[ she cuts him off (again with his first name), stern but lacking the same edge there might have been previously. after a brief flash of hesitation, she reaches out with her good hand, resting it tentatively on his knee — though there is nothing tentative or reluctant about her tone. ]
It was chaos no one could have anticipated, and you are not at fault for acting on what was assumed to be reasonable information. You didn't fail us for a situation you could not control, and we made it no easier by breaking ranks so quickly. But we're all alive and well, and you helped to see us through.
[ she doesn't make reassurance a habit, nor does she often see a need to offer it to quill. but moments like these, when he starts to fall into this pattern, she can't help wanting to put things into perspective for him — because she knows he won't do it for himself. ]
The only person blaming you for today is yourself.
[ their teammates are hardly ones to be shy about their opinions and grievances; frustration after the fight had been directed far more at their quarry and inaccurate intel than at peter — and they certainly would have told him if they held him accountable for that mess. ]
[ And for the second time today, when she says his name, he shuts up, startled. On instinct, his gaze snaps down to his lap – because this time, it feels like the lecture voice. The I'm not mad, I'm disappointed voice. And he braces himself for impact.
He's not prepared for her to reach out, to rest her hand on his knee, and he follows the line of her arm up to her face, staring at her in astonishment. His heartbeat kicks up, pounding against the inside of his ribs. His mouth goes dry, and he realizes, as if for the first time, just how damn close she is. Peter's always found Gamora drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous, but—
He finds he likes her best in these quiet moments, when conviction blazes in her eyes, something quietly fierce and determined.
The problem, though, is that it's difficult to find it in himself to agree with her, because he keeps thinking, If Yondu were running this job, none of this shit would've happened. And Yondu might be a fucking dickweed, but he was an effective dickweed. A fucking asshole who knew what he was doing, while Peter—
Well. Peter's just a fucking asshole, more often than not.
His gaze drops again, down and away to glance at the mess assembled atop the table. Bits of wires and half-formed gadgets. Drax's oil cloths, from maintaining his blades. A forgotten twig, here and there, left behind from pruning Groot. Gamora's comb. Peter's Walkman. He lets out a slow breath, picks at a crease in his trousers. ]
Is this— [ he gestures to the table. ] Are we— is it working?
the team is already an improbable mishmash of people who were otherwise just not team players. rocket and groot are the only ones who have some semblance of teamwork, but the rest of them? they can hold it together sometimes, but then days like today, when they're caught so badly off guard...
sometimes that cooperation just falls apart.
she's quiet for a moment, like she's genuinely considering his question. ]
I do not think today was indicative of us as a whole.
Things will go badly; that is an eventuality. The way we respond and handle a situation is what matters, and we made it out alive.
[ she sighs, pulling her hand away from peter's knee to lean back in her chair, her gaze following his to the table. ]
I think we have work to do. Today showed our weaknesses as a group, and we need to avoid repeating those mistakes.
[ but she looks back at peter, still with that steady, quiet determination. ]
But do you genuinely think this is not working?
Edited (when u see a typo the instant you reply) 2017-02-20 19:50 (UTC)
[ Peter takes a few moments to gather his thoughts, staring moodily at the table.
He's always been about the path of least resistance, after all, and in this case, that particular path means calling this quits. Going their separate ways. Because if they're going to keep facing failures like today, if they're just going to get hurt like this, over and over—
Well.
That sucks. ]
I guess... [ Slowly, picking and choosing the words. ] I guess I'm just wondering if...
[ He scrubs his face. ]
I dunno that we can keep doing this. Fucking up this badly.
[ gamora doesn't reply at first, just looking at him, watching. ]
This is dangerous work. Things will go wrong. But I believe—
[ she stops herself, frowning. it's hard to articulate the way she feels about the team (because if there's anything gamora does not do, it's acknowledge or, even worse, discuss her feelings). but after everything they've managed together, after what the guardians have done for her with their very existence... she knows that this is not something she wants to lose.
and if that isn't massive for her, she doesn't know what is. ]
[ That manages to surprise him into silence, and he looks over at her again, as if waiting for the other foot to drop. Some kind of "but..." to unravel that whole thing.
It's small, but it's far more than he ever expected from Gamora, and he feels that tight knot of anxiety ease a little.
He nods slowly, dropping both hands to his lap. ]
... Yeah. I think you're right.
[ And a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, small and barely there. ]
[ ...and it's said completely nonchalant, too, with the vaguest hint of a smile on her lips, but she also knows that the dramatic improvement peter's made in their training probably helped a great deal today.
(if gamora was one to say it, she might have even told him that she's proud of him.
as it stands, it's more along the lines of, "you stayed alive. keep doing that.") ]
[ that "thank you" definitely catches her off guard, and she blinks at him for a moment, but then that vague smile is just a touch warmer. a little bigger.
(but just slightly.) ]
You're welcome.
[ and she straightens in her chair, reaching up finally to touch the braid and feel what he's managed to do. ]
[ Peter's nose wrinkles at that, arms crossing over his chest as he lifts his chin. ]
Not bad? That's all? That's probably the best damn braid in the galaxy, I'll have you know.
[ it isn't.
It's slightly crooked, thanks to lack of practice, and a tiny loop of hair may be sticking out from when he didn't properly comb through the strains with his fingers as he gathered more hair for the braid, but—
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ she cuts him off (again with his first name), stern but lacking the same edge there might have been previously. after a brief flash of hesitation, she reaches out with her good hand, resting it tentatively on his knee — though there is nothing tentative or reluctant about her tone. ]
It was chaos no one could have anticipated, and you are not at fault for acting on what was assumed to be reasonable information. You didn't fail us for a situation you could not control, and we made it no easier by breaking ranks so quickly. But we're all alive and well, and you helped to see us through.
[ she doesn't make reassurance a habit, nor does she often see a need to offer it to quill. but moments like these, when he starts to fall into this pattern, she can't help wanting to put things into perspective for him — because she knows he won't do it for himself. ]
The only person blaming you for today is yourself.
[ their teammates are hardly ones to be shy about their opinions and grievances; frustration after the fight had been directed far more at their quarry and inaccurate intel than at peter — and they certainly would have told him if they held him accountable for that mess. ]
no subject
He's not prepared for her to reach out, to rest her hand on his knee, and he follows the line of her arm up to her face, staring at her in astonishment. His heartbeat kicks up, pounding against the inside of his ribs. His mouth goes dry, and he realizes, as if for the first time, just how damn close she is. Peter's always found Gamora drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous, but—
He finds he likes her best in these quiet moments, when conviction blazes in her eyes, something quietly fierce and determined.
The problem, though, is that it's difficult to find it in himself to agree with her, because he keeps thinking, If Yondu were running this job, none of this shit would've happened. And Yondu might be a fucking dickweed, but he was an effective dickweed. A fucking asshole who knew what he was doing, while Peter—
Well. Peter's just a fucking asshole, more often than not.
His gaze drops again, down and away to glance at the mess assembled atop the table. Bits of wires and half-formed gadgets. Drax's oil cloths, from maintaining his blades. A forgotten twig, here and there, left behind from pruning Groot. Gamora's comb. Peter's Walkman. He lets out a slow breath, picks at a crease in his trousers. ]
Is this— [ he gestures to the table. ] Are we— is it working?
no subject
well, that's the question, isn't it?
the team is already an improbable mishmash of people who were otherwise just not team players. rocket and groot are the only ones who have some semblance of teamwork, but the rest of them? they can hold it together sometimes, but then days like today, when they're caught so badly off guard...
sometimes that cooperation just falls apart.
she's quiet for a moment, like she's genuinely considering his question. ]
I do not think today was indicative of us as a whole.
Things will go badly; that is an eventuality. The way we respond and handle a situation is what matters, and we made it out alive.
[ she sighs, pulling her hand away from peter's knee to lean back in her chair, her gaze following his to the table. ]
I think we have work to do. Today showed our weaknesses as a group, and we need to avoid repeating those mistakes.
[ but she looks back at peter, still with that steady, quiet determination. ]
But do you genuinely think this is not working?
no subject
He's always been about the path of least resistance, after all, and in this case, that particular path means calling this quits. Going their separate ways. Because if they're going to keep facing failures like today, if they're just going to get hurt like this, over and over—
Well.
That sucks. ]
I guess... [ Slowly, picking and choosing the words. ] I guess I'm just wondering if...
[ He scrubs his face. ]
I dunno that we can keep doing this. Fucking up this badly.
no subject
This is dangerous work. Things will go wrong. But I believe—
[ she stops herself, frowning. it's hard to articulate the way she feels about the team (because if there's anything gamora does not do, it's acknowledge or, even worse, discuss her feelings). but after everything they've managed together, after what the guardians have done for her with their very existence... she knows that this is not something she wants to lose.
and if that isn't massive for her, she doesn't know what is. ]
—I believe we are better together.
no subject
It's small, but it's far more than he ever expected from Gamora, and he feels that tight knot of anxiety ease a little.
He nods slowly, dropping both hands to his lap. ]
... Yeah. I think you're right.
[ And a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, small and barely there. ]
What would I do without you?
no subject
[ ...and it's said completely nonchalant, too, with the vaguest hint of a smile on her lips, but she also knows that the dramatic improvement peter's made in their training probably helped a great deal today.
(if gamora was one to say it, she might have even told him that she's proud of him.
as it stands, it's more along the lines of, "you stayed alive. keep doing that.") ]
no subject
Yeah.
[ And even as he smiles, it takes on a sort of sheepish edge. ]
I'd definitely be dead by now, if it hadn't been for you.
[ The Infinity Stone. Leaping for it and having its power tear through him.
Peter. Take my hand.
He's not sure if he's ever really expressed how goddamn grateful he was for that, for her risking it all on the off-chance it might save him. ]
... Thanks, Gamora. [ It's only a fraction of what he owes her, but it's a start. ]
no subject
(but just slightly.) ]
You're welcome.
[ and she straightens in her chair, reaching up finally to touch the braid and feel what he's managed to do. ]
This isn't bad.
[ well, it's sort of praise. ]
no subject
Not bad? That's all? That's probably the best damn braid in the galaxy, I'll have you know.
[ it isn't.
It's slightly crooked, thanks to lack of practice, and a tiny loop of hair may be sticking out from when he didn't properly comb through the strains with his fingers as he gathered more hair for the braid, but—
It's acceptable, he figures. ]