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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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—
[ 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. ]
[ 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.
[ That's not the answer she expected, if only because it's a question for her question. A quiet part of her wonders what Peter would do if she said "yes," if she was going to follow through with her father's expectations before Peter introduces her to a potential way out. She wonders if that would be the catalyst to solidify the reality of what Gamora is, what she does. It must seem unsubstantial when Peter hasn't seen the results of her work or had a concrete example of the weapon that she is.
She wonders if whatever empathy he still has for her only exists because he hasn't fully grasped what she's done.
She wonders how far that kindness extends for someone like her.
She could lie to him and promise that she won't, that the meeting with Yondu has guaranteed she'll leave Thanos behind. But if the meeting doesn't go well or Yondu can't help her—
Gamora is right back at square one.
"Yes," is at the tip of her tongue, because part of her thinks that might remind Peter of who he's dealing with and the ugly truth of her life. A hollow voice at the back of her mind (that somehow sounds like her father's voice) echos with derision:
He doesn't realize who you are. He doesn't understand what you've done.
But the real answer: ]
I wouldn't have the chance tonight.
[ His security will be on high alert after her mistakes the night before – and her wound is fresh enough that she probably wouldn't be as capable as she would have to be to manage something stealthy. ]
[ His lips press together in a thin, unhappy line.
It's not a yes, admittedly, which is something. But it's not the no he was hoping to hear, either.
He curls his hands around his mug again, the heat bleeding through the ceramic.
(He wishes he didn't know. He wishes they could rewind to yesterday, when he thought Gamora was just some eccentric, if seriously hot and charming, billionaire's daughter with way too much cash to burn.) ]
So tonight's just about keeping up appearances. Just making nice. That's all, right?
[ She doesn't look at him to watch the disappointment she knows accompanies her answer. It's funny, how she's never cared before what anyone thought of her, and yet knowing she's demolished whatever perception Peter had of her, whoever he thought she was, aches with a sense of shame she's never felt before. Maybe she'd let herself believe a little bit of the glimmering reflection she'd seen these past few days when Peter looked at her – when he'd been so determined to give her a safe place for her secrets, when he'd been trying to make her smile, when he'd treated her like—
—a person.
She'd never had someone make her feel so seen and wanted, but—
That's what she paid him for, she reminds herself.
But that still doesn't explain why he's still here now. ]
That's all.
[ That's probably all she can manage, in her state. ]
[ She's still tired, still in pain, and maybe that's why it's so much more obvious that the answer surprises her as she looks back up at Peter.
Why did he change his mind?
(The suspicious instincts she's been taught all her life suddenly flare up like hackles prickling down her neck. Why would he agree to go? Maybe he thinks the only way to prevent Ramirez's death is to warn him directly, to circumvent the police or other authorities. Maybe he intends to blow her cover in the one place she would find herself cornered by her target and his defenses.
But the part of her that's been coaxed from ancient ashes wants to leap at the offer, to soak up whatever allowances and kindness Peter has for her.
Gamora tries not to lean into either inclination.)
She ends up focusing on the logistics, the thing that would be most crucial in the moment: ]
... We would still have to look like a couple.
[ Being affectionate, touching each other, staying close to each other, like they'd been so far. Before, pretending had been effortless, but now... ]
[ He nods again, though the gesture is a little more at ease, this time.
Out of everything (aside from the sex), pretending to be her partner has been the absolute easiest thing about this gig. Even now, knowing what he knows about her actual profession, acting like her boyfriend will still come easily. ]
I can do that.
[ He pauses, tongue running over his teeth again. ]
[ That's— actually a relief. Gamora has lived her life wearing the right masks in public, so for her, it's just another day. At least knowing Peter can handle the same, she's reassured. It does make these stupid meetings more tolerable, having him as a buffer, and if he's still willing to be there...
She'll take it. ]
Monica wanted to show me some of the pieces in her private art collection – probably to see if she can inquire about what my father owns that she could add to hers.
[ Boring. Uneventful. But Gamora was going to use it as a way to ingratiate herself to the Ramirezes further.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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. ]
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[ 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.
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Not just money.
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[ 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.
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Finally: ]
How do I contact him?
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There's this dive bar he and his guys hang out at. The Arrow. If you wanna try this, I can take you tonight.
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She'd been waiting for the right moment, for a way to leave with her life, and maybe this is it. ]
What time tonight?
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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. ]
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Monica.
[ She takes a longer sip from her mug, hesitating, and then, ]
... Do you still want to come with me tonight?
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It's... complicated. He knows that. ]
Are you sure you're even well enough to go out? You should seriously just get some rest.
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[ And it would draw more attention from her father. ]
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I mean, are you even gonna be able to walk or move around without hurting yourself?
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[ All things considered, this is... bad, but not awful. ]
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[ 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.
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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.
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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. ]
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(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. ]
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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?
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She wonders if whatever empathy he still has for her only exists because he hasn't fully grasped what she's done.
She wonders how far that kindness extends for someone like her.
She could lie to him and promise that she won't, that the meeting with Yondu has guaranteed she'll leave Thanos behind. But if the meeting doesn't go well or Yondu can't help her—
Gamora is right back at square one.
"Yes," is at the tip of her tongue, because part of her thinks that might remind Peter of who he's dealing with and the ugly truth of her life. A hollow voice at the back of her mind (that somehow sounds like her father's voice) echos with derision:
He doesn't realize who you are. He doesn't understand what you've done.
But the real answer: ]
I wouldn't have the chance tonight.
[ His security will be on high alert after her mistakes the night before – and her wound is fresh enough that she probably wouldn't be as capable as she would have to be to manage something stealthy. ]
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It's not a yes, admittedly, which is something. But it's not the no he was hoping to hear, either.
He curls his hands around his mug again, the heat bleeding through the ceramic.
(He wishes he didn't know. He wishes they could rewind to yesterday, when he thought Gamora was just some eccentric, if seriously hot and charming, billionaire's daughter with way too much cash to burn.) ]
So tonight's just about keeping up appearances. Just making nice. That's all, right?
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—a person.
She'd never had someone make her feel so seen and wanted, but—
That's what she paid him for, she reminds herself.
But that still doesn't explain why he's still here now. ]
That's all.
[ That's probably all she can manage, in her state. ]
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I'll go with you. If that's what you want.
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Why did he change his mind?
(The suspicious instincts she's been taught all her life suddenly flare up like hackles prickling down her neck. Why would he agree to go? Maybe he thinks the only way to prevent Ramirez's death is to warn him directly, to circumvent the police or other authorities. Maybe he intends to blow her cover in the one place she would find herself cornered by her target and his defenses.
But the part of her that's been coaxed from ancient ashes wants to leap at the offer, to soak up whatever allowances and kindness Peter has for her.
Gamora tries not to lean into either inclination.)
She ends up focusing on the logistics, the thing that would be most crucial in the moment: ]
... We would still have to look like a couple.
[ Being affectionate, touching each other, staying close to each other, like they'd been so far. Before, pretending had been effortless, but now... ]
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Out of everything (aside from the sex), pretending to be her partner has been the absolute easiest thing about this gig. Even now, knowing what he knows about her actual profession, acting like her boyfriend will still come easily. ]
I can do that.
[ He pauses, tongue running over his teeth again. ]
What's the meeting for?
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She'll take it. ]
Monica wanted to show me some of the pieces in her private art collection – probably to see if she can inquire about what my father owns that she could add to hers.
[ Boring. Uneventful. But Gamora was going to use it as a way to ingratiate herself to the Ramirezes further.
Now, it's just killing time. ]
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