[ She offers him that gentle smile that she’s given Peter so many times before, letting this be no different. However, instead of scooting in to curl against his chest, she pulls up the blankets around her shoulders, her eyes sliding closed.
(It’s superficial, mostly for show; she rarely sleeps well now when she’s beside Ego.) ]
He drifts off without issue, without having to call in Mantis to carve a path into unconsciousness. The first few days in Peter's body, it had felt nice. Now, though, it feels normal – except for the days where he wakes up more exhausted than the night before.
For now, he slips away, falls deeply asleep, thanks mostly to the day's work, but in part to the strange fit that had struck him minutes for bedtime. And for a few hours, he stays that way.
And after those few hours, another of those strange bouts crashes over him, though he's not cognizant of it. Ego's consciousness is temporarily severed, set adrift in the black, pushed further and further away by the waves of weakness. An ugly silence is left in his wake, a space in need of filling.
Ego's hold loosens. Those tendrils restraining him weaken until they fall away completely, and Peter doesn't think, just moves. He rushes into that space – a desperate, panicked prisoner whose jailer foolishly left the door open.
He slams back into himself with a strangled noise, eyes flying open without seeing. His head throbs, chest constricting and aching as he struggles to breathe. He tastes iron on the back of his tongue, and god, he hurts, he fucking hurts. Every inch of him feels wrong, like he's trying to fit into old, childhood clothes, like he's been jammed into his skin the wrong way around, and—
Fuck, how much time does he have? Probably not enough. Not nearly enough. He struggles to shove himself up, desperate and confused and sluggish and terrified. He knows he needs to just move, but Peter has no idea where to go from there.
Fuck, fuck, if he can just— his arm buckles beneath him but he tries again. He needs to—
[ Gamora doesn't sleep, exactly, but she rests. She drifts off into something approximating sleep, if only because this entire situation has left her on high alert, constantly.
Which is why her eyes open at the first odd sound out of Peter.
She sits up quickly, alarmed, confused, with no idea what to make of the apparent fit. She's momentarily paralyzed by the idea of what Ego may be doing to Peter's body (if this is some inadvertent side effect, if this is some struggle for control, maybe an explanation for the note he'd left her).
He flails and gasps, and she finally reaches out to him as he tries to shove himself upright. ]
Peter. [ Insistent. ] Peter, Peter.
[ One hand on his shoulder, the other on his arm, she helps brace him, keeps his strength from giving out all over again. ]
[ His head whips around at the sound of her voice, body tensing under her touch, but he’d recognize that voice anywhere— ]
Gamora.
[ Little more than a breath, relief and pain stealing his voice, and stupidly, he lets himself just— touch her. he reaches up with a trembling hand to curl his hand over her cheek. ]
Fuck, Gamora— I—
[ I’ve missed you, he wants to say, but no. God. Shit. He’s wasting time.
In an instant, he shoves himself up with her help, swaying when he’s upright. He tries to push through that wave of weakness, though, wetting his lips to speak. He grabs hold of Gamora’s arm, both to steady himself and to secure her attention, his grip tight and shaking from panic. When he speaks, his voice is harsh and rough, the words are clipped, urgent. ]
Listen to me, okay? Just listen. Don’t— I don’t have time. He’s— I don’t know why, but he’s gone, but not for long. He’s—
[ Fuck, he aches, his head pounds, his chest feels like it’s trying to decide if it wants to cave in or explode. His eyes screw shut, a hand twisting into his hair when he feels a bright pulse behind his temples. ]
He’s in my head. He’s been there, this— the whole time. The whole time. He planted something, and he’s been waiting, and—
There was this— back at the cult, I was running, and they caught me, and they— They wanted me there. They brought him out. They knew, I don’t know how, but they knew, and I’ve been—
[ His heart pounds in his chest, his breathing erratic and ugly. He’s terrified. ]
[ Gamora's eyes are wide as he stumbles through his words, and god, he sounds like he's in so much pain, and she can't— What can she even do about it?
But now it all makes sense, those missing pieces of the puzzle, the explanation, but Peter is still in there. Part of her had been so afraid that he was gone for good, that there was nothing of him left, even with the small notes. But he's here, and she knows that it's him, not Ego wearing his face; the ache in her chest is all that much sharper as she holds onto him, keeps him steady. ]
—Peter.
[ She cuts him off as he starts to hyperventilate, and she reaches up to ease his fingers out of his hair, to gentle that white-knuckled grip. ]
I knew it wasn't you. I knew something was wrong.
[ She didn't know how, and she only slightly had an idea of what, but—
[ It’s hard, but when Gamora calls his name, when she urges him to look at her, he swallows whatever panicked words might have tried to slip past his lips. And when she— when she admits that she knew—
He had been afraid he would need to waste time getting her to believe him. (“My dead father is actually totally alive and has taken over my body and imprisoned me in my own mind and wants to destroy the known universe again” isn’t an easy pill to swallow.) He had been worried she might try to brush him off by telling him it was a bad dream, that he would sink away into the dark, reaching for her, with her sighing at his over-active imagination.
But he doesn’t. She knows already. And he should have trusted her instincts, and he lets out a quiet, ugly sound, something caught between a relieved sob and a helpless laugh. ]
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gamora. I never—
[ He never wanted to put her in this position again. He never wanted to force her to lie through a smile, to make her do this awful shit in hopes of protecting him from himself—
But it looks like it’s happening anyway, isn’t it?
At her question, he shakes his head, trying to gather his wits and suck down a solid breath. ]
I don’t know.
He can’t... he’s trying to gather the Light again, but he can’t. There’s something wrong. With me or with him. I don’t know—
[ A noise punches out of him when another of those dark waves crashes through him, makes his vision dim. He clutches at her desperately, like a drowning man flailing out for flotsam. ]
Is it reassuring that Ego can't reach his goals yet? Yes, if only because it means that... maybe they have time. She doesn't have to leap to the final solution and simply put Peter down to save the rest of the universe (but— she would, if she had to, this time; she wouldn't risk forcing him to suffer as he had before).
She starts with that sharp noise of pain, the way he grabs at her, and Gamora holds him closer, keeps him supported in her strong arms. ]
I'm right here. I've got you. I'm here.
[ She's not letting him go. She's not going to cast him out into the black to be swallowed by his father's sea. Not when he's within reach, when this is him, and it feels like she's been just as lost, but staring Ego down now, playing the same game over again. ]
[ He swallows down the next sob that wants to escape him, and when she pulls him in close, he melts against her, clutching at her shirtfront like that alone might keep him from being dragged away.
It won’t, though. He thinks it won’t. He’s pretty sure it won’t. He’s had flashes of awareness, here and there, where his eyes were his own again, when he could move and think. He doesn’t think Ego knows how or when or if it happens; it’s like a door shuts on Ego’s consciousness and opens on Peter’s. Only a handful of moments, when Ego had been nudged aside, where Peter found himself alone with time. They rarely lasted, but at least once or twice, he found himself with the time and the means to scrawl something out and shove the scraps into various hiding places.
(help
help me
ego)
He doesn’t know if anyone has found them. If they have, they were wise enough to not bring up the topic while he was around.
But the moments never lasted. Ego would reassert himself, and Peter would be sucked back down, like sinking into thick, viscous mud. Trapped and suffocating.
No, he tells himself. No. That’s later. That’s inevitable, but it’s later. He’s never been around anyone else when he came back, and he needs to take this opportunity now. Peter knows it’s more important to dump as much information as he can, while he still has time, and he speaks quickly in fragments as they occur to him. ]
He doesn’t know you know. Not completely. But he’s suspicious. He doesn’t trust you.
[ As Peter sinks into her, Gamora's arms wrap around him completely, drawing him even closer, tighter, like that is going to keep him safe and present.
She knows as well as Peter that it won't.
She presses her nose into his hair, her hand cupping the nape of his neck as she breathes him in, really soaks up the feel of him – because this is actually Peter, this is the man she loves, not a monster wearing his face. She nods against him, reassured by the information and wary. But with this new confirmation, it tells her a lot about how to make her moves; things she'd been trying to understand and make sense of are suddenly clear. Unfortunately, knowing what's going on still hasn't given her an answer for how to stop it.
She drops kisses in sweaty curls, nuzzling at his temple. ]
I will. And whatever I have to do, whatever I can – I swear to you, he won't take you again.
[ She won't let Peter live trapped and imprisoned under his father's will. She can't do that to him. ]
[ God, he’s missed her, and that thought sharpens and cuts straight through his chest as she holds him close, as she offers up those little gentle touches. Fuck. Fuck, they’ve worked so fucking hard and suffered so fucking much to get here, to finally ease into this dance together again, so why is this happening now? What the fuck did they do to life that it was pissed off enough to throw this at them, after they’ve finally found that little bit of happiness together?
He’s missed her and the team so fucking much, and it’s been so fucking hard just— watching. Shouting into silence, and—
The reminder of where he’s going back to makes his blood run cold, makes him want to vomit and scream and claw at the walls. Peter and tight spaces have never gotten along well, not since that mishap with engineering when he was a kid, but god, this— that stupid old vent has nothing on this.
Her solemn promise helps, and he lets out another sound, more grateful than he can express into words. ]
He’s— he wants to leave.
[ He’s been trying to do that ever since he first took control. Not as much lately, with the strange fits that have overcome them, but who knows if that might be a catalyst for him to redouble his efforts? ]
And he wants to— wants to kill you. All of you. If he has to. He thinks— he’s worried. Paranoid. That you guys will turn on him.
Don’t let him. Do whatever you have to. No matter what. [ He doesn’t say, “Kill me, if you have to,” but he knows she understands. ] Please.
[ She listens intently, committing it all to memory and already turning it over and over again as she tries to decide how she's going to use this knowledge, and how she can.
Paranoid that we'll turn on him.
That doesn't surprise her, but she knows that means she'll have to do what she's able to allay his suspicions further – and be more mindful of him around the others, the more vulnerable of the group.
Don't let him. ]
No matter what.
[ She repeats it back to him, cupping his face to turn his eyes up, to make him look at her. ]
No matter what.
[ Before that can happen, before he can put star systems between them and take Peter farther out of reach.
She won't let him. She won't risk the team or Peter like that.
(But not yet. She still has to try.) ]
I promise.
[ She draws him up, presses her lips to his, and it's the first genuine kiss in too long. Real and heartfelt, rather than rote and calculated. ]
[ He meets her gaze when she lifts up his head, and the steel in her expression, the certainty in her eyes—
It helps. It helps so fucking much, even while he knows he’s only moments away from getting shoved into a box again and left forgotten on some dusty shelf, like old, nostalgic Christmas decorations. Because at least now he knows that the playing field isn’t so tilted, anymore.
If something happened to her—
If anything happened to the other Guardians—
If all he could do was watch—
Hell, this information he’s passed along might even give Gamora a leg up, now that she knows her suspicions were completely founded. Now that she knows she can deal with the problem in whatever way she sees fit. She hardly needs Peter’s blessing, obviously, and even now, he trusts her instincts, but he hopes that now, if her back is against a wall, if she’s faced with no other choices, she won’t hesitate.
And maybe— god, he doesn’t fucking know how, or if it’s even possible, but maybe, maybe now that Gamora knows what’s going on, they can figure something out. Maybe Gamora will be able to pry him free.
A baseless hope, he knows. Ego has had months to fester in his head, to metastasize throughout his mind. A sickness like that isn’t easily removed.
Gamora pulls him in for a kiss, and he sinks into it. A sound drags itself from deep within his chest – a mix of relief and helplessness – and he clings to her, responds to her, desperate and greedy for comfort in whatever form it takes. Tape on a gaping wound. A flickering candle to push back a dark night. ]
I love you.
[ He whispers it against her lips, throat tightening and eyes stinging. ]
No matter what happens. I need you to know I love you, Gamora.
[ She exhales against his cheek, nodding just slightly enough that she doesn't have to pull away. ]
I know. I know.
[ Her thumbs smooth over bristled cheeks, palms cradling his jaw as she kisses him again and again.
And into the kiss, the barest space between them, ]
I love you, too.
[ And she says it to him, only him, because even while Ego is wearing Peter's face, she can't say it. She won't ever say those words insincerely. ]
More than anything.
[ It's so true that it aches. It's a sharp barb behind her ribs, something that catches and stays her hand – because if she didn't love him, if she didn't feel this way for him, if he wasn't her best friend and every other half of her own jagged edges, it would be so easy. Save the universe, save them all – kill Peter. It would be simple. It would be the right thing to do, and she would do it.
But damn it, sentimentality is a weakness she's never shaken. A softness and sense of mercy that kept drove Gamora to share food with her starving sister, and left Peter alive in his father's hold. She could have killed him months before, so long ago, and maybe she should have (no, she absolutely should have), but she didn't.
[ Another quiet noise escapes him, a weird combination of pained and pleased. It hurts, as much as it helps, and there was a long, long time where he was absolutely sure he would never hear anyone say that to him, much less Gamora, and it’s not fair. You’d think he’d be used to that by now, to the universe kicking him when he’s already down. But it’s not fair, that they worked so hard to be together, that they’ve only just managed to stumble into this together, and it’s just...
It’s not fucking fair.
He hears the sincerity in her voice, tastes it on her breath, and this isn’t fucking fair. To either of them. ]
I’m sorry.
[ He whispers it again, urgent and so fucking desperately guilty. Gamora shouldn’t have to carry this weight for both of them, but he’s so fucking useless, and he’s been trying to fight, he has, but Ego has had a stranglehold on his consciousness ever since that Golaqa gave him that boost, and Peter is just too weak, and— ]
Fuck, Gamora, I’m so sorry.
[ That pulse shoots out behind his temples again, and his body start to shake with unnatural fatigue. His vision dims around the edges, and his eyes flutter a little, and it’s hard to breathe, and the world starts to tilt, and—. ]
No—
[ A quiet, mortified sob. He clutches at her, though it’s getting harder to find purchase.
[ She shushes him gently, quietly, because she knows he's sorry; she knows none of this is intentional or his fault or something he can control. She knows he's fighting. She knows he's doing everything that he can.
Right now, it's just not enough.
Her chest tightens as Peter's breathing hitches, and for a moment, it's so hard to breathe, because she doesn't want to say goodbye. She doesn't want to let him go. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, her own inhale hitching as she crushes him to her, holds him so close— ]
I love you.
[ Again, murmured and hurried. ]
You won't do this alone.
[ And as much as she wants to cling to him and keep him grounded with her in that moment, she knows it won't save him. Instead of clutching him tight, she starts to ease him back down to the pillows, resettling with him. She can't let it look suspicious when Ego regains control, and if it seemed like she'd been having an entire moment without Ego's knowledge, that could put them all in danger. ]
I'm right here.
[ She strokes back his hair, pressing her lips in a tight line as she takes a deep breath, forces herself to let it go slowly, incrementally. She closes her eyes, loosens her grip, so it's like she's only been holding him unconsciously, urged closer in her sleep – the way she used to, before all of this. ]
[ He tries to hold on for as long as he can, tries to fight tooth and nail, but he grows weaker with each second, hands dropping from where they had twisted into her shirt, head lolling forward to rest against her shoulder.
I don’t want to go back—
He tries to say it, but he’s losing his grasp, and all that escapes him is a mumbled noise that grows softer and softer.
Please, please, no, I don’t want to go back, please—
He’s vaguely aware of Gamora’s breath in his ear, the reassuring quality of her voice, of Gamora carefully settling him back down onto the bed like he’s delicate, cracked porcelain.
No, please, don’t go, he wants to beg. Please, don’t leave, but his control has lapsed entirely.
But somehow, she seems to hear him, seems to know exactly what he’s asking of her, and when she says, I’m right here, he wants to fucking cry.
It’s like falling asleep, for all that it isn’t. His body goes slack in her grasp, his eyes slip shut, and his breathing evens out. But his awareness is dragged back, blocked off and boxed in by darkness, and he can’t break through, why can’t he get through? And he slams himself against those barriers over and over, furious and terrified and powerless, suffocating and choking and wanting toscream—
His brow creases as he breathes deeply, waking slowly. He’s not entirely sure what roused him or why, though he feels the final dregs of that odd weakness leaving him, body growing a little steadier with each slow blink. Another of those bouts while he slept, then? He’s only too glad to have been unconscious during the worst of it.
His heart is still racing a little, and his breathing is ragged and uneven – a little as though he’s winding down from a jog.
He lifts his head and waits, just in case something outside of those dark waves had awoken him. ]
[ Gamora feels the shift when it happens, but she doesn’t let her eyes open, doesn’t stir. Her breathing stays slow and steady, until Peter (Ego) starts to stir beside her, and she reflexively curls her fingers against his chest. Her nose wrinkles, eyes squeezing shut and then slowly opening, like she’s shaking off the grogginess of a deep sleep. ]
Peter?
[ To her credit, Gamora affects the rough quality of a dry throat, voice thick with half-awareness. ]
[ His expression is cool, impassive, when he glances over at Gamora when he feels her shift against him, apparently having forgotten, for a brief second, that she was even there. When she seems to fully rouse, his expression has already warmed to something soft and fond.
She sounds confused, still half-asleep, and he smiles, pitching his voice low and gentle. ]
Thought I heard something. Probably just someone going to the head.
[ He reaches over, sweeping a few a few locks of her hair away from her face. ]
[ It really is sweet, he thinks, and for a brief second, he feels a pang of nostalgia, for the women in his past that had come and gone.
And he thinks of his bright, shining river lily and her dazzling smile. All those days they spent together, all the songs she taught him, all the dances they danced together. There had been a short time where he considered – honestly, truly considered – staying with her, living a life with her. Of living on her quaint, backwards planet and spending there rest of her mortal life with her.
It was a dangerous temptation, to spend all those years on Earth, to waste all those decades when he needed to work. He turned his back on it the only way he knew how.
Peter, though.
Peter had been well and truly tempted. Peter had surrendered to it. The boy was too weak, in the end, had been too mortal. It was Peter's fault they failed, obviously, but he couldn't truly be blamed. The boy had been entrenched in the mortal life, had been raised by thieves and criminals. Of course he was going to falter. If Ego had just gotten his son sooner, they would have never been reduced to this.
But he'll learn, eventually. He can be molded into the man Ego knows he can be. Once Ego can get the boy away from these people, they can start over again. Be a family.
Ego just needs to bide his time and get them there.
He cups her cheek, his thumb sweeping over her green skin, avoiding that silver scar. ]
[ It's strange, how distinctly she notices the way Ego avoids her scars – imperfections, measurements of mortality and weakness – while Peter had always been reverent with them. She didn't understand (still doesn't, really) why he'd trace them so diligently, but somehow, Peter had loved those marked parts of her as much as he did the stretches of unblemished skin.
But she can feel Ego's thumb skirt under the gouges in her face, the stark silver under green.
Sweetheart.
Her stomach turns, but her soft and perfectly drowsy smile stays in place. She nods sleepily, reaching up to hold Ego's palm to her cheek. ]
[ He feels another pang – sentiment, for days gone by, for those bright little memories of his time spent with so many lovely people – and nods.
He pulls away from her, then, freeing his hand to rest on his chest. He settles a little more comfortably on the bed, rolling onto his back but turning his head toward her. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Good night, Peter.
[ She offers him that gentle smile that she’s given Peter so many times before, letting this be no different. However, instead of scooting in to curl against his chest, she pulls up the blankets around her shoulders, her eyes sliding closed.
(It’s superficial, mostly for show; she rarely sleeps well now when she’s beside Ego.) ]
no subject
He drifts off without issue, without having to call in Mantis to carve a path into unconsciousness. The first few days in Peter's body, it had felt nice. Now, though, it feels normal – except for the days where he wakes up more exhausted than the night before.
For now, he slips away, falls deeply asleep, thanks mostly to the day's work, but in part to the strange fit that had struck him minutes for bedtime. And for a few hours, he stays that way.
And after those few hours, another of those strange bouts crashes over him, though he's not cognizant of it. Ego's consciousness is temporarily severed, set adrift in the black, pushed further and further away by the waves of weakness. An ugly silence is left in his wake, a space in need of filling.
Ego's hold loosens. Those tendrils restraining him weaken until they fall away completely, and Peter doesn't think, just moves. He rushes into that space – a desperate, panicked prisoner whose jailer foolishly left the door open.
He slams back into himself with a strangled noise, eyes flying open without seeing. His head throbs, chest constricting and aching as he struggles to breathe. He tastes iron on the back of his tongue, and god, he hurts, he fucking hurts. Every inch of him feels wrong, like he's trying to fit into old, childhood clothes, like he's been jammed into his skin the wrong way around, and—
Fuck, how much time does he have? Probably not enough. Not nearly enough. He struggles to shove himself up, desperate and confused and sluggish and terrified. He knows he needs to just move, but Peter has no idea where to go from there.
Fuck, fuck, if he can just— his arm buckles beneath him but he tries again. He needs to—
What fuck is he supposed to do? ]
no subject
Which is why her eyes open at the first odd sound out of Peter.
She sits up quickly, alarmed, confused, with no idea what to make of the apparent fit. She's momentarily paralyzed by the idea of what Ego may be doing to Peter's body (if this is some inadvertent side effect, if this is some struggle for control, maybe an explanation for the note he'd left her).
He flails and gasps, and she finally reaches out to him as he tries to shove himself upright. ]
Peter. [ Insistent. ] Peter, Peter.
[ One hand on his shoulder, the other on his arm, she helps brace him, keeps his strength from giving out all over again. ]
no subject
Gamora.
[ Little more than a breath, relief and pain stealing his voice, and stupidly, he lets himself just— touch her. he reaches up with a trembling hand to curl his hand over her cheek. ]
Fuck, Gamora— I—
[ I’ve missed you, he wants to say, but no. God. Shit. He’s wasting time.
In an instant, he shoves himself up with her help, swaying when he’s upright. He tries to push through that wave of weakness, though, wetting his lips to speak. He grabs hold of Gamora’s arm, both to steady himself and to secure her attention, his grip tight and shaking from panic. When he speaks, his voice is harsh and rough, the words are clipped, urgent. ]
Listen to me, okay? Just listen. Don’t— I don’t have time. He’s— I don’t know why, but he’s gone, but not for long. He’s—
[ Fuck, he aches, his head pounds, his chest feels like it’s trying to decide if it wants to cave in or explode. His eyes screw shut, a hand twisting into his hair when he feels a bright pulse behind his temples. ]
He’s in my head. He’s been there, this— the whole time. The whole time. He planted something, and he’s been waiting, and—
There was this— back at the cult, I was running, and they caught me, and they— They wanted me there. They brought him out. They knew, I don’t know how, but they knew, and I’ve been—
[ His heart pounds in his chest, his breathing erratic and ugly. He’s terrified. ]
no subject
But now it all makes sense, those missing pieces of the puzzle, the explanation, but Peter is still in there. Part of her had been so afraid that he was gone for good, that there was nothing of him left, even with the small notes. But he's here, and she knows that it's him, not Ego wearing his face; the ache in her chest is all that much sharper as she holds onto him, keeps him steady. ]
—Peter.
[ She cuts him off as he starts to hyperventilate, and she reaches up to ease his fingers out of his hair, to gentle that white-knuckled grip. ]
I knew it wasn't you. I knew something was wrong.
[ She didn't know how, and she only slightly had an idea of what, but—
She knew it wasn't Peter. ]
How do we—
[ She closes her eyes, squeezing his hand. ]
What can I do?
no subject
He had been afraid he would need to waste time getting her to believe him. (“My dead father is actually totally alive and has taken over my body and imprisoned me in my own mind and wants to destroy the known universe again” isn’t an easy pill to swallow.) He had been worried she might try to brush him off by telling him it was a bad dream, that he would sink away into the dark, reaching for her, with her sighing at his over-active imagination.
But he doesn’t. She knows already. And he should have trusted her instincts, and he lets out a quiet, ugly sound, something caught between a relieved sob and a helpless laugh. ]
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Gamora. I never—
[ He never wanted to put her in this position again. He never wanted to force her to lie through a smile, to make her do this awful shit in hopes of protecting him from himself—
But it looks like it’s happening anyway, isn’t it?
At her question, he shakes his head, trying to gather his wits and suck down a solid breath. ]
I don’t know.
He can’t... he’s trying to gather the Light again, but he can’t. There’s something wrong. With me or with him. I don’t know—
[ A noise punches out of him when another of those dark waves crashes through him, makes his vision dim. He clutches at her desperately, like a drowning man flailing out for flotsam. ]
no subject
Is it reassuring that Ego can't reach his goals yet? Yes, if only because it means that... maybe they have time. She doesn't have to leap to the final solution and simply put Peter down to save the rest of the universe (but— she would, if she had to, this time; she wouldn't risk forcing him to suffer as he had before).
She starts with that sharp noise of pain, the way he grabs at her, and Gamora holds him closer, keeps him supported in her strong arms. ]
I'm right here. I've got you. I'm here.
[ She's not letting him go. She's not going to cast him out into the black to be swallowed by his father's sea. Not when he's within reach, when this is him, and it feels like she's been just as lost, but staring Ego down now, playing the same game over again. ]
You are not doing this alone.
no subject
It won’t, though. He thinks it won’t. He’s pretty sure it won’t. He’s had flashes of awareness, here and there, where his eyes were his own again, when he could move and think. He doesn’t think Ego knows how or when or if it happens; it’s like a door shuts on Ego’s consciousness and opens on Peter’s. Only a handful of moments, when Ego had been nudged aside, where Peter found himself alone with time. They rarely lasted, but at least once or twice, he found himself with the time and the means to scrawl something out and shove the scraps into various hiding places.
(help
help me
ego)
He doesn’t know if anyone has found them. If they have, they were wise enough to not bring up the topic while he was around.
But the moments never lasted. Ego would reassert himself, and Peter would be sucked back down, like sinking into thick, viscous mud. Trapped and suffocating.
No, he tells himself. No. That’s later. That’s inevitable, but it’s later. He’s never been around anyone else when he came back, and he needs to take this opportunity now. Peter knows it’s more important to dump as much information as he can, while he still has time, and he speaks quickly in fragments as they occur to him. ]
He doesn’t know you know. Not completely. But he’s suspicious. He doesn’t trust you.
Be careful.
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She knows as well as Peter that it won't.
She presses her nose into his hair, her hand cupping the nape of his neck as she breathes him in, really soaks up the feel of him – because this is actually Peter, this is the man she loves, not a monster wearing his face. She nods against him, reassured by the information and wary. But with this new confirmation, it tells her a lot about how to make her moves; things she'd been trying to understand and make sense of are suddenly clear. Unfortunately, knowing what's going on still hasn't given her an answer for how to stop it.
She drops kisses in sweaty curls, nuzzling at his temple. ]
I will. And whatever I have to do, whatever I can – I swear to you, he won't take you again.
[ She won't let Peter live trapped and imprisoned under his father's will. She can't do that to him. ]
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He’s missed her and the team so fucking much, and it’s been so fucking hard just— watching. Shouting into silence, and—
The reminder of where he’s going back to makes his blood run cold, makes him want to vomit and scream and claw at the walls. Peter and tight spaces have never gotten along well, not since that mishap with engineering when he was a kid, but god, this— that stupid old vent has nothing on this.
Her solemn promise helps, and he lets out another sound, more grateful than he can express into words. ]
He’s— he wants to leave.
[ He’s been trying to do that ever since he first took control. Not as much lately, with the strange fits that have overcome them, but who knows if that might be a catalyst for him to redouble his efforts? ]
And he wants to— wants to kill you. All of you. If he has to. He thinks— he’s worried. Paranoid. That you guys will turn on him.
Don’t let him. Do whatever you have to. No matter what. [ He doesn’t say, “Kill me, if you have to,” but he knows she understands. ] Please.
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Paranoid that we'll turn on him.
That doesn't surprise her, but she knows that means she'll have to do what she's able to allay his suspicions further – and be more mindful of him around the others, the more vulnerable of the group.
Don't let him. ]
No matter what.
[ She repeats it back to him, cupping his face to turn his eyes up, to make him look at her. ]
No matter what.
[ Before that can happen, before he can put star systems between them and take Peter farther out of reach.
She won't let him. She won't risk the team or Peter like that.
(But not yet. She still has to try.) ]
I promise.
[ She draws him up, presses her lips to his, and it's the first genuine kiss in too long. Real and heartfelt, rather than rote and calculated. ]
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It helps. It helps so fucking much, even while he knows he’s only moments away from getting shoved into a box again and left forgotten on some dusty shelf, like old, nostalgic Christmas decorations. Because at least now he knows that the playing field isn’t so tilted, anymore.
If something happened to her—
If anything happened to the other Guardians—
If all he could do was watch—
Hell, this information he’s passed along might even give Gamora a leg up, now that she knows her suspicions were completely founded. Now that she knows she can deal with the problem in whatever way she sees fit. She hardly needs Peter’s blessing, obviously, and even now, he trusts her instincts, but he hopes that now, if her back is against a wall, if she’s faced with no other choices, she won’t hesitate.
And maybe— god, he doesn’t fucking know how, or if it’s even possible, but maybe, maybe now that Gamora knows what’s going on, they can figure something out. Maybe Gamora will be able to pry him free.
A baseless hope, he knows. Ego has had months to fester in his head, to metastasize throughout his mind. A sickness like that isn’t easily removed.
Gamora pulls him in for a kiss, and he sinks into it. A sound drags itself from deep within his chest – a mix of relief and helplessness – and he clings to her, responds to her, desperate and greedy for comfort in whatever form it takes. Tape on a gaping wound. A flickering candle to push back a dark night. ]
I love you.
[ He whispers it against her lips, throat tightening and eyes stinging. ]
No matter what happens. I need you to know I love you, Gamora.
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I know. I know.
[ Her thumbs smooth over bristled cheeks, palms cradling his jaw as she kisses him again and again.
And into the kiss, the barest space between them, ]
I love you, too.
[ And she says it to him, only him, because even while Ego is wearing Peter's face, she can't say it. She won't ever say those words insincerely. ]
More than anything.
[ It's so true that it aches. It's a sharp barb behind her ribs, something that catches and stays her hand – because if she didn't love him, if she didn't feel this way for him, if he wasn't her best friend and every other half of her own jagged edges, it would be so easy. Save the universe, save them all – kill Peter. It would be simple. It would be the right thing to do, and she would do it.
But damn it, sentimentality is a weakness she's never shaken. A softness and sense of mercy that kept drove Gamora to share food with her starving sister, and left Peter alive in his father's hold. She could have killed him months before, so long ago, and maybe she should have (no, she absolutely should have), but she didn't.
She couldn't.
But this time, if all else fails...
She won't hesitate. ]
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It’s not fucking fair.
He hears the sincerity in her voice, tastes it on her breath, and this isn’t fucking fair. To either of them. ]
I’m sorry.
[ He whispers it again, urgent and so fucking desperately guilty. Gamora shouldn’t have to carry this weight for both of them, but he’s so fucking useless, and he’s been trying to fight, he has, but Ego has had a stranglehold on his consciousness ever since that Golaqa gave him that boost, and Peter is just too weak, and— ]
Fuck, Gamora, I’m so sorry.
[ That pulse shoots out behind his temples again, and his body start to shake with unnatural fatigue. His vision dims around the edges, and his eyes flutter a little, and it’s hard to breathe, and the world starts to tilt, and—. ]
No—
[ A quiet, mortified sob. He clutches at her, though it’s getting harder to find purchase.
Then, quieter and quieter, ]
No, not yet, please—
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[ She shushes him gently, quietly, because she knows he's sorry; she knows none of this is intentional or his fault or something he can control. She knows he's fighting. She knows he's doing everything that he can.
Right now, it's just not enough.
Her chest tightens as Peter's breathing hitches, and for a moment, it's so hard to breathe, because she doesn't want to say goodbye. She doesn't want to let him go. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut, her own inhale hitching as she crushes him to her, holds him so close— ]
I love you.
[ Again, murmured and hurried. ]
You won't do this alone.
[ And as much as she wants to cling to him and keep him grounded with her in that moment, she knows it won't save him. Instead of clutching him tight, she starts to ease him back down to the pillows, resettling with him. She can't let it look suspicious when Ego regains control, and if it seemed like she'd been having an entire moment without Ego's knowledge, that could put them all in danger. ]
I'm right here.
[ She strokes back his hair, pressing her lips in a tight line as she takes a deep breath, forces herself to let it go slowly, incrementally. She closes her eyes, loosens her grip, so it's like she's only been holding him unconsciously, urged closer in her sleep – the way she used to, before all of this. ]
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I don’t want to go back—
He tries to say it, but he’s losing his grasp, and all that escapes him is a mumbled noise that grows softer and softer.
Please, please, no, I don’t want to go back, please—
He’s vaguely aware of Gamora’s breath in his ear, the reassuring quality of her voice, of Gamora carefully settling him back down onto the bed like he’s delicate, cracked porcelain.
No, please, don’t go, he wants to beg. Please, don’t leave, but his control has lapsed entirely.
But somehow, she seems to hear him, seems to know exactly what he’s asking of her, and when she says, I’m right here, he wants to fucking cry.
It’s like falling asleep, for all that it isn’t. His body goes slack in her grasp, his eyes slip shut, and his breathing evens out. But his awareness is dragged back, blocked off and boxed in by darkness, and he can’t break through, why can’t he get through? And he slams himself against those barriers over and over, furious and terrified and powerless, suffocating and choking and wanting toscream—
His brow creases as he breathes deeply, waking slowly. He’s not entirely sure what roused him or why, though he feels the final dregs of that odd weakness leaving him, body growing a little steadier with each slow blink. Another of those bouts while he slept, then? He’s only too glad to have been unconscious during the worst of it.
His heart is still racing a little, and his breathing is ragged and uneven – a little as though he’s winding down from a jog.
He lifts his head and waits, just in case something outside of those dark waves had awoken him. ]
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Peter?
[ To her credit, Gamora affects the rough quality of a dry throat, voice thick with half-awareness. ]
What?
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She sounds confused, still half-asleep, and he smiles, pitching his voice low and gentle. ]
Thought I heard something. Probably just someone going to the head.
[ He reaches over, sweeping a few a few locks of her hair away from her face. ]
Didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.
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She turns her face to nuzzle faintly into his wrist. ]
Are you sure?
[ She drops a kiss on the heel of his hand, dark, hazy eyes watching him in the low light. ]
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And he thinks of his bright, shining river lily and her dazzling smile. All those days they spent together, all the songs she taught him, all the dances they danced together. There had been a short time where he considered – honestly, truly considered – staying with her, living a life with her. Of living on her quaint, backwards planet and spending there rest of her mortal life with her.
It was a dangerous temptation, to spend all those years on Earth, to waste all those decades when he needed to work. He turned his back on it the only way he knew how.
Peter, though.
Peter had been well and truly tempted. Peter had surrendered to it. The boy was too weak, in the end, had been too mortal. It was Peter's fault they failed, obviously, but he couldn't truly be blamed. The boy had been entrenched in the mortal life, had been raised by thieves and criminals. Of course he was going to falter. If Ego had just gotten his son sooner, they would have never been reduced to this.
But he'll learn, eventually. He can be molded into the man Ego knows he can be. Once Ego can get the boy away from these people, they can start over again. Be a family.
Ego just needs to bide his time and get them there.
He cups her cheek, his thumb sweeping over her green skin, avoiding that silver scar. ]
I am.
Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm perfectly fine.
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But she can feel Ego's thumb skirt under the gouges in her face, the stark silver under green.
Sweetheart.
Her stomach turns, but her soft and perfectly drowsy smile stays in place. She nods sleepily, reaching up to hold Ego's palm to her cheek. ]
You should get back to sleep, too. You need it.
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He pulls away from her, then, freeing his hand to rest on his chest. He settles a little more comfortably on the bed, rolling onto his back but turning his head toward her. ]
I will. Don't you worry about me.
Get back to sleep.