[ She may not see it, avoiding his gaze as she is, but his face lights up at her words, and he leans forward a little, eager and slightly disbelieving. ]
Yeah? You mean that?
[ Never mind the slightly macabre idea of Peter getting killed; he latches onto the important part, clearly. ]
You... [ He clears his throat, his tone shifting as he tries for something a little more neutral, a little more nonchalant, as though he isn’t waiting anxiously for her answer. ]
[ She glances at him out of the corner of her eye when she catches movement, the way he leans forward, and it's genuinely difficult to keep her smile reserved when he brightens so much. The excitement is oddly flattering, the eagerness lighthearted in a way she sees so occasionally from him, but she likes it all the same. ]
Of course. Why would that have changed?
[ ... Other than how awkward and uncertain they'd been around each other since the party. ]
[ He tries to wrangle his expression back into something a little less kid-in-a-candy-store, a little more cool, and he settles back against the bulkhead. (His stomach flips, though, at the warmth in her smile, in her eyes, something fluttering in his chest for it.
Not for the first time, and most certainly not for the last, he thinks, Holy shit, you’ve got it bad, Quill.)
At her question, his expression falls a little – not enough to dark his expression, but certainly enough as to be noticeable. ]
No reason.
[ Lots of reasons, actually, not the least of which is the strange distance that had drifted between them, bit by bit. A sort of stiltedness to their conversations that hadn’t been there since the early days – like after escaping the Kyln, with neither of them quite sure how to read the other. ]
But, you know. [ He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. ] People just change their minds, sometimes.
[ She's spent too much time with Peter not to catch the falter in his smile, and there's something that twinges oddly in her chest with it.
"No reason," she thinks, is completely inaccurate.
But she also doesn't know how to call him on it or how to bring it up herself. That heaviness in the wake of their near-kiss still sits between them, and it seems like something that should be discussed (since they obviously are terrible at legitimately acting like it never happened, like things were the same as they'd always been), but she is so far out of her depth that she has no idea how to say anything about it.
... She still isn't sure if she should.
Reasonably, she knows that agreeing to dance with Peter again is another kind of boundary-crossing thing, but it feels more like their adventures together when they'd tried so many new things (something she misses when she lets herself stop and think about it). The kiss is too... concrete, too frightfully legitimate in a way that opens new doors she isn't sure they'd be able to close if they needed to.
So instead, she just shrugs in a mirror of his own gesture. ]
[ The corner of his mouth twitches upward, that same grin from earlier threatening to return in full force, but he keeps it at bay for now. Because it’s seriously uncool, and he’s going for suave, here. Cool and collected. He already looked bad enough when he bonked his head and had a ship full of people on his case for it. Already bad enough that he’ll be getting concerned glances for the next day or two while he bounced back.
He doesn’t need an insane, elated smile ruining his already slightly tarnished image.
Peter takes a second to find his voice, and when he trusts it to not come out a few shades higher than normal, he says smoothly, ]
I’ll have to keep that in mind for when there’s a good song playing, then.
[ And he pops the “p” sound, the corner of his mouth rising a little higher as he tries to smother his smile.
It only half-works.
And he knows it’s hardly an answer – but Peter’s already tipped his hand pretty badly, practically shy of holding his cards backwards to face the entire table, and a stubborn part of him feels like he ought to maintain some air of mystery.
Part of him wonders if she’s agreeing just to make him happy, some residual urge from that day in the market that he barely remembers, some little carrot dangling in his face to keep him moving forward. He wonders if she actually wants to indulge him because she would enjoy it, or if she’s indulging him because she’s gotten into the habit of holding the stick and has completely forgotten why.
The same reason why the team coddled him today. The same reason why Gamora kept casting concerned looks his way. Like they think that if they don’t keep an eye on him, he might disappear.
[ Gamora's not sure why she expected a straight answer, but she finds that she doesn't even mind — not when that smile is fighting its way onto his face all over again. ]
But maybe I will ask you first.
[ Because she sees no reason why she shouldn't ask him instead, if it's something she'll also enjoy. Gamora isn't one to sit back and let things happen, after all, and she's already danced with him more than once, promised to dance with him beyond that too, so why not beat him to the punch?
If only to see the look on his face when she does ask. ]
[ He huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shrugging a shoulder. ]
You say that like I’d mind.
[ Which he wouldn’t, after all. Peter already claims the credit for asking her first, and he can boast that he was likely the first person she’s ever willingly said “yes” to. So he’s pretty much set, in his own eyes.
(He almost thinks, I could die happy, but he shies away from the thought like it burns.)
He lifts a hand to carefully prod at the lump on the back of his head – the pain has dulled down, at least. Something present but not distracting. ]
Maybe wait till I’m not liable to trip over myself just standing, though.
[ But she can wait. She's in no immediate rush, not with the things she still feels like she has to parse through for herself, the unfamiliarity of emotion that she doesn't truly have a name for, the uncertainty in the wake of the party.
(The ferocious response that reared its head today during the fight.)
She watches him prod at himself, more considering than with blatant concern. ]
I should let you return to resting, since I disturbed you in the first place.
[ Which he absolutely doesn’t; sure, close quarters means they might get on one another’s nerves sometimes, but that’s true of everyone. He tips his head back against the bulkhead, letting out a quiet breath. ]
But you’re probably right. Could probably do with a nap or something. [ he makes a vague gesture toward his head. ] At least if I pass out I won’t have to deal with the headache.
[ Gamora gives him a look at "apple slices and a juice box" because she did not a) have naptime as a child, and b) has no concept of these things. That was as good as gibberish.
(But she's used to Peter saying things like that.)
At least he's settling in, and so she gets to her feet, giving him back all the space on his bunk. ]
I will try to keep them in line.
[ No guarantees, of course.
She heads for the door, but she pauses to glance at him over her shoulder. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Yeah? You mean that?
[ Never mind the slightly macabre idea of Peter getting killed; he latches onto the important part, clearly. ]
You... [ He clears his throat, his tone shifting as he tries for something a little more neutral, a little more nonchalant, as though he isn’t waiting anxiously for her answer. ]
You still plan on saying yes?
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Of course. Why would that have changed?
[ ... Other than how awkward and uncertain they'd been around each other since the party. ]
no subject
Not for the first time, and most certainly not for the last, he thinks, Holy shit, you’ve got it bad, Quill.)
At her question, his expression falls a little – not enough to dark his expression, but certainly enough as to be noticeable. ]
No reason.
[ Lots of reasons, actually, not the least of which is the strange distance that had drifted between them, bit by bit. A sort of stiltedness to their conversations that hadn’t been there since the early days – like after escaping the Kyln, with neither of them quite sure how to read the other. ]
But, you know. [ He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. ] People just change their minds, sometimes.
no subject
"No reason," she thinks, is completely inaccurate.
But she also doesn't know how to call him on it or how to bring it up herself. That heaviness in the wake of their near-kiss still sits between them, and it seems like something that should be discussed (since they obviously are terrible at legitimately acting like it never happened, like things were the same as they'd always been), but she is so far out of her depth that she has no idea how to say anything about it.
... She still isn't sure if she should.
Reasonably, she knows that agreeing to dance with Peter again is another kind of boundary-crossing thing, but it feels more like their adventures together when they'd tried so many new things (something she misses when she lets herself stop and think about it). The kiss is too... concrete, too frightfully legitimate in a way that opens new doors she isn't sure they'd be able to close if they needed to.
So instead, she just shrugs in a mirror of his own gesture. ]
I haven't decided otherwise.
All you have to do is ask.
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He doesn’t need an insane, elated smile ruining his already slightly tarnished image.
Peter takes a second to find his voice, and when he trusts it to not come out a few shades higher than normal, he says smoothly, ]
I’ll have to keep that in mind for when there’s a good song playing, then.
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A good song here on the ship or an actual dance floor?
[ Distantly, she realizes she'd indulge him either way. ]
no subject
[ And he pops the “p” sound, the corner of his mouth rising a little higher as he tries to smother his smile.
It only half-works.
And he knows it’s hardly an answer – but Peter’s already tipped his hand pretty badly, practically shy of holding his cards backwards to face the entire table, and a stubborn part of him feels like he ought to maintain some air of mystery.
Part of him wonders if she’s agreeing just to make him happy, some residual urge from that day in the market that he barely remembers, some little carrot dangling in his face to keep him moving forward. He wonders if she actually wants to indulge him because she would enjoy it, or if she’s indulging him because she’s gotten into the habit of holding the stick and has completely forgotten why.
The same reason why the team coddled him today. The same reason why Gamora kept casting concerned looks his way. Like they think that if they don’t keep an eye on him, he might disappear.
He doesn’t know what to do with that. ]
We’ll play it by ear, like we usually do.
no subject
[ Gamora's not sure why she expected a straight answer, but she finds that she doesn't even mind — not when that smile is fighting its way onto his face all over again. ]
But maybe I will ask you first.
[ Because she sees no reason why she shouldn't ask him instead, if it's something she'll also enjoy. Gamora isn't one to sit back and let things happen, after all, and she's already danced with him more than once, promised to dance with him beyond that too, so why not beat him to the punch?
If only to see the look on his face when she does ask. ]
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You say that like I’d mind.
[ Which he wouldn’t, after all. Peter already claims the credit for asking her first, and he can boast that he was likely the first person she’s ever willingly said “yes” to. So he’s pretty much set, in his own eyes.
(He almost thinks, I could die happy, but he shies away from the thought like it burns.)
He lifts a hand to carefully prod at the lump on the back of his head – the pain has dulled down, at least. Something present but not distracting. ]
Maybe wait till I’m not liable to trip over myself just standing, though.
no subject
That wouldn't be enjoyable for either of us.
[ But she can wait. She's in no immediate rush, not with the things she still feels like she has to parse through for herself, the unfamiliarity of emotion that she doesn't truly have a name for, the uncertainty in the wake of the party.
(The ferocious response that reared its head today during the fight.)
She watches him prod at himself, more considering than with blatant concern. ]
I should let you return to resting, since I disturbed you in the first place.
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And you say that like I mind your company.
[ Which he absolutely doesn’t; sure, close quarters means they might get on one another’s nerves sometimes, but that’s true of everyone. He tips his head back against the bulkhead, letting out a quiet breath. ]
But you’re probably right. Could probably do with a nap or something. [ he makes a vague gesture toward his head. ] At least if I pass out I won’t have to deal with the headache.
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[ If only because they're likelier to keep talking, but—
— it's more than they've really talked one-on-one in a while. ]
The nap will be better for you.
[ Even if she would rather stay. ]
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Sure, sure. Just get me my apple slices and a juice box, read me a bedtime story, and we can call it a day.
[ But after a hesitant second, Peter eases himself down to lie on his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ]
Make sure none of those assholes set the ship on fire, please.
no subject
(But she's used to Peter saying things like that.)
At least he's settling in, and so she gets to her feet, giving him back all the space on his bunk. ]
I will try to keep them in line.
[ No guarantees, of course.
She heads for the door, but she pauses to glance at him over her shoulder. ]
... Get some rest, Quill.