[ 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.
[ His jaw clenches briefly, biting down on the things he wants to say.
Peter's definitely not a lawyer, but he's seen enough movies and TV to know that just knowing about all this shit is enough to get him in hot water. He knows, and even if he's not the one pulling the trigger, he's still tangled up in this whole mess.
"Go to the fucking cops, you complete dumbass," he'd scream at himself, if he were watching a movie of his own life.
He drinks from his mug again, just for lack of anything better to say or do. Then, slowly, ]
[ Gamora is usually one who's comfortable to sit in silence, but it feels like so much is hanging between them, and she doesn't know how to breech that nearly palpable tension.
She's never felt so out of her depth before.
When Peter asks her how she's feeling, she opens her mouth for the automatic answer – "Fine." – but he cuts her off too quickly. The real answer doesn't come so easily, if only because she's so accustomed to hiding every vulnerability with the veracity of a feral animal.
[ Something warm and grateful settles in her chest, but suspicion and learned unease make it hard for her to immediately accept the offer.
Why is he asking? Why is he offering?
She doesn't have an immediate answer; partially because she doesn't know what she needs, but also because she still doesn't understand why he's being so kind.
Is this just how people are? Is he expecting something?
She shakes her head and rests her mug on her knee, rolling her palms along the sides again. ]
... Why are you still here?
[ She doesn't sound accusatory – not like she's holding a knife to his throat, demanding he explain himself. She just— doesn't recognize these gestures; she isn't used to magnanimity without strings. ]
[ She exhales on a small huff, something close to a laugh – even though it makes her wince ever so slightly. She steels herself for a moment, then gets carefully to her feet, setting her coffee on the breakfast cart.
She hesitates, and then finally: ]
... Thank you.
[ And she sounds genuine. She still isn't entirely sure what to make of Peter's presence, but for now... she's just grateful.
[ He gets to his feet when she does, instinctively reaching for her elbow to help steady her. He doesn't quite make contact, though he still hovers a little cautiously, ready to catch her if she stumbles. ]
I— um. Don't worry about it.
[ And he casts it awkwardly, in the face of that sincerity. He clears his throat, setting his coffee aside. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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[ And he says it in that lackluster way that says he isn't exactly looking forward to it. ]
You sure you can't suggest, like, bowling instead?
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We just have to get through the evening.
[ But her expression drops, something more solemn in her eyes. ]
... Are you sure you want to do this? Helping me like this?
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At her question, though, he chews on the inside of his cheek for a second. Then, ]
I dunno.
I think... if it's just playing along? Just keeping up appearances, so your father or your sister don't think you're up to anything? I can do that.
But— anything beyond that...
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[ That is a guarantee. She doesn't want him to be involved, beyond having him on her arm. ]
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Peter's definitely not a lawyer, but he's seen enough movies and TV to know that just knowing about all this shit is enough to get him in hot water. He knows, and even if he's not the one pulling the trigger, he's still tangled up in this whole mess.
"Go to the fucking cops, you complete dumbass," he'd scream at himself, if he were watching a movie of his own life.
He drinks from his mug again, just for lack of anything better to say or do. Then, slowly, ]
How are you actually feeling?
And don't say "fine."
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She's never felt so out of her depth before.
When Peter asks her how she's feeling, she opens her mouth for the automatic answer – "Fine." – but he cuts her off too quickly. The real answer doesn't come so easily, if only because she's so accustomed to hiding every vulnerability with the veracity of a feral animal.
But— ]
I'm tired. The stitches are uncomfortable.
[ They hurt. ]
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This answer feels far more honest, and he's a little relieved for it, some of the tension falling away from his shoulders. ]
Is there anything I can do? Or, I mean, is there anything you need?
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Why is he asking? Why is he offering?
She doesn't have an immediate answer; partially because she doesn't know what she needs, but also because she still doesn't understand why he's being so kind.
Is this just how people are? Is he expecting something?
She shakes her head and rests her mug on her knee, rolling her palms along the sides again. ]
... Why are you still here?
[ She doesn't sound accusatory – not like she's holding a knife to his throat, demanding he explain himself. She just— doesn't recognize these gestures; she isn't used to magnanimity without strings. ]
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I told you already. It just— it didn't feel right, leaving you when you're hurt.
I may be an asshole, but I'm not a complete dick.
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She hesitates, and then finally: ]
... Thank you.
[ And she sounds genuine. She still isn't entirely sure what to make of Peter's presence, but for now... she's just grateful.
But also? She needs a shower. ]
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I— um. Don't worry about it.
[ And he casts it awkwardly, in the face of that sincerity. He clears his throat, setting his coffee aside. ]
Do you need me to do anything?