It's about someone in an on again, off again relationship. They break up but end up getting back together despite all the bad shit they put each other through, 'cause the singer is just crazy about the other person.
[ He's quiet for a second, wondering if it sounds like he's hinting.
(He isn't. But maybe he is. But he doesn't mean to be.)
[ There's a note of familiarity that Gamora can hear in the way Peter describes the song, but with the current circumstances—
She chooses to ignore it.
The low beat of the next song cuts in, and Gamora straightens up to listen. It eases in more than "Dancin' Queen," but again, her fingers start to tap along, her head cocked to the side.
After a few mentions, she finally looks back at Peter. ]
[ Gamora gives him a somewhat appraising, pointed look. Not that she would ever call Peter an awesome badass, but the way he'd come after her, the weeks she's spent with the Guardians, has shown her that Peter is more than his jokes.
He's far more competent than Nebula would ever admit, but that's just another thing Gamora would be unlikely to share with him. ]
[ He thinks he should probably correct her on the "hero" front. The song isn't exactly a folk tale, but maybe it's a cultural thing? He never really asked because Gamora eventually realized that songs from Earth could seriously be about some really random shit.
After a second, he decides to let it lie and nods. ]
Yeah, something like that. Plus, even if he looked ridiculous, no one could really say it didn't work out, you know?
[ For a moment of prolonged silence, Gamora just looks at Peter. Her eyes flick from his face to his hand and back to his face.
The fact that she isn't immediately turning him down is telling, and she's genuinely considering the offer.
Her lips part to speak, then close again. After another short beat, she reaches out and takes his hand, getting to her feet. She gives a little nod forward to say "lead the way." ]
[ Part of him is a little surprised that she takes him up on the offer.
But he shouldn't be. The old Gamora had eventually caved in – either in an attempt to humor him, or trying to seem like she was humoring him as a cover. Still, a small part of him wondered if this Gamora would resist, just in an attempt to set herself apart.
He guides her away from their seats into a more open space. ]
It's not hard. You just kinda move in time with the beat.
[ And he demonstrates with an easy little two-step. ]
I know you've got rhythm part down. I've seen you tapping in time with the music.
[ Gamora doesn't fight him as he leads her out to the open floor, still letting her hand rest in his as he demonstrates that first little back-and-forth. She gives him a slightly less impressed glance for mentioning her tapping, but she also hadn't necessarily been trying to hide it.
She just didn't want it mentioned.
For a few seconds, she watches Peter's feet move, then mirrors the same with her own – hesitant, but still fairly graceful. ]
"Funny" in the sort of way that means it feels like someone has scooped out his innards and stomped all over them.
In the grand scheme of things? Treading on his foot is hardly anything. He's been shot before, been stabbed before, been tortured before. But the words, the circumstance, the memory, hurts like a thousand needles.
He stops, feeling his mouth go dry, and he clears his throat.
[ It's impossible to miss how his smile drops away, how he freezes like she's just driven a knife between his ribs. His voice has lost its light humor, and Gamora feels struck by some unexpected weight, the empty presence of the person Peter wanted to be here instead.
Her fingers curl at her side where she'd held Peter's hand for that brief moment, and she takes a few more steps back, leaving a handful of feet that might as well be an impossibly deep chasm between them. ]
It's late.
[ Her tone isn't cold or unkind – just flat, matter-of-fact. ]
[ Gamora doesn't look comforted or convinced – more like a wild animal with its hackles raised, ready to fly rather than fight – and maybe even a little frustrated. ]
I don't know what that means, Peter.
[ His Gamora has probably heard that explanation already. His Gamora would probably barely even bat an eye over the words; they would probably make perfect sense to her. But here and now, Gamora doesn't know what he's supposed to mean by "deja vu," and she's never heard of a rubberband man or thumping a tub, and she doesn't dance.
Maybe it was foolish trying to meet him halfway when the only thing that can possibly be gained is reminding him that she isn't his. ]
She looks every bit like she's ready to flee, and he's sure he isn't helping matters.
He's absolutely sure, in fact, that he's making things worse.
The silly thing, he thinks, is that everyone assumes he invited Gamora back into the fold because he wants to rekindle something – and maybe a distant, naive part wanted that, too. But the real reason is— he knows better than almost anyone how much being with the Guardians meant for Gamora, how much it meant for her to have a family who didn't give two shits about the blood on her hands.
He knows better than anyone still alive how much it helped her grow.
And he's fucking this up. He's pushing her away. He's crowding her out with the ghost of Gamora before she can even get a handhold.
Maybe he should just— let her be.
He clears his throat, his hand dropping listlessly to his side. ]
The funny feeling you get when you've experienced something before.
[ Her next exhale is more of a scoff as she takes another short step back, her eyes turning to the viewport. She shouldn't have encouraged this, she thinks bitterly. She shouldn't have asked about his Gamora or indulged in the music she liked or even just tried to dance.
She still remembers the harsh way he'd snapped at her while he was bleeding out on the Benatar. He'd been right to, she's sure, because Gamora had been overstepping the line of strangers, talking about his Gamora like she had any idea what her other self would want or think or feel. It's so jarring to think that the only difference between herself and the woman Peter knew is a few years, and she still can't help wondering if she would have been in the same place, if she hadn't been yanked out of her own time. She would have grown into the Gamora he loved, she would have been the same woman who fought beside him and the other Guardians. She would have had that life – but someone else already did.
That place has been filled, those experiences already lived, but not by her. This home belongs to someone else. Someone else should be standing on this observation deck with Peter, dancing to songs that they loved. Someone else should be walking these halls, fighting these fights, living this life.
It's not hers, and she feels like a fool for– what? Thinking that maybe it could be?
There's no place for her now, because that spot was never vacated to begin with. The ghost of a woman Gamora is sure she'll never know and never have the chance to become hangs heavily in every hall and around every corner and behind every gaze she meets.
They look at her and see what they want to – and she knows she can only ever fall short. ]
Good night, Peter.
[ And it sounds hollow, defeated as she turns to the door. ]
[ Gamora doesn't know if she's surprised when he speaks or if she should have expected it.
(He must have to face the dark reality of his Gamora's death, she thinks, if he can't look at her and pretend like nothing has changed.)
Despite her better judgment, she halts in place, pausing for a few heartbeats before turning to look back at him. She looks at his face, really looks at him, and there's a vulnerability in her own that even she isn't aware of. ]
Why?
[ The weight of being here, of not being the one who should be, is a harsher reality than even she could grasp. It's a look into her future, a future stolen away by Thanos just like every other "what-if" that might have been.
She could have had this – this path and this family and this love – and instead, she's been dropped into a dead woman's life to disappoint herself and everyone else who knew this other Gamora. Everything that shaped the woman Peter knew will never happen to her now; every fundamental, defining moment that she'd undergone with the Guardians is in the past, where this Gamora should be.
Instead, she's stranded in the wrong time with nothing but a ghost to show for it. ]
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[ Gamora doesn't sound convinced. ]
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[ He's quiet for a second, wondering if it sounds like he's hinting.
(He isn't. But maybe he is. But he doesn't mean to be.)
Then, he quickly puts on "The Rubber Band Man." ]
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She chooses to ignore it.
The low beat of the next song cuts in, and Gamora straightens up to listen. It eases in more than "Dancin' Queen," but again, her fingers start to tap along, her head cocked to the side.
After a few mentions, she finally looks back at Peter. ]
Are rubberband men common on Terra?
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No, not really.
[ He jerks a thumb toward the Zune. ]
Pretty sure it was just the one.
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[ This Gamora, obviously, has never heard the legend of Kevin Bacon. ]
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Sort of. He's kind of, like, the poster child for how looks can be deceiving. A guy who looks and acts silly, but is actually an awesome badass.
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He's far more competent than Nebula would ever admit, but that's just another thing Gamora would be unlikely to share with him. ]
So he was like a hero, even when he acted absurd.
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After a second, he decides to let it lie and nods. ]
Yeah, something like that. Plus, even if he looked ridiculous, no one could really say it didn't work out, you know?
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As the song plays on, the faintest hint of a smile tugs briefly at her lips. ]
I think I see why she liked this.
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I do not know about the last part.
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Wanna give it a shot?
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The fact that she isn't immediately turning him down is telling, and she's genuinely considering the offer.
Her lips part to speak, then close again. After another short beat, she reaches out and takes his hand, getting to her feet. She gives a little nod forward to say "lead the way." ]
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But he shouldn't be. The old Gamora had eventually caved in – either in an attempt to humor him, or trying to seem like she was humoring him as a cover. Still, a small part of him wondered if this Gamora would resist, just in an attempt to set herself apart.
He guides her away from their seats into a more open space. ]
It's not hard. You just kinda move in time with the beat.
[ And he demonstrates with an easy little two-step. ]
I know you've got rhythm part down. I've seen you tapping in time with the music.
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She just didn't want it mentioned.
For a few seconds, she watches Peter's feet move, then mirrors the same with her own – hesitant, but still fairly graceful. ]
And you do this because it's fun.
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[ Simple as that. ]
It's fun. It's a good way to express yourself. It's a good way to show you're enjoying the music.
I guess if you wanna be practical about it, it's a good form of exercise, too, that doesn't end up with anyone wheezing on the floor.
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[ She sounds completely convinced, too, as she keeps moving with Peter—
— until she steps on his foot.
Gamora quickly backs up, dropping Peter's hand with a displeased frown. She doesn't apologize (never her strong suit). ]
I told you I don't dance.
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"Funny" in the sort of way that means it feels like someone has scooped out his innards and stomped all over them.
In the grand scheme of things? Treading on his foot is hardly anything. He's been shot before, been stabbed before, been tortured before. But the words, the circumstance, the memory, hurts like a thousand needles.
He stops, feeling his mouth go dry, and he clears his throat.
Hoarsely, ]
It's fine. Hardly felt a thing.
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Her fingers curl at her side where she'd held Peter's hand for that brief moment, and she takes a few more steps back, leaving a handful of feet that might as well be an impossibly deep chasm between them. ]
It's late.
[ Her tone isn't cold or unkind – just flat, matter-of-fact. ]
You should be resting for tomorrow.
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Sorry. It's fine, seriously. I just—
[ He waves a hand, the gesture slow and a little helpless. ]
Deja vu.
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I don't know what that means, Peter.
[ His Gamora has probably heard that explanation already. His Gamora would probably barely even bat an eye over the words; they would probably make perfect sense to her. But here and now, Gamora doesn't know what he's supposed to mean by "deja vu," and she's never heard of a rubberband man or thumping a tub, and she doesn't dance.
Maybe it was foolish trying to meet him halfway when the only thing that can possibly be gained is reminding him that she isn't his. ]
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She looks every bit like she's ready to flee, and he's sure he isn't helping matters.
He's absolutely sure, in fact, that he's making things worse.
The silly thing, he thinks, is that everyone assumes he invited Gamora back into the fold because he wants to rekindle something – and maybe a distant, naive part wanted that, too. But the real reason is— he knows better than almost anyone how much being with the Guardians meant for Gamora, how much it meant for her to have a family who didn't give two shits about the blood on her hands.
He knows better than anyone still alive how much it helped her grow.
And he's fucking this up. He's pushing her away. He's crowding her out with the ghost of Gamora before she can even get a handhold.
Maybe he should just— let her be.
He clears his throat, his hand dropping listlessly to his side. ]
The funny feeling you get when you've experienced something before.
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She still remembers the harsh way he'd snapped at her while he was bleeding out on the Benatar. He'd been right to, she's sure, because Gamora had been overstepping the line of strangers, talking about his Gamora like she had any idea what her other self would want or think or feel. It's so jarring to think that the only difference between herself and the woman Peter knew is a few years, and she still can't help wondering if she would have been in the same place, if she hadn't been yanked out of her own time. She would have grown into the Gamora he loved, she would have been the same woman who fought beside him and the other Guardians. She would have had that life – but someone else already did.
That place has been filled, those experiences already lived, but not by her. This home belongs to someone else. Someone else should be standing on this observation deck with Peter, dancing to songs that they loved. Someone else should be walking these halls, fighting these fights, living this life.
It's not hers, and she feels like a fool for– what? Thinking that maybe it could be?
There's no place for her now, because that spot was never vacated to begin with. The ghost of a woman Gamora is sure she'll never know and never have the chance to become hangs heavily in every hall and around every corner and behind every gaze she meets.
They look at her and see what they want to – and she knows she can only ever fall short. ]
Good night, Peter.
[ And it sounds hollow, defeated as she turns to the door. ]
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[ And the word leaves him before he can stop himself. ]
Please. Don't go.
[ Because he has the sinking sensation that if he lets her leave now, she'll be gone before morning. ]
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(He must have to face the dark reality of his Gamora's death, she thinks, if he can't look at her and pretend like nothing has changed.)
Despite her better judgment, she halts in place, pausing for a few heartbeats before turning to look back at him. She looks at his face, really looks at him, and there's a vulnerability in her own that even she isn't aware of. ]
Why?
[ The weight of being here, of not being the one who should be, is a harsher reality than even she could grasp. It's a look into her future, a future stolen away by Thanos just like every other "what-if" that might have been.
She could have had this – this path and this family and this love – and instead, she's been dropped into a dead woman's life to disappoint herself and everyone else who knew this other Gamora. Everything that shaped the woman Peter knew will never happen to her now; every fundamental, defining moment that she'd undergone with the Guardians is in the past, where this Gamora should be.
Instead, she's stranded in the wrong time with nothing but a ghost to show for it. ]
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