[ 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
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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—
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Peter?
[ To her credit, Gamora affects the rough quality of a dry throat, voice thick with half-awareness. ]
What?
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.