aromantically | ( OPEN ) Peter Q

Gamora follows his lead. She doesn't have a single doubt he's good at it. Right now that's more annoying than confusing following his rejection. She sits there patiently all the same until he's ready to talk or finish. Something tells her the first will come before the last. It's annoying to get that right too.

"You don't have to kiss me, Peter." Even Gamora can recognize that she sounds very salty about the whole thing. She takes a breath and tries for some honesty. "I don't understand you. You wanted to kiss me since the moment you laid eyes on me. Why did you stop the one time I considered it?" Maybe that's an answer in itself. It was just a consideration. She's not at the point where she realizes how terrible it must be to be a consideration when facing the love of your life.

He freezes when she says that, hating the edge of hurt in her voice. From her perspective, he knows it can't make much sense, and it's hard not to wish he was the same vapid, selfish fool who tried to kiss her the first time around. Then none of this would touch him, but that would be denying their entire love affair and how much their family has impacted him, something he could never do. Peter reminds himself to keep going, but starts slowly on an intricate fishtail braid so that it will take him a while to complete. Both so he can gather his thoughts and so he can touch her a few moments longer.

"Cause it feels bad, Gamora." It feels like there's a hole in his heart and each day when he sees her the scab gets ripped off all over again. "You know how I feel about you, that's never gonna change. Not never."

He felt like he had to put that out there even as he weaves strands of her hair, watching as the different colors stitch together beautifully. He had missed this, but as always this yearning has an edge. At least it's bearable for the moment.

"We've been through a lot together, you know, before..." With the original Gamora, he means, though he's already been through some crazy things with this version. That's just the Guardians way. "It feels wrong, like... cheating." In more way than one.

It's tempting to be bitter. She could easily argue he loves who she could be. Thanos taught her too well by example exactly where to stick the knife. That wouldn't be true. The longer they travel together, the more certain Gamora is about their feelings towards her. They love every form she takes. That kind of love and acceptance has barely been a shadow of a memory when she met them. Now it's her life. Even Nebula has changed, become more like them.

She is the one lagging behind. It's frustrating. It hurts. She resists the urge to hurt back. "You think you're dishonoring her memory if kiss someone who looks just like her." Gamora states seriously after an extended period of silence. She thinks she understands it now even it it stings. The way he weaves her hair does a little to help. It reminds her of her mother's insistence on the intricate braids she once wore. It's a pleasant reminder even now.

Peter wouldn't blame her for it, not like he ever blames her for anything. His fingertips brush her nape and her top vertebra as he works his way down, glad this seems to be calming her as much as him.

"You don't just look like her," he points out, unable to keep back the thick sigh that pushes its way from his throat. "I wanna kiss you when I wanna kiss you, not 'cause I miss her. It's not fair."

Her skin tingles as his fingertips brush over the delicate skin. It doesn't make it any less relaxing even as a heavy conversation is underway. Gamora finds herself respecting him more for his integrity. He is more than the sentimental idiot she thought he was the day they met. He really does love her... Well. A version of her.

"I'm sorry. You're a man of great honor and yet I always treat you like a starry-eyed fool. I misjudged you, Peter Quill."

As always, her honesty makes him laugh. He starts speeding up as he hits a rhythm with her hair, watching the pattern take form and satisfied with it.

"Two things can be true," he points out, but it isn't truly self-deprecating, more of a joke meant to lighten the mood. "Besides... you shouldn't kiss me just 'cause I like you. Do you even like me like that?" Does she even know what that means yet?

Gamora shuts her eyes, suppressing the urge to shrug. It's not like there's any point in covering up the answer. "I don't know. I was made to bring kings to their knees and slay gods. I don't go on dates." She points out bluntly. It's part of what tempted her to try it out. Peter is a safe option. The timeline slipping its way into her head didn't help matters.

Her answer makes him smile, though there's a sadness in his gaze he's glad she can't see.

"You don't even know nobody 'cept us. Hell, you don't even know you yet." He finishes off her braid and ties it, checking it over for himself before pushing it over her shoulder the way he always does so she can inspect it. "It's not like I'm goin' nowhere. There's no rush."

To figure things out, he means. If anything, they could do with more caution in their lives.

Edited 2019-08-27 02:59 (UTC)

The words settle into Gamora. She cannot the truth in them as much as she wants to argue it. She doesn't know who she is outside of Thanos. This is the first time she's been her own woman ever. Gamora doesn't know what to say to it, but knows the cue from another life.

The former assassin goes up to the mirror to inspect her hair. It takes her breath away. For a moment, so brief it actually make the ache that much stronger, she can see her mother looking back at her. She realizes this is probably the closest she's come to even looking remotely like a Zehoberi person since her capture. It really only adds weight to Peter's argument.

She runs her fingers over the braid longingly and offers a stilted nod of approval. "You are good at this." Gamora is silent for a beat before offering seemingly at random: "My mother would braid my hair before." Before Thanos goes unsaid.

He sits up a little taller when she gets up, dropping his hands to his lap and watching her reaction carefully. It's impossible not to grin at the praise, though it softens some at the follow-up. Just like always, if Gamora had ever told him that before, he plays dumb. In the beginning he realized how quickly the 'I know's would slow things down. Pretending she's a totally different person from the woman he loved is hard, but practical in the end.

"I take it that means you like it?" he asks, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly as he tries to get a more solid answer. "Yeah? I learned how to braid doin' my mom's hair." So: full circle, again. His eyes crease with his smile this time, fully relaxed.

"I do like it." Gamora runs her fingers over it one last time before dropping her hands to her side. She glances back at Peter. The fact that it connects to both their mothers visibly softens her. She smiles gently at him, tilting her head curiously before the question comes. "What was she like?" She's always wondered on some level. The music, she either recalls or has been told, had been a gift from Meredith Quill.

It's deeply bittersweet, but that's nothing new, and he knows Gamora feels the same so he really can't bring himself to be too broken up about it - not like sharing with her is really ever a chore. He pats the bed next to him in suggestion, something about her being across the room makes it weird to bare his soul, but he will whether she listens or not, one leg dangling off the edge now.

"She was real brave... but sweet too," he remembers, voice soft and full of affection. "Gentle, she hated when I fought with the other kids which was all the time." Peter smiles there before looking down at his lap.

"Before she got sick, she just... was so bright, you know? Full of energy and love for life. She could get anybody out of a bad mood, she never let nothing get her down." Until the cancer. He hears Ego's booming voice in his head announcing his 'disappointment' in having to kill her in that way and Peter has to shut his eyes to work through it, tasting bile as the memory plays behind his eyelids.

She takes a seat at his side. Gamora isn't nearly as comfortable with a straight back and feet planted firmly on the ground. He does have her full attention. That intense brown gaze only softens to picture a woman that looks like Peter with those qualities. A flash of a cold marble zooms past her mind's eye. She dismisses it in favor of going back to her vision. Peter's momentary withdrawal causes a little pain in her chest. She finds herself scrambling to distract him without understanding why.

"So you're like her." Gamora points out. It is true. Regardless of how hard she has tried to isolate herself from Peter, it is easy to see he retains those qualities. He can be bright even in his grief. Peter does have a way of keeping them going which is no small feat.

She looks away as she feels compelled to share herself, eyes trained ahead at a wall. "I think I take after my father, my true father. He was fierce and uncompromising. I don't remember much about my mother." She frowns at the confession and feels compelled to explain further. "My people were peaceful. They prayed to our gods and followed obediently. He wasn't like them, but she was."

The comparison shocks him out of his memory, breathing a sharp, quiet breath in reaction. He wants to be like her, wants to think she lives on in him, forever. He drew just as much strength from Gamora though, too, and everyone else on this ship. He bites into his lip as he listens, not wanting to interrupt her in any way.

"You're anythin' but peaceful," he agrees, bemusement pushing his smile wider despite his best efforts.

That prompts a warm, unguarded smile. He is right. She'd never been peaceful a day in her life. That is one thing she knows about herself at least. "It's for the best. The ship probably needs more warriors than worshippers." She sucks in her bottom lip, settling into the knowledge that they seem to be in a better place now than earlier. Gamora feels better about herself as well. They still have work to do. Her outburst earlier seems embarrassing once she remembers that.

"Should we finish cleaning?"

"It's okay," he says, like it's a secret. "I've always been a fighter too."

Peter considers her proposition, deals her a wink and hops up onto his feet before turning to offer her his hand. He realizes his mistake though the moment she's close to him again, his throat going dry and his grip on her arm tightening just enough to lock her in place.

That admission only increases her fondness of him. She gives him her hand without so much as skipping a beat. Gamora is too caught up in the moment to think of the potential problems she'd normally see a mile away.

Suddenly there are too close to one another. Gamora is very aware of the bed behind them and his grip on her arm. Her mouth goes dry as she stares at his lips. On a normal day, she'd feel played. Right now she can't gather the mind to be suspicious. Her eyes stay locked into place as she tries to think of anything to say. "Peter..." It's soft and uncertain. They already talked about this, didn't they? It is hard to think straight when he's this close.

His heart races faster and faster the longer they stand there, and Peter knows he's in trouble when he follows her gaze with his own, watching her stare at his mouth. After all that moral high ground stuff, in the end maybe he really is himself no matter what else happens. "Present," he murmurs, pushing in even closer, his lips trembling as they brush hers. That familiar electric surge fires up under his skin at the contact and then he's powerless to stop this, leaning in to kiss her properly as his hand lets up, gently encircling her wrist and brushing his thumb against the surprisingly soft underside.

Edited (proofreads this days later what's up ) 2019-09-18 12:50 (UTC)

His response almost pulls her out of the moment. She's missing some context to that. The second his lips brush against her, she feels that spark as well. It's all-consuming and addictive at the same time. She returns his kiss eagerly.

Gamora sighs contently against his mouth before moving to deepen it as her veins light up with fire. This feels right in a way that's easy to lose herself in. At least for now the former assassin isn't psyching herself out of it.

The familiar sensation invades his senses and takes him over completely, managing to forget for just one moment that he never lost the woman he loved. He kisses her until his lungs burn for air, his front pressed to hers, but as he slowly pulls away she might feel wetness on her cheek and catch a fresh tear just as it rolls down his cheek.

"Sorry... goddamn—sorry." He wipes at his face haphazardly, gaze bouncing around like he intends to bolt this time.

It's the wetness that truly pulls her out of the moment. Gamora touches the wet spot against her cheek and feels sick. She's done a lot of terrible things in her life and yet what she did to him still hurts. For a second she's too stunned and sickened with herself to do anything more than stare at him with her mouth open. The way his gaze refuses to settle is what spurs her into action. Gamora steps forward, hands tentatively reaching out to take his.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let that happen."

He takes her hands without hesitation, eyes wide and scared when they meet hers again. It hurts like he's physically been torn open right here and he's sure it's in his eyes, easy for her to pick out. The last thing he wants is for her to blame herself.

"Not your fault," he protests, leaning in again until his temple taps against hers, almost too hard but he knows he can't hurt her even with his thick head. The moment they're connected again, his shoulders quake with silent sobs and he squeezes her hands like his life depends on it. He's had a good run, he thinks, holding it together, but now the dam's broken and he doesn't know how to put it back.

It wounds her deeply to see that pain. A part of her thinks it would have been better to stay in denial. Even an hour ago this wouldn't have burned so badly. The rest just wants to save him from that. The rub is Gamora has no idea how to ease his hurt. All she can do is let him hold on tight to her hands. The weight of his head settles against hers. She has to shut her eyes to avoid seeing his tears.

Gamora will wait this out. It has to pass, right?

He stays close to her until the tears eventually taper off, though now he's self-conscious of his red, swollen face.

"Sorry... sorry." Peter lets go of her with a deep scowl, eyes cast down like he can't bear to look at her now. He picks up the hem of his t-shirt and wipes his face on it, briefly exposing his belly before reluctantly turning from her and going to retrieve his shoes. "Ready?" Once they have that space between them, it feels safe to make eye contact, though his gaze is red-ringed and sad.

Her uncertainty morphs into anger at how quickly he shoves it all back in the box. Gamora sees someone who is going to break. Even without all these complicated feelings held by another version of herself slipping into her heart? He's still the man who gave her sister shelter and affection. Peter Quill would have her loyalty for life for that alone. She cannot abide by him starting a breakdown to only finish it another day. It isn't right.

"Not until you are." Gamora closes the distance between them, grabbing his arm hard. She's not letting him out of this room until she's positive he isn't just forcing his way through another task for everyone else's sakes. "Why do you keep pushing yourself like this?!" Gamora asks in a fit of frustration. She knows why. He's the only one who can hold it together. The others depend on him for everything and so does she to an extent. It still drives her insane in this moment to realize just how much this is costing Peter. "Just stop! You can't help anyone like this!"

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