nostalgiabomb | riverview: ic contact;

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. ]

[ Something twists in his chest at the sight of that smile, warm and sweet, and he finds himself returning it in full force. ]

Occupational hazard.

[ And he says it solemnly before taking a sip of hot chocolate from his mug.

He squeezes her hand. ]

I love it, though. [ As if she needed further reassurance. ] Kept me pretty warm throughout the day.

That was the intent.

[ She returns the pressure on his fingers, but apparently she's being much too genuine because she adds, ]

It seemed like you might be at risk of frostbite or otherwise.

[ Terrans and their sensitivity to cold, after all. ]

[ He gets it, of course, which is why when she seems to want to change the subject, Peter lets her. He scoffs in feigned annoyance, nudging her with his hip. ]

Are you ever gonna stop with that?

Are you ever going to develop a tolerance for cold weather?

[ Answering a question with a question, how quaint.

... It's still a fairly accurate answer, though. ]

[ He sighs, exasperated, and nudges her again. ]

I’ve managed just fine so far, thanks. And look.

[ He raises a hand, waggling his fingers at her. ]

I still haven’t lost a single thing to frostbite. So you can stop pretending to worry so much.

You are young by human standards. There's time.

[ See, just because Peter hasn't lost something yet doesn't mean he won't. ]

[ His eyes narrow, lips twisting to one side. ]

I find your lack of faith disturbing.

[ Alas, Peter hasn’t been able to find the Star Wars films in the Quarantine, otherwise Gamora might understand this reference. ]

[ Unfortunately, the reference is lost on Gamora – but the words are out of place enough that she at least recognizes it is one of Peter's references. ]

Just wear the sweater and don't complain about the cold.

[ If only to ease some of that sulking, she leans up to kiss his cheek. ]

[ He scoffs rocking back a little. ]

I wasn’t—

[ “complaining” is how he intends to finish that thought – because he hadn’t been this time, at least – but she interrupts him with that quick little kiss to his cheek.

He sighs quietly, shaking his head in that sort of way that asks, “Why do I put up with this?”

And if it feels familiar, it ought to. Gamora has surely used it on him countless times. ]

Drink your cocoa, Gamora.

I will.

[ Of course she recognizes that sigh, the shake of his head, but she'll grant him this opportunity to use it. At least once. ]

And then you should wash off whatever monster you have in your hair.

[ Does Peter have monster debris in his hair? Probably not, but Gamora will still give him grief. ]

I don't have monster in my hair.

[ And he says it incredulously, almost offended. But he pauses, reaching up and frowning uncertainly. ]

—Do I?

[ He did blast apart a monster before the end of his shift, but with the nature of his blasters, any debris would be more burnt flesh than guts. And besides, he wouldn't come back coated in viscera.

He's not Gamora.

Luckily, he doesn't have any monster in his hair, but there is a bit of dirt and possibly a small leaf from a tumble. Peter falls a lot, after all.

A lot.

It's a wonder he hasn't cracked his head open yet.) ]

[ Gamora reaches up, plucking the leaf from Peter's hair and holding it out in demonstration. ]

You brought the forest home with you, apparently.

[ He squints at the leaf she produces then lets out a quietly irritated, ]

Ugh.

[ He leaves his mug on the counter, stepping away to run his hands through his hair, feeling a bit of dust fall away. ]

Guess you might have a point about that shower.

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