[ He takes a swig from the bottle, once she hands it back – because with the turn this conversation has taken, he definitely needs it.
But she feels she has to say this, and Peter doesn't interrupt her as she muddles through. It's the same courtesy she's extended him, anyway.
Her words, though, make him grimace, and he takes another sip from the bottle. The alcohol is almost overwhelmingly strong, and he hisses at the burn again, focusing on that bit of discomfort to distract him from the way something cold plummets into his stomach.
More sugarcoating. More bent truths. And Peter doesn't think he can stand another second of it. ]
Don't.
[ Croaked out. ]
Don't try to— don't—
[ He cuts himself off, starts again. ]
I don't need you to try to spare my feelings okay? I don't want you to try and let me down easy. You did what you had to do. Now it's over.
[ Over. No second chances. He shuts his eyes briefly against the swell of bitterness that rises in his throat, but he shakes himself of it soon enough. ]
That's all there is to it, and I get that. We can leave it there.
[ Gamora's jaw clenches, her gaze hardening as she looks across the room, rather than at him. This isn't easy for her either; it was almost simpler to summon up exactly the right reactions for the lies, but being truly honest? Admitting it to not only Peter but also herself?
She has no frame of reference for it.
And it's even more difficult because he clearly doesn't believe her (and she doesn't blame him for that). ]
This isn't an attempt to spare your feelings, Peter.
[ Maybe it would be less painful to simply leave it alone.
(And she can't help wondering if she's being selfish again.) ]
It was difficult for me because I wanted— differently for us.
[ Because she'd wanted it. Him. Them. Whatever that meant, and she'd been trying to come to it in her own time, trying to figure out how best to approach it without ruining what they already had and the team itself, but—
[ Even if she says it isn’t, it feels an awful lot like she is trying to let him down easy.
Peter and that dent in the bulkhead are becoming fast friends, it seems, and his gaze stays fixed on it as she speaks. It feels like rubbing salt on the wound. It feels like she’s just helping him dig a deeper hole. It feels like driving yet another nail through his already exposed heart. And god, he had let himself be so disgustingly open around her. He had practically flayed open his ribs and let her see straight to the core of him. He had let spill every closely guarded secret, every stupid little thought.
( “And what does happily ever after look like?”
“To me, it’s always looked an awful lot like you.”
Jesus Christ.)
But after everything, the least he can do is listen. God knows Gamora did an awful lot of that for him when his father had him brainwashed. ]
Different how?
[ And he asks it dully, like he’s not looking forward to the answer. “As friends,” she probably wants to say. “As teammates.” He can figure that out for himself. ]
[ She's quiet at first, because admitting it aloud isn't the same, especially here and now. She isn't even sure if she should or if maybe it would be best to simply slam this particular door and lock it before more damage is done.
Leave it. Leave it. Leave— ]
... "Happily ever after" still seems the best way to describe it.
[ That kind of different. Perhaps that was what had made it so painful on Ego's planet; despite the circumstances, the pretending had been exactly what she wanted.
But— another time, another place. ]
Edited (adds words whatevs) 2017-07-19 16:45 (UTC)
[ The words don’t make sense, and he frowns at the bulkhead. She must mean differently, he thinks, or else he heard her wrong.
Or else he heard her right, which just makes the whole fucking mess even worse for having completely destroyed every one of his chances. ]
... What?
[ Punched out of him, and he winces as soon as he asks it. Because if this is leading up to Gamora explaining how thoroughly he razed what could have been to the ground when he already knows, he doesn’t want to hear it. It’d just be twisting the barb that’s already stabbed through his chest.
But with everything he’s already living with, what’s another heap of regret?
Just add it to the pile, he thinks, with a sort of flippant, mental wave of his hand. ]
[ Again, she needs a moment to consider her words, to decide how best to explain herself. ]
All of that with you— I was trying to understand how best to approach it before we went to that planet.
[ She frowns, thinking back to all of the small steps they'd taken, to all of the moments they'd had together. Dancing on the Milano. Sitting in the belly of the ship sharing a bottle as she listened to him tell stories. Letting him braid her hair as the patter of his voice filled the quiet around them.
Imdari.
There had been so much building into everything else, and she'd— wanted it. ]
That unspoken thing.
[ It's the best way to describe it all, isn't it? ]
It... all of it was important to me. I didn't want to ruin it.
[ She scoffs softly, not taking her eyes off of the bulkhead. ]
[ It hurts, hearing all that, realizing just how close they had come to being— something. How close they were to finally doing something about whatever it was that lay between them. Peter had waited so long for exactly that, biding his time, trying to cultivate a perfect moment, ever since they met on Xandar. Ever since they swayed together on Knowhere. Ever since Gamora took his hand, standing among the ruins of the Dark Aster, and said they were a family. Ever since he looked at that ugly, barbed thing driving itself into his heart and thought, This is gonna be a problem.
And then they dashed themselves and what might have been on the rocks of Ego’s planet.
Which is about his luck, all things considered.
But when she continues on, he frowns. He finally turns away to look at her, confusion clear on his face. ]
You... you didn’t. Ruin anything, I mean.
[ He rubs at an eye, collecting the words, thinking back on everything that happened (though he does it reluctantly). ]
—Listen. If this is— if this is about how I reacted, back at—
[ bleached white bones turned ghostly by the scattered glow of Ego’s veins. heaps and heaps of remains, telling the tale of how many families ego had fucked over, how many dreams he shattered when his progeny wasn’t good enough— ]
—back in the caverns. I was— confused. And angry. And overwhelmed. It was my fault. Not yours.
[ The mention of the caverns makes that dark thing in her chest twist again as it summons up the memory of how he'd looked at her.
(And then the way he wouldn't even lift his eyes to her face, like he couldn't stand the sight of her. She's sure that fed into how bothered she'd been in the past weeks when he just... wouldn't look at her, would barely even acknowledge her.
Left to the unknown, to having no idea what he was thinking or feeling, she hadn't known if he was disgusted by her now that he had time to think about everything she'd done. She'd assumed that she'd humiliated him, on top of everything else, and while she'd never cared in the past how she might have embarrassed or shamed someone... she'd never wanted Peter to feel that. That had never been the intention of everything that she'd done.
If anyone should be ashamed, it should be Gamora.)
She barely inclines her chin to glance at him sidelong across the bunk, meeting his eyes with that unconvinced look. There's pain beneath it all, as much as she tries to keep it at bay. ]
It was entirely my fault, Peter. I knew your feelings for me, and I used that for my own gains.
[ Saying it aloud somehow feels worse.
She looks down at her hands instead, shaking her head. ]
I didn't want then to be the time that I told you how I felt, and instead, I leveraged it against you to keep you alive.
[ Frowning at her lap, she curls her fingers until her rings bite into skin. ]
How do you not hate me for that? How could you possibly still feel— any of that?
[ He'd said "I love you," and she'd felt how much he meant it then.
But that was months ago, and things have changed. ]
... Gamora. You were trying to keep me alive. [ Something he still doesn’t agree with. Something he still thinks was the wrong move.
But there’s no turning back time to fix that decision, just like there’s no way to go back and stop himself from letting Ego turn him so quickly, or to stop himself from ever stepping foot on that planet. They’re both living with their mistakes, and they’ll both have to try to make up for them for the rest of their lives. ]
You played the hand you were dealt. You knew what would work, and you used it.
Like I said: I get it. I understand. I don’t hate you for any of it. And if I were in your shoes... I dunno that I’d do anything differently.
[ And he had two weeks of solitude to wrap his head around it. Plenty of time to work out his anger and his shame and his humiliation, until he finally looped around to a dull, resigned understanding. ]
I thought...
[ Cards on the table, Quill, he thinks. It’s only fair. Because he knows how difficult it is for Gamora to speak what she feels, and these months have been a fucking mess, built on the backs of lies after lies. Peter had been honest, because he practically had to be, but since then, he’s shut himself off. It was easier, hiding himself away, keeping to himself, but—
He can tell this is hurting Gamora, his silence, and that’s one less thing he needs on his conscience. ]
I thought— you hated me. For— all of it. I figured you just thought I was some brand new asshole in a long chain of assholes in your life, forcing you into shit you didn’t want to be involved in. Making you do shit you had to go along with it, because you didn’t want to die.
[ Like Ronan. Like Thanos.
Peter was already a monster for slaughtering all those people, destroying all those planets. But what he did to Gamora was just the fucking cherry on top of a monstrous sundae. ]
I never wanted to be that guy, but that’s how it turned out, right?
[ He huffs out another breath, letting his hand fall away from his face. ]
I figured you didn’t want to see me, much less talk to me. I mean, why the hell would you, after— [ He gestures vaguely. ] You know.
[ But he still felt – still feels – as he had, back on Ego’s planet. Those weeks pinned down in his quarters had been a rough patch, admittedly, but as time dragged on, when he had any energy left to think, he realized nothing had really changed.
“You feel... love,” Mantis had said, back before the shitstorm started.
Yeah, Peter thinks now, staring down at the deck. Yeah, I really fucking do.
But what’s the point, when every single bridge has been burned? ]
[ His words are finally enough to make her turn and look at him, confusion and surprise replacing that grimace. ]
You thought...
[ She stops herself, shaking her head in bewilderment. Through the entire mess, there hadn't been a moment that she hated Peter for what she had to do. In the beginning, she was angry at him for everything Ego was responsible for, and she was desperate to see it all through, but— seeing flashes of Peter underneath his father's eternity made her determined, more than anything, to pull him free. She knows he never would have wanted it to be that way between them, and she doesn't blame him for leaning into what she'd offered him. That had been the point of it, after all, and if he hadn't been willing, her plan would have failed. ]
I don't hate you for this, Peter. Nor do I believe you forced me into anything. I made those choices because I valued your life, but I don't blame you for them.
I was manipulating you.
[ And it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth to think about it that way, that she'd done that to her best friend. ]
I'd just decided to accept the consequences and that losing... this would be a worthy price to see you alive.
[ She shakes her head, forcing herself to take a slower, steadying breath. She still feels like she's reeling in the aftermath, trying to tamp down her own emotions and everything those months had brought to the surface.
(Somewhere, she hates that it feels like she'd had a taste of what being with him would be like. And she'd— loved that. Wanted it.
But she wanted the reality, not a fantasy smothered in stardust and blood.) ]
[ In his darker moments? Yeah, Peter would agree – it was manipulation, not much different from what Ego had done, except for intention. And it’s the intention that’s important, that makes Peter more inclined to let it all slide.
He falls quiet, shoulders sagging with the weight of it all, and he cards his fingers through his hair again. The curls stand up at odd angles when he does, but he doesn’t notice. ]
Well, I don’t blame you for what happened. You don’t have to apologize, because there’s nothing to apologize for.
[ Quietly, sincerely. ]
And if you really don’t blame me for what I— did to you... [ And he says this uncertainly, like he thinks Gamora is making the wrong choice, here, but he huffs out a sharp breath and presses on. ]
[ She still feels almost stunned to hear it. And his question? How does she even begin to find an answer, after she's spent so much time thinking that she'd sacrificed their friendship and anything else when she'd made her choice?
She doesn't reply at first, offering a small shake of her head. ]
I don't know.
[ And she doesn't like admitting that, but she's still lost in the wake of everything that's happened. ]
I don't want it to have changed things.
[ That's honest, at least. She doesn't want to have effectively slammed the door on their friendship or even that unspoken thing between them (though can it hardly be called "unspoken" anymore?). But she's also terrified that now, he doesn't trust whatever she might say, and she has no idea how to begin repairing that. ]
[ Things are wildly different, now. Maybe Gamora wanted something before all this – Peter knows for sure he had – but now? How could she ever? And would it even work, with Ego’s planet looming behind them, casting a shadow?
Peter’s going to be second-guessing everything for a while – his own decisions, everyone’s words and intentions. But Ego did that to him, not Gamora. Five weeks since they left the shattered remains of the planet behind, and he still feels like he barely knows which way is up without his father pointing the way.
He hates it.
He runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks, as he selects his words. Then, with a cautious sort of hope, ]
[ Her expression softens, and this time, she doesn't hesitate. ]
I would like that very much.
[ Because she misses Peter more than anything. She misses her best friend, and she misses everything that it meant to her. She doesn't want to leave it by the wayside, but she knows she would respect Peter's decision if that was what he wanted. But—
If this is what he wants instead? Friendship instead of this cold distance?
She will accept it in a heartbeat.
She's a little slow about it, uncertain here, but she reaches out, resting her hand on the bed near him, palm up. A small offering, but still something. ]
[ The corner of his mouth twitches up a little, just the barest shadow of a smile. Part of him still doesn't want to get his hopes up, part of him wants to remind him where hoping got him, last time, and—
It'll pay to be cautious, he thinks. He's already carrying one hell of a burden, but maybe he's allowed just one little ray of sunshine.
At last, he reaches out, too, hand resting tentatively over hers. The touch is light, uncertain, like he expects either of them might need to pull away.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But she feels she has to say this, and Peter doesn't interrupt her as she muddles through. It's the same courtesy she's extended him, anyway.
Her words, though, make him grimace, and he takes another sip from the bottle. The alcohol is almost overwhelmingly strong, and he hisses at the burn again, focusing on that bit of discomfort to distract him from the way something cold plummets into his stomach.
More sugarcoating. More bent truths. And Peter doesn't think he can stand another second of it. ]
Don't.
[ Croaked out. ]
Don't try to— don't—
[ He cuts himself off, starts again. ]
I don't need you to try to spare my feelings okay? I don't want you to try and let me down easy. You did what you had to do. Now it's over.
[ Over. No second chances. He shuts his eyes briefly against the swell of bitterness that rises in his throat, but he shakes himself of it soon enough. ]
That's all there is to it, and I get that. We can leave it there.
no subject
She has no frame of reference for it.
And it's even more difficult because he clearly doesn't believe her (and she doesn't blame him for that). ]
This isn't an attempt to spare your feelings, Peter.
[ Maybe it would be less painful to simply leave it alone.
(And she can't help wondering if she's being selfish again.) ]
It was difficult for me because I wanted— differently for us.
[ Because she'd wanted it. Him. Them. Whatever that meant, and she'd been trying to come to it in her own time, trying to figure out how best to approach it without ruining what they already had and the team itself, but—
What options had there been? ]
no subject
Peter and that dent in the bulkhead are becoming fast friends, it seems, and his gaze stays fixed on it as she speaks. It feels like rubbing salt on the wound. It feels like she’s just helping him dig a deeper hole. It feels like driving yet another nail through his already exposed heart. And god, he had let himself be so disgustingly open around her. He had practically flayed open his ribs and let her see straight to the core of him. He had let spill every closely guarded secret, every stupid little thought.
( “And what does happily ever after look like?”
“To me, it’s always looked an awful lot like you.”
Jesus Christ.)
But after everything, the least he can do is listen. God knows Gamora did an awful lot of that for him when his father had him brainwashed. ]
Different how?
[ And he asks it dully, like he’s not looking forward to the answer. “As friends,” she probably wants to say. “As teammates.” He can figure that out for himself. ]
no subject
Leave it. Leave it. Leave— ]
... "Happily ever after" still seems the best way to describe it.
[ That kind of different. Perhaps that was what had made it so painful on Ego's planet; despite the circumstances, the pretending had been exactly what she wanted.
But— another time, another place. ]
no subject
Or else he heard her right, which just makes the whole fucking mess even worse for having completely destroyed every one of his chances. ]
... What?
[ Punched out of him, and he winces as soon as he asks it. Because if this is leading up to Gamora explaining how thoroughly he razed what could have been to the ground when he already knows, he doesn’t want to hear it. It’d just be twisting the barb that’s already stabbed through his chest.
But with everything he’s already living with, what’s another heap of regret?
Just add it to the pile, he thinks, with a sort of flippant, mental wave of his hand. ]
no subject
All of that with you— I was trying to understand how best to approach it before we went to that planet.
[ She frowns, thinking back to all of the small steps they'd taken, to all of the moments they'd had together. Dancing on the Milano. Sitting in the belly of the ship sharing a bottle as she listened to him tell stories. Letting him braid her hair as the patter of his voice filled the quiet around them.
Imdari.
There had been so much building into everything else, and she'd— wanted it. ]
That unspoken thing.
[ It's the best way to describe it all, isn't it? ]
It... all of it was important to me. I didn't want to ruin it.
[ She scoffs softly, not taking her eyes off of the bulkhead. ]
I did that anyway.
no subject
And then they dashed themselves and what might have been on the rocks of Ego’s planet.
Which is about his luck, all things considered.
But when she continues on, he frowns. He finally turns away to look at her, confusion clear on his face. ]
You... you didn’t. Ruin anything, I mean.
[ He rubs at an eye, collecting the words, thinking back on everything that happened (though he does it reluctantly). ]
—Listen. If this is— if this is about how I reacted, back at—
[ bleached white bones turned ghostly by the scattered glow of Ego’s veins. heaps and heaps of remains, telling the tale of how many families ego had fucked over, how many dreams he shattered when his progeny wasn’t good enough— ]
—back in the caverns. I was— confused. And angry. And overwhelmed. It was my fault. Not yours.
no subject
(And then the way he wouldn't even lift his eyes to her face, like he couldn't stand the sight of her. She's sure that fed into how bothered she'd been in the past weeks when he just... wouldn't look at her, would barely even acknowledge her.
Left to the unknown, to having no idea what he was thinking or feeling, she hadn't known if he was disgusted by her now that he had time to think about everything she'd done. She'd assumed that she'd humiliated him, on top of everything else, and while she'd never cared in the past how she might have embarrassed or shamed someone... she'd never wanted Peter to feel that. That had never been the intention of everything that she'd done.
If anyone should be ashamed, it should be Gamora.)
She barely inclines her chin to glance at him sidelong across the bunk, meeting his eyes with that unconvinced look. There's pain beneath it all, as much as she tries to keep it at bay. ]
It was entirely my fault, Peter. I knew your feelings for me, and I used that for my own gains.
[ Saying it aloud somehow feels worse.
She looks down at her hands instead, shaking her head. ]
I didn't want then to be the time that I told you how I felt, and instead, I leveraged it against you to keep you alive.
[ Frowning at her lap, she curls her fingers until her rings bite into skin. ]
How do you not hate me for that? How could you possibly still feel— any of that?
[ He'd said "I love you," and she'd felt how much he meant it then.
But that was months ago, and things have changed. ]
no subject
... Gamora. You were trying to keep me alive. [ Something he still doesn’t agree with. Something he still thinks was the wrong move.
But there’s no turning back time to fix that decision, just like there’s no way to go back and stop himself from letting Ego turn him so quickly, or to stop himself from ever stepping foot on that planet. They’re both living with their mistakes, and they’ll both have to try to make up for them for the rest of their lives. ]
You played the hand you were dealt. You knew what would work, and you used it.
Like I said: I get it. I understand. I don’t hate you for any of it. And if I were in your shoes... I dunno that I’d do anything differently.
[ And he had two weeks of solitude to wrap his head around it. Plenty of time to work out his anger and his shame and his humiliation, until he finally looped around to a dull, resigned understanding. ]
I thought...
[ Cards on the table, Quill, he thinks. It’s only fair. Because he knows how difficult it is for Gamora to speak what she feels, and these months have been a fucking mess, built on the backs of lies after lies. Peter had been honest, because he practically had to be, but since then, he’s shut himself off. It was easier, hiding himself away, keeping to himself, but—
He can tell this is hurting Gamora, his silence, and that’s one less thing he needs on his conscience. ]
I thought— you hated me. For— all of it. I figured you just thought I was some brand new asshole in a long chain of assholes in your life, forcing you into shit you didn’t want to be involved in. Making you do shit you had to go along with it, because you didn’t want to die.
[ Like Ronan. Like Thanos.
Peter was already a monster for slaughtering all those people, destroying all those planets. But what he did to Gamora was just the fucking cherry on top of a monstrous sundae. ]
I never wanted to be that guy, but that’s how it turned out, right?
[ He huffs out another breath, letting his hand fall away from his face. ]
I figured you didn’t want to see me, much less talk to me. I mean, why the hell would you, after— [ He gestures vaguely. ] You know.
[ But he still felt – still feels – as he had, back on Ego’s planet. Those weeks pinned down in his quarters had been a rough patch, admittedly, but as time dragged on, when he had any energy left to think, he realized nothing had really changed.
“You feel... love,” Mantis had said, back before the shitstorm started.
Yeah, Peter thinks now, staring down at the deck. Yeah, I really fucking do.
But what’s the point, when every single bridge has been burned? ]
no subject
You thought...
[ She stops herself, shaking her head in bewilderment. Through the entire mess, there hadn't been a moment that she hated Peter for what she had to do. In the beginning, she was angry at him for everything Ego was responsible for, and she was desperate to see it all through, but— seeing flashes of Peter underneath his father's eternity made her determined, more than anything, to pull him free. She knows he never would have wanted it to be that way between them, and she doesn't blame him for leaning into what she'd offered him. That had been the point of it, after all, and if he hadn't been willing, her plan would have failed. ]
I don't hate you for this, Peter. Nor do I believe you forced me into anything. I made those choices because I valued your life, but I don't blame you for them.
I was manipulating you.
[ And it still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth to think about it that way, that she'd done that to her best friend. ]
I'd just decided to accept the consequences and that losing... this would be a worthy price to see you alive.
[ She shakes her head, forcing herself to take a slower, steadying breath. She still feels like she's reeling in the aftermath, trying to tamp down her own emotions and everything those months had brought to the surface.
(Somewhere, she hates that it feels like she'd had a taste of what being with him would be like. And she'd— loved that. Wanted it.
But she wanted the reality, not a fantasy smothered in stardust and blood.) ]
no subject
He falls quiet, shoulders sagging with the weight of it all, and he cards his fingers through his hair again. The curls stand up at odd angles when he does, but he doesn’t notice. ]
Well, I don’t blame you for what happened. You don’t have to apologize, because there’s nothing to apologize for.
[ Quietly, sincerely. ]
And if you really don’t blame me for what I— did to you... [ And he says this uncertainly, like he thinks Gamora is making the wrong choice, here, but he huffs out a sharp breath and presses on. ]
Where does that leave us?
no subject
She doesn't reply at first, offering a small shake of her head. ]
I don't know.
[ And she doesn't like admitting that, but she's still lost in the wake of everything that's happened. ]
I don't want it to have changed things.
[ That's honest, at least. She doesn't want to have effectively slammed the door on their friendship or even that unspoken thing between them (though can it hardly be called "unspoken" anymore?). But she's also terrified that now, he doesn't trust whatever she might say, and she has no idea how to begin repairing that. ]
no subject
I don’t either, but...
[ Things are wildly different, now. Maybe Gamora wanted something before all this – Peter knows for sure he had – but now? How could she ever? And would it even work, with Ego’s planet looming behind them, casting a shadow?
Peter’s going to be second-guessing everything for a while – his own decisions, everyone’s words and intentions. But Ego did that to him, not Gamora. Five weeks since they left the shattered remains of the planet behind, and he still feels like he barely knows which way is up without his father pointing the way.
He hates it.
He runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks, as he selects his words. Then, with a cautious sort of hope, ]
... Can we still be friends, at least?
no subject
I would like that very much.
[ Because she misses Peter more than anything. She misses her best friend, and she misses everything that it meant to her. She doesn't want to leave it by the wayside, but she knows she would respect Peter's decision if that was what he wanted. But—
If this is what he wants instead? Friendship instead of this cold distance?
She will accept it in a heartbeat.
She's a little slow about it, uncertain here, but she reaches out, resting her hand on the bed near him, palm up. A small offering, but still something. ]
no subject
It'll pay to be cautious, he thinks. He's already carrying one hell of a burden, but maybe he's allowed just one little ray of sunshine.
At last, he reaches out, too, hand resting tentatively over hers. The touch is light, uncertain, like he expects either of them might need to pull away.
Quietly, ]
We'll work on it, then.