aromantically | ( OPEN ) Peter Q

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!"

The ire in those red eyes startles him, wondering what he's done to offend her this time. But then she's grabbing at him, the sting barely registering as he belatedly processes her words. Peter opens his mouth to protest, but with every phrase she's hitting him closer to the core and instead of trying to answer he takes one clumsy stumble forward until his forehead collides with her shoulder. It hurts for a second, not that he minds, but as the pain wears off he all but melts into her, his larger frame seemingly frail as he struggles to even stand on his own anymore. A fitting metaphor for the barrel he's staring down now.

"'Cause they need me to be him. That guy I used to be." She's not the only one who's been transmogrified through this ordeal, after all. To his credit, however, he doesn't try again, sinking into her so completely his words come out muffled as a result. Before he met Gamora, he had been a lone wolf, but she's the one who brought responsibility into his orbit. She's also the one who helped him cope with it. Without his partner in this life, he feels like he's drowning.

It is humbling to see him collapse in front of her like this. Gamora does her best not to shrink from the responsibility this puts on her. Peter is falling. Right now it looks like she is the only one who could catch him. She rests one of her hands on the back of his head, brushing through his hair just once before settling there.

"We can't go back." Gamora explains evenly. It's obvious and yet they don't act like they know it, do they? "We have to find a new way, Peter." She wishes she knew what that looked like. Gamora is walking into this new life just as blindly as he is.

Somehow, it cuts him deeper than anything before. He thinks a part of him managed to convince his inner self that they could - go back. That somehow, things could be like they were before. For that reason, it takes several seconds for her second statement to filter through and he finds himself smiling again despite the fear that still feels as though it might crush him at this moment.

"Do you think we can?" People are always strangely resilient so he feels like he needs to be more specific... "Together, I mean."

Gamora doesn't answer right away. She simply strokes the back of his head with her fingers to soothe herself as much as him. It's a loaded question with no simple answers. The former assassin takes a sharp breath as she prepares to really speak on what they have. She has no idea where the courage comes from. Maybe she has grown or this is simply another influence from a long dead woman.

"I care about you. It's confusing to remember a life I didn't live, but I know that's true. I admire the way you look after so many people without ever complaining or resenting them for it. You use the power you do have in service of others. I can trust you in a way I haven't trusted anyone since Thanos killed my people. I'm happy here."

She sounds astonished by the realization. It is obvious though to anyone paying attention. Yes, it can be painful and awkward at times. She's known true joy in simply being a part of this crew. They are her family now. "I don't intend to leave you so yes we can do this together, but only if it's new. I could never be her." Even if eventually she remembers everything. It won't ever be the same. Not leaving is a good a start as any.

The way her fingers rub against his scalp have him leaning his full weight against her without thinking it through, one arm cording around her middle to anchor them together. Peter has to latch onto the obvious thing here before they can move past it, but he is too content with their arrangement to change it now, even for eye contact which is probably needed in a deep conversation like this...

"So you do remember," he acknowledges, brow furrowing as he tries to process that. He supposes it answers that age-old question about if a person is their memories or separate from them. She didn't have those experiences so it must be jarring to recall anything from her former life, but more to the point, Peter isn't sure how to have something new with someone who has the memories of where they've been. "I'm glad you're happy. That's all I've wanted for you since you got here." He'll address the rest after some more head pats, probably.

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