open post, vol. 2

[nostalgiabomb]

( x )

( VOL. 1 )

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wtf i didn't get a notif for this

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He sees the way she winces, frowning a little with concern. She settles again before he can offer a hand, though. ]

What channels are you expecting to take, exactly? Take a Greyhound and go across the country, or hotwire a car. You don't have to talk to anyone except to buy a ticket.

I mean, your father's reach can't be so narrow that he's got every gas station clerk or bus driver in his pocket.

[godslay]

I planned to get out of the country, not disappear on a bus.

[ Staying anywhere in the United States feels too close for comfort. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

Then— can't you find someone who can forge paperwork?

[ ... actually, even as he's asking it, he realizes she probably knows a guy, but he quickly shakes his head to cut her off. ]

I mean, not the top-notch guys, but your run-of-the-mill kind of shady.

[godslay]

[ She frowns again, looking unconvinced. ]

The problem is that people know who I am. [ A Daughter of Thanos and an assassin of her caliber holds a terrible level of infamy. ]

They know who my father is. It has to be worthwhile for them to help me – not just because they could sell me out, but because they're putting themselves at risk. That's not a cheap compromise.

These aren't the people who would do this out of the goodness of their hearts.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He hesitates for a second before finishing off one last bite from his plate. He stands, setting his plate on the cart. ]

I might know a guy.

[ He says it slowly, reluctantly.

(He hasn't talked to Yondu in months, edging close to a year. He'd rather keep it that way, but—) ]

He kind of— works outside of all that political shit. He has decent connections. Does things for himself, and doesn't care who he pisses off, even if they're rich and powerful.

Hell, especially if they're rich and powerful.

[godslay]

[ That catches Gamora off guard. She didn't expect Peter to have— an option? The problem with working for her father is that her connections and her ties to the seedy underbelly of society are through him. Nobody that she knows is unassociated with Thanos, and that leaves her with very few possibilities.

But Peter has... something. ]

How do you know him?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Her question makes him falter, makes him wince, and he busies himself with pouring a mug of coffee from the heated carafe. ]

I used to... I mean, before I do what I do now. I used to run with this...

[ Group? Team? Hell, just call it what it is, Quill: ]

I ran with this gang.

I left home when I was young and found my way here. I couldn’t make ends meet by flipping burgers, so a couple days before I was due to get kicked out of my apartment, I decided to drown my sorrows. I squirreled my way into a bar with a fake ID and conned someone into buying me a drink. This guy spotted me, said I had potential, and brought me in.

So I learned a lot about picking locks and picking pockets and hotwiring and dismantling cars, and...

[ Peter shrugs, methodically adding sugar and milk into his mug. ]

Spent a while doing that. Decided it wasn’t for me, and now—

[ He waves a free hand. ]

—here I am.

[godslay]

[ Now that—

That is not what Gamora expected him to say. If she's honest, she has no idea what she really thought Peter came from and how it led him to cruising a dingy street in LA at midnight. Maybe because of the Walkman, because of the way he talked about his mother, part of Gamora had only envisioned him growing up with a family. Coming to California when he was an adult, striking out on his own. Winding up working a corner when he found out how expensive the city was.

Somehow, other facets of crime didn't factor into her imagination.

She listens without comment – without judgement – watching Peter pour his coffee, and she lets it all sink in.

Finally, glancing up from Peter's mug, her tone is cautious (but almost hopeful). ]

... And you think he would be willing to work with me.

[ "Help" sounds too magnanimous; she knows she'll be paying outrageously for whatever this man can do. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

I think it’s an option.

[ Which is both the honest answer and the telling one. There are never any guarantees with the Ravagers. ]

Yondu’s a dangerous guy to work with, but... well. Probably not as dangerous as your father. He has this weird, fucked up code of ethics and honor, but he sticks to it, which makes him at least a little predictable.

[ He pours out another mug – after a few days spent together, he knows that Gamora takes her coffee straight up – and holds it out to her. ]

He’ll want a favor.

[godslay]

[ Gamora isn't sure why she keeps being so startled by these small gestures Peter offers her, but once again, she's caught off guard by the coffee before she accepts it. She folds her hands around the warm ceramic, thoughtful as she takes a sip. ]

Not just money.

[nostalgiabomb]

Not just money.

[ And he says it definitively. He spent years working for Yondu, and while Peter can’t claim to know everything going on in that guy’s head, he at least has a decent idea of how he ticks.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed again, still giving Gamora some space. ]

It won’t be... I mean, he’s not gonna ask you to murder anyone or anything like that. That’s not how he operates. But it’ll be something risky. Dangerous. Something he doesn’t want his regular guys doing, or something he doesn’t trust his regular guys to do.

[godslay]

[ Gamora sips at the coffee as Peter speaks, quietly turning over what he's said.

Finally: ]

How do I contact him?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He hesitates for a second before letting out a breath, forcing himself to answer. ]

There's this dive bar he and his guys hang out at. The Arrow. If you wanna try this, I can take you tonight.

[godslay]

[ This feels shockingly abrupt, concrete in a way that Gamora has been grasping for. She's wanted to escape for years, but the way out has always felt so unachievable, so fraught with her father's spies and paid goons waiting for any and all betrayals that might slip through the cracks.

She'd been waiting for the right moment, for a way to leave with her life, and maybe this is it. ]

What time tonight?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. ]

Guess it depends mostly on whenever you're done with— whoever it was you said you'd see tonight.

[ And he nods demonstratively toward the phone on the nightstand. ]

[godslay]

[ The reminder makes Gamora grimace. ]

Monica.

[ She takes a longer sip from her mug, hesitating, and then, ]

... Do you still want to come with me tonight?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He lets out a quiet, "Ah," in response, though he doesn't offer much of a response beyond that.

It's... complicated. He knows that. ]

Are you sure you're even well enough to go out? You should seriously just get some rest.

[godslay]

It would look suspicious if I called it off.

[ And it would draw more attention from her father. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

Yeah, but it'd look even worse if you bled all over the place.

I mean, are you even gonna be able to walk or move around without hurting yourself?

[godslay]

I have done more with worse.

[ All things considered, this is... bad, but not awful. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

And I'm sure getting blood on the dance floor of whatever soiree you were attending was super impressive to everyone attending.

[ He says it with a heavy helping of sarcasm, though he drops it quickly enough. He curls his hands around the mug of his coffee. ]

You got your in with Monica already, right? You don't need me there.

[godslay]

[ She tosses him a bland look from over her mug, but she stills as she considers what he's said. She doesn't technically need him there, doesn't need him present for the wandering of Monica's collection of whatever art she intends to show off, but—

She wants him there? For reasons she can't entirely explain. ]

Not technically.

[ A pause as she sips at her coffee. ]

But it's more bearable when you are.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He glances over at her, unsure of how to feel about that little admission.

It's— surprising, for her to admit it, and a small, traitorous part of him warms a little for it. But he can't forget that Gamora is only hanging around with Monica Ramirez to get closer to her husband to murder him, so—

There's that.

He reaches up a hand, scrubbing at his face. ]

I don't think I can do this.

[ And the words come haltingly, gruffly. ]

[godslay]

[ Gamora is almost taken aback by how much his response stings. She's not surprised by his reply, but more startled by herself and the fact that she'd asked him to accompany her in the first place. She doesn't know why she thought that might be an option, after everything; she has no idea why she assumed he would indulge whatever she still has to field for this horrific job.

(Why did she let herself even think about the odd comfort she felt being around Peter? It doesn't matter, now that everything is out in the open. She still doesn't understand why Peter is here or why he's offered to connect her with this Yondu, but—

Peter is just a better person than she is, isn't he?)

Despite the uncomfortable twist in her chest that isn't thanks to the thrumming pain left by her stitches, Gamora keeps her expression perfectly schooled as she keeps taking a few slow sips of the hot coffee. ]

Then where do you want me to meet you tonight?

[ —if the offer still stands. She distantly realizes that Peter could change his mind in a heartbeat about taking her to the Arrow. He doesn't have to. He doesn't owe her anything. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He doesn't regret the answer he gave, but part of him is still a little sorry for it.

He knows how Gamora feels about doing this shit – the fancy parties and rubbing elbows with the elite – and knows that she isn't trying to murder Ramirez for the fun of it. Her hand is being forced, even if they're trying to take steps to pull her out of it, but—

Peter's got a good poker face, sure. He can lie through his teeth and smile while he's doing it, but no one ended up dead at the end of it.

At her question, he hesitates. He can hear the deliberate coolness in her voice, subtle as it is, and something in his stomach twists. That familiar protectiveness spikes in his gut again, and he runs his tongue over his teeth.

Quietly, ]

Are you gonna kill him?