video; @star.lord

[nostalgiabomb]

[ INT. Shared Housing, Floor 13, Room 4 – Very Late Night.

We open on a shot of the living space in one of the many shared housing units. It's dark in the messy room, with a couple of red jackets tossed onto the backs of chairs. Nearby, soft snores are audible.

In frame is a small, wooden creature, his giant eyes squinting with concentration as he stares at the screen. An old, beat-up mp3 player and a Sony Walkman sit beside him on the coffee table. The little creature mumbles a tiny, irritated— ]

I am Groot?

[ —in the same tone of voice someone else might use to ask, “How the hell do you work this thing?” He pokes at the screen fruitlessly for a while, but soon enough, his eyes light up as he shoves his hand forward one last time.

Suddenly, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by the illustrious AC/DC shrieks over stereo speakers.

DONE. DIRT. CHEAP.

Sorry about your beauty sleep, Floor 13. And probably Floors 12 and 14.

The sapling yelps, scrambling and panicking to figure out how to stop this crazy thing, just as a sleep-tousled Star-Lord stumbles into frame, flicking on a light. Barely audible over the music, ]

Groot, what are you—?

[ Busted.

Peter picks up the device, sees that it’s recording, and he grimaces. ]

Oh, son of a—

[ Which is when the feed and the music both cut out. ]

Comments

[godslay]

[ She gives him a sort of "What?" look as she sets Godslayer aside. ]

It could have been an intruder.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Yeah, that look of disbelief hasn't left his face. ]

... An intruder blasting AC/DC?

[godslay]

An intruder causing a distraction. Or accidentally turning on your—

[ She pauses again to clear her throat. ]

—your music.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he readies yet another snarky comment, except—

He frowns at her instead, stepping away from Groot (who looks half-relieved that Peter's attention is directed elsewhere) to close the space between them. ]

Something in your throat?

[godslay]

[ She waves Peter off dismissively. ]

I just need water.

[ But her voice sounds hoarser, and she coughs once, short but rattling. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Listen.

Peter isn't so completely clueless about recent goings-on that he doesn't immediately have his suspicions, and if he were honest with himself, he's been watching both Gamora and Groot like hawks.

That didn't sound like a "I just woke up and need a drink of water" cough.

But maybe Peter's being paranoid. Maybe he's blowing things out of proportion. (Maybe he feels like he's eight years old again, and Mom and Gramps are sitting him down at the kitchen table, and Mom's eyes are too wet and she's gripping Gramps' hand like a lifeline—) ]

Gamora.

[ His voice is sharpened by worry as he moves toward her. ]

You're sure you're okay?

[godslay]

[ Gamora is about to move past him to the kitchen to get a glass of water, but she stops when Peter comes over, meeting his gaze and that sharp concern. ]

I'm fine, Peter.

[ But she doesn't shove past him in the same gruff way she might have in the past; she rests an arm on his elbow for a moment, then tries to sidestep him to get that water. ]

Nothing's wrong.

[ Except she's coughing again, this time a short fit as she presses a hand to her chest to try and quell it. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ There's a small, endlessly hopeful part of him that wants desperately to believe her. Gamora knows her own limits better than Peter does, and if she says she's fine, then she probably means it.

... Right?

Except when she moves past him, that coughing starts again, and that's— Gamora doesn't do that. Like, okay, sure, she coughs, but not like that. And it's Peter's turn to rest a hand on her elbow. ]

That doesn't sound like nothing.

[godslay]

[ She shakes her head again, still insistent, but without yanking away from him. ]

My mods will handle whatever it is – which means I'm fine.

[ She doesn't get sick – and even when she's infected with something, it's usually filtered out of her system before it even gets close to affecting her. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He searches her face for a second or two, uncertainty written in the narrowing of his eyes, the crease in his brow, but—

Slowly, reluctantly, his grip loosens on her elbow. He doesn't let go entirely – not yet – but he's relenting, at least a little. ]

You're... absolutely sure?

[ Because whatever sickness is going around, from what he's heard, is super aggressive. Like, Andromeda Strain aggressive, and the news had freaked him out a little, honestly. ]

[godslay]

[ She tosses him a sidelong glance. ]

What Thanos did to me is good for something, Peter.

[ This is cast more quietly, but intended to be reassuring. ]

If it's something, it will filter itself out soon.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Another second wasted, because that doubt is screeching in his head. He runs his tongue over his teeth, but at length, he offers a slow nod, letting go of her arm. ]

... Okay.

[ He hesitates a breath longer before letting his arm drop uselessly to his side. ]

Just— there's that thing going around, you know? It's been taking a lot of folks down, is all.

[godslay]

[ With Peter finally releasing her, Gamora continues on to pull a glass down from the cabinets. ]

I know. And even if that's what this is, my body is different; it was made to rid itself of those things.

[ She fills her glass at the sink, leaning back against it and sipping slowly from the water, turning to face Peter again. ]

I don't get sick.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He follows a pace or two behind, pausing to lean back against the counter. (Groot, in the meanwhile, is currently busying himself with the Zune, now that the adults seem to be talking.) ]

Right. Yeah. I get that.

[ He waits as she gets her water, and he seems to weigh his words for another second. Then, slowly, ]

It's just... I get the impression that doesn't really matter.

[godslay]

[ She watches him closely from over the lip of her glass, frowning. ]

Why wouldn't it matter?

[ This is what her body does, after all. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

It's just— when I said aggressive, I mean aggressive.

[ His expression pinches before he offers a helpless shrug. ]

I think— I dunno. It's seriously been knocking a lot of folks out of commission. So I just— I think we should be careful. That's all.

[godslay]

I'm always careful.

[ ... Mostly. She doesn't often feel like she has to be careful, because of how her body works, because of how different she is.

But she's sipping at her water, and—

—has to stop suddenly for another fit of coughing that she smothers with her hand. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Yeah. Okay.

Peter's definitely jumping to attention, moving to Gamora's side. He gives her space to breathe, though, a hand resting between her shoulder blades as he waits for the fit to pass.

(And there's a cold pit in his stomach, something old and familiar that he thought had disappeared a long time ago, and it makes his breath catch in his chest and it makes his throat close up and it makes something scrabble up the inside of his ribs, panicked and ugly, and—) ]

Should we...

We should go to the hospital.

[ It's been all of, what, fifteen minutes? And maybe it's rich for Peter to suggest that, of all people, but still. ]

[godslay]

[ She's still covering her mouth as the coughing trails off, but her eyes flick up to Peter, watering slightly from the fit. She swallows, clears her throat as she shakes her head adamantly. ]

I don't need to go to the hospital.

[ The words are hoarse, and she chases them down with a little more water. ]

It's fine, Peter.

[ Like he's even one to talk. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

It's not fine.

[ And the words are sharp. He does nothing to hide his worry. He can feel that old ache, that old panic starting to rise in him, even as he struggles to keep it all down. ]

There's a weird super-virus going around that's taking people down, left and right, and everyone keeps saying it's serious as hell. People are going into comas.

And I get you're, like, super resilient or whatever, and your mods usually kill off whatever gets into your system, but this is different. This isn't just some run-of-the-mill flu, okay? You're coughing. You never do that, Gamora.

[godslay]

[ He's—

—panicking.

She can hear it in his voice, the rising anxiety, the emphasis and speed and— ]

I know.

[ This time, her own words are sharp in response, because she knows she never coughs. ]

Just—

[ Another cough that rattles in her chest, but she bites down the urge to wince. She waits until her voice feels steadier, clearer, then continues, ]

It'll deal with itself. Give my body time to compensate.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ The sharpness cuts through that fog, and he flinches back.

He glances to the living room, sees Groot there, watching them with wide eyes, and Peter offers the kid a small, reassuring smile.

(He remembers being in that position. Mom and Gramps discussing plans of attack and payments and treatment options and—)

He takes a deep breath, turning back to Gamora. He tries to keep himself calm, but there's a faint tremor in his voice. ]

A couple days. [ A concession, but not much of one. Peter knows it, but this isn't something to sit around on. ] If it's not getting better after that, we'll go see someone.

[godslay]

[ Her gaze follows Peter's to Groot, and she gives him her own faint smile, guilt tugging weakly in her stomach. Turning back to Peter, she hesitates, taking a moment to swallow around the growing soreness in her throat, but... ]

Fine. A couple days.

[ It's a concession of her own, too, if only because she's confident in what her body is capable of. ]

Then you'll see it's nothing.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Yeah, Peter hardly looks convinced, but maybe that's because of all the old memories this situation has been dredging up. Report after report coming in about an epidemic, something straight out of Riverview's history books, and Peter has been paying attention, has kept an eye on Groot and Gamora for any potential signs of illness.

He didn't think he'd finally spot something.

Hesitantly, he rests a hand on her shoulder, searching Gamora's face. ]

Maybe you should take the next couple days off.

[godslay]

[ There's no snapping or shrugging him off, and she reaches up to gently grip his wrist. ]

If I need to, I will.

[ But as it stands, it's just a cough.

(Right?)

Her other hand moves to Peter's cheek, smoothing below his eye (though she thinks he might feel cooler than usual? just slightly). ]

It'll pass.