nostalgiabomb | riverview: ic contact;

[ 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.

[ She drops the leaf into the sink, setting her own mug back on the counter. ]

Of course I did. You came in covered in dirt.

[ Is she exaggerating? Mostly. ]

[ She's definitely exaggerating, and he cuts her a flat look. ]

We can sweep up dirt real easy.

[ Then, pointedly, ]

Ichor and guts, though...

Those clean just fine, too.

[ A bland statement as she gives a dismissive wave of her hand. ]

And there are absolutely no stains, even if you insist otherwise.

[ She steps around him, hooking a finger in his belt loop to drag him in for a moment. ]

The sooner you clean up, the sooner we can have dinner.

[ He has some arguments to the contrary regarding the ease of cleaning up monster innards, but he's interrupted as Gamora reels him in.

He breathes out a laugh, one hand finding hers to lift it up. His thumb brushes over the rings she's wearing, and even though he knows she likes them – or is saying she likes them, which are not necessarily the same – he's still a little startled to see her wearing them.

Then, he grins brightly at her. ]

Can I get a goodbye kiss?

[ She tries to tame her smile as he admires the rings on her fingers, and she finds that she's almost as fond of his reaction as she is of the rings themselves. ]

You can have a kiss goodbye or you could invite me to join you.

[ Even though she didn't track in monster remains this time.

Dinner only requires putting leftovers in the microwave, after all, so it's not like time will be lost. ]

I—

[ No, wait, please hold, while Peter's brain recalibrates, given this new piece of information.

... No. Hang on— ]

—Wait. Really?

[ Maybe it really is Christmas. ]

[ Gamora lifts a brow at him. ]

Do I look like I’m kidding?

[ Merry Christmas to Peter’s short-circuited brain. ]

[ A flat look in return. ]

In my defense, you never look like you're kidding, even when you are.

[ ... which, admittedly, is an exaggeration, but he has to figure the differences are subtle to, like, almost anyone else. ]

[ He might have a point, but he still earns a pronounced roll of her eyes. ]

Then let me repeat my offer.

[ She tugs at his sweater – gently, mindful of it – and leans in again. ]

Would you rather have a kiss or would you prefer I get in the shower with you?

Shower.

[ And he hardly has to think on his reply, barely even waits for Gamora to finish asking before he's answering, this time. ]

Definitely the shower option. Can we do that one? 'Cause I like that one a lot better.

[ That was about what Gamora expected, obviously, and she doesn’t exactly grin, but she’s amused all the same. ]

Why am I not surprised?

[ Because Peter Quill is a predictable man.

But she does let go of his sweater, pulling back to head into the bathroom – and pulling off her shirt along the way. ]

[ how dare you. peter quill is a wild card. an unknown quantity.

A mysterious variable, who grins at Gamora’s retreating back – now bared back, as she starts to strip – and hurries after her. He’s mindful with his sweater, at least, and the shirt he’s worn underneath it, tugging them both up carefully over his head and avoiding stretching it too much.

... But he still tosses his clothing aside to the couch, instead of folding it neatly, because some old habits die hard. ]

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