[ 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, ]
[ Gamora doesn't break the silence stretching between them. She lets Peter have this moment – brief though it may be – to admire a home long since lost to him.
The gratitude still catches her off-guard, but she offers a small nod of acknowledgement. "You're welcome," without putting emphasis on the favor itself. ]
We might find reason to return to the Sol system while we try to get you home.
[ Some half-remembered quote comes to mind: I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse.
He can't help but breathe out a quiet, rueful laugh. ]
Only if there's a legitimate reason.
I'm sure your Peter Quill wouldn't appreciate your taking me sight-seeing, especially not if he's as anxious to return as you all are to have him back.
[ The answer is easily given; he doesn't have any doubts, honestly. His team isn't too dissimilar from this universe's Guardians – save for the woman across from him, obviously. But the Gamora he knows has always had an altruistic streak, for as much as he accuses her of pride and selfishness. ]
They may be wary of him, but I don't doubt he'll be treated— [ Ah, and here he hesitates. He was going to say, "treated well," but considering his team, considering the abrasive personalities contained therein, that's a topic worthy of debate.
He corrects, ] He'll be treated as well as you expect.
[ That's the answer Gamora was ultimately hoping for. She would never expect full and thoughtless hospitality to be offered to Peter in that other universe, but she does expect him to return whole and hale. ]
Good enough.
[ If Peter causes trouble? Sure, he's got it coming. But if he can play nice with the other children long enough to get back to Gamora, she'll consider that a win. ]
[ His tone is certain, unequivocal, where the other Peter might try for gentle, for sympathetic. ]
Gamora— the Gamora I know, I mean, is well-connected. She and Rocket will think of something.
[ The Ravager network is vast and far-reaching, after all. He can think of at least one of its members who's capable of wielding magic, even if he can't recall his name. ]
[ While there's none of the familiar comfort Gamora might usually find in her Peter, something about this Quill's certainty is equally a balm on her nerves. ]
You have a lot of faith in her.
[ It's not exactly an exposing observation, considering how much she's accidentally tipped her own hand thus far. She's not so wrapped in her own pride that she believes she's maintained an air of aloofness with this man; she's too off-kilter for a million different reasons to convincingly act like she's above the emotional ramifications of this hiccup.]
[ Simple as that, and as succinct as the response is, there's resolve in it, too, and just the barest edge of fondness.
Even if he can think of about a dozen complaints regarding her character, her work ethic, her ability to focus, he knows that when something is important enough, she'll pull it together. She's led the Guardians through enough scraps to earn his loyalty – although, maybe not his unquestioning loyalty, because each Guardian is nothing but a contrarian.
A muscle in jaw tics, then, and when he speaks, there's a thread of humor in his voice. ]
I can't promise he'll return entirely sober.
[ The Guardians were so fond of drinking as a team-bonding activity, after all. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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?
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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.
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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. ]
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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.
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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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The gratitude still catches her off-guard, but she offers a small nod of acknowledgement. "You're welcome," without putting emphasis on the favor itself. ]
We might find reason to return to the Sol system while we try to get you home.
[ If Peter... wants to see it in person. ]
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He can't help but breathe out a quiet, rueful laugh. ]
Only if there's a legitimate reason.
I'm sure your Peter Quill wouldn't appreciate your taking me sight-seeing, especially not if he's as anxious to return as you all are to have him back.
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If there's a reason.
[ An easy agreement to make, though she wouldn't be surprised if their search takes them through the Milky Way.
She hesitates before asking, ]
Your team. Do you think they'll help him?
[ She'd be surprised if these other Guardians ditched Quill fully, but she's learned not to expect kindness as a default. ]
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[ The answer is easily given; he doesn't have any doubts, honestly. His team isn't too dissimilar from this universe's Guardians – save for the woman across from him, obviously. But the Gamora he knows has always had an altruistic streak, for as much as he accuses her of pride and selfishness. ]
They may be wary of him, but I don't doubt he'll be treated— [ Ah, and here he hesitates. He was going to say, "treated well," but considering his team, considering the abrasive personalities contained therein, that's a topic worthy of debate.
He corrects, ] He'll be treated as well as you expect.
They won't hurt him if he doesn't deserve it.
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Good enough.
[ If Peter causes trouble? Sure, he's got it coming. But if he can play nice with the other children long enough to get back to Gamora, she'll consider that a win. ]
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They'll look after him.
[ His tone is certain, unequivocal, where the other Peter might try for gentle, for sympathetic. ]
Gamora— the Gamora I know, I mean, is well-connected. She and Rocket will think of something.
[ The Ravager network is vast and far-reaching, after all. He can think of at least one of its members who's capable of wielding magic, even if he can't recall his name. ]
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You have a lot of faith in her.
[ It's not exactly an exposing observation, considering how much she's accidentally tipped her own hand thus far. She's not so wrapped in her own pride that she believes she's maintained an air of aloofness with this man; she's too off-kilter for a million different reasons to convincingly act like she's above the emotional ramifications of this hiccup.]
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I do.
[ Simple as that, and as succinct as the response is, there's resolve in it, too, and just the barest edge of fondness.
Even if he can think of about a dozen complaints regarding her character, her work ethic, her ability to focus, he knows that when something is important enough, she'll pull it together. She's led the Guardians through enough scraps to earn his loyalty – although, maybe not his unquestioning loyalty, because each Guardian is nothing but a contrarian.
A muscle in jaw tics, then, and when he speaks, there's a thread of humor in his voice. ]
I can't promise he'll return entirely sober.
[ The Guardians were so fond of drinking as a team-bonding activity, after all. ]
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