nostalgiabomb | open post, vol. 2

[ Gamora pulls her hand away from her side, finally allowing herself to take visual stock of the damage done. Her green skin is seared away from her metal frame, exposing the sleek planes of silver beneath; there’s no blood, and the edges of flesh appear cauterized, rather than flayed and shredded. The skin itself will regenerate after she deals with the internal fragmentation, to whatever extent is necessary for her system to figure out the rest of the maintenance. ]

Fine.

[ A reflexive, automatic response – like a simple “if, then” statement in her code.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

Gamora unclips her harness, nodding back down the ladder. ]

Show me your tools?

[ Shockingly, it’s phrased as a request, instead of an order. ]

Uh. Yeah.

[ This, slightly dazed, as he takes a good look at the wound. It's one thing to be told that she and Korath are robots designed to blend in with organic life. It's quite another thing to be confronted with it.

He drags his gaze away, getting to his feet and leading her down to the main space. His tools, predictably, are all over the place, but there's an apparent method to the madness, since he tracks them down with ease. Once he's gathered everything that seems useful, he puts them down on the table near the navigation screen. ]

What else do you need?

[ It doesn't surprise her when Peter seems caught by the exposed view of what lies beneath her seemingly organic skin; living creatures, "real" life, tended to expect everything else was just like them.

That was part of what made it so easy for the Phalanx to infiltrate other races; their enemies never suspected something technological to worm its way into the core of their society.

Peter comes around quickly, and Gamora starts to strip off her vest as he gathers up his tools. She's left with her mostly-shredded undershirt that keeps her "decent" – even if nudity is far from her greatest consideration.

With the tools set on the table, Gamora steps close to look them over, her eyes flicking mechanically from one object to the next.

Finally, looking back up at Peter, ]

Your hands.

[ AKA: she can't do this without actual help. ]

[ Peter is silent for a second, then, ]

Man, I hope that's a request for help and not an abrupt precursor to you dismembering me.

[ Gamora casts him a short, flat look. ]

I wouldn't be able to do anything with your dismembered hands. It's not like I can attach them to my own body.

[ She shifts to direct attention to her exposed side: the metal plates that slid into place to protect the delicate systems beneath have formed a smooth, solid layer of silver. They lay across each other in order to shift and bend with Gamora, but all of the wiring and circuitry beneath is safely concealed. ]

I can guide you, but I won't be able to reach inside of the plating. I will need you to reconnect and potentially solder anything broken.

[ Her eyes flick up to Peter again. ]

Can you handle that?

[ He follows her gaze down to her exposed side, a little daunted by the prospect of dealing with any of that.

Peter likes working with tech, sure, but mostly he's making modifications to his ship or to his gear. He's definitely never worked with something that looks this complicated or fragile.

He frowns, licking his lips, but it doesn't take him long before he nods. ]

I can do my best, I guess, long as you can tell me what goes where.

I will.

[ ... She wouldn't let Peter loose inside her chest without heavy supervision.

(In the future? This wouldn't be the first time she's asked him.)

Gamora lifts her arm, and her eyes glaze over briefly, flashing once with light buried far behind her pupils. Seamlessly, the metal plates in her torso roll aside, exposing the finer circuits and wires buried inside. Sparks spit once from the shifting gears before settling back into ticking motion with red LEDs running like intermittent veins between the machinery. ]

There's a bearing knocked loose, where a human's lumbar vertebrae would be. It should appear out of alignment, near my spinal column.

[ Oh, Jesus, this is weird.

He moves around to the jumper seat, plopping down before nodding Gamora toward the table.

(He either doesn't realize or forgets that she probably doesn't need to sit to be comfortable.)

But once he's ready, he takes a breath before scans the opening in her side. Peter and anatomical terms don't exactly mix, but Gamora mentioning "spinal column" is enough to get him on the right track. ]

So I just— reach in and shove it back in place?

[ Gamora settles where Peter motions her, finding a position to keep him eye-level with her exposed circuitry. ]

Yes. It should fit between the open sockets; I'm not registering any peripheral damage to the connective servo units.

[ She keeps her arm elevated, glancing down at Peter. ]

Don't force it; you should feel a magnetic current between the contact points.

[ Right. Okay.

He should probably stop making comparisons to reaching into someone's guts and rooting around in their organs, because even if this feels the same, metaphorically, it's not the same, technically.

He grimaces for a second, all the same, before finally reaching a hand through the hole in her side. He finds the bearing in question, and carefully, he starts to push it back into place – and maybe he starts off a little too gently, but he slowly increases the pressure until the bearing slots back into place. ]

That good?

[ Gamora doesn't jolt when the bearing slides into place, but she straightens slightly, the lights in her chest flashing and changing pattern. ]

Yes.

[ A quick, short answer.

Gamora rolls her shoulder, turns her chin one direction then the next. ]

Do you see the lines between the vertebrae? The solid wires.

[ He glances up at her, worried, before redirecting his attention to the opening again. ]

Yeah. I think I see it. What do you need me to do?

Follow them higher, about two inches up. That controls my sensory reception.

[ Her pain response, essentially. ]

My system disconnects the input when enough damage is done, so you have to unplug the wires from the port and plug them back in again.

So, what, like a system restart?

[ He pauses, then, ]

You sure you wanna do this now? 'Cause you're gonna start feeling the damage after this, right?

[ She nods. ]

I have to, or my body won't initiate the regeneration of the damaged organic tissue.

[ Basically: her skin won't grow back, otherwise. ]

Oh.

[ Yeah, okay, that's important.

He lets out a breath before unplugging the wires, as she asked. Before he reconnects them, though, he glances up to catch her gaze. ]

You ready?

[ Strange, she finds herself thinking, that he's actually giving her consideration, that he cares about her "pain."

Something that still holds true in the future.

Peter's always paid her more deference than others when considering her to be more than a machine.

Again, Gamora offers a short nod. ]

Do it.

On three, then.

[ Just to give her time to brace herself.

He counts off the numbers in an even rhythm, and once he reaches "three," he carefully reinserts the wires. ]

[ Gamora readies herself as much as she can, but the sudden initiation of her nerves still hits her like a runaway train. Her system screeches with sudden sensation, and she feels like she's being ripped apart—

All things considered, her reaction is restrained. She inhales sharply, tensing all over, but she doesn't curl in on herself or yank away from Peter. She forces herself to breathe through the discomfort – or allowing her system to filter through the overwhelming rush of sensory data; whichever is more appropriate for an android.

Gamora speaks levelly, but through a clenched jaw. ]

I think— that's everything.

[ Maybe Gamora doesn't jerk away, but Peter is quick to pull back, lifting both hands in an unthreatening gesture.

Largely unnecessary, it seems, since Gamora seems to be in control – and subdued as it is, Peter can still tell she must be in pain. ]

You okay?

[ Gamora nods again, carefully controlled. ]

Yes.

[ Her systems are reaching normal levels again, so that's probably a fair definition of "okay," by human standards.

A beat of hesitation as she draws a few more slow breaths, and then, ]

Thank you.

Yeah, well. You wouldn't've gotten hurt if you weren't getting me out of the line of fire, so.

[ He lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. ]

Thank you, too.

That is what I'm here for.

[ Saving humanity and many other races from assimilation depended on Peter's survival.

Otherwise, they might as well surrender to the Phalanx now and get it over with.

Gamora leans back against the table, letting herself slowly unwind. Metal slides back to cover what would be her ribs, and she rests her fingertips over the newly-sensitive midsection. It throbs – in her perception of it – but she knows that now, she'll be able to regrow the tissue that usually gives her the passable appearance of a living being.

She'll be back to normal soon. ]

All that matters is that we have the gun. We should be able to destroy Korath, now.

Guess so.

[ He slumps back in his seat, rubbing at his eyes. ]

But Contraxia was where we were setting up to do it, right? We're gonna have to come up with a new plan of attack.

Yes, but we have the advantage of choosing our battlefield.

[ Gamora goes to where she abandoned her vest, frowning down at the scorched hole.

Well, that's a problem. ]

Korath is probably tracking your DNA signature, which means we can lead him somewhere we won't have to worry over collateral damage.

[ Gamora bunches up the vest, dropping it onto the table dismissively. ]

Anywhere we can establish a position that won't give him an edge.

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