nostalgiabomb | riverview: ic contact;

[ For good or for ill, Gamora doesn't tend to take Peter at his word often. Most of the time, she's content to let it go – small lies (about chores) or suspicious but seemingly harmless behavior (like how odd he'd been with his "research" leading up to Christmas). But with her rings, Gamora had been more willing to believe he had nothing to do with their misplacement, because she had no idea what he'd be doing with them. It had been strange, but innocuous enough that she let it slide.

However, even with the holiday, even with Peter's "research," she wouldn't have anticipated the gift she finds waiting for her on the actual day.

The flowers? Beyond perfect. She sees them first on the kitchen table, and as she steps up to examine them, there's no restraining the sweet, warm smile that spreads across her face. Some of the flowers are unfamiliar, others she'd seen in the garden, but she's almost startled by the roses, thorns and all – if only because she herself can barely remember telling Peter she liked them. The fact that he'd committed something like that to memory after months was... touching. The entire bouquet is, too, and she finds herself admiring it for perhaps longer than necessary.

And then she finds the rings.

The plain silver bands are similar to the ones she most often wears, and the delicate curling designs are exactly the sort of subtle she enjoys. But the other two have her attention fully. She would never pick them for herself, if she's honest. In many ways, Gamora can be utilitarian in her choices – simple, functional, adhering to her own sense of fashion – but these? She loves them.

After a glance at the note, she's still smiling as she trades her normal rings for the new ones. She'll still be wearing them as she waits for Peter to get home for the night, with food and travel cups of hot chocolate for them both in the fridge.

Of course, as soon as she hears his key in the door, she'll be getting up to greet him with a kiss.

Her version of an appropriate "thank you." ]

[ So here's the thing:

Peter's not really good at the whole gift exchange thing. Years and years and years with the Ravagers taught him not to expect anything, unless it was for a job exceptionally well done or if it came with a million catches. That meant that giving gifts was met with suspicion, too, though growing up, Peter never really felt inclined to give any of those assholes anything.

(Maybe Tullk, sometimes. Kraglin, too, if he wasn't being too much of a prick.

... And maybe Yondu, if Peter ever thought that any gifts he might have offered wouldn't have been treated with derision or irritated comments about Peter being too soft.)

So what that means is that when he gets gifts – real gifts, not the kind that come with a guy tacked on at the very end, spouting a billion words a second with all the caveats – he's always startled, always moved. The second he found the presents from Gamora, he stood frozen in the doorway for way longer than he's likely to admit.

Which means that when Gamora arrived home, the crown had been carefully put into a place of honor, visible in the living space of their apartment. The chocolate bar had been put in a cupboard to be saved for a special occasion. And once he heard her stepping into the apartment, he had swept her up in a near bone-crushing hug.

Gift-giving is a nerve-wracking experience, he realizes, and he's distracted the entire time he's outside the walls. Definitely a bad thing, considering how often he's liable to run into monsters, but he can't help worrying. What if she doesn't like the rings? What if she thinks the bouquet is lame, or worse, what if it makes her sad? (Because even with all his research, he couldn't find anything exactly like what Gamora had described. A lot that came close, sure, but none of them were the flower from her childhood. He spent a week stewing in his frustration before deciding, "Fuck it," and going with all the next best things.)

His distraction means he takes a few bad hits from some of the more hands-on monsters out in the wilderness, but thankfully his jacket protects the soft, dark red sweater underneath – the one Gamora had bought him.

He would've been devastated if something had happened to it. Having had it for, like, all of a day, he can comfortably say it's his favorite shirt.

Once his shift ends, he drags his feet the whole way home. Peter can be a cynical kind of guy, and as he stands on the tram, as he's walking the streets back to their shared housing, his overactive imagination runs him through about a million worst case scenarios.

It takes him a little longer than usual to walk the short distance from the elevator to their apartment, to pull his keys from his pocket, to turn the key in the door, to finally step inside. His jacket, slightly scuffed with dirt, hangs open so he can proudly show off the sweater underneath. He glances around, spotting the vase of flowers still sitting on the table, and he swallows around the nervous lump in his throat.

And then there's Gamora, abruptly in his space before he can even properly shut the door, kissing him.

... Well, this is much better than Worst Case Scenario #79823, where he returned to an empty apartment. Peter stiffens with surprise before relaxing into it, leaving the keys in the doorknob in favor of resting his hands on Gamora's hips.

When he pulls back, he's smiling warmly, amused. ]

Hi to you, too.

[ When they break apart, one of those rare, soft smiles is waiting for Peter. ]

Hi.

[ And there's the more appropriate greeting.

Her hands frame his face, sweeping her thumbs across his cheeks as she properly takes in the way he looks – scuffed up, a little dirty – and she cocks her head in question. ]

What did you run into today?

[ He looks fine, though, which is why she hasn't immediately changed gears into something more concerned. ]

[ He wants to answer with, "What didn't I run into?" But he's reasonably sure that's going to earn him a lecture about maintaining his focus or being more careful or whatever, which would also lead to Gamora kicking his ass in training to prove her point.

And, like, thanks. But no thanks.

So he instead shrugs. ]

Just had a tussle with some random monster. No big deal.

[ And he punctuates it with a bright, reassuring smile. ]

I'm fine.

[ He seems largely unscathed – no blood that she can see or a change in his posture – so for now, she’s willing to accept his explanation. ]

You need a shower.

[ She might be insinuating that he smells, but, more likely, that he just looks like he’s had a long, potentially dirty day. ]

[ He barks out a laugh at that, finally turning to retrieve his keys from the door. ]

Real nice, Gamora. Is that a hint that I stink?

[ And he says it archly, with an over-exaggerated pout. ]

A hint might imply I was being subtle.

[ And this, she says purely because of that overblown pout on his face.

She musses his once before she steps back to let him properly enter the apartment. ]

You just look like you had a long day – with your monster run-in.

[ He lets out an affronted sound, as he moves to fix the mess she's made of his hair, kicking the door shut behind him.

It's true, he admits, that a long, hot shower sounds really nice, but as he's rearranging his hair into its proper place, he glances at the table, to the vase and the bouquet, before returning his attention to Gamora. ]

Did you... um...

[ How can he phrase this without sounding lame? ]

Did you... like the flowers?

[ Gamora leaves him by the door, heading to the kitchen to pull the chilled cups of cocoa from the fridge. She can’t help the soft smile that appears, unbidden, when he asks about the flowers.

Pausing, thoughtful, she sets the travel cups on the counter before glancing over her shoulder at Peter. ]

They’re perfect.

[ And that is more praise than Gamora usually gives anything. ]

[ Muted as the praise might sound to anyone else, Peter knows all too well that that was basically Gamora's version of glowing.

He grins, relief surging through him and making him relax at last. ]

Good.

[ He rubs the back of his neck, searching the kitchen table for the little black box. He doesn't spot it immediately, and he frowns. With the way Gamora had greeted him, and with the way she's positioned now, he hasn't realized that she's currently wearing the rings he had bought her, and he clears his throats nervously. ]

I, um. Kept the receipt. For the other stuff. If you wanted to exchange any of it, so...

[ Gamora is in the process of getting mugs out for them, transferring the drinks, leaving them in the microwave. ]

Why would I need to exchange anything?

[ She starts the microwave, turning to look back at him as she leans against the counter, something perplexed in her expression. She lifts her left hand to inspect the muted green and pink crystal of one of her new rings, rubbing her thumb across the band with that same soft smile. ]

[ He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, scratching at a spot behind his ear. ]

In case you wanna swap them and get new ones, obviously. I mean, I know the ones I got you weren't ex... actly...

[ He trails off when he realizes she's wearing the things, and he stares for a few seconds, dumbfounded. ]

... Oh.

[ #smooth ]

"Oh."

[ She repeats it, amused as she lets her hand drop. ]

You thought I was going to trade them for something else?

[ But these were a gift from Peter, something he'd thoughtfully chosen for her. Gamora can't honestly remember the last time someone had gotten her a gift, not really, and this was carefully selected, something he'd put time and heart into.

She wouldn't trade that for anything. ]

I figured they weren't exactly your, you know, style.

[ Which was true enough. She seemed to favor plain, silver bands – maybe something with a solitaire stone, but not much beyond that.

The ones he had gotten her were far flashier than what she usually wore, and he had figured she'd find them... gaudy, maybe? Tacky? It's not like he really knows how to shop for jewelry, beyond the occasional necklace. So he wouldn't have been entirely surprised if she had left the rings in the gift box and left them to collect dust.

His gaze flits down to her hands again, to the rings he had bought her, and he presses his lips together.

Then, ]

So, um. You... like them?

I wouldn't wear them if I didn't.

[ Maybe she likes them because they come from Peter, more than anything else. She wouldn't have picked them for herself, but now, she can't see any reason not to wear them.

The microwave goes off behind her, and she pulls two steaming cups of hot chocolate down to set on the counter. ]

Just come drink this.

[ Drink this and stop worrying. ]

[ His smile widens, crooked and earnest, but when the microwave goes off, he jumps a little, startled.

The smile he wears after that is crooked, teasing.

Archly, ]

I thought I was ordered to take a shower?

I can tolerate the smell for now.

[ Teasing, at least, as she nods to the mugs before she lifts her own to cradle the warm ceramic in her palms. ]

[ He narrows his eyes at her, seemingly irritated with the comment, but he scoops up the mug, letting the warmth bite into his hands. He had worn his usual gloves through most of the day, but that didn't stop the Quarantine from being cold; being back inside has already done wonders for him, of course, but the hot chocolate helps.

He takes his first sip, sighing with it. Then, as he's surely said a billion times by now, ]

God, I missed this stuff.

Then enjoy it while you can.

[ It's not a bitter comment, but more an acknowledgement of reality: it isn't likely they'll find this drink again when they go home, not unless they return to Earth.

She shifts, moving to settle beside Peter and lean against his arm as she starts sipping from her own mug. ]

[ He leans against her in turn, though he pauses after a second with a quick, ]

Just a sec.

[ He pulls back, placing his mug on the counter. Quickly he shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair, and he rolls up the sleeves of his dark red sweater.

Then, after reclaiming his mug, he presses against her again, flashing her a winning smile. ]

Much better.

[ She watches him abandon his jacket, her soft smile warming more when she notices that he’s wearing the sweater she picked for him. She leans up, pressing a light kiss to his cheek before she returns to sipping at her mug. ]

Were you actually that concerned I wouldn’t like the gifts?

[ He lights up with that kiss, and even when she pulls back, he doesn't bother smothering his smile – not even after her question. ]

I was more concerned that I sucked at gift-giving at all.

[ Gamora's eyes stray to the bouquet of flowers, and there's something sweeter in the way she looks at them, admiring the pinks and the consistent trend that's so reminiscent of the flowers on her home planet. That kind of gesture took time – dedication. She's amazed he went to all of that trouble. ]

You have nothing to worry about.

[ That is for certain.

She reaches out, resting a hand on his stomach and the red sweater. ]

You're wearing it.

[ She sounds... pleased. ]

[ He lets out a quiet snort, almost disbelieving, but his free hand rests atop hers at his stomach. ]

Of course I'm wearing it.

It's my favorite shirt.

[ Duh, Gamora.

Never mind that he's had it for, like, a day. But Peter gets attached to things easily, and considering how rarely he ever gets gifts, he's definitely going to be keeping good care of this. ]

I shouldn't wear it to work, though. Too risky.

[ It takes a lot to get a truly unfettered smile from Gamora, but apparently, tease and all, that does it.

His favorite shirt.

And maybe that should sound absurd, since she only just gave it to him, but considering that she never does the gift-giving thing either, it's heartening to know. ]

You do have a habit of running into monsters.

[ And it would be a shame if one of them happened to shred his new sweater. ]

actually here; after gamora gets the rings what a nerd

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