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[ Gamora's jaw clenches, her gaze hardening as she looks across the room, rather than at him. This isn't easy for her either; it was almost simpler to summon up exactly the right reactions for the lies, but being truly honest? Admitting it to not only Peter but also herself?
She has no frame of reference for it.
And it's even more difficult because he clearly doesn't believe her (and she doesn't blame him for that). ]
This isn't an attempt to spare your feelings, Peter.
[ Maybe it would be less painful to simply leave it alone.
(And she can't help wondering if she's being selfish again.) ]
It was difficult for me because I wanted— differently for us.
[ Because she'd wanted it. Him. Them. Whatever that meant, and she'd been trying to come to it in her own time, trying to figure out how best to approach it without ruining what they already had and the team itself, but—
What options had there been? ]
She has no frame of reference for it.
And it's even more difficult because he clearly doesn't believe her (and she doesn't blame him for that). ]
This isn't an attempt to spare your feelings, Peter.
[ Maybe it would be less painful to simply leave it alone.
(And she can't help wondering if she's being selfish again.) ]
It was difficult for me because I wanted— differently for us.
[ Because she'd wanted it. Him. Them. Whatever that meant, and she'd been trying to come to it in her own time, trying to figure out how best to approach it without ruining what they already had and the team itself, but—
What options had there been? ]
[ Even if she says it isn’t, it feels an awful lot like she is trying to let him down easy.
Peter and that dent in the bulkhead are becoming fast friends, it seems, and his gaze stays fixed on it as she speaks. It feels like rubbing salt on the wound. It feels like she’s just helping him dig a deeper hole. It feels like driving yet another nail through his already exposed heart. And god, he had let himself be so disgustingly open around her. He had practically flayed open his ribs and let her see straight to the core of him. He had let spill every closely guarded secret, every stupid little thought.
( “And what does happily ever after look like?”
“To me, it’s always looked an awful lot like you.”
Jesus Christ.)
But after everything, the least he can do is listen. God knows Gamora did an awful lot of that for him when his father had him brainwashed. ]
Different how?
[ And he asks it dully, like he’s not looking forward to the answer. “As friends,” she probably wants to say. “As teammates.” He can figure that out for himself. ]
Peter and that dent in the bulkhead are becoming fast friends, it seems, and his gaze stays fixed on it as she speaks. It feels like rubbing salt on the wound. It feels like she’s just helping him dig a deeper hole. It feels like driving yet another nail through his already exposed heart. And god, he had let himself be so disgustingly open around her. He had practically flayed open his ribs and let her see straight to the core of him. He had let spill every closely guarded secret, every stupid little thought.
( “And what does happily ever after look like?”
“To me, it’s always looked an awful lot like you.”
Jesus Christ.)
But after everything, the least he can do is listen. God knows Gamora did an awful lot of that for him when his father had him brainwashed. ]
Different how?
[ And he asks it dully, like he’s not looking forward to the answer. “As friends,” she probably wants to say. “As teammates.” He can figure that out for himself. ]
[ She's quiet at first, because admitting it aloud isn't the same, especially here and now. She isn't even sure if she should or if maybe it would be best to simply slam this particular door and lock it before more damage is done.
Leave it. Leave it. Leave— ]
... "Happily ever after" still seems the best way to describe it.
[ That kind of different. Perhaps that was what had made it so painful on Ego's planet; despite the circumstances, the pretending had been exactly what she wanted.
But— another time, another place. ]
Leave it. Leave it. Leave— ]
... "Happily ever after" still seems the best way to describe it.
[ That kind of different. Perhaps that was what had made it so painful on Ego's planet; despite the circumstances, the pretending had been exactly what she wanted.
But— another time, another place. ]
Edited (adds words whatevs) 2017-07-19 16:45 (UTC)
[ The words don’t make sense, and he frowns at the bulkhead. She must mean differently, he thinks, or else he heard her wrong.
Or else he heard her right, which just makes the whole fucking mess even worse for having completely destroyed every one of his chances. ]
... What?
[ Punched out of him, and he winces as soon as he asks it. Because if this is leading up to Gamora explaining how thoroughly he razed what could have been to the ground when he already knows, he doesn’t want to hear it. It’d just be twisting the barb that’s already stabbed through his chest.
But with everything he’s already living with, what’s another heap of regret?
Just add it to the pile, he thinks, with a sort of flippant, mental wave of his hand. ]
Or else he heard her right, which just makes the whole fucking mess even worse for having completely destroyed every one of his chances. ]
... What?
[ Punched out of him, and he winces as soon as he asks it. Because if this is leading up to Gamora explaining how thoroughly he razed what could have been to the ground when he already knows, he doesn’t want to hear it. It’d just be twisting the barb that’s already stabbed through his chest.
But with everything he’s already living with, what’s another heap of regret?
Just add it to the pile, he thinks, with a sort of flippant, mental wave of his hand. ]
[ Again, she needs a moment to consider her words, to decide how best to explain herself. ]
All of that with you— I was trying to understand how best to approach it before we went to that planet.
[ She frowns, thinking back to all of the small steps they'd taken, to all of the moments they'd had together. Dancing on the Milano. Sitting in the belly of the ship sharing a bottle as she listened to him tell stories. Letting him braid her hair as the patter of his voice filled the quiet around them.
Imdari.
There had been so much building into everything else, and she'd— wanted it. ]
That unspoken thing.
[ It's the best way to describe it all, isn't it? ]
It... all of it was important to me. I didn't want to ruin it.
[ She scoffs softly, not taking her eyes off of the bulkhead. ]
I did that anyway.
All of that with you— I was trying to understand how best to approach it before we went to that planet.
[ She frowns, thinking back to all of the small steps they'd taken, to all of the moments they'd had together. Dancing on the Milano. Sitting in the belly of the ship sharing a bottle as she listened to him tell stories. Letting him braid her hair as the patter of his voice filled the quiet around them.
Imdari.
There had been so much building into everything else, and she'd— wanted it. ]
That unspoken thing.
[ It's the best way to describe it all, isn't it? ]
It... all of it was important to me. I didn't want to ruin it.
[ She scoffs softly, not taking her eyes off of the bulkhead. ]
I did that anyway.
[ It hurts, hearing all that, realizing just how close they had come to being— something. How close they were to finally doing something about whatever it was that lay between them. Peter had waited so long for exactly that, biding his time, trying to cultivate a perfect moment, ever since they met on Xandar. Ever since they swayed together on Knowhere. Ever since Gamora took his hand, standing among the ruins of the Dark Aster, and said they were a family. Ever since he looked at that ugly, barbed thing driving itself into his heart and thought, This is gonna be a problem.
And then they dashed themselves and what might have been on the rocks of Ego’s planet.
Which is about his luck, all things considered.
But when she continues on, he frowns. He finally turns away to look at her, confusion clear on his face. ]
You... you didn’t. Ruin anything, I mean.
[ He rubs at an eye, collecting the words, thinking back on everything that happened (though he does it reluctantly). ]
—Listen. If this is— if this is about how I reacted, back at—
[ bleached white bones turned ghostly by the scattered glow of Ego’s veins. heaps and heaps of remains, telling the tale of how many families ego had fucked over, how many dreams he shattered when his progeny wasn’t good enough— ]
—back in the caverns. I was— confused. And angry. And overwhelmed. It was my fault. Not yours.
And then they dashed themselves and what might have been on the rocks of Ego’s planet.
Which is about his luck, all things considered.
But when she continues on, he frowns. He finally turns away to look at her, confusion clear on his face. ]
You... you didn’t. Ruin anything, I mean.
[ He rubs at an eye, collecting the words, thinking back on everything that happened (though he does it reluctantly). ]
—Listen. If this is— if this is about how I reacted, back at—
[ bleached white bones turned ghostly by the scattered glow of Ego’s veins. heaps and heaps of remains, telling the tale of how many families ego had fucked over, how many dreams he shattered when his progeny wasn’t good enough— ]
—back in the caverns. I was— confused. And angry. And overwhelmed. It was my fault. Not yours.
Edited 2017-07-19 18:46 (UTC)
[ The mention of the caverns makes that dark thing in her chest twist again as it summons up the memory of how he'd looked at her.
(And then the way he wouldn't even lift his eyes to her face, like he couldn't stand the sight of her. She's sure that fed into how bothered she'd been in the past weeks when he just... wouldn't look at her, would barely even acknowledge her.
Left to the unknown, to having no idea what he was thinking or feeling, she hadn't known if he was disgusted by her now that he had time to think about everything she'd done. She'd assumed that she'd humiliated him, on top of everything else, and while she'd never cared in the past how she might have embarrassed or shamed someone... she'd never wanted Peter to feel that. That had never been the intention of everything that she'd done.
If anyone should be ashamed, it should be Gamora.)
She barely inclines her chin to glance at him sidelong across the bunk, meeting his eyes with that unconvinced look. There's pain beneath it all, as much as she tries to keep it at bay. ]
It was entirely my fault, Peter. I knew your feelings for me, and I used that for my own gains.
[ Saying it aloud somehow feels worse.
She looks down at her hands instead, shaking her head. ]
I didn't want then to be the time that I told you how I felt, and instead, I leveraged it against you to keep you alive.
[ Frowning at her lap, she curls her fingers until her rings bite into skin. ]
How do you not hate me for that? How could you possibly still feel— any of that?
[ He'd said "I love you," and she'd felt how much he meant it then.
But that was months ago, and things have changed. ]
(And then the way he wouldn't even lift his eyes to her face, like he couldn't stand the sight of her. She's sure that fed into how bothered she'd been in the past weeks when he just... wouldn't look at her, would barely even acknowledge her.
Left to the unknown, to having no idea what he was thinking or feeling, she hadn't known if he was disgusted by her now that he had time to think about everything she'd done. She'd assumed that she'd humiliated him, on top of everything else, and while she'd never cared in the past how she might have embarrassed or shamed someone... she'd never wanted Peter to feel that. That had never been the intention of everything that she'd done.
If anyone should be ashamed, it should be Gamora.)
She barely inclines her chin to glance at him sidelong across the bunk, meeting his eyes with that unconvinced look. There's pain beneath it all, as much as she tries to keep it at bay. ]
It was entirely my fault, Peter. I knew your feelings for me, and I used that for my own gains.
[ Saying it aloud somehow feels worse.
She looks down at her hands instead, shaking her head. ]
I didn't want then to be the time that I told you how I felt, and instead, I leveraged it against you to keep you alive.
[ Frowning at her lap, she curls her fingers until her rings bite into skin. ]
How do you not hate me for that? How could you possibly still feel— any of that?
[ He'd said "I love you," and she'd felt how much he meant it then.
But that was months ago, and things have changed. ]
[ He snorts out a laugh, almost disbelieving. ]
... Gamora. You were trying to keep me alive. [ Something he still doesn’t agree with. Something he still thinks was the wrong move.
But there’s no turning back time to fix that decision, just like there’s no way to go back and stop himself from letting Ego turn him so quickly, or to stop himself from ever stepping foot on that planet. They’re both living with their mistakes, and they’ll both have to try to make up for them for the rest of their lives. ]
You played the hand you were dealt. You knew what would work, and you used it.
Like I said: I get it. I understand. I don’t hate you for any of it. And if I were in your shoes... I dunno that I’d do anything differently.
[ And he had two weeks of solitude to wrap his head around it. Plenty of time to work out his anger and his shame and his humiliation, until he finally looped around to a dull, resigned understanding. ]
I thought...
[ Cards on the table, Quill, he thinks. It’s only fair. Because he knows how difficult it is for Gamora to speak what she feels, and these months have been a fucking mess, built on the backs of lies after lies. Peter had been honest, because he practically had to be, but since then, he’s shut himself off. It was easier, hiding himself away, keeping to himself, but—
He can tell this is hurting Gamora, his silence, and that’s one less thing he needs on his conscience. ]
I thought— you hated me. For— all of it. I figured you just thought I was some brand new asshole in a long chain of assholes in your life, forcing you into shit you didn’t want to be involved in. Making you do shit you had to go along with it, because you didn’t want to die.
[ Like Ronan. Like Thanos.
Peter was already a monster for slaughtering all those people, destroying all those planets. But what he did to Gamora was just the fucking cherry on top of a monstrous sundae. ]
I never wanted to be that guy, but that’s how it turned out, right?
[ He huffs out another breath, letting his hand fall away from his face. ]
I figured you didn’t want to see me, much less talk to me. I mean, why the hell would you, after— [ He gestures vaguely. ] You know.
[ But he still felt – still feels – as he had, back on Ego’s planet. Those weeks pinned down in his quarters had been a rough patch, admittedly, but as time dragged on, when he had any energy left to think, he realized nothing had really changed.
“You feel... love,” Mantis had said, back before the shitstorm started.
Yeah, Peter thinks now, staring down at the deck. Yeah, I really fucking do.
But what’s the point, when every single bridge has been burned? ]
... Gamora. You were trying to keep me alive. [ Something he still doesn’t agree with. Something he still thinks was the wrong move.
But there’s no turning back time to fix that decision, just like there’s no way to go back and stop himself from letting Ego turn him so quickly, or to stop himself from ever stepping foot on that planet. They’re both living with their mistakes, and they’ll both have to try to make up for them for the rest of their lives. ]
You played the hand you were dealt. You knew what would work, and you used it.
Like I said: I get it. I understand. I don’t hate you for any of it. And if I were in your shoes... I dunno that I’d do anything differently.
[ And he had two weeks of solitude to wrap his head around it. Plenty of time to work out his anger and his shame and his humiliation, until he finally looped around to a dull, resigned understanding. ]
I thought...
[ Cards on the table, Quill, he thinks. It’s only fair. Because he knows how difficult it is for Gamora to speak what she feels, and these months have been a fucking mess, built on the backs of lies after lies. Peter had been honest, because he practically had to be, but since then, he’s shut himself off. It was easier, hiding himself away, keeping to himself, but—
He can tell this is hurting Gamora, his silence, and that’s one less thing he needs on his conscience. ]
I thought— you hated me. For— all of it. I figured you just thought I was some brand new asshole in a long chain of assholes in your life, forcing you into shit you didn’t want to be involved in. Making you do shit you had to go along with it, because you didn’t want to die.
[ Like Ronan. Like Thanos.
Peter was already a monster for slaughtering all those people, destroying all those planets. But what he did to Gamora was just the fucking cherry on top of a monstrous sundae. ]
I never wanted to be that guy, but that’s how it turned out, right?
[ He huffs out another breath, letting his hand fall away from his face. ]
I figured you didn’t want to see me, much less talk to me. I mean, why the hell would you, after— [ He gestures vaguely. ] You know.
[ But he still felt – still feels – as he had, back on Ego’s planet. Those weeks pinned down in his quarters had been a rough patch, admittedly, but as time dragged on, when he had any energy left to think, he realized nothing had really changed.
“You feel... love,” Mantis had said, back before the shitstorm started.
Yeah, Peter thinks now, staring down at the deck. Yeah, I really fucking do.
But what’s the point, when every single bridge has been burned? ]
[ His words are finally enough to make her turn and look at him, confusion and surprise replacing that grimace. ]
You thought...
[ She stops herself, shaking her head in bewilderment. Through the entire mess, there hadn't been a moment that she hated Peter for what she had to do. In the beginning, she was angry at him for everything Ego was responsible for, and she was desperate to see it all through, but— seeing flashes of Peter underneath his father's eternity made her determined, more than anything, to pull him free. She knows he never would have wanted it to be that way between them, and she doesn't blame him for leaning into what she'd offered him. That had been the point of it, after all, and if he hadn't been willing, her plan would have failed. ]
I don't hate you for this, Peter. Nor do I believe you forced me into anything. I made those choices because I valued your life, but I don't blame you for them.
I was manipulating you.
[ And it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth to think about it that way, that she'd done that to her best friend. ]
I'd just decided to accept the consequences and that losing... this would be a worthy price to see you alive.
[ She shakes her head, forcing herself to take a slower, steadying breath. She still feels like she's reeling in the aftermath, trying to tamp down her own emotions and everything those months had brought to the surface.
(Somewhere, she hates that it feels like she'd had a taste of what being with him would be like. And she'd— loved that. Wanted it.
But she wanted the reality, not a fantasy smothered in stardust and blood.) ]
You thought...
[ She stops herself, shaking her head in bewilderment. Through the entire mess, there hadn't been a moment that she hated Peter for what she had to do. In the beginning, she was angry at him for everything Ego was responsible for, and she was desperate to see it all through, but— seeing flashes of Peter underneath his father's eternity made her determined, more than anything, to pull him free. She knows he never would have wanted it to be that way between them, and she doesn't blame him for leaning into what she'd offered him. That had been the point of it, after all, and if he hadn't been willing, her plan would have failed. ]
I don't hate you for this, Peter. Nor do I believe you forced me into anything. I made those choices because I valued your life, but I don't blame you for them.
I was manipulating you.
[ And it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth to think about it that way, that she'd done that to her best friend. ]
I'd just decided to accept the consequences and that losing... this would be a worthy price to see you alive.
[ She shakes her head, forcing herself to take a slower, steadying breath. She still feels like she's reeling in the aftermath, trying to tamp down her own emotions and everything those months had brought to the surface.
(Somewhere, she hates that it feels like she'd had a taste of what being with him would be like. And she'd— loved that. Wanted it.
But she wanted the reality, not a fantasy smothered in stardust and blood.) ]
[ In his darker moments? Yeah, Peter would agree – it was manipulation, not much different from what Ego had done, except for intention. And it’s the intention that’s important, that makes Peter more inclined to let it all slide.
He falls quiet, shoulders sagging with the weight of it all, and he cards his fingers through his hair again. The curls stand up at odd angles when he does, but he doesn’t notice. ]
Well, I don’t blame you for what happened. You don’t have to apologize, because there’s nothing to apologize for.
[ Quietly, sincerely. ]
And if you really don’t blame me for what I— did to you... [ And he says this uncertainly, like he thinks Gamora is making the wrong choice, here, but he huffs out a sharp breath and presses on. ]
Where does that leave us?
He falls quiet, shoulders sagging with the weight of it all, and he cards his fingers through his hair again. The curls stand up at odd angles when he does, but he doesn’t notice. ]
Well, I don’t blame you for what happened. You don’t have to apologize, because there’s nothing to apologize for.
[ Quietly, sincerely. ]
And if you really don’t blame me for what I— did to you... [ And he says this uncertainly, like he thinks Gamora is making the wrong choice, here, but he huffs out a sharp breath and presses on. ]
Where does that leave us?
[ She still feels almost stunned to hear it. And his question? How does she even begin to find an answer, after she's spent so much time thinking that she'd sacrificed their friendship and anything else when she'd made her choice?
She doesn't reply at first, offering a small shake of her head. ]
I don't know.
[ And she doesn't like admitting that, but she's still lost in the wake of everything that's happened. ]
I don't want it to have changed things.
[ That's honest, at least. She doesn't want to have effectively slammed the door on their friendship or even that unspoken thing between them (though can it hardly be called "unspoken" anymore?). But she's also terrified that now, he doesn't trust whatever she might say, and she has no idea how to begin repairing that. ]
She doesn't reply at first, offering a small shake of her head. ]
I don't know.
[ And she doesn't like admitting that, but she's still lost in the wake of everything that's happened. ]
I don't want it to have changed things.
[ That's honest, at least. She doesn't want to have effectively slammed the door on their friendship or even that unspoken thing between them (though can it hardly be called "unspoken" anymore?). But she's also terrified that now, he doesn't trust whatever she might say, and she has no idea how to begin repairing that. ]
[ He lets out a slow breath, shaking his head. ]
I don’t either, but...
[ Things are wildly different, now. Maybe Gamora wanted something before all this – Peter knows for sure he had – but now? How could she ever? And would it even work, with Ego’s planet looming behind them, casting a shadow?
Peter’s going to be second-guessing everything for a while – his own decisions, everyone’s words and intentions. But Ego did that to him, not Gamora. Five weeks since they left the shattered remains of the planet behind, and he still feels like he barely knows which way is up without his father pointing the way.
He hates it.
He runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks, as he selects his words. Then, with a cautious sort of hope, ]
... Can we still be friends, at least?
I don’t either, but...
[ Things are wildly different, now. Maybe Gamora wanted something before all this – Peter knows for sure he had – but now? How could she ever? And would it even work, with Ego’s planet looming behind them, casting a shadow?
Peter’s going to be second-guessing everything for a while – his own decisions, everyone’s words and intentions. But Ego did that to him, not Gamora. Five weeks since they left the shattered remains of the planet behind, and he still feels like he barely knows which way is up without his father pointing the way.
He hates it.
He runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks, as he selects his words. Then, with a cautious sort of hope, ]
... Can we still be friends, at least?
[ Her expression softens, and this time, she doesn't hesitate. ]
I would like that very much.
[ Because she misses Peter more than anything. She misses her best friend, and she misses everything that it meant to her. She doesn't want to leave it by the wayside, but she knows she would respect Peter's decision if that was what he wanted. But—
If this is what he wants instead? Friendship instead of this cold distance?
She will accept it in a heartbeat.
She's a little slow about it, uncertain here, but she reaches out, resting her hand on the bed near him, palm up. A small offering, but still something. ]
I would like that very much.
[ Because she misses Peter more than anything. She misses her best friend, and she misses everything that it meant to her. She doesn't want to leave it by the wayside, but she knows she would respect Peter's decision if that was what he wanted. But—
If this is what he wants instead? Friendship instead of this cold distance?
She will accept it in a heartbeat.
She's a little slow about it, uncertain here, but she reaches out, resting her hand on the bed near him, palm up. A small offering, but still something. ]
[ The corner of his mouth twitches up a little, just the barest shadow of a smile. Part of him still doesn't want to get his hopes up, part of him wants to remind him where hoping got him, last time, and—
It'll pay to be cautious, he thinks. He's already carrying one hell of a burden, but maybe he's allowed just one little ray of sunshine.
At last, he reaches out, too, hand resting tentatively over hers. The touch is light, uncertain, like he expects either of them might need to pull away.
Quietly, ]
We'll work on it, then.
It'll pay to be cautious, he thinks. He's already carrying one hell of a burden, but maybe he's allowed just one little ray of sunshine.
At last, he reaches out, too, hand resting tentatively over hers. The touch is light, uncertain, like he expects either of them might need to pull away.
Quietly, ]
We'll work on it, then.
[ The nightmares don't come again.
Gamora initially prepares herself for them, braces herself for what had become so commonplace after their first encounter with N'Calo. The nightmares had been getting progressively worse, and she almost expects them to continue doing so, but— they don't. Even the nights spent in her own bunk instead of Peter's bed she finds to be no more dramatic than before, and she doesn't feel trapped, helpless, or weak again in her sleep. Bad dreams come and bad dreams go, but the terrors that had rooted themselves in her mind thanks to N'Calo's influence don't drag her into their depths again.
She's sure that it helps when she spends most of her nights in Peter's bed. She's taken to falling asleep there more often than her own bunk in the coming weeks (though a day or two will pass when she finds quiet and comfortable solitude in her own room). It's becoming... nearly a habit, after what approaches their second week since they dealt with N'Calo. She'd been doing it for longer before then, of course, after that night in the motel, but the difference now is that she no longer sneaks out before the day cycle arrives. Instead, she sleeps through the night, waking often before Peter or when he does, and she even seems content to lie with him for a few moments in his large bed, legs tangled together, fingers winding into his messy hair as she appreciates the way he looks with sleep still clinging to his eyes.
(Though his breath is atrocious, she informs him one morning, before she slides out of the bed to return to her own bunk and change into proper clothes.)
She likes it, she's discovered, and simply finds herself at ease around Peter, even in his bed. Without pressure or expectations, it's easy, but— She also realizes she has no idea what any of it means.
Talking still hasn't quite happened, but that's easy to attribute to the workload they suddenly find heaped onto them. The Nova Corps has work for them to see to, and a couple quick bounties prove to be too convenient to pass up. They work to make up for the time spent dealing with N'Calo and the units expended on all of their travel, and falling back into a rhythm happens with the same ease as always. Unfortunately, it always means that the team drags their carcasses back onto the ship after the second bounty of the week, and they're simply exhausted.
It leaves little time to discuss their situation when all either of them wants to do is collapse into bed.
... The biggest downside of neglecting such a conversation, however, is that Gamora isn't entirely sure what to make of what it all means, and she has no answers to offer when Mantis catches her leaving Peter's room one morning.
Mantis blinks wide, curious eyes at her as she pauses in the hall, looking between Gamora and the door to the captain's quarters. "Do you sleep in his room because you are together?" she asks, with an air of innocence that doesn't necessarily feel like prying.
Gamora pauses, seeming to consider her response, and then she simply frowns, shaking her head at Mantis. "It's... a thing." Not necessarily an unspoken thing, though she supposes it could once again be defined as such, because they haven't discussed this part of the thing. She has kissed him and they share a bed, but... what else it might mean still exists in that strange void of understanding, where she simply doesn't know how to define what they are or what boundaries might entail for them or what it all may build towards.
She knows that she wants more – whatever that may mean – but she still isn't entirely certain what Peter is looking for. There's been no insistence, no nudges in one direction or another, but she's also convinced that Peter knows by now to mind himself with her, whether for better or for worse. She feels no pressure to reach a decision, and though he's allowed her to come to it in her own time... she thinks she has, but she has no frame of reference, nothing to draw from to define it for herself.
She doesn't want to find herself neck-deep in something with hopes and expectations that Peter may not be interested in – and she also has no desire to ruin what they already have. Peter is her friend, her best friend, and the depth of that connection and intimacy is something she has never before known in her life. She would never trade it for something temporary or fleeting, when she feels most confident that the friendship itself is solid. This is a new variable, an unfamiliar twist in the schema of their interactions, and...
She doesn't want to get hurt.
And she doesn't want to hurt him.
Figuring all of this out, trying to be open about what they want – that's likely why they should have this conversation.
Sooner rather than later.
But in the manner that seems to be expected for the Guardians, things get in the way.
A job from the Nova Corps has them flying across the system to deal with some small-time drug dealer peddling something called Dust – an inhalant with the unfortunate guarantee to give the user a sudden burst of unreasonable strength and temporary invulnerability. Understandably, an inconvenience for the Nova Corps when it finds its way into the hands of criminals foolish enough to take the drug and commit whatever crimes they see fit.
Taking care of this particular drug dealer should be simple – which, as usual, is not a phrase that should ever enter the Guardians' vocabulary.
Peter and Gamora go in first. It means rousting the drug dealer from his safehouse, in the far reaches of some warehouse district on a Lorakian moon. Lorak itself isn't the most welcoming of planets, and its moons are nearly all industrial, built on factories and machinery, and so crowded and packed with steel that it makes for a convenient location to hide away in between stints of selling Dust. The dealer chose well, if Gamora were inclined to give him credit, but it also means that the cityscape made almost entirely of factories is packed tightly together with small streets and plenty of places to hide – and that makes their job difficult.
With Gamora covering Peter's back, they find themselves easing into a warehouse so quiet Gamora can hear the grinding of gears and firing of pistons literal buildings away.
It's quiet.
Too quiet.
Gamora is checking every potential corner, and then—
The shooting starts.
Gamora reaches out on instinct to grab Peter by the collar of his jacket and yank him behind cover, just as a rain of bullets peppers the ground where they were just standing. ]
And there's more of them.
[ She growls in annoyance as gunfire hits their cover from multiple angles, and instead of reaching for Godslayer, she swings around the rifle slung over her back. They're pinned down, and attempting to burst out of cover for melee combat would not be her best choice.
Fortunately, they both do guns now. ]
Gamora initially prepares herself for them, braces herself for what had become so commonplace after their first encounter with N'Calo. The nightmares had been getting progressively worse, and she almost expects them to continue doing so, but— they don't. Even the nights spent in her own bunk instead of Peter's bed she finds to be no more dramatic than before, and she doesn't feel trapped, helpless, or weak again in her sleep. Bad dreams come and bad dreams go, but the terrors that had rooted themselves in her mind thanks to N'Calo's influence don't drag her into their depths again.
She's sure that it helps when she spends most of her nights in Peter's bed. She's taken to falling asleep there more often than her own bunk in the coming weeks (though a day or two will pass when she finds quiet and comfortable solitude in her own room). It's becoming... nearly a habit, after what approaches their second week since they dealt with N'Calo. She'd been doing it for longer before then, of course, after that night in the motel, but the difference now is that she no longer sneaks out before the day cycle arrives. Instead, she sleeps through the night, waking often before Peter or when he does, and she even seems content to lie with him for a few moments in his large bed, legs tangled together, fingers winding into his messy hair as she appreciates the way he looks with sleep still clinging to his eyes.
(Though his breath is atrocious, she informs him one morning, before she slides out of the bed to return to her own bunk and change into proper clothes.)
She likes it, she's discovered, and simply finds herself at ease around Peter, even in his bed. Without pressure or expectations, it's easy, but— She also realizes she has no idea what any of it means.
Talking still hasn't quite happened, but that's easy to attribute to the workload they suddenly find heaped onto them. The Nova Corps has work for them to see to, and a couple quick bounties prove to be too convenient to pass up. They work to make up for the time spent dealing with N'Calo and the units expended on all of their travel, and falling back into a rhythm happens with the same ease as always. Unfortunately, it always means that the team drags their carcasses back onto the ship after the second bounty of the week, and they're simply exhausted.
It leaves little time to discuss their situation when all either of them wants to do is collapse into bed.
... The biggest downside of neglecting such a conversation, however, is that Gamora isn't entirely sure what to make of what it all means, and she has no answers to offer when Mantis catches her leaving Peter's room one morning.
Mantis blinks wide, curious eyes at her as she pauses in the hall, looking between Gamora and the door to the captain's quarters. "Do you sleep in his room because you are together?" she asks, with an air of innocence that doesn't necessarily feel like prying.
Gamora pauses, seeming to consider her response, and then she simply frowns, shaking her head at Mantis. "It's... a thing." Not necessarily an unspoken thing, though she supposes it could once again be defined as such, because they haven't discussed this part of the thing. She has kissed him and they share a bed, but... what else it might mean still exists in that strange void of understanding, where she simply doesn't know how to define what they are or what boundaries might entail for them or what it all may build towards.
She knows that she wants more – whatever that may mean – but she still isn't entirely certain what Peter is looking for. There's been no insistence, no nudges in one direction or another, but she's also convinced that Peter knows by now to mind himself with her, whether for better or for worse. She feels no pressure to reach a decision, and though he's allowed her to come to it in her own time... she thinks she has, but she has no frame of reference, nothing to draw from to define it for herself.
She doesn't want to find herself neck-deep in something with hopes and expectations that Peter may not be interested in – and she also has no desire to ruin what they already have. Peter is her friend, her best friend, and the depth of that connection and intimacy is something she has never before known in her life. She would never trade it for something temporary or fleeting, when she feels most confident that the friendship itself is solid. This is a new variable, an unfamiliar twist in the schema of their interactions, and...
She doesn't want to get hurt.
And she doesn't want to hurt him.
Figuring all of this out, trying to be open about what they want – that's likely why they should have this conversation.
Sooner rather than later.
But in the manner that seems to be expected for the Guardians, things get in the way.
A job from the Nova Corps has them flying across the system to deal with some small-time drug dealer peddling something called Dust – an inhalant with the unfortunate guarantee to give the user a sudden burst of unreasonable strength and temporary invulnerability. Understandably, an inconvenience for the Nova Corps when it finds its way into the hands of criminals foolish enough to take the drug and commit whatever crimes they see fit.
Taking care of this particular drug dealer should be simple – which, as usual, is not a phrase that should ever enter the Guardians' vocabulary.
Peter and Gamora go in first. It means rousting the drug dealer from his safehouse, in the far reaches of some warehouse district on a Lorakian moon. Lorak itself isn't the most welcoming of planets, and its moons are nearly all industrial, built on factories and machinery, and so crowded and packed with steel that it makes for a convenient location to hide away in between stints of selling Dust. The dealer chose well, if Gamora were inclined to give him credit, but it also means that the cityscape made almost entirely of factories is packed tightly together with small streets and plenty of places to hide – and that makes their job difficult.
With Gamora covering Peter's back, they find themselves easing into a warehouse so quiet Gamora can hear the grinding of gears and firing of pistons literal buildings away.
It's quiet.
Too quiet.
Gamora is checking every potential corner, and then—
The shooting starts.
Gamora reaches out on instinct to grab Peter by the collar of his jacket and yank him behind cover, just as a rain of bullets peppers the ground where they were just standing. ]
And there's more of them.
[ She growls in annoyance as gunfire hits their cover from multiple angles, and instead of reaching for Godslayer, she swings around the rifle slung over her back. They're pinned down, and attempting to burst out of cover for melee combat would not be her best choice.
Fortunately, they both do guns now. ]
[ It’s not that Peter doesn’t want to talk about it – because he does. He really does. He’s going insane trying to figure out where he stands in relation to the weird thing growing (festering?) between them. He knows what he wants – her – and he knows nothing can happen until they damn well talk about it, but—
Things keep happening. Which is to be expected when a guy and his friends become interplanetary heroes – you get called on for your services a lot. Those services typically involve a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of violence, but, hey. Don’t fix what ain’t broken, right?
Gamora keeps showing up in his room, which is fine. And sometimes, after particularly exhausting jobs, they wordlessly slog into the captain’s quarters together, flopping into bed and letting sleep claim them. And it’s not that it’s not nice (because it’s so nice), and it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it (because it’s awesome falling asleep wrapped in warmth and occasionally waking up in the same way). It’s that it’s confusing as hell, because it’s a sort of intimacy Peter’s never experienced before. In his head, everything about it screams sexual, because that’s all he knows; he’s seen romance in movies and TV and fairy tales, know what happily-ever-afters are supposed to look like in ideal situations, but all he’s done are quick, meaningless flings and one-night stands.
Falling into bed together? Usually sexual.
Falling into bed with Gamora? Not.
(Though not for lack of wanting, on Peter’s part.)
And that’s fine, really. It’s more than fine. Despite what the others might think, despite his track record to date, Peter does not need everything to lead to sex. But he still prefers some kind of structure, something concrete, so he can know where the hell this is going. Are they a couple? Are they not a couple? Are they working up to being a couple, or is this— it? This weird, in-between phase, where they dance around the idea of what they might be without ever giving it a name?
Peter wants more, because of course he does. He’s greedy and selfish, and after the shit with Ego, after losing Yondu, all he wants is to latch onto the people who mean the most to him and never let go. But that doesn’t mean he wants to force Gamora into anything she’s not comfortable with, so he keeps his mouth shut, forces himself to slow down to a crawl for her sake.
Peter wants Gamora. But if Gamora doesn’t want Peter— then at least he’d like to know so he can lick his wounds and try to move on.
It's bewildering. It’s frustrating. But there’s no time, never a good moment. And whenever Drax shoots him these weird looks, glancing between him and Gamora during mealtimes, Peter wants to slap Drax across the face and tell him to cut that shit out. That whatever Drax thinks he knows is wrong, because Peter and Gamora barely know what’s going on between them.
The moon smells of exhaust and ash, of metal and oil and smoke, and the instant they step foot on it, Peter deploys his newly remade mask, saving himself from sucking down lungfuls of smoke. The warehouse isn’t much better, when they step in, and Peter keeps both guns on hand, watching every shadow like it might jump to life at any moment.
When the report of gunfire rings out, Peter jerks to move out of the way – but it’s never quite fast enough. Luckily for him, Gamora is faster, and she yanks him into the cover of a solid, metal shipping crate. Bullets and plasma blasts hit the crate, pinging off every side except the one they’ve hunkered down behind, and Peter hisses out a swear. ]
I thought this guy was supposed to be bush-league?
[ Shouted over the gunfire. He’s waiting for the right moment to peek around cover and get his bearings, but the barrage is near constant, so far, and there’s little to do but wait.
Well. Wait, and hope that nothing gets through the crate, or that no one has the bright idea of firing on them from above. ]
Things keep happening. Which is to be expected when a guy and his friends become interplanetary heroes – you get called on for your services a lot. Those services typically involve a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of violence, but, hey. Don’t fix what ain’t broken, right?
Gamora keeps showing up in his room, which is fine. And sometimes, after particularly exhausting jobs, they wordlessly slog into the captain’s quarters together, flopping into bed and letting sleep claim them. And it’s not that it’s not nice (because it’s so nice), and it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it (because it’s awesome falling asleep wrapped in warmth and occasionally waking up in the same way). It’s that it’s confusing as hell, because it’s a sort of intimacy Peter’s never experienced before. In his head, everything about it screams sexual, because that’s all he knows; he’s seen romance in movies and TV and fairy tales, know what happily-ever-afters are supposed to look like in ideal situations, but all he’s done are quick, meaningless flings and one-night stands.
Falling into bed together? Usually sexual.
Falling into bed with Gamora? Not.
(Though not for lack of wanting, on Peter’s part.)
And that’s fine, really. It’s more than fine. Despite what the others might think, despite his track record to date, Peter does not need everything to lead to sex. But he still prefers some kind of structure, something concrete, so he can know where the hell this is going. Are they a couple? Are they not a couple? Are they working up to being a couple, or is this— it? This weird, in-between phase, where they dance around the idea of what they might be without ever giving it a name?
Peter wants more, because of course he does. He’s greedy and selfish, and after the shit with Ego, after losing Yondu, all he wants is to latch onto the people who mean the most to him and never let go. But that doesn’t mean he wants to force Gamora into anything she’s not comfortable with, so he keeps his mouth shut, forces himself to slow down to a crawl for her sake.
Peter wants Gamora. But if Gamora doesn’t want Peter— then at least he’d like to know so he can lick his wounds and try to move on.
It's bewildering. It’s frustrating. But there’s no time, never a good moment. And whenever Drax shoots him these weird looks, glancing between him and Gamora during mealtimes, Peter wants to slap Drax across the face and tell him to cut that shit out. That whatever Drax thinks he knows is wrong, because Peter and Gamora barely know what’s going on between them.
The moon smells of exhaust and ash, of metal and oil and smoke, and the instant they step foot on it, Peter deploys his newly remade mask, saving himself from sucking down lungfuls of smoke. The warehouse isn’t much better, when they step in, and Peter keeps both guns on hand, watching every shadow like it might jump to life at any moment.
When the report of gunfire rings out, Peter jerks to move out of the way – but it’s never quite fast enough. Luckily for him, Gamora is faster, and she yanks him into the cover of a solid, metal shipping crate. Bullets and plasma blasts hit the crate, pinging off every side except the one they’ve hunkered down behind, and Peter hisses out a swear. ]
I thought this guy was supposed to be bush-league?
[ Shouted over the gunfire. He’s waiting for the right moment to peek around cover and get his bearings, but the barrage is near constant, so far, and there’s little to do but wait.
Well. Wait, and hope that nothing gets through the crate, or that no one has the bright idea of firing on them from above. ]
Well, it looks like he has friends.
[ Her tone is aggravated, words coming through grit teeth as she keeps her back plastered to the shipping crate. The crate shakes with a particularly big plasma blast, and the smell of something burning is enough to make it clear that shot ate away at some of their cover.
Delightful.
She edges towards the corner of the crate, paying close attention to her ear to pinpoint the direction of one of the shooters – and she does so quickly enough that when she leans around the crate, she sites and fires in the space of a heartbeat.
... Unfortunately, that's all she has time for, but the sound of a body tumbling down to the ground greets her with a loud "thump!" as she reels back around the crate. Fortunately, it's also just enough of an opportunity for her to get eyes on a few of their other opponents. ]
There are two behind the crate directly ahead – one with the plasma cannon.
[ Her tone is aggravated, words coming through grit teeth as she keeps her back plastered to the shipping crate. The crate shakes with a particularly big plasma blast, and the smell of something burning is enough to make it clear that shot ate away at some of their cover.
Delightful.
She edges towards the corner of the crate, paying close attention to her ear to pinpoint the direction of one of the shooters – and she does so quickly enough that when she leans around the crate, she sites and fires in the space of a heartbeat.
... Unfortunately, that's all she has time for, but the sound of a body tumbling down to the ground greets her with a loud "thump!" as she reels back around the crate. Fortunately, it's also just enough of an opportunity for her to get eyes on a few of their other opponents. ]
There are two behind the crate directly ahead – one with the plasma cannon.
A what?
[ Incredulously, because who the hell brings a plasma cannon?
That guy, apparently, and the crate they’re kneeling behind rocks with another impact. Peter takes his chance as the guy is reloading, firing blindly around the corner as a distraction. He doesn’t hit anyone, but it’s enough to scatter a few of their opponents, and the momentary halt in the enemy’s fire means their cover will last them just a little while longer.
All the same— ]
We can’t stay here.
[ Incredulously, because who the hell brings a plasma cannon?
That guy, apparently, and the crate they’re kneeling behind rocks with another impact. Peter takes his chance as the guy is reloading, firing blindly around the corner as a distraction. He doesn’t hit anyone, but it’s enough to scatter a few of their opponents, and the momentary halt in the enemy’s fire means their cover will last them just a little while longer.
All the same— ]
We can’t stay here.
[ Gamora braces herself as the next blast shakes the crate again, glancing over at Peter. ]
I am open to suggestions.
[ He's right, though; they need to get moving and find better cover. Something less likely to be blasted apart by that cannon, if she's allowed to have a preference.
There's a distant whirring sound, followed by a "click!" and a low swear.
She seizes the moment to swing around the corner and fire, though with far less precision than before. The assailants scatter, and Gamora ducks back behind the crate. ]
I am open to suggestions.
[ He's right, though; they need to get moving and find better cover. Something less likely to be blasted apart by that cannon, if she's allowed to have a preference.
There's a distant whirring sound, followed by a "click!" and a low swear.
She seizes the moment to swing around the corner and fire, though with far less precision than before. The assailants scatter, and Gamora ducks back behind the crate. ]
[ Peter darts out of cover at the same moment, and when Gamora’s shots send their enemies scrambling, Peter manages to take one out with a few well-aimed blasts. It’s not the guy with the cannon, which Peter was hoping for, but that guy seems to have hunkered down, troubleshooting the weapon. The others regroup, however, and another hail of gunfire signals Peter’s hasty retreat back to their cover. ]
I can draw their fire?
[ Playing bait was a common job for him, back with the Ravagers. ]
You can pick them off.
I can draw their fire?
[ Playing bait was a common job for him, back with the Ravagers. ]
You can pick them off.
[ Gamora isn't immediately certain how much she approves of this plan, but— at least it's a plan. She gives short, frustrated noise in the back of her throat (not disagreeing, but not necessarily enthusiastic), and she cocks the plasma rifle, shouldering it with a sharp nod. ]
Keep your head down and do not get shot.
[ They've been fortunate enough to avoid any serious gunshot wounds lately, but that doesn't mean they're due for more. ]
On your count.
Keep your head down and do not get shot.
[ They've been fortunate enough to avoid any serious gunshot wounds lately, but that doesn't mean they're due for more. ]
On your count.
You act like I'm trying to get shot on the regular.
[ In reality, he's never trying. It just happens.
All the same, he moves to the edge of their cover, both guns ready. Their enemies continue to pepper the metal shipping crate, and judging by how long it's been going, Peter has to figure they're nearing the ends of their clips.
He looks to Gamora, counting down from three, and when he reaches one, he surges out of cover, firing as he goes. The other men shout as Peter darts out, redirecting their attention to him, but he's just ahead of them, keeping out of the line of fire. ]
[ In reality, he's never trying. It just happens.
All the same, he moves to the edge of their cover, both guns ready. Their enemies continue to pepper the metal shipping crate, and judging by how long it's been going, Peter has to figure they're nearing the ends of their clips.
He looks to Gamora, counting down from three, and when he reaches one, he surges out of cover, firing as he goes. The other men shout as Peter darts out, redirecting their attention to him, but he's just ahead of them, keeping out of the line of fire. ]
[ In circumstances far less dire, Gamora might take the moment to inform Peter that he's practically a magnet when it comes to bullets, but focusing on her shots is far more crucial than arguing with him.
(For now.)
With her rifle at the ready, she waits bare seconds after Peter darts out from behind the shipping crate, using their enemies' split attention to sight a first, second, and third gunner. After the three blasts claim their targets, Gamora moves quickly outside of her own cover to follow after Peter. The constant hail of bullets has subsided, and the few still left have taken cover of their own – though Gamora fires precisely at their hiding spots to remind them that she knows where they ended up.
She's quick to duck behind another crate, closer to Peter but a few paces away.
She glances over to him as she plasters her back against her cover, taking a moment to check over her own rifle. ]
Four left – as long as they don't call in reinforcements. Though at this point, I'm not convinced their aim is worth anything.
(For now.)
With her rifle at the ready, she waits bare seconds after Peter darts out from behind the shipping crate, using their enemies' split attention to sight a first, second, and third gunner. After the three blasts claim their targets, Gamora moves quickly outside of her own cover to follow after Peter. The constant hail of bullets has subsided, and the few still left have taken cover of their own – though Gamora fires precisely at their hiding spots to remind them that she knows where they ended up.
She's quick to duck behind another crate, closer to Peter but a few paces away.
She glances over to him as she plasters her back against her cover, taking a moment to check over her own rifle. ]
Four left – as long as they don't call in reinforcements. Though at this point, I'm not convinced their aim is worth anything.
[ Look, no bullet holes!
When Peter finds his way to new cover, he pops up briefly, laying down a bit of cover fire as Gamora makes her way over. Once Gamora is safely behind something, Peter ducks back down, catching his breath.
At Gamora's words, he scowls behind his mask. ]
C'mon, man. Do you seriously need to tempt fate like that? Saying that kinda shit is just inviting bad luck.
When Peter finds his way to new cover, he pops up briefly, laying down a bit of cover fire as Gamora makes her way over. Once Gamora is safely behind something, Peter ducks back down, catching his breath.
At Gamora's words, he scowls behind his mask. ]
C'mon, man. Do you seriously need to tempt fate like that? Saying that kinda shit is just inviting bad luck.
And you shouldn't rely on luck to win a battle.
[ Though some days it seems that they make it through whatever the galaxy tosses at them by sheer random chance alone. The odds are never in their favor, and yet, somehow, they emerge victorious more often than they probably should.
That feels particularly apt after their most recent run-in with N'Calo.
Gamora takes the opportunity to carefully peer around her cover—
—only to be greeted by another blast from the plasma cannon.
She leans immediately back around in time to avoid catching her hair in the shot, keeping her head down with a low growl. ]
If we deal with the plasma cannon next, the others should be easy enough to pick off. We can't give him the opportunity to keep firing.
[ Though some days it seems that they make it through whatever the galaxy tosses at them by sheer random chance alone. The odds are never in their favor, and yet, somehow, they emerge victorious more often than they probably should.
That feels particularly apt after their most recent run-in with N'Calo.
Gamora takes the opportunity to carefully peer around her cover—
—only to be greeted by another blast from the plasma cannon.
She leans immediately back around in time to avoid catching her hair in the shot, keeping her head down with a low growl. ]
If we deal with the plasma cannon next, the others should be easy enough to pick off. We can't give him the opportunity to keep firing.
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