nostalgiabomb | the city; inbox

[ 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.

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