[ Somehow, training with Peter again comes much more easily than the other things she's tried to share with him since he lost his memory. The familiarity of a fight, of keeping her body in motion as she shows him move after move keeps her grounded, and true to her word, she doesn't mind starting from the beginning. He responds well, already in good shape and in actual fighting condition (unlike after the bullet wound months ago), and so at least their work isn't entirely from scratch.
She's also shockingly patient, even as she has to go over the basics, helping him with his form and correcting him when necessary. She teaches him how to take a fall and how to recover, how to use his weight and how to keep his balance, and at first, that's all she's showing him. No sparring, no fights, because he isn't ready (and maybe because part of her is hoping that at... some point, it might jog his memory?). But she lets him practice on her, lets him see how she blocks and evades to demonstrate for a frame of reference that she knows is just as gone as the rest of his experiences now, and she at least slows it all down just enough that he can learn from it.
It's nice, if she's honest. It's some flicker of their old normalcy, and she didn't realize how much she needed that for herself in the wake of everything lost with Ego and the changes their lives had undergone. She can't fight him like she used to, but it's still refreshing to see him engaged, to see him genuinely trying instead of wandering the ship, aimless and lost.
Purposeless.
This provides a goal, something for him to reach for after he's made it clear that he wants to contribute, that he won't just sit back like a silly houseplant or a useless pet while they take on new work — which they have to, to keep themselves afloat. Even if those jobs don't involve Peter right now, they still have to maintain a presence and bring in units, and though there's the occasional notice of Star-Lord's absence, they get things done and hold it together (because they have to). There isn't the same kind of seamless teamwork that comes out in their fights with Peter there as their leader, but they've had to make it work without him before, and they try to treat it like yet another exercise in cohesion.
(Even if all of them acknowledge that they just want Peter back. They want him fighting at their sides, keeping them grounded like he always does. At least they aren't at each other's throats when it comes to getting down to business. Bickering? Certainly. But they pull it together, and that helps.)
Another three weeks pass with no sign of the old Peter Quill, a couple of short jobs coming and going along with them, but Gamora still keeps up their training. She's started moving them onto sparring, and when Peter takes a swing, she retaliates. She doesn't fight him hard enough to hurt, doesn't try to overwhelm him, but she still comes back at him with her own attack each time he goes on the offensive.
For what feels like the tenth time, she finds herself sweeping his ankle out from under him and taking him down to the mat — fortunately for him, without the same heavy, careless impact that she used to employ when they trained before. There's a strange sense that she's done this before, with how easily she keeps knocking him down, but she waves it away, banishes it to the back of her mind.
(It's just a hint of something that seems ages away now.)
With Peter's back on the mat and her knee on his chest, she just looks levelly down at him — and unlike before, unlike those moments of failed memories and empty places where familiarity should be, there's no disappointment in Gamora's eyes.
Instead, determination. ]
Again.
[ She rises effortlessly off of him, then offers him a hand up. ]
Watch your footwork; you leave me too many openings to knock you off-balance when you stay stationary too long.
Edited (whomp whomp literally only edits my subject gj me) 2017-05-08 22:03 (UTC)
[ It helps, having something to do. At least, it’s more constructive than wandering the corridors of the Quadrant, better than listening to music that means very little to him, better than staring at the bulkhead and hoping something my right rise from the emptiness in his head – something from nothing.
(More and more, Peter becomes sure that there’s nothing of his old life left in him, though he doesn’t say so aloud – not after his heated discussion with Gamora in the Quadrant’s bar. He can see the hope in the team’s eyes, despite how they try to temper it, and more and more, he feels little flickers of resentment from them.
But maybe he’s imagining that. Maybe it’s in his head, something conjured by his lack of progress.
And more and more, Peter finds he just... doesn’t care to get it back, doesn’t care whether or not it does. He’s content as he is, and guilt sours in his gut for it.)
Gamora trains him, but even if he’s impatient to get started, to dive straight in, he holds his tongue. Listens with patience as she walks him through the basics, through forms, all without throwing a punch or a kick his way. A part of him bristles, wants to tell her to get on with it, but he knows this is important, too. He can’t possibly do what he’s seen Gamora and Drax do as they sparred, and he’ll most certainly never get there without at least the basics in place.
They leave on jobs and assignments and business meetings, leave Peter behind to haunt the Quadrant – sometimes with Kraglin minding the ship along with him, sometimes without. While they’re gone, he focuses on moving through the forms, tries to mimic them from memory without Gamora there to correct his placement. He feels— lonely when he’s on his own like this, feels useless, and it makes him bristle.
He hopes that once he’s good enough, they’ll take him along.
Three weeks along, though, and he’s not good enough. He’s tentative, overly cautious, missing the easy chances in favor of staying on his guard. Every blow he tries to deliver is delayed by a split-second of hesitation. He’s careful in a way he never was before, slow and uncertain, not quite trusting his instincts. Gamora blocks him with ease, every time. Knocks him onto his back with hardly a thought.
The wind rushes out of his lungs as she presses his knee against his sternum, and he lets out a small, aggravated noise for being beaten again. Only to be expected, he knows, and he doesn’t complain; Gamora has far more experience than he does, after all, and at this point, he’s still a novice.
He risks a glance up into her eyes, and he preemptively steels himself for the disappointment that will surely be there. When nothing greets him but a steely resolve, he blinks up at her, startled, and he nearly misses the fact that she’s offering him a hand up. He takes it, though, pulls himself to his feet.
At her instruction, he nods, digesting the criticism as best as he can with a grim sort of frown. ]
[ Gamora agrees like it's the most obvious fact in the world. ]
But that's what will keep you alive in a fight. You have to be aware of all of this at any given time, and you must be constantly thinking two steps ahead of your enemy.
Everything happens quickly, and to keep your life, you have to combine the skills you're learning here — and you have to stay on the offensive.
[ She steps into his space suddenly, and when she swings her arm up, it comes as a blur, stopping a bare inch from Peter's cheek. ]
When I attack, defend and counter; don't wait for my next strike.
[ He barely registers she's moved, and by the time he does, her arm has already stopped just shy of slamming into his face. He flinches away, far too late, and he winces at himself for it, huffing out a frustrated breath. ]
I don't—
[ He pauses, shakes his head as he rephrases. ]
How do I know when to attack? It just— never seems like the right time.
You observe your opponent. You have to look for a pattern in their strikes, and respond, instead of letting them continue to beat you back.
You see this?
[ She nods towards the arm she's still holding up. ]
My side is exposed. Duck, and then aim for my ribs or my stomach. You can turn the tide as soon as you have analyzed how they move, and turn it against them. You have to take control of the pace and use it to your advantage, or you'll continue to be reacting instead of acting.
[ She lets her arm fall, and takes a step back from Peter. ]
[ This bit of information gets filed away with all the rest, and Peter is starting to realize that he may, in fact, be over his head with this silly notion of his, fighting alongside the rest of them. It's a great deal to process, a lot to keep track of, and he wonders if maybe this wasn't a good idea in the first place?
But the shakes the thought from his head, takes another step away to put more space between them. He licks his lips, nodding hesitantly. ]
[ She puts more distance between them, sliding into her own defensive stance. ]
Then come at me again — and don't hold yourself back. You won't hurt me.
[ It's still a matter of getting him to throw himself into the fight, to put more force into it, but she's also been careful not to push him too hard. ]
[ That hesitation again, that look of uncertainty crosses his face, but he takes a deep breath, nodding again.
He circles around, as much to find an opening as to stall for time to steel his nerves, but at last, he rushes forward, and for a little while, he seems a little more confident, moves with a little more purpose and determination, but it flags, soon enough. Peter has always been fast, and even the loss of himself couldn't change that; what it could change was the way he used that speed. In the early days, Peter was a little more reckless, would fall for easy feints because he took too many chances – most of the time it meant Gamora would flip him onto his back, but in the later days, he could sometimes recover and keep the round going.
Now, he uses that speed to dance back, focused on dodging, on guarding, not because he's afraid of hurting Gamora, but because he's cautious, because he thinks too long on his moves instead of trusting his instincts and reflexes.
Inevitably, Gamora gains the upper hand, throwing him to the ground.
[ Fighting Peter now is incredibly different to what she was used to before. It's easier, for one thing, but his tactics have changed enormously. He doesn't move the way Peter used to, doesn't take the same risks or fall into the rhythm in all those unpredictable Peter Quill kinds of improvisation. Peter kept her on her toes, even if she was naturally stronger and faster than him, and she'd appreciated that about sparring with him.
This Peter thinks too long, too hard on moves that should be second nature, and inevitably, she's beating him back, forcing him to defend when he needs to attack. When she takes him down, however, in an effort to soften impact, she finds herself hitting the mat with him, landing right above him, her forearm coming down across his throat.
... Her balance should have been better, really, because she has to catch herself on her other hand, her face landing inches from Peter's as her hair falls messily over her shoulder around them.
[ His hand goes to her wrist to pull some of the pressure from his throat, even if the weight she put against it wasn't nearly enough to hurt him or impede his breathing. When she falls against him, when her hair brushes against his cheek, he blinks up at her, startled by her proximity more than anything.
(It should dredge something up. It should remind him of sunlight falling through her hair, catching in the pink strands. It should remind him of the spike of fear piercing his heart.
It should remind him of stumbling with her, catching her as she fell. Saying with an insufferable smirk, "Why, Gamora. Are you falling for me?"
But nothing rises to the surface.) ]
I'm trying not to, alright? [ And his tone is a little defensive – which seems to be the running theme of today. ] This doesn't come as easy to me as it does to you, Gamora.
[ And there it finally is – that look of expectation in Gamora's eyes, that look that tells him she's waiting for something, and as the words leave his mouth, he sees the way it clicks off, like someone flipping a switch and shutting off the lights.
Peter wondered how long it'd take for him to see that.
He lets out a breath and sits up, once she's climbed off; unconsciously, he shifts over slightly to put space between them. ]
I... I don't know.
[ He looks down at his lap, stretches his hands and clenches them into fists.
[ That sounds better, and it suits his comfort levels a little better, but—
That wasn't really the point of this, was it? The point of this was to get him prepared for... whatever it is the team does when they go out on assignments, because he's tired of being left behind, tired of drifting, left behind on a ship way too big for just seven people.
Hell, they even take Groot with them on jobs, and he's practically a child. ]
That's... not what I'm supposed to be getting out of this. Right? I'm not supposed to just be guarding.
[ His brow furrows, and he gives a sharp shake of his head. ]
[ Just like weeks ago when Peter had insisted he wanted to make himself useful, there's that flicker of approval in Gamora's face when he echoes that now. She wouldn't have been upset if he wanted to focus his training elsewhere, but the fact that he wants to stick with it, to keep trying, is admirable.
She gets to her feet, holding her hand out to Peter again. ]
We go at your pace.
Keep in mind that there's no time limit for you to improve, but continuing to push yourself will make that progress easier.
[ Because Gamora is here to let him keep working, to keep teaching him over and over until he gets it right. He's improving, though in ways she didn't expected — different from the Peter she'd known and his usual tactics.
She isn't sure what that actually means for the current Peter, however. ]
[ He takes her hand, hauling himself back up. This time, though, he takes the initiative to move back a pace or two – he'd rather not have another repeat of Gamora nearly taking out his head with a chop from her arm.
Just push himself, she says. It'll make progress easier.
He's been doing that for almost two months, now, he thinks. It hasn't made anything easier.
Another thought to shove out of his mind as he readies himself again, as he steels himself for another round. He circles around again, trying to get into the correct mindset, and he charges forward.
The results are more or less the same. He tries, though, tries to stay on the offensive, to stay aggressive, but as the fight drags on, he falters. Gets into his own head, thinks too hard on his moves, and without his meaning to, he falls back into keeping himself guarded, losing that edge.
[ He does well enough at first, and Gamora can respect that, trying to encourage it by giving him the opportunity to see an opening, leaving herself exposed when she otherwise would have been much more diligent in her guard — but he's learning, and she can't fight the way she usually would, or he wouldn't pick up on any of it.
But, much like before, she sees the moment that he starts focusing inward, pulls away from the instinct and the aggression that he needs, and Gamora can't help taking advantage of it. Not to be cruel, not to be unkind, but to show him what happens when he gives her that much of an opportunity.
She moves faster, hits a little harder, and whether she means it to encourage him to fight back or to show him what happens when he lets someone else get the upperhand, that isn't immediately apparent. What is clear, however, is that the next time she kicks him, aimed right for his ribs, it has a whole lot more force than before. ]
[ Gamora is moving faster than he remembers, hitting harder than he's used to, and each blow connects, sends him stumbling, makes recovering that much more difficult.
Still, he manages to deflect or block a hit, here and there, but when one fierce strike breaks his guard, it sends him stumbling back and flailing to keep his balance. It's then that she delivers the kick to his ribs, and the force of it drives the breath from his lungs, drags a startled, pained noise from him, and he falls to the mats. He lands hard, nearly bouncing with the impact, though the cushioning helps to break the fall. He curls up with a groan, both hands going to the sharp pain in his side. ]
[ Admittedly, Gamora doesn't intend for him to go down as hard as he does. She thought he might be able to take the hit better, but as Peter slams into the mats, knocking him across the space, she falls immediately out of her stance. ]
Peter?
[ She quickly steps forward, taking a knee next to him and reaching for his shoulder as he holds his side. ]
Here, let me see.
[ She doesn't think she used enough force to actually break anything, but she at least wants to make sure. ]
[ He flinches away – unconscious and instinctual, with his mind still working on defending himself. It's only a split second later that he realizes what he's done, though he's not sure whether or not to feel guilty for it. ]
I'm alright.
[ Automatic, if breathless, as he pushes himself onto his elbow, his other hand grasping at his side. ]
[ Gamora is— genuinely surprised when he curls away from her like that, like he's expecting another blow. That's just as unfamiliar to her, and the reminder draws another twinge in her chest. ]
It was supposed to.
[ She doesn't reach for him again, but she watches his movements intently. ]
I thought perhaps I could goad you into retaliating.
[ That if she'd pushed harder, he'd be inspired to fight back to defend himself instead of just taking every blow as it came.
... Apparently, that hadn't been especially successful. ]
[ He pushes himself up to sit, gaze cast down to the practice mats. ]
It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.
[ His side stings as he holds it, and he’s pretty sure a nice, pretty bruise will be forming there soon enough. Maybe the old him could have taken the blow and rolled with it, could’ve dodged or blocked or deflected it, instead of just— taking the full brunt of it, as he had. He wonders for a second if it wasn’t just a little intentional, just a little pointed, like Gamora almost wanted to take him down like that.
With his free hand, he draws his hand down his jaw. ]
You have been doing this for weeks, not years. Being terrible should be expected.
[ And she needs to keep that in mind. Maybe she'd just hoped enough of that latent muscle memory would help him, that he'd be closer to his original skill level. To his credit, he's better than he could be, but he's nowhere near the Peter Quill who made a genuinely enjoyable sparring partner, who kept her on her toes and was constantly surprising her with the gutsy improvising that had seen him through so many years of fights. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
was your heart prepared for more of this au bc mine was Not
She's also shockingly patient, even as she has to go over the basics, helping him with his form and correcting him when necessary. She teaches him how to take a fall and how to recover, how to use his weight and how to keep his balance, and at first, that's all she's showing him. No sparring, no fights, because he isn't ready (and maybe because part of her is hoping that at... some point, it might jog his memory?). But she lets him practice on her, lets him see how she blocks and evades to demonstrate for a frame of reference that she knows is just as gone as the rest of his experiences now, and she at least slows it all down just enough that he can learn from it.
It's nice, if she's honest. It's some flicker of their old normalcy, and she didn't realize how much she needed that for herself in the wake of everything lost with Ego and the changes their lives had undergone. She can't fight him like she used to, but it's still refreshing to see him engaged, to see him genuinely trying instead of wandering the ship, aimless and lost.
Purposeless.
This provides a goal, something for him to reach for after he's made it clear that he wants to contribute, that he won't just sit back like a silly houseplant or a useless pet while they take on new work — which they have to, to keep themselves afloat. Even if those jobs don't involve Peter right now, they still have to maintain a presence and bring in units, and though there's the occasional notice of Star-Lord's absence, they get things done and hold it together (because they have to). There isn't the same kind of seamless teamwork that comes out in their fights with Peter there as their leader, but they've had to make it work without him before, and they try to treat it like yet another exercise in cohesion.
(Even if all of them acknowledge that they just want Peter back. They want him fighting at their sides, keeping them grounded like he always does. At least they aren't at each other's throats when it comes to getting down to business. Bickering? Certainly. But they pull it together, and that helps.)
Another three weeks pass with no sign of the old Peter Quill, a couple of short jobs coming and going along with them, but Gamora still keeps up their training. She's started moving them onto sparring, and when Peter takes a swing, she retaliates. She doesn't fight him hard enough to hurt, doesn't try to overwhelm him, but she still comes back at him with her own attack each time he goes on the offensive.
For what feels like the tenth time, she finds herself sweeping his ankle out from under him and taking him down to the mat — fortunately for him, without the same heavy, careless impact that she used to employ when they trained before. There's a strange sense that she's done this before, with how easily she keeps knocking him down, but she waves it away, banishes it to the back of her mind.
(It's just a hint of something that seems ages away now.)
With Peter's back on the mat and her knee on his chest, she just looks levelly down at him — and unlike before, unlike those moments of failed memories and empty places where familiarity should be, there's no disappointment in Gamora's eyes.
Instead, determination. ]
Again.
[ She rises effortlessly off of him, then offers him a hand up. ]
Watch your footwork; you leave me too many openings to knock you off-balance when you stay stationary too long.
no subject
(More and more, Peter becomes sure that there’s nothing of his old life left in him, though he doesn’t say so aloud – not after his heated discussion with Gamora in the Quadrant’s bar. He can see the hope in the team’s eyes, despite how they try to temper it, and more and more, he feels little flickers of resentment from them.
But maybe he’s imagining that. Maybe it’s in his head, something conjured by his lack of progress.
And more and more, Peter finds he just... doesn’t care to get it back, doesn’t care whether or not it does. He’s content as he is, and guilt sours in his gut for it.)
Gamora trains him, but even if he’s impatient to get started, to dive straight in, he holds his tongue. Listens with patience as she walks him through the basics, through forms, all without throwing a punch or a kick his way. A part of him bristles, wants to tell her to get on with it, but he knows this is important, too. He can’t possibly do what he’s seen Gamora and Drax do as they sparred, and he’ll most certainly never get there without at least the basics in place.
They leave on jobs and assignments and business meetings, leave Peter behind to haunt the Quadrant – sometimes with Kraglin minding the ship along with him, sometimes without. While they’re gone, he focuses on moving through the forms, tries to mimic them from memory without Gamora there to correct his placement. He feels— lonely when he’s on his own like this, feels useless, and it makes him bristle.
He hopes that once he’s good enough, they’ll take him along.
Three weeks along, though, and he’s not good enough. He’s tentative, overly cautious, missing the easy chances in favor of staying on his guard. Every blow he tries to deliver is delayed by a split-second of hesitation. He’s careful in a way he never was before, slow and uncertain, not quite trusting his instincts. Gamora blocks him with ease, every time. Knocks him onto his back with hardly a thought.
The wind rushes out of his lungs as she presses his knee against his sternum, and he lets out a small, aggravated noise for being beaten again. Only to be expected, he knows, and he doesn’t complain; Gamora has far more experience than he does, after all, and at this point, he’s still a novice.
He risks a glance up into her eyes, and he preemptively steels himself for the disappointment that will surely be there. When nothing greets him but a steely resolve, he blinks up at her, startled, and he nearly misses the fact that she’s offering him a hand up. He takes it, though, pulls himself to his feet.
At her instruction, he nods, digesting the criticism as best as he can with a grim sort of frown. ]
It’s— a lot to keep in mind.
no subject
[ Gamora agrees like it's the most obvious fact in the world. ]
But that's what will keep you alive in a fight. You have to be aware of all of this at any given time, and you must be constantly thinking two steps ahead of your enemy.
Everything happens quickly, and to keep your life, you have to combine the skills you're learning here — and you have to stay on the offensive.
[ She steps into his space suddenly, and when she swings her arm up, it comes as a blur, stopping a bare inch from Peter's cheek. ]
When I attack, defend and counter; don't wait for my next strike.
no subject
I don't—
[ He pauses, shakes his head as he rephrases. ]
How do I know when to attack? It just— never seems like the right time.
no subject
You see this?
[ She nods towards the arm she's still holding up. ]
My side is exposed. Duck, and then aim for my ribs or my stomach. You can turn the tide as soon as you have analyzed how they move, and turn it against them. You have to take control of the pace and use it to your advantage, or you'll continue to be reacting instead of acting.
[ She lets her arm fall, and takes a step back from Peter. ]
Look for openings, and exploit them.
no subject
But the shakes the thought from his head, takes another step away to put more space between them. He licks his lips, nodding hesitantly. ]
Okay. I think... I think I've got it.
no subject
[ She puts more distance between them, sliding into her own defensive stance. ]
Then come at me again — and don't hold yourself back. You won't hurt me.
[ It's still a matter of getting him to throw himself into the fight, to put more force into it, but she's also been careful not to push him too hard. ]
no subject
He circles around, as much to find an opening as to stall for time to steel his nerves, but at last, he rushes forward, and for a little while, he seems a little more confident, moves with a little more purpose and determination, but it flags, soon enough. Peter has always been fast, and even the loss of himself couldn't change that; what it could change was the way he used that speed. In the early days, Peter was a little more reckless, would fall for easy feints because he took too many chances – most of the time it meant Gamora would flip him onto his back, but in the later days, he could sometimes recover and keep the round going.
Now, he uses that speed to dance back, focused on dodging, on guarding, not because he's afraid of hurting Gamora, but because he's cautious, because he thinks too long on his moves instead of trusting his instincts and reflexes.
Inevitably, Gamora gains the upper hand, throwing him to the ground.
Again. ]
no subject
This Peter thinks too long, too hard on moves that should be second nature, and inevitably, she's beating him back, forcing him to defend when he needs to attack. When she takes him down, however, in an effort to soften impact, she finds herself hitting the mat with him, landing right above him, her forearm coming down across his throat.
... Her balance should have been better, really, because she has to catch herself on her other hand, her face landing inches from Peter's as her hair falls messily over her shoulder around them.
She blinks down at him, pausing. ]
... You're defending again.
no subject
(It should dredge something up. It should remind him of sunlight falling through her hair, catching in the pink strands. It should remind him of the spike of fear piercing his heart.
It should remind him of stumbling with her, catching her as she fell. Saying with an insufferable smirk, "Why, Gamora. Are you falling for me?"
But nothing rises to the surface.) ]
I'm trying not to, alright? [ And his tone is a little defensive – which seems to be the running theme of today. ] This doesn't come as easy to me as it does to you, Gamora.
no subject
Once again, this Peter is a stranger. ]
This didn't come easy; I trained for it.
[ She pulls her arm away from his throat, sitting up and climbing off of him to kneel at his side instead of... well, being on top of him. ]
Why do you keep retreating? I give you the openings you need.
no subject
Peter wondered how long it'd take for him to see that.
He lets out a breath and sits up, once she's climbed off; unconsciously, he shifts over slightly to put space between them. ]
I... I don't know.
[ He looks down at his lap, stretches his hands and clenches them into fists.
With a faint thread of humor, ]
Maybe because I don't want to get hit?
no subject
Those inches might as well be an entire solar system at this point. ]
Then the way to avoid being hit?
Hit your opponent first.
[ She at least doesn't sound derisive or frustrated, unlike how she would have reacted months and months ago. ]
You start off strong, but you lose your nerve.
no subject
[ He rubs at his brow with a hand, not quite scowling but broaching close. ]
I'm still— trying to wrap my head around all this. I think... defending is just. Easier for now.
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[ That dry sarcasm meets Peter's tone, but she cocks her head, considering him and that frustration she can see just under the surface. ]
We could focus more on defense, if that's what you would prefer.
[ He needs to know that it won't let him be part of the team on jobs any faster, but... continuing to ease him into it isn't their worst option. ]
Building up your pain tolerance or focusing on giving you opportunities to read offensive patterns better — that may suit you for now.
no subject
That wasn't really the point of this, was it? The point of this was to get him prepared for... whatever it is the team does when they go out on assignments, because he's tired of being left behind, tired of drifting, left behind on a ship way too big for just seven people.
Hell, they even take Groot with them on jobs, and he's practically a child. ]
That's... not what I'm supposed to be getting out of this. Right? I'm not supposed to just be guarding.
[ His brow furrows, and he gives a sharp shake of his head. ]
Let me try again.
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She gets to her feet, holding her hand out to Peter again. ]
We go at your pace.
Keep in mind that there's no time limit for you to improve, but continuing to push yourself will make that progress easier.
[ Because Gamora is here to let him keep working, to keep teaching him over and over until he gets it right. He's improving, though in ways she didn't expected — different from the Peter she'd known and his usual tactics.
She isn't sure what that actually means for the current Peter, however. ]
no subject
Just push himself, she says. It'll make progress easier.
He's been doing that for almost two months, now, he thinks. It hasn't made anything easier.
Another thought to shove out of his mind as he readies himself again, as he steels himself for another round. He circles around again, trying to get into the correct mindset, and he charges forward.
The results are more or less the same. He tries, though, tries to stay on the offensive, to stay aggressive, but as the fight drags on, he falters. Gets into his own head, thinks too hard on his moves, and without his meaning to, he falls back into keeping himself guarded, losing that edge.
The results are predictable. ]
no subject
But, much like before, she sees the moment that he starts focusing inward, pulls away from the instinct and the aggression that he needs, and Gamora can't help taking advantage of it. Not to be cruel, not to be unkind, but to show him what happens when he gives her that much of an opportunity.
She moves faster, hits a little harder, and whether she means it to encourage him to fight back or to show him what happens when he lets someone else get the upperhand, that isn't immediately apparent. What is clear, however, is that the next time she kicks him, aimed right for his ribs, it has a whole lot more force than before. ]
no subject
Still, he manages to deflect or block a hit, here and there, but when one fierce strike breaks his guard, it sends him stumbling back and flailing to keep his balance. It's then that she delivers the kick to his ribs, and the force of it drives the breath from his lungs, drags a startled, pained noise from him, and he falls to the mats. He lands hard, nearly bouncing with the impact, though the cushioning helps to break the fall. He curls up with a groan, both hands going to the sharp pain in his side. ]
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Peter?
[ She quickly steps forward, taking a knee next to him and reaching for his shoulder as he holds his side. ]
Here, let me see.
[ She doesn't think she used enough force to actually break anything, but she at least wants to make sure. ]
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I'm alright.
[ Automatic, if breathless, as he pushes himself onto his elbow, his other hand grasping at his side. ]
Surprised me. That's all.
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It was supposed to.
[ She doesn't reach for him again, but she watches his movements intently. ]
I thought perhaps I could goad you into retaliating.
[ That if she'd pushed harder, he'd be inspired to fight back to defend himself instead of just taking every blow as it came.
... Apparently, that hadn't been especially successful. ]
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It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.
[ His side stings as he holds it, and he’s pretty sure a nice, pretty bruise will be forming there soon enough. Maybe the old him could have taken the blow and rolled with it, could’ve dodged or blocked or deflected it, instead of just— taking the full brunt of it, as he had. He wonders for a second if it wasn’t just a little intentional, just a little pointed, like Gamora almost wanted to take him down like that.
With his free hand, he draws his hand down his jaw. ]
I’m not any good at this. I know.
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[ And she needs to keep that in mind. Maybe she'd just hoped enough of that latent muscle memory would help him, that he'd be closer to his original skill level. To his credit, he's better than he could be, but he's nowhere near the Peter Quill who made a genuinely enjoyable sparring partner, who kept her on her toes and was constantly surprising her with the gutsy improvising that had seen him through so many years of fights. ]
But you're improving.
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