riverview | video; @star.lord

Entry tags:

video; @star.lord

[ 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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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.

[ 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.

... Yeah. Of course.

[ It's not his most convincing delivery in the world.

Because a part of him still wants desperately to throw a coat over her shoulders and usher her out of the door, to take her to one of the specialists at the hospital to take care of whatever this is. Hell, they could go and they could assure them that it's just a tickle in her throat, ship the two of them off with a bag of cough drops, and Peter would be more than happy to suffer Gamora's smugness at being right if it meant he didn't have to worry.

(Even if he doesn't place a lot of trust in doctors. They didn't help Mom, after all, so, really, what good are they?)

He leans into her touch, frowning at the heat of her hand, which prompts him to press the back of his hand against her forehead.

Then, quietly, ] You're kinda warm.

[ But maybe he's making mountains out of molehills? ]

I'm always warm, compared to you.

[ The back of his hand feels oddly nice on her face, stark in its difference in temperature, but instead of letting herself relish it, she reaches up to pull his hand down again.

(She doesn't want him to worry. She doesn't want to give him another thing to focus on.)

But her hand around his is another point of heat, edging away from the subtle change in body temperature to something more enflamed – which is why she releases him just a little too quickly. ]

[ He's about to argue that, yeah, okay, he knows she runs warmer than him, but this is different. He knows her well enough by now, he thinks, that he knows what is and isn't normal.

But she pulls down his hand anyway, and her hand is— that's definitely that same level of heat he had felt when she touched his face, and she seems to realize it the same time he does, judging by the way she lets go like she's been burned.

He holds her gaze for a second, and that worry (that fear) starts to twist again. ]

Gamora...

[ And he reaches out, moving to feel her forehead, her cheek, whatever, again. ]

[ She can see that anxiety on his face, plain as day, but she catches his wrist when he reaches out – gently, but firmly. It does nothing to soothe the idea that she's too warm, not with that direct contact, but she's insistent. ]

You said we'd give it a couple days. Don't worry about this.

[ The look on his face says, "I'm absolutely going to worry about this."

But she's right. Giving it a couple of days was his idea, and he lets his hand relax, fingers curling toward his palm as she holds his wrist away from her. He catches her gaze, expression hardening. Then, ]

This is only gonna work if you're honest with me.

[ He says it firmly. (Even if that old fear sends a fine tremor through the words. ]

You need to tell me what's happening, okay? Don't leave me in the dark. Don't downplay this. Don't try to be all macho about it.

If this isn't getting better, we're going in. All right?

[ She doesn’t hesitate – not quite – because she knows she would be the same way with Peter, if their positions were reversed. This disease had set her on edge, and as Peter had been watching her and Groot, she’d been keeping an eye on him and the sapling.

... She just really didn’t expect to be the one who needed minding.

Her grip eases on his wrist, relaxing slowly. ]

All right.

But these symptoms are just a reflection of my modifications doing what they’re meant to. That’s it.

[ She slides her fingers down to Peter’s, linking them together. ]

[ He squeezes her hand when she threads her fingers between his – maybe a little too tightly for it to ever be comfortable, but he doesn't shy away. ]

... Okay.

[ Still, he sounds unconvinced, but he knows he can be... irrational, at times.

(Understatement of the century.)

Gamora knows herself and her limits better than Peter does, and even with as worried as he is, a part of him acknowledges that it's still too early to tell. It could be something, it could be nothing, but they won't know until the scales tip in either direction. ]

Okay. We'll give it a couple of days.

But I'm still gonna worry.

[ at least he's being honest. ]

[ Gamora lets him cling to her hand (because that's what it feels like now), and she closes the distance again, her other hand sliding behind Peter's neck to tug him down, to press their foreheads together. ]

I know.

[ And she accepts the reality that there's no avoiding Peter's worry – not in this situation. ]

You won't have any reason to when this is done.

[ He leans into her touch, tries to ignore the unnatural warmth of her hand, of her brow – he hardly succeeds, though, and he visibly winces at the contact. His free hand rests against the curve of her waist, and he tries to compose himself.

... That, too, ends up being a bust.

But he keeps his misgivings to himself as he pulls back, as he reaches up to sweep a few strands of her hair away from her face. ]

You should head back to bed. Try to rest up.

[ Gamora doesn't miss the way he winces, and she eases back to minimize the contact – though she doesn't break away entirely. ]

We both should. It's still too early to get up.

[ Not that she should rest because of this... sickness. Obviously. ]

[ He gives an uncertain sort of shrug. ]

I, uh. Still have a certain insomniac kid to lecture.

[ And if he’s honest, Peter doubts he’s going to get much sleep after this, because his mind keeps barfing up memories of hospital stays and thin, creaking cots and the crackling voices over P.A. systems and his mother, slowly wasting away, while her radiant smile became less and less vibrant and—

He clears his throat. ]

I’ll catch up.

[ There's something in the lift of his shoulders, the rasp of his throat, and Gamora scrutinizes him wordlessly for a few, long moments. ]

... Peter?

[ It's questioning, an unspoken "what's wrong?" clinging to the tone. ]

[ He hears the unspoken question, and it's instinct, the way he shakes his head, the way he holds up a hand. ]

It's nothing you need to worry about.

[ And he says it gently, reassuringly. ]

Don't let me keep you up.

[ She doesn't entirely unwind, but she finally nods, leaning closer to kiss his cheek. ]

Don't be long.

[ She squeezes his hand, then lets the contact break so she can head back to the bedroom. She pauses to rub the top of Groot's head, combined with a somewhat chastising look, and then she's plucking up her sword and retreating to bed to crawl under the covers. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

video; @star.lord

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject