nostalgiabomb | riverview: ic contact;

Don't get eaten before you get back.

[ Does she sound annoyed? Absolutely. But it's also belied by something half-distracted on her own end – the fact that she's glanced over to the capsule sitting on their kitchen table. ]

[ He sounds exasperated when he says, ]

Give me some credit, Gamora. I’m not gonna get—

[ He interrupts himself to yelp out another curse. The whine of several shots from his blasters fills in his silence, though it’s soon joined by a deep, guttural roar. ]

... Oh, crap.

[ When he speaks again after a few seconds, the words are panted out in a rush, accompanied by the pounding rhythm of his boots in the dirt as he runs: ]

OkaygottagoI’llbebacksoonbye—

[ And he cuts the line.

And true to his word, Peter does not, in fact, get eaten.

He trudges back into their shared apartment an hour or two later, looking slightly worse for wear, clothing covered in streaks of dried mud. A slightly rough day at the office, admittedly, but Peter hardly seems concerned. There’s a small, scabbed-over cut just at his hairline, a few scrapes on his knuckles, and he is very likely tracking in some dirt, even after stomping out his boots at the door.

He probably should’ve cleaned himself up back at the Perimeter Guard facilities, but impatience and curiosity got the best of him, speeding his way home.

As he shrugs out of his jacket, he calls out, ]

Lucy, I’m home.

[ Peter's reassurance does little to actually reassure Gamora, and she's left staring at her screen with narrowed eyes.

Very much a "if you don't come back in one piece, you'll regret it," kind of unspoken thing.

However, Gamora knows Peter is capable of handling himself, and the Perimeter Guard is good at what they do, if things really do get tight for him, so she hardly needs to venture beyond the fence just to haul his ass out of the fire.

(Even if she does miss working with him in particular; they were a good team, the Guardians had shown her that, and not chasing down bounties and bad guys with Peter regularly was somehow disappointing.)

Fortunately, she has the contents of the capsule to keep her busy.

By the time Peter makes it back, Gamora is a little worried, just because it took much longer than she expected it should. When the door opens, she turns in her seat on the couch to look back at him, expectant and unamused. ]

"I'm almost back?"

[ Repeated somewhat incredulously as she takes in Peter's muddy, bloody appearance. ]

[ Whoops.

He offers an awkward sort of smile, shoulders lifting in a sort of apologetic shrug, as if to say, “What can you do?” ]

In my defense, I was almost back. But then Big, Bad, and Ugly popped out of the woodwork, and I had to run around for a while to lose him.

So, you know. Not my fault.

[ He drapes his jacket over the back of a nearby chair and lifts a hand, as if to ward off her possible arguments. ]

And I had it handled, before you start lecturing me about being more careful.

Handled or not, that was not the time for a phone call.

[ Disapproving Gamora Face Intensifies.

But, despite Peter clearly having the worst sense of timing on the planet, she also doesn't look about to launch into a proper lecture about stealth or professionalism (because while the former may be fairly critical, the latter is... not the Guardians' specialty). ]

What did you do to your head?

[ She pushes herself to her feet, taking with her the small capsule that she'd been given by one of the other Guards. ]

[ His nose wrinkles, ostensibly in disagreement, and he starts readying an argument. His main talking points involve the fact that he was nearly back, that he had avoided the worst of the creatures beyond the wall, and, most importantly, that he had been bored. The most excitement from his shift came in those last couple of hours, when some big, angry beast came barreling out of the trees.

But she flips the script on him, and he blinks at her as she approaches, reaching up to the small cut. His mask is a practical piece of armor that has protected him from a lot of damage, but he admits there are some flaws in its design – the greatest of which is that it doesn’t protect his whole head.

(But if it did, it’d make his hair look awful. The last thing he wants when he’s dramatically removing his mask after saving the day is to stand triumphantly with atrocious helmet-hair.

He has an image to maintain, thanks very much.) ]

Took a tumble. [ And he offers the explanation up easily, letting his hand drop. ] Totally fine, though.

[ He glances down to the capsule in her hands, and he frowns at it. ]

Is that the thing?

[ Perhaps one downside that's come with Gamora expecting her own wounds to heal automatically is that she underestimates how long it will take most people to heal from an injury – even something minor. However, considering Peter is up and moving around and talking without any noticeable difficulty, he's probably fine enough.

... Even if she's still mildly concerned as she scrutinizes the cut at his hairline.

He's not entirely off the hook, but—

This thing is especially important. ]

Yes.

[ She hesitates, trying to choose her words as she unhooks the clasp on the capsule. ]

They said it came through the portal.

[ A beat, and then Gamora opens the lid and holds it out to him.

Inside, sits a blue Sony Walkman with Awesome Mix Vol. 1 in the tape deck, the orange foam headphones, and a small, brightly-wrapped rectangular box with its little blue ribbon that she didn't dare touch. ]

[ There’s something about her tone that sets him on edge (even if he’s glad that whatever is on her mind is keeping her from going into “You’re being too reckless, and you need to get your shit together, Peter” mode). He watches as she opens up the capsule, as she explains where it came from, and he wonders for a second why this is making her as weird as it is.

Like, why does she think it’s his? Is it a shrunken head with “For Star-Lord” written on its brow? Is it some weird, embarrassing thing from his past, like a shameful photo or vid? Despite himself, he’s worried as she unfastens the latch, and he studies her face. Only when she turns the capsule toward him does he tear his gaze away, glancing down at the contents—

And he freezes.

It seems he’s forgotten how to breath, how to blink, how to even function, because for a long while, all he can do is stare, still as a statue.

The first thing out of his mouth: ]

That’s...

[ And even this is barely voiced, carried on a croak. It takes a while before he can rally himself again, and he lurches to life, stepping closer and reaching up a hand to the capsule’s base. If his hand rests atop Gamora’s he barely notices, stunned as he is. ]

That’s— that’s impossible.

[ Though even as he says it, he’s marking out the little flaws that identify his Walkman. The tiny imperfections, the little scratches, the slight yellowing of the label on the cassette tape. Mom’s handwriting in blue ink. The spots on the polka dotted giftwrap where the pattern had been worn away by time.

It’s definitely all his, but— he the last time he saw his Walkman, it was crushed into pieces, littering the floor of Ego’s palace.

He feel like he can barely breathe, his throat closing up, his heart pounding in his chest. ]

Someone just— gave this to you?

[ Peter's shock is about level with Gamora's. He'd told her that the Walkman had been crushed. Destroyed. Beyond repair. But here it sits in this little box, with all its dings and scratches that she remembers for herself, that she'd seen in the months on the Milano with his treasured device.

She doesn't pull away when his hand settles over hers, and she helps to keep the capsule steady, to make sure it won't fall to the floor by accident. ]

They just brought it to me. I'm not certain if it's a replication or... something else.

[ But from what she can tell, it's his. ]

Everything still works.

[ She'd at least tested the Walkman and the first tape for herself (letting Elvin Bishop croon through the headphones), but the wrapped box is still where it's been since she received the capsule. ]

[ He nods at her explanation. There was every possibility it was only a copy, a clone, but—

Man, does it matter? Even if it is just a copy, it's a damn convincing one. As a kid, Peter had guarded the Walkman with his life, and while he did his best to maintain it, it still got a bit dinged, a little beaten up – never enough to damage it, but enough that it was hardly pristine. And this Walkman has all those same little flaws – little nicks and scratches; wear on the corners and edges, on the silver "S" of "SONY," where a bit of the paint had been rubbed off to reveal the plastic underneath.

His gaze flicks up to her at the reassurance, and he swallows nervously, his free hand reaching into the capsule to lift out the Walkman and the headphones. Even the weight is as he remembers it, and despite how completely blindsided he is by it all, he huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

Softly, ]

Holy shit.

[ Despite herself, there's a soft, small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She knows what this Walkman means to him, she knows everything he has and would have given to keep it safe. The Zune is precious, but for other reasons, and nothing could have replaced what the Walkman symbolizes to him. It's something she admires in him – and while before, she might have written him off as a fool for putting himself at risk for a silly little device, now she understands.

(And she's grown to appreciate sentimentality far more for herself.)

She doesn't set the capsule aside, still holding it up with the package that's waiting for him at the bottom. ]

I suppose this place is full of surprises.

[ And there's something so gratifying seeing Peter like this, knowing how much it means to him. ]

[ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he inspects the Walkman, turning it over in his hands, appreciating the reassuring weight of the device. He clicks it open, carefully pulling out the tape to inspect that, too.

It's his. It's all definitely his.

He thought for sure he would never see this again, but here it is, in all its glory, exactly the same as before Ego got his fucking hands on it. An odd sort of laugh bubbles out of him, something a little choked and heavy with a weird emotion he can hardly name. ]

Holy shit.

[ And he quickly slips the tape back in, putting on his headphones and hitting play.

—around and fell in love—

And he laughs again, eyes watering a little in a way that might be embarrassing later, but right now, he hardly cares. ]

Holy shit.

[ Apparently Peter's doing his best impression of a broken record, today. ]

[ He looks—

—happy.

And she finds herself wondering if she's seen him like this since everything happened on Ego's planet. This warm, this open, this sincere in how overwhelmed he is. She's seen him smile in the Quarantine, she's seen him enjoying himself and having a good time, but she's also seen the weight that sits on him after the horrendous mess that was his father.

But for the first time in a long time, he seems... lighter.

Her smile warms, broadens just a touch. ]

Is everything the way it should be?

[ Because Peter would know best – but given the look on his face and the emotion in his eyes and his voice, she's willing to hazard a few guesses about his reaction. ]

[ He nods quickly at her question, apparently not trusting himself to say much more than "Holy shit," right now. He pulls his headphones down to hang around his neck. Normally he'd clip the Walkman to his belt to free up his hands, but at the moment, the idea of setting it down is the furthest thing from his mind.

He glances back at the capsule, studying the wrapped gift – and that's as he remembers it, too. The familiar feeling of reluctance, of guilt, curls in his gut. For twenty-six years, he never opened Mom's last gift to him – because he was afraid to. Because a part of him wanted to cling to that single moment before everything went to shit. Because a stupid part of him thought that if he opened it, it would close the door on that part of his life, and he'd never be able to go back to it.

He lifts the present from the capsule, slowly, almost reverently, and he tucks the Walkman under his arm to turn the little box over in his hands. Sure enough, the old, worn envelope is still tucked beneath the blue ribbon, his name in blue ink and Mom's handwriting. ]

I can't believe this.

[ For a few breaths, he's caught somewhere between wanting to just laugh or weep with joy, scooping up the Walkman with one hand and holding the gift in the other, and he's not entirely sure where he might fall. His hands shake a little, eyes still stinging, throat stopped up by that weird lump, and he lifts his head up to look at Gamora again.

—Apparently he reaches his decision when he throws his arms around her, laughing a sort of watery laugh. Both, apparently. Both is good. And usually he's a lot more careful about her personal bubble, and usually he makes a point to telegraph his approach, but evidently all his usual caution has been thrown out a window. ]

Holy shit, Gamora.

[ Maybe seeing Peter like this has put her at ease or maybe she's finally starting to adjust to this whole physical contact thing, but Gamora barely even tenses when he suddenly flings his arms around her in a wholly unexpected hug. She's startled at first, but it's probably an improvement that she's not immediately throwing him onto his back for his trouble.

She manages to set the capsule aside, and she's at least somewhat more tentative about wrapping her arms around him in return, winding around his waist to rest her palms on his shoulder blades.

Part of her was so uncertain about the sudden appearance of the Walkman (because how could it be here?), but another part had been hoping that this would be real enough for Peter, that it would fill something of the hole left behind.

She'd wanted that for him, and it's such an alien sensation to feel some sort of bubbling warmth in her own chest that's come with Peter's joy. ]

Maybe they should have delivered it to you directly.

[ But she won't lie: there's something so... wonderful about experiencing it with him. ]

Mail gets misdirected all the time.

[ And he says it around a grin. He takes a deep breath before pulling back from her, loosening what would have been a bone-creaking grip on anyone else but not entirely pulling away. ]

I— this is— amazing. This is fantastic. I don't—

[ He flounders for another breath or two before laughing again, shaking his head. ]

Jesus. It's probably a good thing they gave it to you. I would've lost my friggin' mind back at the office.

[ She lets him pull back, but she likewise doesn't drop her arms entirely from around him. ]

I doubt the rest of your unit would have been as impressed.

[ Because from what she knows of Terran technology now, the Walkman is probably outdated for most of the humans wandering around Quarantine. ]

Probably not, no.

[ Though he says it without any resentment. Even when he was a kid, the Walkman was starting to get edged out by CD players; he fully recognizes that even now, his Walkman must seem ancient.

At last he pulls his arms back – still not quite leaving Gamora’s personal bubble, but far enough that he can look down at the Walkman and the small box in his hands. He still can’t believe what he’s seeing, but he can’t stop grinning, can’t stop that giddy sort of warmth bursting in his chest – though that, at least, is somewhat tempered by the bittersweet reminder of why he’s treasured these things for so long, and the reminder of how he lost them in the first place.

He runs his thumb over the raised silver letters, his touch light and careful like he’s afraid it might break. ]

God, the way you were acting earlier, I thought for sure you were gonna open that capsule up to, like, my death certificate or severed hand or something.

Why would your own severed hand be in the capsule if you weren't aware that you had lost it?

[ Peter, that makes no sense.

Admittedly, neither does the death certificate one, but she thinks he would have noticed that he was missing a hand first.

... Anyway. Not actually the point. ]

I wasn't sure what to do with it because you had said it was destroyed so... it seemed impossible.

[ It still feels impossible, but here it is, all the same. ]

I dunno, dude, the portal is weird. Like, maybe there’s some parallel universe or some dark future where I get a robot eye, or where I become an astronaut, or maybe I end up dying in some weird alternate dimension, or whatever.

[ ha ha like any of that would ever happen. ]

Point is, the portal doesn’t seem too worried about what’s possible. I mean, I shouldn’t have these— [ And he lifts he gestures a little with both hands, drawing attention to the Walkman and the wrapped box. ] —but here they are.

[ A pause, and he puffs out another breath. ]

Ego destroyed them. [ His mood cools slightly, and his expression faintly dims. ] He— crushed it – tape and Walkman and all – like it was nothing. And I left the first tape back in my room with all my stuff in his stupid castle.

These... they shouldn’t be here. But— they are, so—

[ And now, his brow furrows, and he chews on his lower lip. ]

This is— good, right?

[ Gamora is moderately uncertain about what it means that he has the Walkman back. ]

It... seems harmless, at least. Wherever it came from, it must not have been our universe.

[ Or they would have been notified so that they could go home, right?

She reaches out, fingers resting gently on Peter's elbow – a small gesture of solidarity after elaborating on Ego's cruelty.

She wishes so badly she could have done— something, anything to make Ego suffer for everything he'd inflicted on them and all the others.

Death is somehow too kind for the Celestial. ]

[ His expression smooths out a little at the reassurance, and after a second, he huffs out a quick laugh. ]

I seriously hope there isn't a version of me somewhere, wondering where the hell his stuff went.

Perhaps that would be a better alternative.

[ She knows how much it panicked Peter to lose his Walkman when he didn't remember what Ego had done, but... if some alternate version of him happens to avoid Ego's cruel demonstration by not having the Walkman in the first place, maybe that's somewhat of an improvement. ]

[ A slightly more genuine laugh, this time. ]

Would it? An alternate me, going absolutely nuts and turning a room inside out, trying to find his Walkman?

Better lost than destroyed.

[ At least, in her opinion.

Though maybe there's the uncertainty associated with losing it that isn't desirable. ]

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