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[ It's impossible to miss how his smile drops away, how he freezes like she's just driven a knife between his ribs. His voice has lost its light humor, and Gamora feels struck by some unexpected weight, the empty presence of the person Peter wanted to be here instead.
Her fingers curl at her side where she'd held Peter's hand for that brief moment, and she takes a few more steps back, leaving a handful of feet that might as well be an impossibly deep chasm between them. ]
It's late.
[ Her tone isn't cold or unkind – just flat, matter-of-fact. ]
You should be resting for tomorrow.
Her fingers curl at her side where she'd held Peter's hand for that brief moment, and she takes a few more steps back, leaving a handful of feet that might as well be an impossibly deep chasm between them. ]
It's late.
[ Her tone isn't cold or unkind – just flat, matter-of-fact. ]
You should be resting for tomorrow.
[ He glances up, wincing, trying to shove away that knot of hurt. ]
Sorry. It's fine, seriously. I just—
[ He waves a hand, the gesture slow and a little helpless. ]
Deja vu.
Sorry. It's fine, seriously. I just—
[ He waves a hand, the gesture slow and a little helpless. ]
Deja vu.
[ Gamora doesn't look comforted or convinced – more like a wild animal with its hackles raised, ready to fly rather than fight – and maybe even a little frustrated. ]
I don't know what that means, Peter.
[ His Gamora has probably heard that explanation already. His Gamora would probably barely even bat an eye over the words; they would probably make perfect sense to her. But here and now, Gamora doesn't know what he's supposed to mean by "deja vu," and she's never heard of a rubberband man or thumping a tub, and she doesn't dance.
Maybe it was foolish trying to meet him halfway when the only thing that can possibly be gained is reminding him that she isn't his. ]
I don't know what that means, Peter.
[ His Gamora has probably heard that explanation already. His Gamora would probably barely even bat an eye over the words; they would probably make perfect sense to her. But here and now, Gamora doesn't know what he's supposed to mean by "deja vu," and she's never heard of a rubberband man or thumping a tub, and she doesn't dance.
Maybe it was foolish trying to meet him halfway when the only thing that can possibly be gained is reminding him that she isn't his. ]
[ ... Right.
She looks every bit like she's ready to flee, and he's sure he isn't helping matters.
He's absolutely sure, in fact, that he's making things worse.
The silly thing, he thinks, is that everyone assumes he invited Gamora back into the fold because he wants to rekindle something – and maybe a distant, naive part wanted that, too. But the real reason is— he knows better than almost anyone how much being with the Guardians meant for Gamora, how much it meant for her to have a family who didn't give two shits about the blood on her hands.
He knows better than anyone still alive how much it helped her grow.
And he's fucking this up. He's pushing her away. He's crowding her out with the ghost of Gamora before she can even get a handhold.
Maybe he should just— let her be.
He clears his throat, his hand dropping listlessly to his side. ]
The funny feeling you get when you've experienced something before.
She looks every bit like she's ready to flee, and he's sure he isn't helping matters.
He's absolutely sure, in fact, that he's making things worse.
The silly thing, he thinks, is that everyone assumes he invited Gamora back into the fold because he wants to rekindle something – and maybe a distant, naive part wanted that, too. But the real reason is— he knows better than almost anyone how much being with the Guardians meant for Gamora, how much it meant for her to have a family who didn't give two shits about the blood on her hands.
He knows better than anyone still alive how much it helped her grow.
And he's fucking this up. He's pushing her away. He's crowding her out with the ghost of Gamora before she can even get a handhold.
Maybe he should just— let her be.
He clears his throat, his hand dropping listlessly to his side. ]
The funny feeling you get when you've experienced something before.
[ Her next exhale is more of a scoff as she takes another short step back, her eyes turning to the viewport. She shouldn't have encouraged this, she thinks bitterly. She shouldn't have asked about his Gamora or indulged in the music she liked or even just tried to dance.
She still remembers the harsh way he'd snapped at her while he was bleeding out on the Benatar. He'd been right to, she's sure, because Gamora had been overstepping the line of strangers, talking about his Gamora like she had any idea what her other self would want or think or feel. It's so jarring to think that the only difference between herself and the woman Peter knew is a few years, and she still can't help wondering if she would have been in the same place, if she hadn't been yanked out of her own time. She would have grown into the Gamora he loved, she would have been the same woman who fought beside him and the other Guardians. She would have had that life – but someone else already did.
That place has been filled, those experiences already lived, but not by her. This home belongs to someone else. Someone else should be standing on this observation deck with Peter, dancing to songs that they loved. Someone else should be walking these halls, fighting these fights, living this life.
It's not hers, and she feels like a fool for– what? Thinking that maybe it could be?
There's no place for her now, because that spot was never vacated to begin with. The ghost of a woman Gamora is sure she'll never know and never have the chance to become hangs heavily in every hall and around every corner and behind every gaze she meets.
They look at her and see what they want to – and she knows she can only ever fall short. ]
Good night, Peter.
[ And it sounds hollow, defeated as she turns to the door. ]
She still remembers the harsh way he'd snapped at her while he was bleeding out on the Benatar. He'd been right to, she's sure, because Gamora had been overstepping the line of strangers, talking about his Gamora like she had any idea what her other self would want or think or feel. It's so jarring to think that the only difference between herself and the woman Peter knew is a few years, and she still can't help wondering if she would have been in the same place, if she hadn't been yanked out of her own time. She would have grown into the Gamora he loved, she would have been the same woman who fought beside him and the other Guardians. She would have had that life – but someone else already did.
That place has been filled, those experiences already lived, but not by her. This home belongs to someone else. Someone else should be standing on this observation deck with Peter, dancing to songs that they loved. Someone else should be walking these halls, fighting these fights, living this life.
It's not hers, and she feels like a fool for– what? Thinking that maybe it could be?
There's no place for her now, because that spot was never vacated to begin with. The ghost of a woman Gamora is sure she'll never know and never have the chance to become hangs heavily in every hall and around every corner and behind every gaze she meets.
They look at her and see what they want to – and she knows she can only ever fall short. ]
Good night, Peter.
[ And it sounds hollow, defeated as she turns to the door. ]
—Wait.
[ And the word leaves him before he can stop himself. ]
Please. Don't go.
[ Because he has the sinking sensation that if he lets her leave now, she'll be gone before morning. ]
[ And the word leaves him before he can stop himself. ]
Please. Don't go.
[ Because he has the sinking sensation that if he lets her leave now, she'll be gone before morning. ]
[ Gamora doesn't know if she's surprised when he speaks or if she should have expected it.
(He must have to face the dark reality of his Gamora's death, she thinks, if he can't look at her and pretend like nothing has changed.)
Despite her better judgment, she halts in place, pausing for a few heartbeats before turning to look back at him. She looks at his face, really looks at him, and there's a vulnerability in her own that even she isn't aware of. ]
Why?
[ The weight of being here, of not being the one who should be, is a harsher reality than even she could grasp. It's a look into her future, a future stolen away by Thanos just like every other "what-if" that might have been.
She could have had this – this path and this family and this love – and instead, she's been dropped into a dead woman's life to disappoint herself and everyone else who knew this other Gamora. Everything that shaped the woman Peter knew will never happen to her now; every fundamental, defining moment that she'd undergone with the Guardians is in the past, where this Gamora should be.
Instead, she's stranded in the wrong time with nothing but a ghost to show for it. ]
(He must have to face the dark reality of his Gamora's death, she thinks, if he can't look at her and pretend like nothing has changed.)
Despite her better judgment, she halts in place, pausing for a few heartbeats before turning to look back at him. She looks at his face, really looks at him, and there's a vulnerability in her own that even she isn't aware of. ]
Why?
[ The weight of being here, of not being the one who should be, is a harsher reality than even she could grasp. It's a look into her future, a future stolen away by Thanos just like every other "what-if" that might have been.
She could have had this – this path and this family and this love – and instead, she's been dropped into a dead woman's life to disappoint herself and everyone else who knew this other Gamora. Everything that shaped the woman Peter knew will never happen to her now; every fundamental, defining moment that she'd undergone with the Guardians is in the past, where this Gamora should be.
Instead, she's stranded in the wrong time with nothing but a ghost to show for it. ]
[ He's relieved when she stops – though a little less so, once he realizes he has to explain himself.
He's quiet for a few heartbeats, clearly trying to gather his thoughts, before he nods towards their seats again, plopping himself back down in the chair he had claimed. He scrubs at his face, silent for a few breaths more, before he finally comes out and says it: ]
This is fucked up for you.
[ No shit, Sherlock. ]
I mean, I can't claim to know exactly what it's like? But it's— I know that it can't be easy, at least. It's like getting dropped into the middle of a play, and everyone expects you to know all your lines and cues, right?
He's quiet for a few heartbeats, clearly trying to gather his thoughts, before he nods towards their seats again, plopping himself back down in the chair he had claimed. He scrubs at his face, silent for a few breaths more, before he finally comes out and says it: ]
This is fucked up for you.
[ No shit, Sherlock. ]
I mean, I can't claim to know exactly what it's like? But it's— I know that it can't be easy, at least. It's like getting dropped into the middle of a play, and everyone expects you to know all your lines and cues, right?
[ There's something honest in the defeat in Peter's face, enough that when he gestures to the chairs again, she willingly returns to sit opposite him.
Gamora doesn't speak, but she does listen.
She's not used to others empathizing with her, not used to people wanting to understand – but she isn't sure how to trust it. She doesn't know how to believe Peter is reaching out to her genuinely, instead of with a motive (or because he's chasing a ghost).
After a beat of hesitation, she nods. ]
... Right.
[ Maybe he gets it, in a small way, but she doesn't know how much that really means.
Gamora watches him, expectant. ]
Gamora doesn't speak, but she does listen.
She's not used to others empathizing with her, not used to people wanting to understand – but she isn't sure how to trust it. She doesn't know how to believe Peter is reaching out to her genuinely, instead of with a motive (or because he's chasing a ghost).
After a beat of hesitation, she nods. ]
... Right.
[ Maybe he gets it, in a small way, but she doesn't know how much that really means.
Gamora watches him, expectant. ]
Right.
[ He echoes it back, voice a little hollow, before runs a hand down his face again. ]
We aren't— I mean, I dunno. Maybe I can't speak for everyone else. But I'm—
[ ... How the hell does he phrase this?
He lets out a long, frustrated breath, head bowed. ]
You don't have to be her, is what I'm trying to get at. You don't have to fill her shoes or anything.
We're all definitely gonna slip up, admittedly. We're gonna ask you shit that the other Gamora would have an answer to, but that's on us, not on you. 'Cause we know that you're you, and you need the time and the opportunity to figure out what that means for yourself.
[ He echoes it back, voice a little hollow, before runs a hand down his face again. ]
We aren't— I mean, I dunno. Maybe I can't speak for everyone else. But I'm—
[ ... How the hell does he phrase this?
He lets out a long, frustrated breath, head bowed. ]
You don't have to be her, is what I'm trying to get at. You don't have to fill her shoes or anything.
We're all definitely gonna slip up, admittedly. We're gonna ask you shit that the other Gamora would have an answer to, but that's on us, not on you. 'Cause we know that you're you, and you need the time and the opportunity to figure out what that means for yourself.
[ Gamora's eyes stay fixed on Peter, like she can analyze every small movement, the set in his shoulders, the lines in his face.
She doesn't know how to— trust this, how to believe what he's trying to tell her. Because she wants to, and that's the strangest part of this. Months ago, when she first ended up in this timeline, she would have walked out, no matter what Peter tried to say to her. She wouldn't have even entertained listening to him or staying for an explanation.
The first slip probably would have been more than enough.
Her gaze is unwavering and steady, but present.
After another moment of hesitation, ]
What do you want from me, Peter?
[ There's nothing exasperated or accusatory; she's genuinely asking. ]
She doesn't know how to— trust this, how to believe what he's trying to tell her. Because she wants to, and that's the strangest part of this. Months ago, when she first ended up in this timeline, she would have walked out, no matter what Peter tried to say to her. She wouldn't have even entertained listening to him or staying for an explanation.
The first slip probably would have been more than enough.
Her gaze is unwavering and steady, but present.
After another moment of hesitation, ]
What do you want from me, Peter?
[ There's nothing exasperated or accusatory; she's genuinely asking. ]
[ Another slow breath, then, ]
Nothing. Except for you to stay.
[ He rallies himself for a few seconds before he drags his gaze up to meet hers. ]
I know we're a bunch of assholes, but— I dunno. All of us being together helped each of us become... better. I think. Better than we used to be, anyway. Maybe it was just a safety in numbers thing, or maybe it was just knowing that we'd have someone to catch us when we fucked up, but whatever it was, it helped.
And maybe that won't be true for you this time, because we aren't going through the same shit, but at least it's a place to start.
Nothing. Except for you to stay.
[ He rallies himself for a few seconds before he drags his gaze up to meet hers. ]
I know we're a bunch of assholes, but— I dunno. All of us being together helped each of us become... better. I think. Better than we used to be, anyway. Maybe it was just a safety in numbers thing, or maybe it was just knowing that we'd have someone to catch us when we fucked up, but whatever it was, it helped.
And maybe that won't be true for you this time, because we aren't going through the same shit, but at least it's a place to start.
[ Gamora waits again, letting Peter say his piece. She doesn't seem wholly convinced, but again, she has to admit that Peter's logic is compelling. Where would she go, if she left? What would she do? At least here, she has a direction, she has a jumping-off point – and she has people she can help. The Guardians, for all their difficulties, are trying to help.
She thinks she might want to be a part of that – if she and everyone else can stay on the right page. ]
And nothing else?
She thinks she might want to be a part of that – if she and everyone else can stay on the right page. ]
And nothing else?
Nothing else.
[ And his voice is a little hollow again. ]
Probably sounds like bullshit, but it's true.
[ And his voice is a little hollow again. ]
Probably sounds like bullshit, but it's true.
[ The tone of resignation in Peter's voice feels more significant than his actual words. The loss, the unspoken grief—
Gamora knows loss. She can only imagine what he's been going through; it just feels disconcerting to think that, in certain ways, he's mourning her.
Her chin dips as she looks down to the floor between them, allowing the silence to stretch as she deliberates.
Finally, ]
... I'm sorry for your loss.
[ Gamora is not a woman for apologies, but she's also not apologizing for herself; she isn't apologizing for being the one left in this timeline instead of Peter's Gamora. She's apologizing because she knows that he's in pain, and she knows this isn't easy for him, by any means.
But he's still trying to offer her this place. He's still trying to leave a space for her, even knowing she isn't going to leap into his arms.
She can tell that he's trying. ]
Gamora knows loss. She can only imagine what he's been going through; it just feels disconcerting to think that, in certain ways, he's mourning her.
Her chin dips as she looks down to the floor between them, allowing the silence to stretch as she deliberates.
Finally, ]
... I'm sorry for your loss.
[ Gamora is not a woman for apologies, but she's also not apologizing for herself; she isn't apologizing for being the one left in this timeline instead of Peter's Gamora. She's apologizing because she knows that he's in pain, and she knows this isn't easy for him, by any means.
But he's still trying to offer her this place. He's still trying to leave a space for her, even knowing she isn't going to leap into his arms.
She can tell that he's trying. ]
[ That trips him up for a few seconds.
It's surreal, obviously, having the woman you fell in love with offering her condolences for the loss of the woman you loved.
(Because that's the fucked up thing, too – Peter fell fast and hard for Gamora only days after they first met, and he's loved her ever since, and sometimes it just feels like someone hit the reset switch on Gamora, but she's still Gamora, and he'd still do anything for her—
But it took Gamora time to warm to him, and more time to fall in love with him, he thinks, and now that it's happened once, Peter figures it'll never happen again.
He'll just have to live with that.)
He doesn't say anything in response; instead, he lets out a slightly thick hum in acknowledgment, trying to swallow down the thick lump in his throat. ]
It's surreal, obviously, having the woman you fell in love with offering her condolences for the loss of the woman you loved.
(Because that's the fucked up thing, too – Peter fell fast and hard for Gamora only days after they first met, and he's loved her ever since, and sometimes it just feels like someone hit the reset switch on Gamora, but she's still Gamora, and he'd still do anything for her—
But it took Gamora time to warm to him, and more time to fall in love with him, he thinks, and now that it's happened once, Peter figures it'll never happen again.
He'll just have to live with that.)
He doesn't say anything in response; instead, he lets out a slightly thick hum in acknowledgment, trying to swallow down the thick lump in his throat. ]
[ All things considered, Gamora hasn't known Peter very long, but that doesn't mean she needs much personal insight to see the emotion swamping through him. These circumstances are hellish and unprecedented and fresh, and—
It's hard. There's no way that it isn't.
Hugs aren't necessarily Gamora's style, especially not at the point she is now, but she reaches out across that open space, laying a hand tentatively on Peter's arm. It's light, careful, ready to pull back if the touch is unwelcome, but it's still there.
If Peter knows her as well as he says that he does, she trusts he understands what she's offering. ]
It's hard. There's no way that it isn't.
Hugs aren't necessarily Gamora's style, especially not at the point she is now, but she reaches out across that open space, laying a hand tentatively on Peter's arm. It's light, careful, ready to pull back if the touch is unwelcome, but it's still there.
If Peter knows her as well as he says that he does, she trusts he understands what she's offering. ]
[ He freezes the instant she touches him, and he glances up at her, startled and—
Grateful. At least a little. Because if this is fucked up for him, then it's about five million times worse for her, and this Gamora is well within her rights to wash her hands of all this fucking weirdness and take her leave.
He takes a deep breath, scrubbing at his slightly stinging eyes, before he forces himself to pull it together.
Quietly, but still a little hoarse, ]
... Thanks.
Grateful. At least a little. Because if this is fucked up for him, then it's about five million times worse for her, and this Gamora is well within her rights to wash her hands of all this fucking weirdness and take her leave.
He takes a deep breath, scrubbing at his slightly stinging eyes, before he forces himself to pull it together.
Quietly, but still a little hoarse, ]
... Thanks.
[ She's ready to draw back at any second, but when he looks at her, there's nothing unwelcome in his expression; surprised, yes, but not angered.
When Peter finally speaks, Gamora nods, slowly drawing her hand away. ]
... You really should be getting some rest.
When Peter finally speaks, Gamora nods, slowly drawing her hand away. ]
... You really should be getting some rest.
[ He huffs out a noise that wants to be a laugh, but doesn't quite hit the mark.
Still, he manages to put a bit of humor into his voice: ]
If that's a diplomatic way of asking me to leave, then point taken.
Still, he manages to put a bit of humor into his voice: ]
If that's a diplomatic way of asking me to leave, then point taken.
[ For a second, he's not entirely sure how to answer that, but at length, he shrugs. ]
Not any harder than anyone else.
[ Though maybe that's more of a commentary on the fact that he's Terran, and not exactly built for a life like this.
He moves to push himself up, but he hesitates for a second. As much as he's pushed, as much as he's fucked up, he still feels like he needs to make sure— ]
You haven't said anything about if you're still cool with staying.
Not any harder than anyone else.
[ Though maybe that's more of a commentary on the fact that he's Terran, and not exactly built for a life like this.
He moves to push himself up, but he hesitates for a second. As much as he's pushed, as much as he's fucked up, he still feels like he needs to make sure— ]
You haven't said anything about if you're still cool with staying.
[ It's... well, it's an answer. And it's the one he wanted to hear, if he's honest, but he hears the unspoken caveat.
It'll have to do for now.
He doesn't move to leave, though, and he settles again, frowning at her. ]
I know I'm...
[ A hesitation, then, ]
If I make you uncomfortable, I can give you some space.
It'll have to do for now.
He doesn't move to leave, though, and he settles again, frowning at her. ]
I know I'm...
[ A hesitation, then, ]
If I make you uncomfortable, I can give you some space.
[ This answer comes a little more easily, ]
No. That's not necessary.
[ She doesn't feel uncomfortable around Peter, and he hasn't done anything untoward or unwelcome. She's more concerned that she's a painful reminder for him, that he can't see past his grief to allow her the freedom of discovering herself. ]
No. That's not necessary.
[ She doesn't feel uncomfortable around Peter, and he hasn't done anything untoward or unwelcome. She's more concerned that she's a painful reminder for him, that he can't see past his grief to allow her the freedom of discovering herself. ]
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