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[ 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. ]

[ Peter hardly looks certain of that, either, if the slight narrowing of his eyes is anything to go by. His voice is a little more solemn when he speaks. ]

I mean, it’d be gone for him, either way. If that me is anything like me-me, it’d feel about the same.

[ At last he looks down at his Walkman and hooks it to his belt, turning his attention to the gift with its familiar blue ribbon, the slightly yellowed, wrinkled envelope slipped into the loop beneath the box. He knows it’s light – it’s always been light – but it’s always felt heavy to him, laden with history and regret and guilt. His gaze moves over the wrinkled, worn, colorful dots on the paper.

He knows what’s inside – or at least, he thinks he knows what’s inside. If it fell out of the portal, who the hell knows what’s in here? But with everything that happened back home, with the way the shit with his father had soured things, he’s not sure if he wants to peel off the giftwrap to reveal the second of Mom’s mix tapes.

Decision made, he exhales quietly, offering Gamora a small, tight-lipped smile. He lets his hand drop, still holding onto the gift – untouched and unopened, as it had been months ago. If it stays unopened, if it stays as he remembers it, then he can almost pretend none of that shit happened, right?

(He may be falling back on old bad habits.) ]

Thanks. For giving me these.

[ She inclines her head in a short nod, willing to concede that Peter's probably right. Given how he'd panicked when he'd lost his memory and had no idea what had happened to his Walkman... she can't imagine how much worse it might have been if he was tearing through his things with no idea where it might have gone.

She watches him clip the device to his belt with a faint smile (there's something relieving about seeing it there again), but she wonders what will become of the little gift.

Apparently, nothing tonight.

She meets his gaze, taking a short step back as she breaks contact. ]

Of course. You should have them.

[ It’s only when she moves back that he realizes just how close they were, practically breathing the same air, and he frowns a little, silent.

—And belatedly, he sort of realizes he had kind of sort of bear hugged the hell out of her, even if Peter isn’t a huggy sort of person, and an awkward flash of realization crosses his face. Gamora tends to be a little protective of her personal space, and he offers a small, apologetic look. ]

Sorry about, uh. [ He gestures vaguely. ] That. Earlier.

[ Gamora looks somewhat confused at first (like she's not sure what he's apologizing for), and then realizes he means the hug.

She shrugs, brushing it off. ]

It's fine. It didn't bother me.

[ She's the one who just reaches out and grabs his hands sometimes.

... But she doesn't do hugging, really. ]

[ The gesture strikes him as familiar for a second, though he can't quite place it. After a second, he brushes it off, and huffs out a laugh. ]

Yeah, alright.

Thanks for not, you know, karate chopping my throat for it.

A hug probably won't earn that.

[ Unless Gamora really, really didn't want to be touched at the exact moment he went in for one.

Or maybe if he surprised her especially badly.

Or maybe if he deserved it. Who knows. ]

[ Sometimes, Peter has surreal moments where he recognizes just how strange their conversations are, and this is one of those moments.

So instead of insisting that getting punched in the neck isn't a typical response to being surprised by a hug, he just shakes his head, a little amused.

He should get cleaned up; he should take care of the scrapes and cuts on his hands and forehead. He should do a lot of things, but that can come later. He pulls the headphones connector out of the Walkman’s socket and nods toward the bedroom. ]

Come listen to this with me.

[ There’s a small speaker on his nightstand with his Walkman’s name on it. ]

Edited 2017-10-13 19:59 (UTC)

[ There's a moment where Gamora blinks at him, her head cocked as she considers the offer, and she realizes... it's been a while since she's listened to these particular songs.

The corner of her lips lifts (something small and private, one of those little smiles she so often reserves for Peter), and then she nods. ]

I have the time.

[ And even if she didn't, she'd probably make it for him.

With Peter's directing, she heads into their bedroom to take a seat on Peter's bed – not paying much mind to the mess of blankets – and draws up her legs to make herself comfortable. ]

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