the Gamora of my world. We've been a team ever since.
[ Gamora has no idea why she finds comfort in the familiar details, the similar origin, but she really does. Perhaps it's because she knows how wildly different they could be, but this feels like a shorter gap left between them.
She nods at this, a faint curl in her lips finally. ]
Then it seems you and I walked very similar paths in our realities.
[ This time, she's not only referring to Thanos: it's confirmation about her choices and own team's origin. ("Me too.") ]
[ The answer gives him pause – not for the words themselves, but what she leaves unspoken. It spurs him to reevaluate her, to take in his surroundings a little more closely.
Arrogant of him to think of himself and his situation as unique. Thanos had believed in multiple universes, in the way a reality would split at every crossroads. Why shouldn't these Guardians have encountered the same situation? An Infinity Stone lying in wait, and the fanatics seeking to lay claim to them. He wonders, not for the first time, what became of the Infinity Stones on Earth; wonders if they were ever truly there, or if Thanos wasted his time on a wild goose chase.
(And reluctantly, he thinks there must, too, be thousands different universes that sprang from his chase after the Orb – a universe where he followed his father's wishes, where he found the Infinity Stone on Ronan's behalf and delivered it to the Mad Titan. A universe where he wrested the stone from Gamora's hands on Xandar and left her behind. A universe where the Guardians never formed.
He doesn't think he'd like those universes.)
Eventually, he lets out a breath. ]
That takes care of my next question, then.
[ Still, it's his turn, and he's within his rights to question her. It eases something in him, though, to know that they came from similar circumstances, and that need to probe isn't quite as keen.
His gaze flicks to her hair, to the single, thin beaded braid – something he had noticed earlier.
Now's as good a time as any, he expects, though either pride or stubbornness keeps the words from flowing easily. ]
Those beads.
[ He falters, jaw clenching. Like ripping off a bandage, he tells himself. Do it quick.
His gaze flicks off to a spot over her shoulder. ]
[ Gamora isn't sure what question she expected from Peter, but that isn't it. Genuine surprise slips past her composure, the pointedness of it making her reach up to brush her fingertips along the braid.
A pang of nostalgia (and accompanying concern for her Peter) rises in her gut, and that's probably why she slips, ]
[ The misstep catches him slightly off-guard, and for a second he looks not quite apologetic, but something broaching dangerously close. He expects this Gamora wants him here even less than he does. Given the magic the Harbinger was wielding, given how little they know of it, he's lucky to have arrived in a universe that was at least a little familiar.
Who knows where the Peter Quill of this reality ended up?
If these Guardians are lucky, he is somewhere safe.
... But if these Guardians have the type of luck his Guardians have, he probably isn't.
He falls silent for a breath again, uncertain. Then, tentatively, ]
The Gamora of my world has beads like that. She didn't learn how to braid them in.
[ Another hesitation, as his gaze flicks to the doorway, satisfying himself with the fact that the other members of the Guardians weren't soon to arrive. He's a little bitter to realize that even so far removed from home, he's too proud to admit he does something as frivolous as braid.
It's why he lowers his voice. ]
I tried, but I could tell it wasn't quite right.
[ There had been a slight frown on Gamora's face, he remembers – not of disapproval, but of thoughtfulness. Like knowing something in a room was out of place, but not knowing what it was. She had thanked him, nevertheless, and had satisfied herself with his method, but the perfectionist in him demanded that satisfactory wasn't enough. ]
[ Gamora can't help how she bristles, braced for— what? Retaliation, latching onto a shred of weakness? But Peter doesn't look for an advantage, doesn't mock or deride her, which is why the tension eases back out of her shoulders.
She chews on how she wants to respond, warring with her instincts to treat this Peter like hers, but after another moment of hesitation, ]
I can teach you.
[ It's too late to take the offer back once she makes it, and she continues. ]
[ He nods, the movement quick and almost curt to mask his hesitation and the defensiveness he might feel for wasting a question on something as fatuous as hair styling. But the beads are important to his Gamora, had been one little bit of culture that she had managed to protect, and it was as important to him as it was to her to help preserve that tradition.
If nothing else comes out of this ridiculous situation, at least he'll have that. Optimistic of him, he thinks, to assume he'll get back home. ]
I'd like to learn.
[ Which is his way of saying "please" and "thank you."
Although there will probably be time for that later, as they're traveling to— was it Knowhere? Was it to whoever Rocket's mysterious contact may be? These Guardians hadn't seemed particularly set on their destination, which hardly comes as a surprise. There aren't very many possible leads for dealing with magic quite like this – save for uprooting any stray cultists that might have gone to ground after the Guardians' assault.
(How would that go, anyway? What would they even say? "Hello, idiot zealot. Your now-deceased leader put a spell on our friend. On pain of dismember or death, would you happen to know how to undo it?") ]
[ She doesn't smile, not quite (it's still too early to trust his intentions), but the agreement stirs an odd warmth and relief that makes the vulnerability sting less. ]
That it is.
[ It doesn't help that she finds herself wanting to know everything about Peter's universe and yet nothing at all. The pain of "what-ifs" is so rarely worth the detour, but her curiosity truly gets the better of her. ]
Your Gamora. What was her life instead?
[ Knowing that she had the same beads doesn't feel like it bodes well for a happy childhood of loving parents and a planet spared Thanos's wrath – but Gamora can't shake the need to discover the truth. ]
[ He hesitates for a breath, his quick frown betraying his uncertainty. This isn't exactly his story to tell, but here he is anyway, having to tell it. He decides to paint in broad strokes. ]
Thanos came to her planet. Killed her people. Gamora managed to escape and found a Ravager ship. I imagine the Ravager captain must have been feeling merciful that day, since he brought her aboard and escaped the massacre.
She was handed off to another Ravager captain. Aleta, I believe.
[ Well, he says "I believe," but he knows it with certainty, memorizes every story and detail and brief glimpse into her past that Gamora offers him. ]
She was raised with them, but when she received the assignment to retrieve the Orb, she left.
[ "Aleta." A name she's only passingly familiar with, but she's drawn to the revelation of her life as a Ravager, intrigued by the similarities and divergences. She wonders if the passing shred of mercy was Yondu's outstretched hand – or rather, his tractor beam that brought that young girl aboard.
A twinge in her chest. Envy? Regret? She knows a life as a Ravager isn't a pretty one, but she'd have traded the torment of Thanos for a roughnecked childhood in a second. But—
The reminder of "if not Gamora, whom?" sits directly across the table from her. And Gamora finds she would rather wear those scars herself than see them etched into Peter's history.
A muscle in her jaw tics once, but then she nods, betraying little else in her expression. ]
[ He's quiet for a moment, considering his own question. Even with all the similarities falling between them, little shockingly serendipitous echoes, he still finds himself wondering about a million things.
How the hell this other Peter came to space, for one. Because his own experience – and, shockingly, this Gamora's – had been less than pleasant.
His gaze slips down to the table, and he takes a slow, steadying breath. He's not entirely sure if he wants the answer. ]
Is Terra— does Earth still live in this universe?
[ Because the Peter Quill of this world either somehow escaped Thanos' razing, much like Gamora, or else Thanos has yet to set his gaze on the planet. ]
[ Interesting. Gamora isn't surprised it took Peter so long to ask about Earth specifically; he has such an appreciation for Earth culture and his own nostalgia (the Peter she knows, at least), but he's never returned to his home planet, despite having the means for years. It stands to reason that any other Peter might be reluctant to go home, too. ]
Yes. They haven't developed sophisticated space travel yet, but the planet seems to be thriving.
[ She wonders if this Peter finds that compelling. ]
[ He's not entirely sure how to feel about that. The first and easiest sensation to parse is relief. Reassurance. Perhaps this was a kinder universe, he thinks – though only to a certain degree.
(He does, after all, see his own history in a mirror sitting across from him.)
The second feeling, and something slightly more complicated, slightly more selfish, is a small degree of envy, a bittersweet longing for a home he can't return to. His own family is dead, slaughtered before him, save for his mother – the one and only time Peter considered her sickness a mixed blessing. He wonders after the fate of the Quill family in this universe. And if they're alive, he wonders if this Peter Quill knows what a gift he still has. ]
You must visit often.
[ A question hiding in a statement – it's not his turn, after all. ]
[ Gamora's brow lifts imperceptibly, silver glinting in the low ship lighting. Interesting. ]
One would think.
[ Because Peter still has living family – or he might. But he refuses to go back and find out. It drives Gamora a little insane sometimes, but she knows perfectly well that pushing Peter on the topic won't get them anywhere.
This Peter, however. ]
Do you want to see it?
[ Technically, a question. But she can pull up a display of Earth in a heartbeat and let Peter take a look. ]
[ For a second, he's startled by the question, though the signs of it are only visible in the details: the slightest straightening of his posture, the minute movement of his head, the way his focus on her intensifies. ]
If it's possible.
[ The answer isn't thoughtless, but it's certainly quick – as much of a vehement yes as this Peter is possible of giving.
(The answer was never going to be anything but yes.) ]
[ Gamora gives a short nod, then pushes herself away from the table. She moves deliberately, letting Peter see that her hand is nowhere near Godslayer.
In front of a display, she quickly taps away, pulling up a holographic projection of modern Earth, in its full glory. She flicks her fingers once and the projection shifts across the table, stopping in front of Peter. The digital blue glow catches on his scars, and Gamora watches quietly as he's presented with his home. ]
[ With the small steps forward they've made, Peter still can't quite tamp down the instinct to be wary – it's why he's silently appreciative of the purposeful way she moves, the effort she takes to be predictable, the way she keeps her hands well away from the sword at her hip.
His gaze slowly slides to the projection in front of him, and unconsciously, he leans forward a little, examining it with only partially disguised interest. It's so much like the half-remembered photographs from his text books – the green and blue marble, as his teachers so poetically named it. He didn't have the luxury of seeing the Earth from orbit when Thanos departed with him – largely, Peter thinks, because he was unconscious at the time, but partially because he doubts Thanos would have offered him that kindness. He's not entirely sure if he would have wanted the imprint of a world on fire as his parting memory of the planet, anyway.
By sight, he marks out the geographical landmarks he can remember from a childhood spent paying only partial attention to his lessons. He lifts a hand – much like Gamora, even as distracted as he admittedly is, he's careful to telegraph his movements – and touches the projection, turning it gently like one might examine a physical globe. He turns the projection until he's faced with the United States.
How different might his Earth and this Peter Quill's Earth be? Based on this projection, it appears identical, at least. A more fanciful part of his mind, something atrophied with its rare use, conjures images of humans with necks like giraffes, and he can't help the quirk of a smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.
He's quick to shove the thought away. ]
I was from there.
[ This, with a quick tap against the projection – Missouri, or thereabouts.
Another gesture, as he turns the projection then taps at a location on South Asia. ]
Thanos landed here, then swept west.
[ His gaze slides to Gamora then. Alternate realities being what they are, he's not entirely sure how helpful this information may be to these Guardians. Still, he doubts it would hurt. ]
If the Thanos of this world still lives, if he's hunting for the Stones as he did in my universe, he may set his eyes on Earth, at some point.
[ Gamora absorbs his reaction as much as she can, trying to pick out details or small tells. But this Peter has learned a... painful kind of unreadable that Gamora knows too intimately (because she knows what it takes to school a face as expressive as Peter's).
It makes her ache.
She doesn't track Peter as closely now, doesn't watch him like she's waiting for him to pull a small knife; instead, she focuses on the projection of Earth as Peter indicates—
— oh.
His home.
Her eyes flick over the continent, memorizing the shape, the location...
She's quickly distracted from her own curiosity by the bitter taste of familiar memory as Peter speaks (no longer the swell of choking grief that used to accompany remembering the day Thanos came to her planet, but something that still sits like ash on her tongue). The information, however... Gamora has largely avoided dealing with her father up until now – she's been more preoccupied with staying as far away as possible – but she knows that Peter is making an excellent point. ]
[ He lowers his head a little – resignation, mostly. A touch of disappointment. Evidently it's too much to ask that Thanos might want to take a break from tearing apart the galaxy. He did always preach diligence, and how one must be willing to sacrifice all else in the efforts to achieve one's goals.
He lets out a quiet breath, reaching out to turnthe globe back to North America. His fingertips press lightly against the projection to keep it from gently spinning. His gaze immediately finds Missouri again – or, at least, the area that he vaguely remembers it resides. Images of Earth from his universe look far less... verdant. It still bears the scars from the day Thanos landed.
This, though, more closely resembles his memories from childhood. It's a relief to see it so alive.
Reluctantly, he pulls back, lets the projection resume its lazy spin. He lets himself watch as the continent slips away, and once it reaches the edge, he returns his attention to Gamora.
His jaw clenches briefly – hesitation and uncertainty, more than anything – before he offers a slightly stilted, ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Hard to say who is whom. As much as he doesn't rule out the possibility of this being some twisted mirror universe, they're also well within their rights, he thinks a little wryly, to assume he's the evil one.
Unconsciously, his dominant hand folds into a fist before he lets out a slow breath, forcing tension out of his frame. Nothing about his posture screams relaxed, but neither is he poised to spring. ]
The sooner the better.
[ It's as close to a "thank you" as he might be able to manage.
His jaw clenches again as he regards her. ]
I don't know what I can tell you to make you believe me, and neither do I enjoy the idea of the two of us prowling around one another, waiting for a false move until we can get this... sorted.
[ Because by his estimations, he thinks he can handle the majority of these Guardians – assuming, of course, they're of similar skill to the Guardians of his universe. It's this Gamora that's the wild card – so wildly different and so sickeningly familiar, all at once. ]
I can only swear on my loyalty to my own team that I won't harm any of you without provocation. I know that means nothing to you, but it means everything to me.
no subject
It means enough.
[ It means that she's not going to demand Peter remain in shackles or a locked room his entire stay, so... that's probably better for his overall comfort. ]
But now I need to know who you are.
[ Where do the differences begin and where do similarities end between him and her Peter. ]
no subject
What, do you want my life story? "I was born on mild day in February"?
[ He takes a slow breath, shaking his head. By his reckoning, he can't see how dragging his personal history into the light might help anything. The past should stay firmly in the past, and knowing him won't help them figure out their current predicament.
But he also needs this Gamora to stop staring at him like he might draw a blade at any given opportunity, because if she doesn't, then he genuinely might. He understands her wariness – knows that if he had encountered someone like her back home, had been forced to accept her company, he would absolutely act the same way.
His next breath is more resigned, and while his gaze doesn't drift from her, he instead focuses on a point over her shoulder. ]
I answer a question, you answer a question. Fair?
[ Even if he knows he's in no position to bargain. Still, it's worth a try. ]
no subject
That bargain, however? ]
Fair.
[ Because as much as Peter is clearly in the least advantageous position, Gamora also knows it won't necessarily be productive for the both of them to keep treating each other like snarling beasts until Peter goes home. ]
How old were you when Earth fell?
[ She posits the question so that Peter can correct her if the assumptions are incorrect – but she's already leapt to a few conclusions of her own about this Peter's past. ]
no subject
Eight.
[ Which is enough to answer her question, and he nearly leaves it at that. Their bargain, after all, hadn't been particularly specific, but—
That'll hardly engender the tolerance (not trust; he doubts they'll achieve that much) he's hoping to attain, will it? ]
... He was after the Infinity Stones. He was led to believe that Terra housed at least two.
[ The words come slowly, reluctantly, but he still forces them out. ]
They eluded his grasp, assuming they were ever there to begin with, so rather than his usual mercy— [ and the word drips with poison ] —he razed the planet.
[ A beat, then he adds a little more levelly, ]
It probably won't surprise you that my question for you is similar.
no subject
That doesn't make it easier to see the potential grief before her eyes.
She listens, thumb absently twisting a ring around her finger occasionally. She's not nearly as intent on withholding everything with the current truce between them, so she doesn't hesitate in her reply. ]
He culled my people early in his conquests.
[ Flat, a cold statement of fact.
Unlike Thanos's bold claims, her planet did not survive well after the murder of half its inhabitants. She never tried to look for or return to her homeplanet, and she considered there to be no point when the Nova Corps' records reflect that she is the only surviving member of her race. How odd that a completely random murder of a significant population didn't solve their hunger crises or cure the diseases ravaging a fairly undeveloped society.
It's almost like Thanos's plan was not well thought-out.
Like a badly written plot or something.
How odd.
She flicks her fingers once, a dismissive little wave. ]
I was young. [ She doesn't remember how her age was recorded before Thanos, and after, it didn't matter much: she was a weapon at six, just as she would have been a weapon at nine.
And since that was an answer: ]
How did you escape?
hell yeah drag the russos
I'm sorry, though he doesn't speak it aloud.
He wouldn't wish Thanos' attentions (not affections, as Thanos would consider them) on even his worst enemies, but he sees the evidence of it on her for himself – the control in her posture, the silver scars etched into her skin, the Godslayer like a damning brand. It's difficult seeing Gamora like this. She's a different woman entirely, he knows, but he can hardly imagine her without her easy smiles, her relaxed posture, the look in her eyes when she glances his way, like he had hung every star in the sky.
At her next question, he doesn't smile, but there's a wry twist to his mouth. As if to ask, "Is there truly an escape from Thanos?"
But he understands the spirit of the question, and his answer is relatively rehearsed. The Nova Corps had a lot of questions for the nascent Guardians, after all, after the smoke had cleared around the wreck of the Dark Aster. ]
Thanos assigned me to assist a Kree zealot named Ronan the Accuser. He was searching for an Infinity Stone on Thanos' behalf. I was meant to assist, but...
[ He trails off, grappling with the words, before he ultimately settles on, ]
... I decided otherwise.
It's how I met the others, and the Gamora of my world. We've been a team ever since.
i'm not salty, what's salty 👀
She nods at this, a faint curl in her lips finally. ]
Then it seems you and I walked very similar paths in our realities.
[ This time, she's not only referring to Thanos: it's confirmation about her choices and own team's origin. ("Me too.") ]
no subject
Arrogant of him to think of himself and his situation as unique. Thanos had believed in multiple universes, in the way a reality would split at every crossroads. Why shouldn't these Guardians have encountered the same situation? An Infinity Stone lying in wait, and the fanatics seeking to lay claim to them. He wonders, not for the first time, what became of the Infinity Stones on Earth; wonders if they were ever truly there, or if Thanos wasted his time on a wild goose chase.
(And reluctantly, he thinks there must, too, be thousands different universes that sprang from his chase after the Orb – a universe where he followed his father's wishes, where he found the Infinity Stone on Ronan's behalf and delivered it to the Mad Titan. A universe where he wrested the stone from Gamora's hands on Xandar and left her behind. A universe where the Guardians never formed.
He doesn't think he'd like those universes.)
Eventually, he lets out a breath. ]
That takes care of my next question, then.
[ Still, it's his turn, and he's within his rights to question her. It eases something in him, though, to know that they came from similar circumstances, and that need to probe isn't quite as keen.
His gaze flicks to her hair, to the single, thin beaded braid – something he had noticed earlier.
Now's as good a time as any, he expects, though either pride or stubbornness keeps the words from flowing easily. ]
Those beads.
[ He falters, jaw clenching. Like ripping off a bandage, he tells himself. Do it quick.
His gaze flicks off to a spot over her shoulder. ]
How did you braid them into your hair?
no subject
A pang of nostalgia (and accompanying concern for her Peter) rises in her gut, and that's probably why she slips, ]
You—
[ —and then corrects herself, ]
... He taught me.
no subject
Who knows where the Peter Quill of this reality ended up?
If these Guardians are lucky, he is somewhere safe.
... But if these Guardians have the type of luck his Guardians have, he probably isn't.
He falls silent for a breath again, uncertain. Then, tentatively, ]
The Gamora of my world has beads like that. She didn't learn how to braid them in.
[ Another hesitation, as his gaze flicks to the doorway, satisfying himself with the fact that the other members of the Guardians weren't soon to arrive. He's a little bitter to realize that even so far removed from home, he's too proud to admit he does something as frivolous as braid.
It's why he lowers his voice. ]
I tried, but I could tell it wasn't quite right.
[ There had been a slight frown on Gamora's face, he remembers – not of disapproval, but of thoughtfulness. Like knowing something in a room was out of place, but not knowing what it was. She had thanked him, nevertheless, and had satisfied herself with his method, but the perfectionist in him demanded that satisfactory wasn't enough. ]
no subject
She chews on how she wants to respond, warring with her instincts to treat this Peter like hers, but after another moment of hesitation, ]
I can teach you.
[ It's too late to take the offer back once she makes it, and she continues. ]
So you can show her when you return.
no subject
If nothing else comes out of this ridiculous situation, at least he'll have that. Optimistic of him, he thinks, to assume he'll get back home. ]
I'd like to learn.
[ Which is his way of saying "please" and "thank you."
Although there will probably be time for that later, as they're traveling to— was it Knowhere? Was it to whoever Rocket's mysterious contact may be? These Guardians hadn't seemed particularly set on their destination, which hardly comes as a surprise. There aren't very many possible leads for dealing with magic quite like this – save for uprooting any stray cultists that might have gone to ground after the Guardians' assault.
(How would that go, anyway? What would they even say? "Hello, idiot zealot. Your now-deceased leader put a spell on our friend. On pain of dismember or death, would you happen to know how to undo it?") ]
The ball is in your court now, I think.
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That it is.
[ It doesn't help that she finds herself wanting to know everything about Peter's universe and yet nothing at all. The pain of "what-ifs" is so rarely worth the detour, but her curiosity truly gets the better of her. ]
Your Gamora. What was her life instead?
[ Knowing that she had the same beads doesn't feel like it bodes well for a happy childhood of loving parents and a planet spared Thanos's wrath – but Gamora can't shake the need to discover the truth. ]
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Thanos came to her planet. Killed her people. Gamora managed to escape and found a Ravager ship. I imagine the Ravager captain must have been feeling merciful that day, since he brought her aboard and escaped the massacre.
She was handed off to another Ravager captain. Aleta, I believe.
[ Well, he says "I believe," but he knows it with certainty, memorizes every story and detail and brief glimpse into her past that Gamora offers him. ]
She was raised with them, but when she received the assignment to retrieve the Orb, she left.
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A twinge in her chest. Envy? Regret? She knows a life as a Ravager isn't a pretty one, but she'd have traded the torment of Thanos for a roughnecked childhood in a second. But—
The reminder of "if not Gamora, whom?" sits directly across the table from her. And Gamora finds she would rather wear those scars herself than see them etched into Peter's history.
A muscle in her jaw tics once, but then she nods, betraying little else in her expression. ]
Your question.
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How the hell this other Peter came to space, for one. Because his own experience – and, shockingly, this Gamora's – had been less than pleasant.
His gaze slips down to the table, and he takes a slow, steadying breath. He's not entirely sure if he wants the answer. ]
Is Terra— does Earth still live in this universe?
[ Because the Peter Quill of this world either somehow escaped Thanos' razing, much like Gamora, or else Thanos has yet to set his gaze on the planet. ]
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Yes. They haven't developed sophisticated space travel yet, but the planet seems to be thriving.
[ She wonders if this Peter finds that compelling. ]
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(He does, after all, see his own history in a mirror sitting across from him.)
The second feeling, and something slightly more complicated, slightly more selfish, is a small degree of envy, a bittersweet longing for a home he can't return to. His own family is dead, slaughtered before him, save for his mother – the one and only time Peter considered her sickness a mixed blessing. He wonders after the fate of the Quill family in this universe. And if they're alive, he wonders if this Peter Quill knows what a gift he still has. ]
You must visit often.
[ A question hiding in a statement – it's not his turn, after all. ]
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One would think.
[ Because Peter still has living family – or he might. But he refuses to go back and find out. It drives Gamora a little insane sometimes, but she knows perfectly well that pushing Peter on the topic won't get them anywhere.
This Peter, however. ]
Do you want to see it?
[ Technically, a question. But she can pull up a display of Earth in a heartbeat and let Peter take a look. ]
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If it's possible.
[ The answer isn't thoughtless, but it's certainly quick – as much of a vehement yes as this Peter is possible of giving.
(The answer was never going to be anything but yes.) ]
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In front of a display, she quickly taps away, pulling up a holographic projection of modern Earth, in its full glory. She flicks her fingers once and the projection shifts across the table, stopping in front of Peter. The digital blue glow catches on his scars, and Gamora watches quietly as he's presented with his home. ]
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His gaze slowly slides to the projection in front of him, and unconsciously, he leans forward a little, examining it with only partially disguised interest. It's so much like the half-remembered photographs from his text books – the green and blue marble, as his teachers so poetically named it. He didn't have the luxury of seeing the Earth from orbit when Thanos departed with him – largely, Peter thinks, because he was unconscious at the time, but partially because he doubts Thanos would have offered him that kindness. He's not entirely sure if he would have wanted the imprint of a world on fire as his parting memory of the planet, anyway.
By sight, he marks out the geographical landmarks he can remember from a childhood spent paying only partial attention to his lessons. He lifts a hand – much like Gamora, even as distracted as he admittedly is, he's careful to telegraph his movements – and touches the projection, turning it gently like one might examine a physical globe. He turns the projection until he's faced with the United States.
How different might his Earth and this Peter Quill's Earth be? Based on this projection, it appears identical, at least. A more fanciful part of his mind, something atrophied with its rare use, conjures images of humans with necks like giraffes, and he can't help the quirk of a smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.
He's quick to shove the thought away. ]
I was from there.
[ This, with a quick tap against the projection – Missouri, or thereabouts.
Another gesture, as he turns the projection then taps at a location on South Asia. ]
Thanos landed here, then swept west.
[ His gaze slides to Gamora then. Alternate realities being what they are, he's not entirely sure how helpful this information may be to these Guardians. Still, he doubts it would hurt. ]
If the Thanos of this world still lives, if he's hunting for the Stones as he did in my universe, he may set his eyes on Earth, at some point.
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It makes her ache.
She doesn't track Peter as closely now, doesn't watch him like she's waiting for him to pull a small knife; instead, she focuses on the projection of Earth as Peter indicates—
— oh.
His home.
Her eyes flick over the continent, memorizing the shape, the location...
She's quickly distracted from her own curiosity by the bitter taste of familiar memory as Peter speaks (no longer the swell of choking grief that used to accompany remembering the day Thanos came to her planet, but something that still sits like ash on her tongue). The information, however... Gamora has largely avoided dealing with her father up until now – she's been more preoccupied with staying as far away as possible – but she knows that Peter is making an excellent point. ]
He's alive.
And I'm sure searching for the Stones.
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He lets out a quiet breath, reaching out to turnthe globe back to North America. His fingertips press lightly against the projection to keep it from gently spinning. His gaze immediately finds Missouri again – or, at least, the area that he vaguely remembers it resides. Images of Earth from his universe look far less... verdant. It still bears the scars from the day Thanos landed.
This, though, more closely resembles his memories from childhood. It's a relief to see it so alive.
Reluctantly, he pulls back, lets the projection resume its lazy spin. He lets himself watch as the continent slips away, and once it reaches the edge, he returns his attention to Gamora.
His jaw clenches briefly – hesitation and uncertainty, more than anything – before he offers a slightly stilted, ]
Thank you.
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