[ He rallies himself for a few seconds before he drags his gaze up to meet hers. ]
I know we're a bunch of assholes, but— I dunno. All of us being together helped each of us become... better. I think. Better than we used to be, anyway. Maybe it was just a safety in numbers thing, or maybe it was just knowing that we'd have someone to catch us when we fucked up, but whatever it was, it helped.
And maybe that won't be true for you this time, because we aren't going through the same shit, but at least it's a place to start.
[ Gamora waits again, letting Peter say his piece. She doesn't seem wholly convinced, but again, she has to admit that Peter's logic is compelling. Where would she go, if she left? What would she do? At least here, she has a direction, she has a jumping-off point – and she has people she can help. The Guardians, for all their difficulties, are trying to help.
She thinks she might want to be a part of that – if she and everyone else can stay on the right page. ]
[ The tone of resignation in Peter's voice feels more significant than his actual words. The loss, the unspoken grief—
Gamora knows loss. She can only imagine what he's been going through; it just feels disconcerting to think that, in certain ways, he's mourning her.
Her chin dips as she looks down to the floor between them, allowing the silence to stretch as she deliberates.
Finally, ]
... I'm sorry for your loss.
[ Gamora is not a woman for apologies, but she's also not apologizing for herself; she isn't apologizing for being the one left in this timeline instead of Peter's Gamora. She's apologizing because she knows that he's in pain, and she knows this isn't easy for him, by any means.
But he's still trying to offer her this place. He's still trying to leave a space for her, even knowing she isn't going to leap into his arms.
It's surreal, obviously, having the woman you fell in love with offering her condolences for the loss of the woman you loved.
(Because that's the fucked up thing, too – Peter fell fast and hard for Gamora only days after they first met, and he's loved her ever since, and sometimes it just feels like someone hit the reset switch on Gamora, but she's still Gamora, and he'd still do anything for her—
But it took Gamora time to warm to him, and more time to fall in love with him, he thinks, and now that it's happened once, Peter figures it'll never happen again.
He'll just have to live with that.)
He doesn't say anything in response; instead, he lets out a slightly thick hum in acknowledgment, trying to swallow down the thick lump in his throat. ]
[ All things considered, Gamora hasn't known Peter very long, but that doesn't mean she needs much personal insight to see the emotion swamping through him. These circumstances are hellish and unprecedented and fresh, and—
It's hard. There's no way that it isn't.
Hugs aren't necessarily Gamora's style, especially not at the point she is now, but she reaches out across that open space, laying a hand tentatively on Peter's arm. It's light, careful, ready to pull back if the touch is unwelcome, but it's still there.
If Peter knows her as well as he says that he does, she trusts he understands what she's offering. ]
[ He freezes the instant she touches him, and he glances up at her, startled and—
Grateful. At least a little. Because if this is fucked up for him, then it's about five million times worse for her, and this Gamora is well within her rights to wash her hands of all this fucking weirdness and take her leave.
He takes a deep breath, scrubbing at his slightly stinging eyes, before he forces himself to pull it together.
[ For a second, he's not entirely sure how to answer that, but at length, he shrugs. ]
Not any harder than anyone else.
[ Though maybe that's more of a commentary on the fact that he's Terran, and not exactly built for a life like this.
He moves to push himself up, but he hesitates for a second. As much as he's pushed, as much as he's fucked up, he still feels like he needs to make sure— ]
You haven't said anything about if you're still cool with staying.
[ Gamora watches him move – mindful of the wound she knows he's still technically nursing. The question gives her a beat of pause, and then she stands, glancing out the viewport again. ]
[ She doesn't feel uncomfortable around Peter, and he hasn't done anything untoward or unwelcome. She's more concerned that she's a painful reminder for him, that he can't see past his grief to allow her the freedom of discovering herself. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Nothing. Except for you to stay.
[ He rallies himself for a few seconds before he drags his gaze up to meet hers. ]
I know we're a bunch of assholes, but— I dunno. All of us being together helped each of us become... better. I think. Better than we used to be, anyway. Maybe it was just a safety in numbers thing, or maybe it was just knowing that we'd have someone to catch us when we fucked up, but whatever it was, it helped.
And maybe that won't be true for you this time, because we aren't going through the same shit, but at least it's a place to start.
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She thinks she might want to be a part of that – if she and everyone else can stay on the right page. ]
And nothing else?
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[ And his voice is a little hollow again. ]
Probably sounds like bullshit, but it's true.
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Gamora knows loss. She can only imagine what he's been going through; it just feels disconcerting to think that, in certain ways, he's mourning her.
Her chin dips as she looks down to the floor between them, allowing the silence to stretch as she deliberates.
Finally, ]
... I'm sorry for your loss.
[ Gamora is not a woman for apologies, but she's also not apologizing for herself; she isn't apologizing for being the one left in this timeline instead of Peter's Gamora. She's apologizing because she knows that he's in pain, and she knows this isn't easy for him, by any means.
But he's still trying to offer her this place. He's still trying to leave a space for her, even knowing she isn't going to leap into his arms.
She can tell that he's trying. ]
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It's surreal, obviously, having the woman you fell in love with offering her condolences for the loss of the woman you loved.
(Because that's the fucked up thing, too – Peter fell fast and hard for Gamora only days after they first met, and he's loved her ever since, and sometimes it just feels like someone hit the reset switch on Gamora, but she's still Gamora, and he'd still do anything for her—
But it took Gamora time to warm to him, and more time to fall in love with him, he thinks, and now that it's happened once, Peter figures it'll never happen again.
He'll just have to live with that.)
He doesn't say anything in response; instead, he lets out a slightly thick hum in acknowledgment, trying to swallow down the thick lump in his throat. ]
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It's hard. There's no way that it isn't.
Hugs aren't necessarily Gamora's style, especially not at the point she is now, but she reaches out across that open space, laying a hand tentatively on Peter's arm. It's light, careful, ready to pull back if the touch is unwelcome, but it's still there.
If Peter knows her as well as he says that he does, she trusts he understands what she's offering. ]
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Grateful. At least a little. Because if this is fucked up for him, then it's about five million times worse for her, and this Gamora is well within her rights to wash her hands of all this fucking weirdness and take her leave.
He takes a deep breath, scrubbing at his slightly stinging eyes, before he forces himself to pull it together.
Quietly, but still a little hoarse, ]
... Thanks.
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When Peter finally speaks, Gamora nods, slowly drawing her hand away. ]
... You really should be getting some rest.
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Still, he manages to put a bit of humor into his voice: ]
If that's a diplomatic way of asking me to leave, then point taken.
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Not intentionally.
[ And more honestly: ]
I have seen how hard you work.
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Not any harder than anyone else.
[ Though maybe that's more of a commentary on the fact that he's Terran, and not exactly built for a life like this.
He moves to push himself up, but he hesitates for a second. As much as he's pushed, as much as he's fucked up, he still feels like he needs to make sure— ]
You haven't said anything about if you're still cool with staying.
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I'm going to stay.
[ "For now" goes unspoken. ]
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It'll have to do for now.
He doesn't move to leave, though, and he settles again, frowning at her. ]
I know I'm...
[ A hesitation, then, ]
If I make you uncomfortable, I can give you some space.
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No. That's not necessary.
[ She doesn't feel uncomfortable around Peter, and he hasn't done anything untoward or unwelcome. She's more concerned that she's a painful reminder for him, that he can't see past his grief to allow her the freedom of discovering herself. ]
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You can tell me if that changes. I'm not done...
[ Grieving, he tries to say, but somehow it just sounds... clinical, and woefully inaccurate.
He helplessly trails off before he manages to find something slightly on the mark. ]
I'm not over... her. I don't... I don't think that'll change any time soon. And I know that it's—
[ He gestures vaguely. ]
It puts you in a weird position. So if you need space, just... let me know. Or let someone else know, and they can tell me. Whatever works.