nostalgiabomb | open post, vol. 2

You come see me once the work is done, and I'll have what you want. You don't get nothin' sooner than that.

[ Yondu flashes her another sharp smile. ]

I'm lookin' forward to doin' business with you, Ms. Gamora.

And Quill? [ His gaze slides to Peter again. ] After this business is done, I don't see you again unless you're grovelin' on your hands and knees. I figure that comes easy to you, these days, considerin' how often you're goin' down for a handful of bucks.

[ Peter bristles, but considering the tenuous truce they've reached, he keeps his responses to himself. ]

Good. Now, so long as we're all in agreement, Ms. Gamora, if you could get this sorry bastard out of my goddamn club, I'd deeply appreciate it. If I spend one more second looking at that ugly mug, I may fly into a blind rage.

[ Yondu whistles sharply, and the other Ravagers move aside, letting the two of them pass. Kraglin offers them both a nod, apparently standing down as well. ]

[ That’s good enough for Gamora. Her eyes narrow as Yondu snaps at Peter, but like Peter, she keeps her mouth shut. As they’ve been dismissed, Gamora gives Yondu a polite nod, then turns on her heel to head for the stairs again. Her fingers brush over the back of Peter’s hand, before she takes the lead back downstairs and to the exit of the club.

Her side is throbbing angrily by now, and the threat of lightheadedness looms on the periphery of her awareness, but she’s determined to get back to the car. At least, that’s the case until she steps out into the chilly LA night, and all of the tension she’d been determinedly holding in her frame starts to go lax. Her pace slows, and some of the rigid set in her shoulders fades away.

She’s exhausted. ]

[ Peter is seething as they leave, cheeks red with embarrassment and anger. He ignores the jeering looks his old teammates cast them as they make their way out, keeping his gaze focused on the exit.

He only relaxes once the door swings shut behind them. The bouncer glances at them, indifferent, before returning to the bright screen of his phone.

Furious as he is, he still notices the way Gamora slows – not quite swaying, but something close – and he carefully wraps an arm around her waist, his other hand taking hold of her elbow to help support her. ]

Hey, just relax. Take it easy.

[ Almost unconsciously, Gamora sinks against Peter when his arm comes around her. ]

I’m all right.

[ Not “fine,” because that’s a complete lie. ]

I just want to get back to the hotel.

Yeah, okay.

[ He lifts his head, taking a wary glance around. Part of him expects one of his old teammates to follow them out. He never did get along with most of them. He expects a small part of that was jealousy, considering he could run circles around them on a job.

He also expects a small part of that was and is because he has the capacity to be a complete asshole.

For now, they're mostly alone on the street, save for the uninterested doorman. Peter still pitches his voice low, nonetheless. ]

You gonna be able to make the walk?

Yes.

[ It’s not a fun walk, but at least it’s not far. She’s confident she can handle that. To emphasize it, she starts moving forward again, still leaning against Peter. ]

[ He looks at her uncertainly, worried in spite of her reassurance. ]

Maybe you shouldn't strain yourself. I can bring the car around, if you want.

[ Gamora shakes her head insistently, taking a few more determined steps forward. ]

I can manage, Peter. I'll rest when we get back to the room.

You really shouldn't be moving around this much.

[ Peter takes one more careful glance around before letting out a breath.

Then, with a quick warning— ]

Hang on.

[ He carefully scoops her up, one arm beneath the backs of her knees, the other around her back. ]

Peter—

[ But she doesn't try to jerk away from him before he's scooping her up.

(It strains her body less than just trying to keep walking to the car, at least.)

Her weight rests against his chest, her fingers coming up to curl in his rumpled shirt. ]

I said I can manage.

Yeah. You did.

[ And thanks to years with Yondu's gang and his time more recently in his current job, he's used to dealing with a certain amount of bravado.

He adjusts briefly before setting off toward the car. ]

Just 'cause you can manage doesn't mean you should. And you've already been on your feet for way longer than you should've been.

[ ... It's hard to argue with that, since he's right, so all she offers is a disgruntled huff, annoyance, but her head falls against Peter's shoulder. ]

Don't think you're carrying me back to our room.

[ That would be a bad look.

She allows Peter to carry her the final blocks to the car without complaint. She doesn't need help getting into the car or buckling herself in, but as soon as she's settled, she just slumps into the seat, breathing an honest sigh of relief. ]

[ He doesn't buckle her in like a sleeping child – she can at least manage that on her own – and he slips back into the driver's seat.

Heading back up to the hotel is another twenty or so minutes, but Peter lets her rest for the entire trip, depending on the late night radio to fill the silence. Once they're near the hotel, Peter finds the same lot Gamora had parked in earlier, about a block away. The convenience of stopping right at the hotel is greatly outweighed by the inconvenience of a valet seeing the alarming amount of blood staining the car's leather interior.

This time, he lets Gamora walk back under her own power, though he keeps an arm wrapped around her waist. (He wonders, briefly, if he should let her rest an arm around his shoulders, but she's been pointedly avoiding doing so. Maybe because the height difference, but most likely because she wants to avoid looking obviously injured.)

He unlocks the door, admitting them into the bungalow. ]

[ Gamora is grateful for Peter's help (even if it still confuses her), but she's quiet all the way back to the bungalow. Again, after the door closes behind them, more of Gamora's tension and fight sinks right out of her. She's slow-going, carefully shrugs out of her jacket, hanging it over her forearm as she starts reaching behind herself, trying to find the zipper of her dress. ]

I don't think— [ A small wince as she strains to tug at the zipper. ] —I have any obligations tomorrow.

[ Translation: nowhere she might ask Peter to accompany her. ]

That's good.

[ Peter steps forward, reaching for the zipper with a quiet, I got it. ]

Gives you a chance to finally get some rest.

[ With the soft reassurance, Gamora lets her hand fall from her dress, instead gathering up her hair to pull it over her shoulder. ]

We'll see.

[ But she hopes that will be the case.

She lets her sleeves drift down her shoulders, and she glances back at Peter, a little more cautious. ]

... I'm sorry. For what happened at the Arrow.

[ Apologies are rare from Gamora, almost unheard of, but their excursion at that club...

That was awful. ]

[ Once the zipper on Gamora's dress is dealt with, Peter busies himself with shrugging out of his own jacket, unfastening the first couple of buttons on his shirt.

When Gamora glances back at him, hesitant and wary, and when she offers that strange apology, he frowns at her, a little confused. ]

Why are you apologizing? Everything worked out how you wanted it to, didn't it?

I know. But you were in that position because you were helping me.

[ He'd gone— so far out of his way for her. He's still doing it, and she doesn't— understand why. It still doesn't make sense to her, but here he is.

She keeps walking into the main room, dropping her jacket over a chair. ]

The way they treated you...

[ She shakes her head, her lips pursed in a thin line without looking back again at Peter. ]

Wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

[ The insults were different when he was still with them, obviously, and maybe they were less frequent when he was a "respected" member of the gang, but he's used to the shit they slung at him. ]

There's a reason why I quit.

Anyway. The silver lining here is that they didn't beat my ass, and you got what you wanted. Sort of.

[ He has a point, and maybe Gamora isn't one to talk about tolerating abuse like that. ]

It's more than I could have hoped for.

[ And that's true, too. This is the closest she's gotten to a tangible escape in... her entire life. ]

So there you go. Better than nothing.

[ He wanders after her into the main area, rubbing at the back of his neck. He tosses his jacket onto a nearby table. ]

Just gotta topple Taserface, or whatever it is Yondu expects, and you can be out of here before the end of the week.

And where will you go?

[ He has the money for it now, and he clearly can't stay in LA.

Gamora toes off her shoes with a relieved sound, easing her dress down so she can step out of it, left in her slip. A faint smear of red has soaked through the silk and Gamora's bandages underneath, but she subtly folds her dress, holding it close to hide the blood. She'll see to her side shortly – preferably without worrying Peter.

She had pushed herself today. ]

[ He wanders off into the kitchen to grab bottles of water, calling back, ]

... I dunno. I haven't really thought about it.

[ He returns to the common area, offering her a bottle. ]

I know this city pretty well. I haven't really thought about leaving it behind.

[ She transfers her dress to rest over her forearm, accepting the water and cracking it open with minimal strain. ]

After I leave, Thanos will send his people here. I can't promise they won't come looking for you.

[ And— she sounds remorseful. ]

[ That— gives him pause, eyes widening a little.

Clearly he hadn't considered this. ]

... Oh.

[ A pause, as he runs this new information over in his head.

Then, ]

... Well.

Shit.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject