[ 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. ]
[ He breathes out a quiet, mirthless little sound, though it shapes itself as a laugh. ]
I’m still not where I was.
[ And that much is obvious in the way Gamora watched him as he trained, when he would make one move where she clearly expected another, and that’s just how it’s always been, as long as he remembers. Which, given that he only actively remembers things from the past couple of months, is either saying quite a bit or nothing at all.
Both hands drop to his lap, and he picks at the seam of his sweatpants. ]
It’s not going how you want it to. [ Flat, if quiet. ] I can see it on your face.
[ Gamora doesn't respond immediately, because a denial would be dishonest.
Instead, she takes a proper seat on the floor, folding her legs under herself as she considers him. ]
I have high expectations for you, and I want you to reach your potential. That's all.
[ She wants him to be able to fight with them again, to be part of the team — not only because he was such an integral part of the Guardians, but also because she doesn't want him to feel so... alone. She's seen the distant looks on his face, that hesitance and removal from the rest of them, and she wouldn't blame him for feeling out of place, wearing a stranger's clothes and still having no idea who it is they expect to see when they look at his face. ]
[ Peter bites back his first inclination to make a scoffing noise, to roll his eyes and demand that she say what she means.
That she wants him to be how he was.
And Peter’s starting to get really tired of disappointing everyone, every minute of every day.
He swallows that bitterness down, scrubs at his face with frustration, before his voice carries a little on an exhausted sigh. ]
Groot’s gonna be fully grown by the time I’m anywhere near close to ready. [ A touch of humor, though not much of it, because Peter thinks he might actually be right. ] You sure you’re willing to work on it that long?
[ And there isn't an ounce of hesitation this time; the answer comes immediate, like she doesn't even have to think about it.
Because, well.
She doesn't. She means it, wholeheartedly, because if Peter will get his memory back, then fine, he can take all the time he needs. And if not? Then they adapt, adjust — make the changes they have to. ]
As I've said, this is at your pace.
[ ... Even if the way she'd kicked him before hadn't exactly been at his pace, but... she'd needed to push him to gauge again for herself where he stood. ]
[ The immediacy of that answer surprises him, makes him drag his eyes up to study Gamora’s face, like he’s expecting to see the lie written across the bridge of her nose. A few more seconds, he watches her, waiting for a break in that impassive mask, and when none comes, he nods with gratitude.
But he tenses, gaze flitting over to the corridor leading out of the training room, as if to direct her attention to the rest of the crew. ]
Not sure if the others feel that way.
[ Kraglin, for instance, who looks at him with this anger in his eyes, this resentment, when he thinks Peter isn’t looking – and it hurts whenever Peter manages to catch it. Rips straight through his chest.
And Rocket, who looks at him the same way, only sometimes, he’s not as careful about it. Sometimes, he darts out when Peter enters. Sometimes, he stares at him openly from across the room, like he’s asking, “Why the hell are you still here?”
His arm crosses his chest, hand pressing against his twinging side. ]
Do you really think this is gonna work? [ Soft, hesitant; the question has been burning in him, ever since their first day of training. ] If I learn enough and do well enough, I don’t think... I don’t know that everyone is on board with— [ me.
Is what he nearly says. He changes course at the last second, and says instead, with a vague hand gesture, ] —this.
[ It's a good question, if she's honest, one she's wondered about herself. The rest of the team is hurt by what they've lost, even going so far as to be resentful, but Gamora is realistic. She knows this isn't Peter's fault — no more than that gunshot had been. It's a different kind of injury, a different kind of fallout, but Peter is still alive (though she knows what the echoing question is there: "is he really?").
This Peter is different. This Peter doesn't have the experiences that their Peter had. This Peter is...
Still Peter. ]
I think you have to prove yourself to them again.
[ Which isn't necessarily fair, but... on the other hand, it acknowledges that this Peter has ground to cover. ]
And the only way to do that is to get better.
You want to be part of this team, you have to hold your own here.
[ That last part trips him up, makes him bite on his lower lip, because—
He has no idea what he wants. He knows what he doesn't want – doesn't want to feel useless. Doesn't want to keep disappointing these people. Doesn't want to keep standing back like some sort of decoration in this strange family's home – like he's some sort of novelty knick knack they couldn't bring themselves to throw away.
But he's not good at this, and if he's honest, he's not sure if he likes this. Fighting. But it's a necessary component of being on this team, isn't it? Given what they seem to do.
If he can't fight, then he can't join with the team. And if he can't join with them, what good is he, really, except to occupy space?
That he doesn't answer right away is telling enough, he knows, and he lets out a quiet breath. ]
[ The pause says more than enough, and as disheartening as it is, it makes sense. He has no concept of who he is, let alone who they are, and without the history to back it up, for all of them, it's difficult to remember their connection.
... And some of them take more offense to that than others.
She nods once, then climbs to her feet. She offers Peter her hand again with something, and there's something in her eyes that's— just a bit softer.
(Closer to the way she'd looked at Peter sometimes before, in their quieter moments together.) ]
Do what feels right to you, Peter.
[ If that means fighting, excellent, she can teach him that. If it means something different, some deviation from the Peter Quill they'd all known... well, they'll figure it out. ]
[ Gamora doesn't drop her hand, continuing to watch him, waiting with that offer at the ready. ]
It would still take more than that for us to abandon you.
[ Though a small, uncertain part of her calls up a reality that she can't ignore: Peter is the glue that keeps them together. How will they hold on when that glue has dissolved around them?
The last couple jobs had already been... a little rocky without him there, and she can't readily predict the long-term effects of that. Not yet. ]
Edited (adds words sometimes whoops) 2017-05-11 08:11 (UTC)
[ he doesn't look entirely convinced by that, and that doubt stays on his face. Gamora is... nice. Most of the time, when she's not trying to snap his ribs with a kick. He wonders if she's saying this to him just to be kind, because they treat him like some delicate, fragile thing, sometimes. Because sometimes, they act like a false word might send him into some sort of fit.
He bites at his lower lip again, reluctant, before he finally tentatively puts his hand in hers. The movement jars his bruised side, and he hisses in a breath, hunching over a little and grabbing at the spot once he's on his feet. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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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I’m still not where I was.
[ And that much is obvious in the way Gamora watched him as he trained, when he would make one move where she clearly expected another, and that’s just how it’s always been, as long as he remembers. Which, given that he only actively remembers things from the past couple of months, is either saying quite a bit or nothing at all.
Both hands drop to his lap, and he picks at the seam of his sweatpants. ]
It’s not going how you want it to. [ Flat, if quiet. ] I can see it on your face.
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Instead, she takes a proper seat on the floor, folding her legs under herself as she considers him. ]
I have high expectations for you, and I want you to reach your potential. That's all.
[ She wants him to be able to fight with them again, to be part of the team — not only because he was such an integral part of the Guardians, but also because she doesn't want him to feel so... alone. She's seen the distant looks on his face, that hesitance and removal from the rest of them, and she wouldn't blame him for feeling out of place, wearing a stranger's clothes and still having no idea who it is they expect to see when they look at his face. ]
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That she wants him to be how he was.
And Peter’s starting to get really tired of disappointing everyone, every minute of every day.
He swallows that bitterness down, scrubs at his face with frustration, before his voice carries a little on an exhausted sigh. ]
Groot’s gonna be fully grown by the time I’m anywhere near close to ready. [ A touch of humor, though not much of it, because Peter thinks he might actually be right. ] You sure you’re willing to work on it that long?
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[ And there isn't an ounce of hesitation this time; the answer comes immediate, like she doesn't even have to think about it.
Because, well.
She doesn't. She means it, wholeheartedly, because if Peter will get his memory back, then fine, he can take all the time he needs. And if not? Then they adapt, adjust — make the changes they have to. ]
As I've said, this is at your pace.
[ ... Even if the way she'd kicked him before hadn't exactly been at his pace, but... she'd needed to push him to gauge again for herself where he stood. ]
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But he tenses, gaze flitting over to the corridor leading out of the training room, as if to direct her attention to the rest of the crew. ]
Not sure if the others feel that way.
[ Kraglin, for instance, who looks at him with this anger in his eyes, this resentment, when he thinks Peter isn’t looking – and it hurts whenever Peter manages to catch it. Rips straight through his chest.
And Rocket, who looks at him the same way, only sometimes, he’s not as careful about it. Sometimes, he darts out when Peter enters. Sometimes, he stares at him openly from across the room, like he’s asking, “Why the hell are you still here?”
His arm crosses his chest, hand pressing against his twinging side. ]
Do you really think this is gonna work? [ Soft, hesitant; the question has been burning in him, ever since their first day of training. ] If I learn enough and do well enough, I don’t think... I don’t know that everyone is on board with— [ me.
Is what he nearly says. He changes course at the last second, and says instead, with a vague hand gesture, ] —this.
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This Peter is different. This Peter doesn't have the experiences that their Peter had. This Peter is...
Still Peter. ]
I think you have to prove yourself to them again.
[ Which isn't necessarily fair, but... on the other hand, it acknowledges that this Peter has ground to cover. ]
And the only way to do that is to get better.
You want to be part of this team, you have to hold your own here.
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What am I supposed to do? Take out an army?
[ It comes out dryly, at least, instead of resentfully. ]
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No, not an army.
[ Though who knows? They may find themselves up against another army. It seems to be a trend for them, these days. ]
Focus on getting to the point that you can join us in battle. Work beside us.
The rest will come with time.
[ She pauses, considering for a moment before she adds, ]
If this really is what you want.
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He has no idea what he wants. He knows what he doesn't want – doesn't want to feel useless. Doesn't want to keep disappointing these people. Doesn't want to keep standing back like some sort of decoration in this strange family's home – like he's some sort of novelty knick knack they couldn't bring themselves to throw away.
But he's not good at this, and if he's honest, he's not sure if he likes this. Fighting. But it's a necessary component of being on this team, isn't it? Given what they seem to do.
If he can't fight, then he can't join with the team. And if he can't join with them, what good is he, really, except to occupy space?
That he doesn't answer right away is telling enough, he knows, and he lets out a quiet breath. ]
I'll work on it.
[ It's all he can do. ]
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... And some of them take more offense to that than others.
She nods once, then climbs to her feet. She offers Peter her hand again with something, and there's something in her eyes that's— just a bit softer.
(Closer to the way she'd looked at Peter sometimes before, in their quieter moments together.) ]
Do what feels right to you, Peter.
[ If that means fighting, excellent, she can teach him that. If it means something different, some deviation from the Peter Quill they'd all known... well, they'll figure it out. ]
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He meets her gaze again, uncertainty clear in the furrow of his brow, in the corners of his eyes. ]
What if what feels right isn't... [ Another vague gesture, likely meant to encompass the training room. ] ... this?
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It would still take more than that for us to abandon you.
[ Though a small, uncertain part of her calls up a reality that she can't ignore: Peter is the glue that keeps them together. How will they hold on when that glue has dissolved around them?
The last couple jobs had already been... a little rocky without him there, and she can't readily predict the long-term effects of that. Not yet. ]
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He bites at his lower lip again, reluctant, before he finally tentatively puts his hand in hers. The movement jars his bruised side, and he hisses in a breath, hunching over a little and grabbing at the spot once he's on his feet. ]
Dammit.
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... You took that harder than I expected.
[ The kick, she means — and it sounds like it might be an apology (in a few different words). ]
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