nostalgiabomb | the city; inbox

Does she stare at this for a while?

She does.

Nothing seems quite right, and she's written and deleted over and over and over again. It's foolish. She knows that. She is being foolish.

Quill. Peter. How are you?

She debates asking after the bank vault and if he had gone, but it might bring the question up if she had. She had. Does she want to talk about it? She's not certain. To the unknowing eye, it would appear a little canister, but just like on Knowhere when Peter had tried to shoot, the switchblade had turned into bubbles the last time that she had seen it.

Instead she settles for something neutral. Something to ease into it. To try to figure out where and how they now stand- one dead in the past, the other having been snapped and brought back years later.]

You've found the music stores?

[ When the notification pops up on his screen, when he unlocks his device to see what it is, he stares at it for a few seconds that feel like lifetimes.

And in a split second, he's spurred into sudden motion, fumbling a little with the device in his haste, only to freeze again when he's not entirely sure how to respond.

He knows how he wants to respond, anyway. "Where are you?" "Are you okay?" "How have you been?" A thousand different questions to ask after her well-being. He knows Nebula and Gamora have been corresponding in their own way, but he hasn't tried to pry into their conversations. (Because he knows with absolutely certainty that he'd start asking some absolutely juvenile shir, like, "Did she say anything about me?" which would lead Nebula to punching him. Probably.)

At length, he decides to just— answer the question in front of him. It has the benefit of staying on the topic and keeps him from making a complete fool of himself. ]

everyone's been saying this place doesn't have its own music

[ After he found the contents of his safety deposit box, multiple people had told him now novel it was that he had found a casette tape player, that he had actual music, and how the "welcome party," such as it was, that had been thrown last month was eerily silent without any music to overwrite the awkward silence. ]

you found something?

[The texts between the two sisters likely would have driven Peter crazy. There is little chit chat. It's not hey, how you've been, oh I've found this cute top and tried this amaaazing coffee. If anything, simplistic words back and forth, confirming in that way that each is still alive and neither have found anything worthwhile in the grand scheme of things. There's no magic door or button or stone that exclaims Here! Here are the answers!]

I saw one. It had instruments and what appeared to be boxes and devices similar to yours.

[She hadn't gone in. Had debated, long and hard, but ultimately had just noted where it was on her way back. Entertainments haven't really been on her list of accomplishments to obtain. Staples, like food and clothing, a few items that could be weaponized if needed. In the hands of some, anything could be a weapon anyway.]

yeah? walkmans or zunes?

[ He's not entirely sure which he'd prefer. He has his Walkman back – or at least, something terribly close to it – so it might be nice to have an extra Walkman to cannibalize for parts, if he needs to.

His next reply is carefully written – and he hates how he feels like he's treading on unsteady ground, like he's walking through landmines. Nevertheless, he manages to type up something that doesn't seem entirely desperate: ]

think you can point me toward the store? i might want to raid it

Walkmans. Bigger metallic boxes with speakers.

[She does not recall a zune there, but it may well be.

And while he might be careful about it, Gamora is matter of fact and to the point.]

I can show you.

[ Well, with that invitation, Peter's response is nearly an immediate fuck yes.

Instead, he offers a little more sedately, ]

i'd appreciate it. whenever you have time, i mean

[ Then, in a series of rapid texts, back to back: ]

i'm free now

but you know it can wait

obviously

if you're in the middle of something

just

whenever is good

[Smooth as ice, if it has frozen over jagged rocks.]

Where are you?

[ how dare.... ]

not too far from the apartments

but i can meet you somewhere

[Meaning the apartment complex that he has chosen...]

The bank? 20 minutes?

[But just in case... Gamora isn't too far off from it herself, but she supposes she should give Peter some time.]

1/2 an hour.

20 minutes is good

meet you there soon

[ And after that he's gathering up his things. He had been doing a bit of light scavenging, but he's quick to jam things into his backpack (a new one; not his weathered childhood Jansport he arrived with). He checks that the Walkman and the external speaker are still safely nestled in the bag's bottle pocket before he hurries out of the store.

He doesn't quite run to the bank – not exactly. One might call it a quick trot. Or possibly a light canter.

Whatever you might call it, Peter makes it to the bank with time to spare. And maybe he's just slightly out of breath, though he does his best to conceal it. He's totally normal about this, is the air he wants to give off. He's totally calm and not kind of freaking out. Not even a little bit. ]

[She'd been about five minutes away herself, which is how he finds her seated on the steps leading up to the bank, leaning back on one arm, munching on an apple in the other hand. There's a seemingly casual nature to her posture that perhaps belies her deadly nature, although the bags under her eyes speak of continued restless nights.

She people watches the few that do go about their days, tracking them momentarily before disregarding. It's how she spots Peter's approach, feeling that light flutter in her chest as he comes closer. Her eyes skip across him, studying, assessing, and he seems to be well enough all things considered. The longer hair still makes her pause, although it's not bad. Just different. Years will do that.

And... In some ways it is easier over the device. Her mouth opens, closes for a moment in thought, before finally speaking.]

Hello, Peter.

[ He spots her near immediately. Which, he knows, was probably her intention – if she wanted to be out of sight, she could be. And she would be. And she has been, for the past few weeks.

(He tries not to begrudge her the time she needed to process all of that. But Peter has always had a selfish streak, so there's a part of him – an admittedly very silly and childish part of him – that wonders, Couldn't she have worked through all of that with me?)

There's no hiding the way the tension drops away from his frame when he approaches, and relief is the immediately identifiable quality in his expression. Everything else is a confused mishmash.

He's smiling, though, when he's within speaking distance, small though it may be. ]

Hey, yourself.

[ A pause, but before the silence can tread into awkward territory, ]

How've you been?

[There had been enough for Gamora to sort though, including her own feelings on everything. Emotions are still a strange and foreign creature, and as much as she had been comfortable around Peter, the rest of the Guardians, and a few select others, it had been her own hesitance upon learning of the time gap. Much can change (although not her) in those years.

And yet, as she watches him come forward, there are somethings that do remain the same...

The smile is strained or fake, isn't a facade to hide his true feelings, and her own gently mirrors his in turn. She would argue it isn't so, but there is a softness that come to her around him. It doesn't mean she won't punch him in the gut if the situation calls for it, but for her, it's him, and it likely always will be.

A slight shift, more to ponder over the exact answer that she desires to give. Every day here is another day she wouldn't otherwise have, but that seems melodramatic to announce. It does remind her though that it is a day that she wouldn't otherwise have, and perhaps she should not quite treat them as she has been. There's still frustration at times, and anger, hurt and sorrow. It's not a flesh wound that can be healed so easily.]

Adjusting?

[It seems a valid enough answer without saying something like enjoying not being shot at.]

Testing boundaries and limits.

Yeah?

[ He can't help the way his voice gentles a little, concerned and interested all at once.

He hesitates for a split second before moving to join her on the step, sitting beside her. And— admittedly, he's careful to maintain some distance. Years and years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated to invade her space, to practically drape himself over her back. Now, though, he's not entirely sure where they stand, doesn't know if his touch would be welcome. ]

Find out anything interesting?

[She shifts, but only to straighten from the lounging position she had been in. Shifts enough that her focus and attention are clearly on him. Resting an elbow on her knee, chin resting in the palm of her hand, she shifts her head side to side.]

We are unable to leave whatever barrier or field is there, but you can throw items over.

[Honestly, Gamora had half expected the items to bounce back just as she had been. To move forward, only to return from whence they started. It wasn't so. She's only tossed trivial items, nothing that she would want back, as it seems that there is no possibility to collect the items back. A pile of rocks, a few socks, sticks, cans... That might be Gamora's test.]

[ Yeah, the first part he knew, but the second part— ]

Wait, you can?

[ Peter hasn't met anyone he wanted to fuck with, at least not yet, but the seed has definitely been planted.

Lord help anyone who pisses off Peter Quill enough that he'll risk whatever slap on the wrist those in charge of the city will give him for A) stealing from someone, and B) chucking their shit past the barrier.

... But this is a thought for another time. Serious time is now, he thinks, and he frowns a little. ]

So it's just people that they care about going beyond the boundaries. Didn't realize they'd bother being selective.

Maybe we can get a drone through, or something.

[There is a level glance given in his direction, as if trying to fathom what is going on inside that head of his. The issue is, half the time Gamora has never had any idea. Their younger years had been quite different, and even thereafter, there had been nothing normal about their upbringings.]

I can't say I've tried anything too big or large.

[It hadn't crossed her mind. Although she still isn't certain she would, unless she has a good reason to do so. For the moment, simply watching and seeing if the things remain as she passes by daily is enough. It's if they do vanish that will make Gamora more curious about it.]

Perhaps... But I would still start with something that you have no qualms losing, in case the connection breaks.

Right.

[ Still a little thoughtful. ]

I mean, anything we'd be using would come from this place anyway, so it wouldn't be too big of a deal.

[ Not for the first time, he wishes Rocket were here. The guy could probably whip something up in the blink of an eye. Peter will probably be able to manage it on his own, maybe, but Rocket would probably be able to outfit it with laser sights and fifty projectile weapons, somehow.

That's a thought for the back burner, though, and he refocuses. He looks her over carefully. ]

You've been, uh. You've been good, though?

[More or less. Had she Godslayer, she would not have tossed it. In frustration, perhaps the switchblade, but even Gamora cannot bring herself to do that.]

If it was the only one.

[Then it might be. She doesn't know if the item would eventually return to where ever it came from, or if it would always just remain. Perhaps she should search for a rake or something with a hook to go 'fishing' to see if she could retrieve the items. There's enough on her list right now without adding more.

She glances down at the remainder of her apple, as if suddenly finding it interesting. It isn't. It's more... How does one even answer a question like that?]

It was a lot.

[ Softly, ]

Yeah, I know.

[ He hesitates for a second before taking a quick breath. ]

I'm sorry. For the way I just... dumped it all out on you. I should've— I dunno. Eased you into it, somehow.

Don't be.

[There's that shake of her head, that gentleness to her voice. It is not so much the dumping of information, but everything all together. One moment on Vormir, the next waking on a train, in a strange city. Nebula. Then Peter.]

I... Well, I don't think there would have been a way to ease into it Peter, and I would not want you tiptoeing around it for ages- or attempting to.

[ He lets out a breath – something caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. ]

I dunno. There was probably a better way than just ranting at you like some kind of whackjob.

[ But there's no changing what happened, he knows. And he glances over at her. ]

I know there's— a lot of blank spaces, probably. Or stuff that probably needed more detail. Is there anything else you wanted to know? I'll keep it together this time, I promise.

[There's the hint of a curl at the corner of her mouth with that. She... is used to it, in a manner of speaking? He had seemed a 'whackjob' from the moment she had met him, and doing a dance off hadn't exactly helped matters.

Yet it had worked. It should not have. The odds had been stacked against them, severely, but they had succeeded.

She assumes it is akin to being in a coma for years, then waking up. Scratch that. Lost and in a coma, where everyone thinks you are dead, until one day you aren't. Only add a doppelganger... who has dirty hair, apparently.]

I might, one day, but... not right now. How about we go to that store and see if there isn't something for you there?

[ He nods, probably a little too quickly, as he moves to stand. ]

Yeah. Sounds good.

[ Once he's on his feet, he brushes himself off. Instinctively, he extends his hand to her to help her up.

You can probably pinpoint the exact second his mind seems to catch up with him, how he was being so careful to maintain some physical distance. He nearly thinks better of the gesture, minutely flinching back, before he resolves himself and keeps his hand just as it is.

Better to let her decide how much she's currently comfortable, he figures. ]

[And there...

A part of her wonders if she is unfair. If they were to find a way to leave, would they not go back to where they were from? When they were from? She can guess that he hadn't coped well with the news of her death, and it does make her heart lurch in her chest. She hadn't been there for his mother, but she had for Yondu. Is this place only a bandage for a broken bone? Cosmetic and unhelpful?

But... She had thought that they would have many more years, guarding the galaxy, seeing new places and exploring, once Thanos was dealt with. A lofty goal, putting an end to Thanos and his plans, but she had had hope...

Gamora doesn't hesitate though. Her feelings toward him have not changed. Perhaps grown a little more confused. Uncertain? It is not a usual situation by any means. Her hand reaches out, taking his, as she rises to her feet.]

It's not too far.

[ It's— weird and gratifying all at once how something settles in him the instant her hand touches his, how something seems to click firmly into place. He was a fucking mess after the Avengers had brought everyone back, to say the least. And in the days, months, years that passed, he had found himself hitting the bottles more and more often for some temporary relief. And— it was only recently that he started letting himself heal.

He doesn't know what the hell it means for his recovery that Gamora is back, in whatever capacity this place has allowed, but he's selfish enough to not give a fuck.

Unconsciously, his hand gently tightens a little around hers, like he's reluctant to let go – but let go he does. ]

Go on. I'll follow your lead.

[It's the familiar warmth of his hand as hers settles within his own. That unspoken thing that had been between them since the beginning, even if Gamora had not understood it or acknowledged it, that had flourished into something deeper, meaningful, one of a kind.

Her fingers twitch a little as his grip slips away, and there is a small snort at his choice of words. When it comes to such things like dancing, Peter would always lead. Heck, he tended to lead in most things, even if Gamora would rather give his ass a kick for doing so. Yet, he does have a way of making the impossible possible. She'd admired that about him.]

Or you can just walk with me, Peter.

[ He can't help the way he grins in response to the way her scoffs sounds both fond and annoyed in equal measure – and his own expression is affectionate and somehow, a little sad. There's something novel about hearing her little dismissive laugh when he thought he'd never hear it again, and—

Fuck, he's missed that.

He's missed her, full stop. ]

Yeah, but I don't really know where we're going, so.

[ His deliberate shrug is meant to be innocent and infuriating all at once.

He does, however, make a show of falling into step beside her while they walk. ]

Then don't run off ahead.

[That tone that seems to quietly and affectionately say, you fool. She gives a motion with her head though as she starts off. This city is strange, with it's spattering of buildings here and there. Some useful, others not. Whether it is magic or science that keeps things as they are, Gamora doesn't know. There are no obvious signs of either, but sometimes it isn't obvious.

Her foot steps fall light as she glances covertly over to him from the corner of her eye.]

... how have you been?

[ It's probably stupid that he doesn't have a really good answer for that. In all likelihood he should've expected it, but he had been so focused (and worried) about Gamora, that he hadn't thought to prepare a suitably believable answer for himself.

So at length, his answer is a little flippant: ]

Adjusting.

[ Why, yes, he's using her own answer back at her. Wanna fight about it? ]

[Eye-roll? Eye-roll. She doesn't even try to hide it. Does she have it coming? Possibly. Could he at least thought of a synonym? Probably.

But... But it does make her pause, a thought flashing through her mind.]

We all should be.

[Unless someone is pretending to have arrived here. Would they be smart enough to keep up any rouse? It is a theory, one of many, one that has no proof one way or the other. It would be a good way to have someone slip in and watch them. Pretend to be as they are.]

Being planet-bound... It is not something that has happened for some time.

Yeah.

[ His answer, this time, is a little more quiet, a little more subdued. It's now that he realizes that he had told Gamora so much of what had happened, that he forgot to clue her in on what he had been up to.

He licks his lips, a little nervous, then, ]

I was... back home. Back on Earth, I mean. Before I came here.

[ Which would probably come as a huge surprise to her; in their time together, Earth had been brought up more than a few times, with Peter staunchly defending his decision to never return.

He's sure this must make him sound like a hypocrite. In his own defense, a lot of shit happened. ]

[Had it been anyone else, there might have been a noticeable misstep with that information. With Gamora, there is a slight shortening of one step that might not be noticed, although with how close they had been (are?), Peter may catch it. He has never given any inkling of wanting to return to the planet of his birth. In fact, had made it fairly clear that he had never wanted to return on several occasions. Earth is the place my mother died in front of me.

But, Gamora acknowledges that a lot has changed.

There is a questioning look to her expression as she regards him. She catches the slight hint of nervousness on his features. A moment, two, before she asks.]

What changed?

[Aside from the obvious... There is no challenge or declaration to it, but just a simple question. With how adamant he has always been... From Nebula she knows that the Guardians had still been guarding, and Peter had been an integral part of it. They'd been unwilling allies, then friends, and family.]

[ He risks a glance over to her, sees the earnest curiosity in her eyes instead of the accusation he might have expected, or maybe even something a little smug – as if to say, "So I was right all along."

At her question, though, his gaze turns a little heavy, a little meaningful, a little pained. Apparently the first reason for his going home – Gamora's death – was far too obvious to name. ]

I dunno. A lot of things.

[ He's hedging a little; it had been easier to explain it to the Guardians, who had seen him and tried to coach him through his absolute worst. ]

Mantis kind of drilled it into me. Reminded me that I lost my mom, yeah, but my grandfather lost a daughter and a grandson in same night. So I owed it to him to come home.

And I've spent so much of my life running from everything, from all my problems, and I realized I needed to stop and learn to face it all.

[It's unlikely that it would have ever been accusation. Had she once said, adamantly, and time and time again, that there was nothing between them? Look where they had ended up. It is perhaps a growth that Gamora might not have expected, but that is for the Peter that she had known. No doubt there is far more that has happened that Gamora does not know about.

Her gaze focuses more as he skirts around an answer, not pushing, yet, but clearly not going to let him dance away from it. She listens, and can understand. Loss. Loss for Peter has never been easy. It is, though, a very adult answer. Ernest and true. Mature...

Her hand moves out, although it shifts to her index finger giving him a poke on his shoulder, as if to confirm that he is actually real.]

[ His laugh is halfhearted at best, but he tries. He bats ineffectually at her hand. ]

Cut it out.

[ His smile doesn't quite fade, but it takes a slightly sober edge as his arms settle by his side again. He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. ]

Like I keep saying: a lot happened.

[Her expression is that mix between wistful and forlorn. Yet her gaze remains light on him, gentle, watchful, taking him in more fully. A lot. Such a small word for such monumental things.

A delicate pause as they move, taking a left at the intersection.]

You know... I do want you to be happy. Or to find some measure of happiness.

[ Another soft exhale, something that wants to be a laugh. ]

I know.

[ And he does know that, genuinely.

His gaze softens, and he returns her gaze, eyebrows knitting together. ]

You know I want the same for you, right? I don't want you to feel— I dunno, obligated or anything to spend time with me.

If you need more time on your own, that's fine. Or if you want company, I'll come running. Whatever you want.

[Obligated. He might frustrate her and annoy her, drive her up the walls, but... But it would never fall into the category of an obligation. Her feelings are still fresh, not having that expanse of time that the others do. Not having those years of struggle and turmoil as they had. Not seeing Thanos finally taken down. Stopped.

Her own steps pause, and halt.]

... I'm the ghost here, Peter. I don't- I don't know- want to hinder you.

[Which yes, she knows sounds slightly (or a lot) ridiculous. Vulnerable is not something that Gamora tends to be, but there is that uncertainty, as if not wanting to acknowledge that they return to place how things have been before. An earlier time. A step back,]

[ He can't quite help it – he breathes out a soft, disbelieving laugh. ]

You would never hinder me.

[ And maybe in a different tone that might sound cocky, but he's not using that kind of voice. Maybe Peter's knowledge and experience with the multiverse was shallow at best, but he can't imagine any world, any universe, where Gamora had held him back.

In their universe the only one that really mattered (because he's always had a selfish streak), what had Gamora ever done in their brief time together but make him want to be better?

... And, okay, admittedly, that's a lot of shit to put on one person's shoulders, which is why he's been working on himself, lately. Sort of.

He hesitates before pulling ahead to step in front of her – not quite blocking her path, but at least forcing her to pause. ]

I need you to understand something. I've been tiptoeing around it, because I've been worried about rushing you, or pressuring you into something, so— I'm just gonna say it. But I'm not saying it to push you, so do what you want with this information.

[ He pauses, pulling a hand through his hair. And maybe he spends too long collecting himself, trying to form the words – because once he realizes he's stalling, he gives himself a silent shove, and the words come out in a rush: ]

I loved you, Gamora. And I kept loving you. And when I lost you, I didn't know what to do. I fell apart. I was a wreck. I'm sure Nebula will probably be more than happy to let you know how much of a mess I was.

And, yeah, I went home 'cause I was trying to move on, but that doesn't mean I ever stopped loving you. Because I still love you, and I don't see that stopping any time soon.

[There's a small scrunching of her forehead with that laugh, but yes, okay. Perhaps it hadn't exactly been the best choice of words. She is more than capable and for the most part, Peter is as well. He may make some questionable decisions at times, but Gamora has learned that it is part of his charm.

She does draw to a halt though, glancing upwards at him as he stops there. There's that inquisitive gentleness on her face although the air around her also seems electric. As if she could be moved into action. It's not a fight or flight reaction. It's just- he had been a mark, someone to steal from, and Gamora had not planned for the encounter to be more than that. Get the orb. Get off planet. Get away from Thanos.

Then this Terran had fumbled and tripped his way into her life, with his outlandish sayings and idiotic plans. And... And it had worked. By the stars, what they had accomplished doesn't seem possible, and yet they had. A family. A place to belong. Home. They are not things that Gamora had ever thought to find, and life had been all the sweeter for it. She hadn't understood what it was that she was missing, until she had found it.

A small inhale when he uses the past tense, but no. Of course not... She doesn't like to be vulnerable, to be put in a position where she lacks power, where she doesn't know her footing. It makes her feel awkward and she hates that feeling. And stalling he might have been, and no poet he is, but it is from the heart. It is always from the heart with him, and it is one of the many things Gamora does love about him.]

You fool.

[It's that soft tone, tender. But he was and is her fool. Always. Just like her love for him. Always.

It's that half step into him, and while Gamora might not be the touchy feely type, not one to skip or stop to smell the flowers or generally invading other's personal spaces, it doesn't stop her from ducking her head against his chest or slipping her arms around his waist, from breathing in deeply and squeezing tightly.]

[ It's a common enough epithet that something bittersweet lurches in him with it – because he recognizes the tone, recognizes the affection behind it, and he breathes out another quiet laugh, though this one might be a little rougher, a little more choked.

The instant she steps into his space, and the instant she hugs him, he curls his own arms protectively around her shoulders, tucking his cheek against her hair. And maybe his grip on her is a tight enough to be stifling, but he doesn't really care. It's been years since he's had the opportunity to do this, and grief and relief are both swarming through him in equal measure.

He dredges up an unsteady smile and manages to imbue some lightness into his voice: ]

I might be a fool, but you like me anyway.

[Years for one and not for the other. If she closes her eyes tight enough, she can still recall the anguish on his face from the last time that Gamora had seen them. She doubts that time would change it for either of them, and while she might generally protest any extreme or overt displays of affection, she doesn't mind it in this morning. Doesn't mind how his arms confine her, cut off her awareness of her surroundings, because in this moment, her focus is solely on him. The warm of his skin, the familiar scent of him (although perhaps a little less grimy than he sometimes was) and the soft thud of his heart against her ear.

She'd missed them all in those last days, something fierce and hard. Had thought of a million ways to return, although none had come to fruition. Then again, no plan she had attempted had turned out as she had thought, right down to the switchblade on Vormir.]

Most of the time.

[That soft murmur that is surprisingly level. She lets it linger there for a heart beat or two, before she does add more.]

Love you, always.

the city; inbox

text: un: gamora

@star.lord

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