[ For a second, he can't quite smother the surprised smile that curls the corner of his mouth. ]
Yeah?
[ It's all the hesitation he offers, though, because he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
His Zune, unfortunately, is still waiting for him back in his quarters. He pushes himself up, though when the sudden movement jars his healing wound, he stops himself with a hiss, bracing himself with a hand on the back of his seat.
It takes only a few seconds for the discomfort passes, and once it does, he lets out a slow breath. ]
[ This time, when Peter's pain is more pronounced, Gamora doesn't manage to withhold her reaction. She straightens, watching him intently as he holds himself steady, though she doesn't reach out or offer anything.
(She's not sure what she could offer.)
He finally seems to relax, but her eyes stay carefully fixed on him.
[ He nods, offering a brisk be right back before he heads off.
And to his credit, he's quick about it, gone and back again in a handful of moments (and maybe just a touch out of breath, because he may have been going at a decent clip). ]
I, um. I've got a clone of this, too.
[ This, cast over his shoulder, as he heads to the makeshift sound system he and Rocket rigged years ago. ]
[ He lets out a quiet breath, something approaching a laugh. ]
Yeah. Pretty sure Rocket's got, like, three copies of everything stashed somewhere.
[ He plugs in the Zune, navigating the menus. The alphabet is on his side, for once, and reaching ABBA's "Dancing Queen" takes only a matter of seconds. ]
[ Gamora waits patiently for Peter to start the music, but the introductory scale catches her completely off guard. She almost jumps, not quite, but her eyes are momentarily comically large.
The melody itself kicks in immediately after, and Gamora relaxes again, tilting her head to the side to listen to the new song.
Where they play the right music Getting in the swing You come to look for a king
Gamora has found over the last few weeks that it's shockingly easy for her to get into this music. She often moves with it, even in small ways, and now, she sits tapping her fingers against her knee to the beat. ]
[ He leaves the Zune where it's plugged in, glancing back over his shoulder. He smothers a smile when he sees that the music must've caught her off-guard, though he decides not to call her on it.
Instead, he makes his way back to sit with her – though for a split-second, instinct nearly has him take the seat directly beside her. He falters before carefully lowering himself back in the seat across from her.
She seems to be enjoying it, and he wonders if she's conscious of those little tells – the almost unnoticeable sway of her body, the way she follows the rhythm with subtle taps of her fingers.
It's achingly familiar, and for a brief second, it feels like a stab in the gut.
[ She repeats it with certainty, but the reality for her is that she never has. Without Peter, Gamora has never been truly introduced to dancing, and even after the time she’s had so far to be free of Thanos, dancing hasn’t exactly made it to her list of to-do activities.
(To be fair, her list has largely consisted of “survive,” up until now.) ]
[ He remembers that night on Knowhere, of course. Then again, considering all the shit that happened, it'd be far more worrying if he didn't.
But he remembers the balcony, the shooting sparks and the colored dust and gases in the sky. Him making up some bullshit about Kevin Bacon, and Gamora swaying slightly to the music on his mother's mix tape.
... then nearly slicing his throat open.
He wonders, for a second, if he wants to live that again. He wonders if trying to chase after what they once had is disrespectful to this reality's Gamora – the one who loved him, against every lick of good sense in the universe. The one he failed to protect.
He clears his throat, gaze darting off to the viewport. ]
[ As much as Gamora notices Peter looking at her sometimes, it feels just as stark when he tries to avoid doing exactly that. She can’t help wondering how often he sees his Gamora instead, until the harsh reality reminds him of what he’s lost.
She doesn’t blame him for looking away.
Gamora looks to the viewport, too, watching the slow churning of dark space beyond, with Huridius there below them. She likes this spot, likes the quiet she often finds here, though it’s now filled in contrast with the lighthearted music from Peter’s Zune.
After a moment of simply listening to the song, Gamora speaks again without looking back at Peter. ]
Did she dance?
[ Gamora is sure she doesn’t need to be more specific than that. ]
[ The question surprises him, and it shows – in the way he goes ramrod straight, in the way he nervously glances at her from the corner of his eye.
He visibly hesitates, too, frowning with uncertainty. He learned, years ago, that Gamora doesn't make a habit of doing what she doesn't want to, of making offers just to be polite. He knows that if she asks a question, it means she wants to know the answer.
But still, the words stop up in his throat, and his gaze flicks away again. He runs his thumb absently along a seam on his pants. ]
Not when we first met.
[ The words are cast slowly, with all too obvious reluctance. God, it's fucking weird, talking to Gamora about Gamora. It's not fair to anyone to compare her to the woman he knew, and he's been taking pains not to. Plus, he's pretty sure Nebula would finally make good on her threats of maiming him if he did anything to make this Gamora feel like she's anything less than what she is.
And what she is – what she's always been, in this reality and every other – is fucking amazing.
He licks his lips, just to buy himself some time, then, ]
[ The silence is heavy, but Gamora doesn’t break it. She doesn’t turn to watch Peter fidget, and as the lack of an answer sits in the air between them, she starts to wonder if Peter is going to respond or change the subject or even just excuse himself to beat a hasty retreat. Distantly, she wonders again why she’s here, why she’s willingly living in the shadow of whoever her alternate self had been. She wonders why Peter offered her a place where the emptiness is felt so keenly.
She wonders how long it can last.
Peter surprises her by answering, but she doesn’t doubt the truth of it, no matter how strange it feels to hear something about her-but-not-her.
Would she have danced, too?
Gamora’s eyes finally flick back to Peter, watching him sidelong as he offers that tidbit of information. Despite her better judgement, her curiosity creeps forward, and she can’t help asking another question. ]
What music?
[ What songs had his Gamora liked? Surely she would enjoy them now, too – or does she want to listen in case maybe there is some difference between her and this other self?]
[ Maybe Peter should've expected another surprise waiting in the wings, but he didn't. He had fully expected the line of questioning to end with that last question.
This one, at least, is easier to answer; talking about his music is always the easiest thing in the world. ]
"Fooled Around and Fell in Love." "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." "Bring it on Home to Me." Those are from clones of my old tapes.
From the Zune, "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac. "And I Love You So." "Drift Away."
You had a soft spot for "The Rubberband Man," too.
[ "You," instead of "she," though he doesn't notice the slip up. ]
[ She knows the first song (she remembers him telling her to look for it, the very first time she listened to his Zune). The others sound... romantic, sweet in a way she has no concept of. She wonders if his Gamora liked those songs so much because she connected to them. She wonders if his Gamora knew the love and warmth carried in those lyrics personally.
She must have.
It's so wildly disconcerting to think that Gamora – in some universe, in some way – had all of these experiences. The Gamora of this world had found such a loyal family, had fallen in love, had seen the universe through the eyes of a free woman.
Gamora, in the here and now, worries that means she might not get the chance. This isn't her own time or her own life, and she feels like she's been dropped into the empty slot left behind by a version of herself that's already lived a life more full than she could have dreamed.
Does she feel jealous? Cheated? Or does she feel vulnerable and exposed in an environment where her insecurities and fears have already been shared, whether she wanted them to be or not?
It's complicated.
She looks over at Peter properly with that little slip, that change in pronoun.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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... The songs put worms in your ears?
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Right. ]
No, not really. They're just catchy enough that it feels like they're burrowing into your brain. That kinda thing.
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She tilts her head, considering. ]
Then which one of those do you recommend?
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[ And he says it without hesitation, with the utmost gravity. ]
It's their biggest hit.
[ And a fucking bop. He'll fight anyone on that front. ]
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You can play it, if you want.
[ Which is an actual offer that she'll listen to it. ]
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Yeah?
[ It's all the hesitation he offers, though, because he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.
His Zune, unfortunately, is still waiting for him back in his quarters. He pushes himself up, though when the sudden movement jars his healing wound, he stops himself with a hiss, bracing himself with a hand on the back of his seat.
It takes only a few seconds for the discomfort passes, and once it does, he lets out a slow breath. ]
Gimme a bit. Gotta grab my Zune.
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(She's not sure what she could offer.)
He finally seems to relax, but her eyes stay carefully fixed on him.
Then, ]
I'm not going anywhere.
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And to his credit, he's quick about it, gone and back again in a handful of moments (and maybe just a touch out of breath, because he may have been going at a decent clip). ]
I, um. I've got a clone of this, too.
[ This, cast over his shoulder, as he heads to the makeshift sound system he and Rocket rigged years ago. ]
The music on the Zune, I mean.
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All of it?
[ She sounds mildly pleased – more than she usually does about most things. ]
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[ 300 songs is a fucking lot, in Peter's mind, but the amount of data it takes up is practically a drop in a bucket. ]
One of the first things I did after I got it was to make sure I had a backup. And a backup of the backup.
[ It was something he would've surely gotten around to, but the encounter with Ego had spurred him to put in the extra effort. ]
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That makes it easier to access, too.
[ For anyone else in the crew, she means.
(And for herself, mostly.) ]
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Yeah. Pretty sure Rocket's got, like, three copies of everything stashed somewhere.
[ He plugs in the Zune, navigating the menus. The alphabet is on his side, for once, and reaching ABBA's "Dancing Queen" takes only a matter of seconds. ]
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The melody itself kicks in immediately after, and Gamora relaxes again, tilting her head to the side to listen to the new song.
Where they play the right music
Getting in the swing
You come to look for a king
Gamora has found over the last few weeks that it's shockingly easy for her to get into this music. She often moves with it, even in small ways, and now, she sits tapping her fingers against her knee to the beat. ]
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Instead, he makes his way back to sit with her – though for a split-second, instinct nearly has him take the seat directly beside her. He falters before carefully lowering himself back in the seat across from her.
She seems to be enjoying it, and he wonders if she's conscious of those little tells – the almost unnoticeable sway of her body, the way she follows the rhythm with subtle taps of her fingers.
It's achingly familiar, and for a brief second, it feels like a stab in the gut.
He'll blame it on the gunshot wound. ]
Not bad, right?
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[ Which, in Gamora-Speak, is practically high praise. ]
But I like the other one better.
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[ And as if on cue, they reach the chorus again, and Peter gestures meaningfully. ]
Namely, the dancing.
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Matter-of-factly and without an inch of irony, ]
I do not dance.
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Both of them have, admittedly, but— Gamora doesn't know that.
He smiles a little, though he's largely unconscious of the faint shadow that lies beneath it. ]
Don't or won't?
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[ She repeats it with certainty, but the reality for her is that she never has. Without Peter, Gamora has never been truly introduced to dancing, and even after the time she’s had so far to be free of Thanos, dancing hasn’t exactly made it to her list of to-do activities.
(To be fair, her list has largely consisted of “survive,” up until now.) ]
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But he remembers the balcony, the shooting sparks and the colored dust and gases in the sky. Him making up some bullshit about Kevin Bacon, and Gamora swaying slightly to the music on his mother's mix tape.
... then nearly slicing his throat open.
He wonders, for a second, if he wants to live that again. He wonders if trying to chase after what they once had is disrespectful to this reality's Gamora – the one who loved him, against every lick of good sense in the universe. The one he failed to protect.
He clears his throat, gaze darting off to the viewport. ]
Can't knock it till you try it.
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She doesn’t blame him for looking away.
Gamora looks to the viewport, too, watching the slow churning of dark space beyond, with Huridius there below them. She likes this spot, likes the quiet she often finds here, though it’s now filled in contrast with the lighthearted music from Peter’s Zune.
After a moment of simply listening to the song, Gamora speaks again without looking back at Peter. ]
Did she dance?
[ Gamora is sure she doesn’t need to be more specific than that. ]
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He visibly hesitates, too, frowning with uncertainty. He learned, years ago, that Gamora doesn't make a habit of doing what she doesn't want to, of making offers just to be polite. He knows that if she asks a question, it means she wants to know the answer.
But still, the words stop up in his throat, and his gaze flicks away again. He runs his thumb absently along a seam on his pants. ]
Not when we first met.
[ The words are cast slowly, with all too obvious reluctance. God, it's fucking weird, talking to Gamora about Gamora. It's not fair to anyone to compare her to the woman he knew, and he's been taking pains not to. Plus, he's pretty sure Nebula would finally make good on her threats of maiming him if he did anything to make this Gamora feel like she's anything less than what she is.
And what she is – what she's always been, in this reality and every other – is fucking amazing.
He licks his lips, just to buy himself some time, then, ]
But, yeah. Eventually.
[ He pauses, then tries for a lighter tone, ]
Good music helped.
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She wonders how long it can last.
Peter surprises her by answering, but she doesn’t doubt the truth of it, no matter how strange it feels to hear something about her-but-not-her.
Would she have danced, too?
Gamora’s eyes finally flick back to Peter, watching him sidelong as he offers that tidbit of information. Despite her better judgement, her curiosity creeps forward, and she can’t help asking another question. ]
What music?
[ What songs had his Gamora liked? Surely she would enjoy them now, too – or does she want to listen in case maybe there is some difference between her and this other self?]
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This one, at least, is easier to answer; talking about his music is always the easiest thing in the world. ]
"Fooled Around and Fell in Love." "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." "Bring it on Home to Me." Those are from clones of my old tapes.
From the Zune, "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac. "And I Love You So." "Drift Away."
You had a soft spot for "The Rubberband Man," too.
[ "You," instead of "she," though he doesn't notice the slip up. ]
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She must have.
It's so wildly disconcerting to think that Gamora – in some universe, in some way – had all of these experiences. The Gamora of this world had found such a loyal family, had fallen in love, had seen the universe through the eyes of a free woman.
Gamora, in the here and now, worries that means she might not get the chance. This isn't her own time or her own life, and she feels like she's been dropped into the empty slot left behind by a version of herself that's already lived a life more full than she could have dreamed.
Does she feel jealous? Cheated? Or does she feel vulnerable and exposed in an environment where her insecurities and fears have already been shared, whether she wanted them to be or not?
It's complicated.
She looks over at Peter properly with that little slip, that change in pronoun.
"You." ]
Play that one next.
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