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[ peter heals, much to gamora's relief and the relief of the rest of the other guardians. not that there was much doubt he would, after a certain point, but gamora feels constantly, vividly aware of how close they'd come to losing him after the kree ambush. it was a bad injury, and by all rights, peter shouldn't have made it to the hospital, given how long they were there.
it hadn't— looked good, and when peter was released, the doctor wanted to emphasize exactly how close of a call it had been.
gamora is well aware of that.
(kneeling in that renovated shopfront, peter in her arms, his breathing short and shallow, his body going limp—)
but what matters is that peter is going to recover, and after only a few days stuck in that bed, he's handed over to the guardians so they can put a fair measure of distance between themselves and that previously-pleasant planet. gamora isn't sorry to see it go.
the guardians do very little work for a while, in deference to peter's injury — or they at least take work that doesn't require peter's skills or an extra set of hands. they still have to eat, after all, but peter can't do much by comparison, and even if there may be the occasional griping (usually from rocket), they all know that peter's recovery is their top priority. none of them want to see a repeat, just because they got involved in something too strenuous too quickly.
gamora doesn't bring up the moments that she'd sat with peter, hiding from the kree. it scares her, if she's honest, and it's not entirely due to the fact that peter had nearly died (though that is an incredibly large part of it). what really frightens her is how badly that situation had shaken her, how close she had been to peter, and how much she'd been genuinely distressed over how near he'd come to an early death.
it's because he's her friend, she tells herself.
(her best friend.)
it's because this strange, cobbled-together little family has become something meaningful to her.
(peter has become meaningful to her.)
but to lose her composure so badly...well, it's not a common or regular occurrence.
and she isn't sure what to make of it.
weeks roll by, and gamora is still watching peter's recovery carefully. he's improving, and that's a relief on its own.
(but at some point, she realizes that the harvest festival on nerian-6 has come and gone.
it's a shame; she would have wanted to dance with him there.)
soon enough, gamora feels comfortable returning to training with him, though she takes it at a slower pace than where they left off before the gunshot. he needs to build strength again, after all, so gamora pushes him, but not near the same level, not with the kind of intensity they'd developed (because peter had improved greatly during the time they'd been working together). she's patient with him when he falters where he might have performed something flawlessly before, when she catches him with a move that he used to be able to duck. but instead of admonishing him, she just makes him do it over and over and over.
because she knows he'll get it again.
as weeks push into months, it eventually becomes clear that peter's bouncing back at full force. they're all still tentative with him, to some degree, but that can only go on so long before not only are they tired of the kid gloves, but peter absolutely won't put up with it anymore.
which, much to the delight of certain members of the team, means they can go back to the enjoyable jobs.
(however, rocket seems thoroughly put out when the first job they take will clearly not require bombs.)
the job itself doesn't end up calling for the more brash, guns-blazing style they might otherwise employ. in fact, it only calls for an appearance to be made by the guardians of the galaxy for a function thrown by the nova corps in a more tenuous outreach effort with the kree. things haven't quite leveled out between the two governments, and the attack in the middle of a far-off marketplace wasn't the only threat the nova corps had been picking up against the guardians — the team has just managed to stay out of the way enough to avoid another run-in with the small group of ronan devotees.
but they're still out there, the team is informed. just as zealous as ever, with the rallying cry of ronan's supposed martyrdom to band them together against the xandarians, the nova corps, and, of course, the guardians of the galaxy.
the gala itself isn't initially intended to be work for the guardians, but impossibly soon after its organization and announcement, the intel about kree activity begins to pour in.
bombs, assassinations, the entire gamut of violence — it all ends up directed towards the xandarian-kree party, and the nova corps finally decides to call in the guardians.
the team makes for good targets, but they're also capable enough that catching more of these fanatics should be easy. nova prime has faith in them, at least, though gamora is already dreading the requirements of this particular assignment.
a decadent gala means decadent attire.
and...general party-going behavior.
and socializing.
(none of these are gamora's favorite things. absolutely none of them.)
but any hesitation about accepting lay with peter's condition, and he's well enough that even that doesn't prove to be a valid excuse. so, perfectly aware of what undertaking this will mean, the guardians agree to make an appearance at the party. or rather, peter and gamora will be at the party proper, while rocket, groot, and drax will be in the background, keeping their eyes peeled for the kree toublemakers.
and that still means gamora will be wearing a dress.
the night itself finally arrives, and gamora is wearing the aforementioned dress (that peter helped her pick, because she was at least willing to admit she was in over her head as far as appropriate clothing choices). black and sleek with an open back and exposed sides, playing off of the intense green of her skin as it drew up the front of her torso to secure behind her neck. her hair is only half-pinned, the rest falling in loose curls around her shoulders, with small, silver beads woven in among the black and magenta.
it's flattering (but impractical, gamora inevitably insists; her knives are less accessible, even if the slit up the fabric of the right side makes it relatively easy to reach the dagger strapped to her thigh). she's not pleased by the time she and peter enter the party, but she's at least calm about it.
...relatively speaking, anyway.
(she's not threatening anyone with knives or throwing people to the ground, so that counts in the context of "calm.")
her arm is hooked in peter's as they approach, and they're immediately let through the small throng of people flashing their invitations. the guardians hardly need an introduction, after all, so they aren't even stopped at the door. ]
Are you sure you are prepared for this?
[ she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, though her tone and expression keep the note of concern hidden away. ]
it hadn't— looked good, and when peter was released, the doctor wanted to emphasize exactly how close of a call it had been.
gamora is well aware of that.
(kneeling in that renovated shopfront, peter in her arms, his breathing short and shallow, his body going limp—)
but what matters is that peter is going to recover, and after only a few days stuck in that bed, he's handed over to the guardians so they can put a fair measure of distance between themselves and that previously-pleasant planet. gamora isn't sorry to see it go.
the guardians do very little work for a while, in deference to peter's injury — or they at least take work that doesn't require peter's skills or an extra set of hands. they still have to eat, after all, but peter can't do much by comparison, and even if there may be the occasional griping (usually from rocket), they all know that peter's recovery is their top priority. none of them want to see a repeat, just because they got involved in something too strenuous too quickly.
gamora doesn't bring up the moments that she'd sat with peter, hiding from the kree. it scares her, if she's honest, and it's not entirely due to the fact that peter had nearly died (though that is an incredibly large part of it). what really frightens her is how badly that situation had shaken her, how close she had been to peter, and how much she'd been genuinely distressed over how near he'd come to an early death.
it's because he's her friend, she tells herself.
(her best friend.)
it's because this strange, cobbled-together little family has become something meaningful to her.
(peter has become meaningful to her.)
but to lose her composure so badly...well, it's not a common or regular occurrence.
and she isn't sure what to make of it.
weeks roll by, and gamora is still watching peter's recovery carefully. he's improving, and that's a relief on its own.
(but at some point, she realizes that the harvest festival on nerian-6 has come and gone.
it's a shame; she would have wanted to dance with him there.)
soon enough, gamora feels comfortable returning to training with him, though she takes it at a slower pace than where they left off before the gunshot. he needs to build strength again, after all, so gamora pushes him, but not near the same level, not with the kind of intensity they'd developed (because peter had improved greatly during the time they'd been working together). she's patient with him when he falters where he might have performed something flawlessly before, when she catches him with a move that he used to be able to duck. but instead of admonishing him, she just makes him do it over and over and over.
because she knows he'll get it again.
as weeks push into months, it eventually becomes clear that peter's bouncing back at full force. they're all still tentative with him, to some degree, but that can only go on so long before not only are they tired of the kid gloves, but peter absolutely won't put up with it anymore.
which, much to the delight of certain members of the team, means they can go back to the enjoyable jobs.
(however, rocket seems thoroughly put out when the first job they take will clearly not require bombs.)
the job itself doesn't end up calling for the more brash, guns-blazing style they might otherwise employ. in fact, it only calls for an appearance to be made by the guardians of the galaxy for a function thrown by the nova corps in a more tenuous outreach effort with the kree. things haven't quite leveled out between the two governments, and the attack in the middle of a far-off marketplace wasn't the only threat the nova corps had been picking up against the guardians — the team has just managed to stay out of the way enough to avoid another run-in with the small group of ronan devotees.
but they're still out there, the team is informed. just as zealous as ever, with the rallying cry of ronan's supposed martyrdom to band them together against the xandarians, the nova corps, and, of course, the guardians of the galaxy.
the gala itself isn't initially intended to be work for the guardians, but impossibly soon after its organization and announcement, the intel about kree activity begins to pour in.
bombs, assassinations, the entire gamut of violence — it all ends up directed towards the xandarian-kree party, and the nova corps finally decides to call in the guardians.
the team makes for good targets, but they're also capable enough that catching more of these fanatics should be easy. nova prime has faith in them, at least, though gamora is already dreading the requirements of this particular assignment.
a decadent gala means decadent attire.
and...general party-going behavior.
and socializing.
(none of these are gamora's favorite things. absolutely none of them.)
but any hesitation about accepting lay with peter's condition, and he's well enough that even that doesn't prove to be a valid excuse. so, perfectly aware of what undertaking this will mean, the guardians agree to make an appearance at the party. or rather, peter and gamora will be at the party proper, while rocket, groot, and drax will be in the background, keeping their eyes peeled for the kree toublemakers.
and that still means gamora will be wearing a dress.
the night itself finally arrives, and gamora is wearing the aforementioned dress (that peter helped her pick, because she was at least willing to admit she was in over her head as far as appropriate clothing choices). black and sleek with an open back and exposed sides, playing off of the intense green of her skin as it drew up the front of her torso to secure behind her neck. her hair is only half-pinned, the rest falling in loose curls around her shoulders, with small, silver beads woven in among the black and magenta.
it's flattering (but impractical, gamora inevitably insists; her knives are less accessible, even if the slit up the fabric of the right side makes it relatively easy to reach the dagger strapped to her thigh). she's not pleased by the time she and peter enter the party, but she's at least calm about it.
...relatively speaking, anyway.
(she's not threatening anyone with knives or throwing people to the ground, so that counts in the context of "calm.")
her arm is hooked in peter's as they approach, and they're immediately let through the small throng of people flashing their invitations. the guardians hardly need an introduction, after all, so they aren't even stopped at the door. ]
Are you sure you are prepared for this?
[ she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, though her tone and expression keep the note of concern hidden away. ]
[ Hospitals make Peter nervous.
Staying in hospitals makes him nauseated with anxiety, makes his insides twist and knot. It's like getting thrown back to when he was a child, a nervous kid who just wanted to do the right thing, who thought that if a person was good, then life would treat them fairly, would be kind to them.
(He had been wrong.)
The day of his discharge couldn't have come any quicker, and as Peter's gathering up his things, as he's slipping into clothes brought by his team to return to the ship, the doctor tells him how close he had come to dying, tells him to take care of himself while he recovers.
Peter just shrugs, grins. "Whatever you say, doc."
(That same evening, despite strict orders to avoid alcohol for a while, he and Rocket share a bottle of booze between them.
The least Peter is owed for nearly dying is a drink to his own health, right?)
Recovering drives him fucking crazy.
Because everyone – everyone, even Rocket, to some degree – treats him like he's made of porcelain, like he's liable to shatter if someone so much as twitches. He watches his team come and go, take jobs without him, and he feels the strangest feeling as he sees them disembark without him. Something twists in his chest, makes his breathing pick up, and—
He realizes, later, that he hates seeing them go, but more than that, he hates seeing them go without him.
(Peter wonders if, in the grand scheme of things, does the team really need him?)
At least little Groot seems to understand his plight, and they sit together in the common area, listening to Peter's tapes as they blast over the speakers. Peter stares blankly at the screen of his terminal as Groot tries to distract him with his dancing and swaying.
Weeks pass, and Peter goes slightly insane with boredom. Cabin fever, he calls it, though the phrasing had garnered a few concerned looks and at least one alarmed Drax pressing a hand to his forehead, asking if his wound had become infected, if his health was in any danger. It's only after Peter admits that he's fucking bored that he gets brought along on a job or two, the ones where they don't expect any gunfire – and miraculously, they're right. The jobs are uneventful, and Peter trudges back to the Milano alongside his team, exhausted and disappointed.
Gamora is... different, he's noticing. Quieter. Patient with him in a way that he finds unfamiliar. Peter hardly remembers anything from the day in the market after their encounter with the Kree terrorists, only remembers a whole lot of pain, and little else. Gamora hardly seems inclined to talk about it, so he just— lets it be. There must be a reason she's so silent on the topic, after all; she does few things without reason, and if she hasn't approached Peter to tell him how it all went down by now, then he probably doesn't need to know.
At least training is a little slice of normal, though this is different, too. All that time resting has left him weaker than before, and rather than jumping straight back into the deep end, they backslide into the pace of the early days. It's frustrating, it's bullshit, and Peter grits his teeth at how fucking infuriating it is to have lost all that progress thanks to one fucking bullet, to be left trembling with weakness and exhaustion at the end of every session.
But Gamora coaches him through it, all the same, drills him on the moves over and over, even when Peter wants to throw in the towel when he falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. He slams onto the practice mat and strikes his fist on the ground in his frustration, doesn't rise until Gamora speaks.
All she has to say is, "Again."
And Peter exhales sharply, climbing back to his feet.
Their first job – their first job, with Peter thrown back into the mix – kind of sucks, if he's honest, if only because Peter isn't the diplomatic type. He can fake it, if he needs to – and has in the past, when the Ravagers appointed him as their Face on the more legitimate jobs – but he doesn't like doing it. It makes him supremely uncomfortable, rubbing elbows with the elite. Makes him feel out of place, even for as well as he pretends to belong.
The bright side? Spending time with Gamora (because she's been— sort of distant, he thinks. There, of course, because where else would she be? But not in the same way she had been before the disaster.
He wonders if it's his fault. He wonders if he had just stepped forward, as he wanted to, if he had just bought that damned necklace instead of dithering on it like some scruffy nerf-herder, then maybe all that shit wouldn't have happened.)
The night comes, and Peter is dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit; his guns remain holstered to his hips, and maybe it's tacky, but he has a fancy license, now, that allows him to carry his weapons openly. He's a little more clean shaven than usual, his hair wrangled into something neater than his usual style. In all, he cleans up decently.
Gamora is a fucking bombshell, though. Like, holy shit.
(And when she had stepped out wearing the dress while they were shopping around, Peter had felt his heart skip a beat, had temporarily lost his command of language.
Had squeaked out, "That's good.")
And here the two of them are, stepping into some government building that looks more like a modern mansion than anything, all tall spaces and brushed metal, pristine whites and clear glass. Other guests mill around them – some of them Peter recognizes as being rich, some of them as being powerful, some of them as being both, and his fingers itch a little.
The urge to snag a wallet or a necklace or a bracelet is strong.
Gamora's hand on his arm is warm, and they press together a little closely as they move through the crowds at a leisurely pace. (He tries to ignore the way his heart picks up at that, tries think mundane thoughts to keep the color from creeping up his neck.) It kind of kills the mood, though, when she asks that question.
By now, his wound has healed, doesn't cause him immediate pain if he even breathes wrong. It's tender, of course, but med tech being what it is out here, he's much further along in his recovery than he would've been back on Earth. ]
Gamora.
[ Quietly, if only because the last thing either of them needs to advertise is that Star-Lord might be off his game. ]
I know you're my date and all right now— [ And this comes out a little teasingly.
Because this surely is not a date. ] —but if you ask me that again, I'm ditching you at the punch bowl.
Staying in hospitals makes him nauseated with anxiety, makes his insides twist and knot. It's like getting thrown back to when he was a child, a nervous kid who just wanted to do the right thing, who thought that if a person was good, then life would treat them fairly, would be kind to them.
(He had been wrong.)
The day of his discharge couldn't have come any quicker, and as Peter's gathering up his things, as he's slipping into clothes brought by his team to return to the ship, the doctor tells him how close he had come to dying, tells him to take care of himself while he recovers.
Peter just shrugs, grins. "Whatever you say, doc."
(That same evening, despite strict orders to avoid alcohol for a while, he and Rocket share a bottle of booze between them.
The least Peter is owed for nearly dying is a drink to his own health, right?)
Recovering drives him fucking crazy.
Because everyone – everyone, even Rocket, to some degree – treats him like he's made of porcelain, like he's liable to shatter if someone so much as twitches. He watches his team come and go, take jobs without him, and he feels the strangest feeling as he sees them disembark without him. Something twists in his chest, makes his breathing pick up, and—
He realizes, later, that he hates seeing them go, but more than that, he hates seeing them go without him.
(Peter wonders if, in the grand scheme of things, does the team really need him?)
At least little Groot seems to understand his plight, and they sit together in the common area, listening to Peter's tapes as they blast over the speakers. Peter stares blankly at the screen of his terminal as Groot tries to distract him with his dancing and swaying.
Weeks pass, and Peter goes slightly insane with boredom. Cabin fever, he calls it, though the phrasing had garnered a few concerned looks and at least one alarmed Drax pressing a hand to his forehead, asking if his wound had become infected, if his health was in any danger. It's only after Peter admits that he's fucking bored that he gets brought along on a job or two, the ones where they don't expect any gunfire – and miraculously, they're right. The jobs are uneventful, and Peter trudges back to the Milano alongside his team, exhausted and disappointed.
Gamora is... different, he's noticing. Quieter. Patient with him in a way that he finds unfamiliar. Peter hardly remembers anything from the day in the market after their encounter with the Kree terrorists, only remembers a whole lot of pain, and little else. Gamora hardly seems inclined to talk about it, so he just— lets it be. There must be a reason she's so silent on the topic, after all; she does few things without reason, and if she hasn't approached Peter to tell him how it all went down by now, then he probably doesn't need to know.
At least training is a little slice of normal, though this is different, too. All that time resting has left him weaker than before, and rather than jumping straight back into the deep end, they backslide into the pace of the early days. It's frustrating, it's bullshit, and Peter grits his teeth at how fucking infuriating it is to have lost all that progress thanks to one fucking bullet, to be left trembling with weakness and exhaustion at the end of every session.
But Gamora coaches him through it, all the same, drills him on the moves over and over, even when Peter wants to throw in the towel when he falls on his ass for the umpteenth time. He slams onto the practice mat and strikes his fist on the ground in his frustration, doesn't rise until Gamora speaks.
All she has to say is, "Again."
And Peter exhales sharply, climbing back to his feet.
Their first job – their first job, with Peter thrown back into the mix – kind of sucks, if he's honest, if only because Peter isn't the diplomatic type. He can fake it, if he needs to – and has in the past, when the Ravagers appointed him as their Face on the more legitimate jobs – but he doesn't like doing it. It makes him supremely uncomfortable, rubbing elbows with the elite. Makes him feel out of place, even for as well as he pretends to belong.
The bright side? Spending time with Gamora (because she's been— sort of distant, he thinks. There, of course, because where else would she be? But not in the same way she had been before the disaster.
He wonders if it's his fault. He wonders if he had just stepped forward, as he wanted to, if he had just bought that damned necklace instead of dithering on it like some scruffy nerf-herder, then maybe all that shit wouldn't have happened.)
The night comes, and Peter is dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit; his guns remain holstered to his hips, and maybe it's tacky, but he has a fancy license, now, that allows him to carry his weapons openly. He's a little more clean shaven than usual, his hair wrangled into something neater than his usual style. In all, he cleans up decently.
Gamora is a fucking bombshell, though. Like, holy shit.
(And when she had stepped out wearing the dress while they were shopping around, Peter had felt his heart skip a beat, had temporarily lost his command of language.
Had squeaked out, "That's good.")
And here the two of them are, stepping into some government building that looks more like a modern mansion than anything, all tall spaces and brushed metal, pristine whites and clear glass. Other guests mill around them – some of them Peter recognizes as being rich, some of them as being powerful, some of them as being both, and his fingers itch a little.
The urge to snag a wallet or a necklace or a bracelet is strong.
Gamora's hand on his arm is warm, and they press together a little closely as they move through the crowds at a leisurely pace. (He tries to ignore the way his heart picks up at that, tries think mundane thoughts to keep the color from creeping up his neck.) It kind of kills the mood, though, when she asks that question.
By now, his wound has healed, doesn't cause him immediate pain if he even breathes wrong. It's tender, of course, but med tech being what it is out here, he's much further along in his recovery than he would've been back on Earth. ]
Gamora.
[ Quietly, if only because the last thing either of them needs to advertise is that Star-Lord might be off his game. ]
I know you're my date and all right now— [ And this comes out a little teasingly.
Because this surely is not a date. ] —but if you ask me that again, I'm ditching you at the punch bowl.
[ gamora rolls her eyes, but she doesn't seem to feel the need to press. she's seen the way he's improved since the injury, and she knows that he's come farther with his training to get back up to speed.
(but she's also seen the way he falters if he pushes too much, if he moves wrong, if he fails to avoid a strike that comes down on the side where he'd taken the bullet. she tries to avoid it when they spar, but sometimes, he ducks when he should have dived, and her forearm will catch him in exactly the wrong place.
however, she knows it's nowhere near bad enough to keep him out of commission anymore.)
she stays pressed against his side as they navigate the party, and she keeps her attention on the room at large. it's filled with xandarians, kree, and other various allied species, all dressed to the nines as they mingle and chatter and dance. there's a live band playing, and the music fills the incredibly large hall, spilling into the rest of the building as the sound is amplified. gamora glances curiously to the dancefloor itself, her mind drawn back to thoughts of nerian-6, but this is different. this isn't one of their outings and days of exploration; this is work, and they have to remain vigilant for signs of the kree terrorists who could easily make an appearance at any time.
the comm in her ear crackles softly, a tiny, squeaked out "i am groot!" and some shifting around, a little scuffling, closely followed by, "what're you— dude, no, would you just leave that in my— get your frickin' fingers outta my ear!"
gamora keeps her expression impassive, but she gives a small sigh. ]
This will go well.
(but she's also seen the way he falters if he pushes too much, if he moves wrong, if he fails to avoid a strike that comes down on the side where he'd taken the bullet. she tries to avoid it when they spar, but sometimes, he ducks when he should have dived, and her forearm will catch him in exactly the wrong place.
however, she knows it's nowhere near bad enough to keep him out of commission anymore.)
she stays pressed against his side as they navigate the party, and she keeps her attention on the room at large. it's filled with xandarians, kree, and other various allied species, all dressed to the nines as they mingle and chatter and dance. there's a live band playing, and the music fills the incredibly large hall, spilling into the rest of the building as the sound is amplified. gamora glances curiously to the dancefloor itself, her mind drawn back to thoughts of nerian-6, but this is different. this isn't one of their outings and days of exploration; this is work, and they have to remain vigilant for signs of the kree terrorists who could easily make an appearance at any time.
the comm in her ear crackles softly, a tiny, squeaked out "i am groot!" and some shifting around, a little scuffling, closely followed by, "what're you— dude, no, would you just leave that in my— get your frickin' fingers outta my ear!"
gamora keeps her expression impassive, but she gives a small sigh. ]
This will go well.
[ Peter smothers his snort of laughter as Rocket and Groot’s voices sound out over the comms. He’s missed this, if he’s honest, the reasonably controlled chaos of their jobs. And, yeah, Gamora’s sarcasm probably isn’t too misplaced, considering who they are and how they work, but Peter has faith in them. Everyone tends to pull through when they need it most. ]
It’ll be fine.
[ And he smiles at her reassuringly, before moving further into what would probably be called the ballroom. ]
If we’re lucky, the Nova Corps will stop anything before it starts, and we won’t even have to do anything.
[ Because as boring as that’d be, they’re still getting paid – and a relatively handsome sum at that. ]
It’ll be fine.
[ And he smiles at her reassuringly, before moving further into what would probably be called the ballroom. ]
If we’re lucky, the Nova Corps will stop anything before it starts, and we won’t even have to do anything.
[ Because as boring as that’d be, they’re still getting paid – and a relatively handsome sum at that. ]
[ gamora frowns a bit. ]
While that would make this far easier, it means I'll be wearing this dress for no reason.
[ because she doesn't just go out in extravagant dresses for the hell of it.
she keeps looking around the guests and the room itself, but she tries to be subtle about it, to just let her eyes flick from place to place. she's analyzing the exits, the most exposed areas, looking for strategic weaknesses. remaining vigilant is crucial, after all, and the last thing she wants is for one of the terrorists to slip her notice and make the wrong kind of move.
(more precisely: the last thing she wants is a repeat of the market.) ]
While that would make this far easier, it means I'll be wearing this dress for no reason.
[ because she doesn't just go out in extravagant dresses for the hell of it.
she keeps looking around the guests and the room itself, but she tries to be subtle about it, to just let her eyes flick from place to place. she's analyzing the exits, the most exposed areas, looking for strategic weaknesses. remaining vigilant is crucial, after all, and the last thing she wants is for one of the terrorists to slip her notice and make the wrong kind of move.
(more precisely: the last thing she wants is a repeat of the market.) ]
Not for no reason. [ Light, breezy, as he scans the area. ] You look—
[ amazing. beautiful. gorgeous. ]
—good.
[ Peter’s own examination of the room is nowhere near as thorough – mostly he’s picking out where the refreshments are, picking out people he recognizes, either from campaign posters or from the news, or from back when he worked with the Ravagers, and legitimate folks had need of the service of mercenaries.
(Those that he remembers, Peter gives them a quick wink and a winning smile, though they quickly and awkwardly turn away.) ]
So. [ He asks it in a whisper, guiding them around the edges of the room. ] If I were a sociopath with a chip in his shoulder who wanted to sow chaos and destruction, I’d set up a bomb somewhere. Maybe a couple.
[ amazing. beautiful. gorgeous. ]
—good.
[ Peter’s own examination of the room is nowhere near as thorough – mostly he’s picking out where the refreshments are, picking out people he recognizes, either from campaign posters or from the news, or from back when he worked with the Ravagers, and legitimate folks had need of the service of mercenaries.
(Those that he remembers, Peter gives them a quick wink and a winning smile, though they quickly and awkwardly turn away.) ]
So. [ He asks it in a whisper, guiding them around the edges of the room. ] If I were a sociopath with a chip in his shoulder who wanted to sow chaos and destruction, I’d set up a bomb somewhere. Maybe a couple.
Edited 2017-03-04 00:43 (UTC)
I wouldn't say that looking good is reason enough.
[ she'd be much more comfortable in, for example, pants.
but she lets peter dictate where they wander, trying to look as casual as possible. fortunately, they aren't approached (probably because gamora doesn't exactly radiate "yes, please come have a conversation with me"), and it makes it easier to move around the area, to step just a little farther outside the gaggle of minglers. ]
That would be much easier for them to accomplish, yes. I'm sure they would find it preferable to set it and leave, observe from afar.
[ which is why having the other guardians making the rounds outside the building and the general bustle of the party is more ideal. ]
Somewhere more centralized would maximize the damage.
[ she'd be much more comfortable in, for example, pants.
but she lets peter dictate where they wander, trying to look as casual as possible. fortunately, they aren't approached (probably because gamora doesn't exactly radiate "yes, please come have a conversation with me"), and it makes it easier to move around the area, to step just a little farther outside the gaggle of minglers. ]
That would be much easier for them to accomplish, yes. I'm sure they would find it preferable to set it and leave, observe from afar.
[ which is why having the other guardians making the rounds outside the building and the general bustle of the party is more ideal. ]
Somewhere more centralized would maximize the damage.
[ For as approachable as Peter tends to be, having Gamora at his side wards off almost everyone. Having a galaxy-renowned (feared) assassin kind of does that, and if he's honest, he'd rather not talk to anyone here, anyway. Because conversations among the elite always boil down to That Day in Xandar, facing Ronan and doing the Running Man to distract him.
(And the Infinity Stone. And the pain. And that for a second, there, Peter was all too happy to let it rip him asunder if it meant an end to the pain.
Which doesn't make for good dinner conversation.)
He plucks up a glass of wine from a passing waitress – a pretty Krylorian woman with eyes as wide as saucers as she drifts pass the both of them, staring. Peter winks at her, smiling crookedly, and the woman blushes as she hurries away, smothering a laugh. ]
That means we should look around, then. [ As if that entire exchange never happened. ] See if there's anything in here that they might've missed.
(And the Infinity Stone. And the pain. And that for a second, there, Peter was all too happy to let it rip him asunder if it meant an end to the pain.
Which doesn't make for good dinner conversation.)
He plucks up a glass of wine from a passing waitress – a pretty Krylorian woman with eyes as wide as saucers as she drifts pass the both of them, staring. Peter winks at her, smiling crookedly, and the woman blushes as she hurries away, smothering a laugh. ]
That means we should look around, then. [ As if that entire exchange never happened. ] See if there's anything in here that they might've missed.
[ gamora doesn't seem inclined to help herself to the wine, but she also doesn't begrudge peter indulging — because she at least trusts him to keep a level head for the remainder of the job.
...well, she trusts him not to be distracted by alcohol, but attractive women, on the other hand...
once the kyrlorian is out of earshot, gamora just nods in agreement. ]
As long as that otherwise does not involve flirting with the waitstaff, I think that would be our best option.
[ and the sarcasm is back, but she still keeps her gaze in motion, looking for anything that seemed out of place. ]
...well, she trusts him not to be distracted by alcohol, but attractive women, on the other hand...
once the kyrlorian is out of earshot, gamora just nods in agreement. ]
As long as that otherwise does not involve flirting with the waitstaff, I think that would be our best option.
[ and the sarcasm is back, but she still keeps her gaze in motion, looking for anything that seemed out of place. ]
[ Primly, after taking a sip from his glass, ]
I'm not flirting. I can't help that I have a magnetic personality, Gamora.
[ He glances over at her, watching as she scans the area, and adds quietly, ]
Relax. You look like you're trying to avoid an ex-boyfriend or something.
I'm not flirting. I can't help that I have a magnetic personality, Gamora.
[ He glances over at her, watching as she scans the area, and adds quietly, ]
Relax. You look like you're trying to avoid an ex-boyfriend or something.
[ he earns an eyeroll for that, but gamora doesn't take the time to argue with him about his "magnetic personality." instead, she finally pulls her eyes away from the hall, meeting peter's gaze. ]
I don't want to leave us exposed.
[ she doesn't want to miss anything that could prove to be dangerous.
(that could put them in a situation like the marketplace again.) ]
And besides, this— [ she gestures vaguely with a flick of her hand. ] —is not my idea of an enjoyable evening.
[ she feels out of place, out of her element, and adding that to the fact that they're working a job and dealing with the same kree terrorists from before...
relaxing is simply not coming easily to her. ]
I don't want to leave us exposed.
[ she doesn't want to miss anything that could prove to be dangerous.
(that could put them in a situation like the marketplace again.) ]
And besides, this— [ she gestures vaguely with a flick of her hand. ] —is not my idea of an enjoyable evening.
[ she feels out of place, out of her element, and adding that to the fact that they're working a job and dealing with the same kree terrorists from before...
relaxing is simply not coming easily to her. ]
[ He makes a scoffing noise. ]
We've only been here, what, less than fifteen minutes? You're not even giving it a chance.
[ He gives the room a quick scan as well, though what he's really doing is listening. And—
There it is.
He finishes off most of his drink, leaving the glass on a nearby surface. Casting Gamora a wide smile, he tugs the two of them forward.
Because the song had changed to something slow. ]
But, alright, have it your way. Better vantage point from the center of the room, right?
[ Which, as it happens, is exactly where the dance floor is. ]
We've only been here, what, less than fifteen minutes? You're not even giving it a chance.
[ He gives the room a quick scan as well, though what he's really doing is listening. And—
There it is.
He finishes off most of his drink, leaving the glass on a nearby surface. Casting Gamora a wide smile, he tugs the two of them forward.
Because the song had changed to something slow. ]
But, alright, have it your way. Better vantage point from the center of the room, right?
[ Which, as it happens, is exactly where the dance floor is. ]
Edited 2017-03-04 07:53 (UTC)
And I need longer to determine whether or not this is something I like?
[ but then peter gives her that look, that big smile, and he's on the move again. gamora opens her mouth to ask where they're going, but then realizes—
of course he's tugging her towards the dance floor. of course he is. ]
Quill.
[ short, warning, but she isn't digging in her heels or dropping his arm, instead going right along with him. ]
Don't you think this will be more of a distraction than actually beneficial?
[ but then peter gives her that look, that big smile, and he's on the move again. gamora opens her mouth to ask where they're going, but then realizes—
of course he's tugging her towards the dance floor. of course he is. ]
Quill.
[ short, warning, but she isn't digging in her heels or dropping his arm, instead going right along with him. ]
Don't you think this will be more of a distraction than actually beneficial?
It's beneficial. Definitely beneficial.
[ With the ignorant certainty of a man who has done absolutely no research and has not given it any second thoughts. ]
It's a slow song. Just swaying, right? Not exactly mentally taxing. And it gives us a good view of the whole place.
'Sides.
[ And there's a shift in his voice, subtle though it is, something a little more sober, like speaking from experience. ]
You'd be surprised how many people blab their guts out on a dance floor. Like they forget other people can just listen.
[ With the ignorant certainty of a man who has done absolutely no research and has not given it any second thoughts. ]
It's a slow song. Just swaying, right? Not exactly mentally taxing. And it gives us a good view of the whole place.
'Sides.
[ And there's a shift in his voice, subtle though it is, something a little more sober, like speaking from experience. ]
You'd be surprised how many people blab their guts out on a dance floor. Like they forget other people can just listen.
[ gamora looks like she's genuinely considering his reasoning, and she's willing to concede that the dancing will cover up some of their efforts to get a look at the hall; while being in more constant motion, looking around seems less conspicuous — and there's a much more expansive vantage point from the center of the party. ]
...all right.
[ and because a quiet, very subdued part of her thinks that she'd like to revisit dancing with him, given that she hasn't had the chance since that evening on the ship.
but with the stipulation: ]
As long as it continues to be slow.
...all right.
[ and because a quiet, very subdued part of her thinks that she'd like to revisit dancing with him, given that she hasn't had the chance since that evening on the ship.
but with the stipulation: ]
As long as it continues to be slow.
[ He pauses midstep, turning to her and blinking. Truthfully, he had expected her to say no outright, to pull away and insist on lurking in dark hallways or something, but—
This is a surprise.
And his smile slowly spreads. ]
Really?
[ But apparently he doesn't see reason to tempt fate by waiting for an answer, so he carefully maneuvers them through the crowd and onto the dance floor.
The other dancers are doing little more than quietly swaying. Nothing fancy, thankfully, and the two of them easily slip into the crowd, claiming a space for themselves somewhere in the middle. He takes her hand, presses his other hand against her back, and moves to the music.
Sure enough, the dance floor does provide a clear view of most of the room, and scanning the area from here isn't nearly as conspicuous as standing in corners and searching. The quiet murmur of conversation surrounds them, and while Peter listens for a few seconds, nothing stands out. Business propositions and thoughts on the current political climate, and really a whole lot of shit Peter doesn't care about, so he tunes it out.
After maybe a handful of seconds, he murmurs, ]
Now's when you get to tell me I was right.
[ "get to." ]
This is a surprise.
And his smile slowly spreads. ]
Really?
[ But apparently he doesn't see reason to tempt fate by waiting for an answer, so he carefully maneuvers them through the crowd and onto the dance floor.
The other dancers are doing little more than quietly swaying. Nothing fancy, thankfully, and the two of them easily slip into the crowd, claiming a space for themselves somewhere in the middle. He takes her hand, presses his other hand against her back, and moves to the music.
Sure enough, the dance floor does provide a clear view of most of the room, and scanning the area from here isn't nearly as conspicuous as standing in corners and searching. The quiet murmur of conversation surrounds them, and while Peter listens for a few seconds, nothing stands out. Business propositions and thoughts on the current political climate, and really a whole lot of shit Peter doesn't care about, so he tunes it out.
After maybe a handful of seconds, he murmurs, ]
Now's when you get to tell me I was right.
[ "get to." ]
[ the dancing itself isn't demanding, more of a gentle motion than anything — especially compared to the slightly faster moves she'd attempted with peter before. this is simple, and the only thing about it that gives her pause is the fact that they aren't alone; she's never danced in front of others before, and only ever with peter for company. the part of her that still prickles with that need to maintain an air of unshakable, unaffected deadliness quails at the idea of being seen like this, but she forces it down, quiets it in favor of focusing on their surroundings.
(on peter's hand in hers, on the splay of his fingers on the bare skin of her back.)
the murmur of voices around them doesn't prove to be useful, yet, but the vantage is much more appealing than peering around from the fringes of the room.
...she'll at least give him that.
but when he speaks up again, his phrasing has her leveling him with one of those flat, somewhat exasperated looks. ]
Perhaps I should investigate that hall to our left instead.
[ but she's not stepping away from him as her hand stays in his, her other resting on his shoulder with her thumb brushing against skin where his neck meets the collar of his shirt. ]
(on peter's hand in hers, on the splay of his fingers on the bare skin of her back.)
the murmur of voices around them doesn't prove to be useful, yet, but the vantage is much more appealing than peering around from the fringes of the room.
...she'll at least give him that.
but when he speaks up again, his phrasing has her leveling him with one of those flat, somewhat exasperated looks. ]
Perhaps I should investigate that hall to our left instead.
[ but she's not stepping away from him as her hand stays in his, her other resting on his shoulder with her thumb brushing against skin where his neck meets the collar of his shirt. ]
[ She— probably doesn't mean to do that on purpose, brush against his bare skin like that, and it takes him a second to find his voice. Mostly he wants to make sure he doesn't sound like a complete dweeb when he speaks. ]
I mean, if you wanted to sneak off with me into a dark corner, you only have to ask.
[ #halfnailedit. ]
I mean, if you wanted to sneak off with me into a dark corner, you only have to ask.
[ #halfnailedit. ]
[ that unamused look doesn't go anywhere, and she just rolls her eyes at him again. ]
You would lose your nerve before we could even leave the dance floor, Quill.
[ it isn't an indulgence, but it's probably better for peter than getting his foot stamped on for his troubles.
but the comm in gamora's ear fills with the sound of rocket's fake gagging.
"gross, guys." ]
You would lose your nerve before we could even leave the dance floor, Quill.
[ it isn't an indulgence, but it's probably better for peter than getting his foot stamped on for his troubles.
but the comm in gamora's ear fills with the sound of rocket's fake gagging.
"gross, guys." ]
Would not.
[ Would so.
And Rocket's feigned disgust makes Peter glare at a spot over Gamora's shoulder. He whispers, ]
No comments from the peanut gallery.
Don't say anything, Drax. [ And that bit comes hot on the heels of his last sentence, and there's an almost affronted (if puzzled) sigh from Drax. ]
Are they seriously gonna be listening in the whole time?
[ Would so.
And Rocket's feigned disgust makes Peter glare at a spot over Gamora's shoulder. He whispers, ]
No comments from the peanut gallery.
Don't say anything, Drax. [ And that bit comes hot on the heels of his last sentence, and there's an almost affronted (if puzzled) sigh from Drax. ]
Are they seriously gonna be listening in the whole time?
[ gamora gives him a look that absolutely screams "would so" right back at him. ]
I would say that it's likely.
[ in case something goes wrong or they need to respond immediately, after all. ]
Is there a reason they shouldn't?
[ ...other than the constant commentary when their companions start getting bored. ]
I would say that it's likely.
[ in case something goes wrong or they need to respond immediately, after all. ]
Is there a reason they shouldn't?
[ ...other than the constant commentary when their companions start getting bored. ]
Uh, I dunno, maybe 'cause this is gonna get real old, real fast?
[ Apparently the crew's (well, Rocket's) need to be smart-asses is Peter's primary concern. ]
Can we at least agree on radio silence until one of us says a code word or something?
[ Apparently the crew's (well, Rocket's) need to be smart-asses is Peter's primary concern. ]
Can we at least agree on radio silence until one of us says a code word or something?
What about a code phrase? Like, "Quill's an idiot, pass it on."
[ and there's that weird hissing laugh on rocket's end of the comm.
gamora just sighs, minutely shaking her head. ]
This is neither the time nor the place. If something requires attention, say so; we don't need code words.
No, but really, what about code phr—
Or phrases.
I seriously think we could—
Enough.
[ short, quiet because of the still-dancing couples around them, but sharp nonetheless.
there's some muttering on the other end of the comm, but nothing that gamora can pick out, so it seems that rocket is content to adhere to the call for radio silence.
...for now. ]
[ and there's that weird hissing laugh on rocket's end of the comm.
gamora just sighs, minutely shaking her head. ]
This is neither the time nor the place. If something requires attention, say so; we don't need code words.
No, but really, what about code phr—
Or phrases.
I seriously think we could—
Enough.
[ short, quiet because of the still-dancing couples around them, but sharp nonetheless.
there's some muttering on the other end of the comm, but nothing that gamora can pick out, so it seems that rocket is content to adhere to the call for radio silence.
...for now. ]
Edited (me: forgets words. constantly.) 2017-03-05 03:37 (UTC)
[ The insult garners a quick, annoyed, "Hey," from Peter, but any arguments that might have sparked from the exchange are interrupted by Gamora's voice.
What follows is a few seconds of awkward silence, with everyone properly chagrined, Peter included. Eventually, he ventures quietly, ]
See anything?
What follows is a few seconds of awkward silence, with everyone properly chagrined, Peter included. Eventually, he ventures quietly, ]
See anything?
[ the comm line stays quiet for another beat, and then: ]
Dude on your guys' left — that shifty Kree in the red fancy suit thing. He keeps edgin' towards the stage.
[ gamora follows rocket's direction, her eyes falling on the kree as she and peter continue the quiet pace of the dance. she subtly nods towards the man, as she looks from the kree to peter and back again. ]
I see him.
[ the kree has his hand in his pocket, fiddling with something as he keeps moving closer to where the live band has been situated in the hall. he looks nervous, antsy almost in the way he rocks on his heels, pausing in between each measured approach to the stage. ]
Dude on your guys' left — that shifty Kree in the red fancy suit thing. He keeps edgin' towards the stage.
[ gamora follows rocket's direction, her eyes falling on the kree as she and peter continue the quiet pace of the dance. she subtly nods towards the man, as she looks from the kree to peter and back again. ]
I see him.
[ the kree has his hand in his pocket, fiddling with something as he keeps moving closer to where the live band has been situated in the hall. he looks nervous, antsy almost in the way he rocks on his heels, pausing in between each measured approach to the stage. ]
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