[ 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.
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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.