riverview | video; @star.lord

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video; @star.lord

[ Distinguished and not-so distinguished residents of Riverview, hello.

Currently, you are graced with a mugshot of one Peter “Space-Duke” Quill and a view of the messier half of his shared apartment. In his hand is his trusty mp3 player – which boasts at least three hundred songs, holy crap, y’all – and while he has one bud in his ear, the other dangles from the wire. ]

So. Apparently if nothing else, this place has, like, all the music ever. So if I’ve gotta be stuck here, might as well make the most of it, right?

I’m on the hunt for somethin’ new. Tryin’ to play a whole lot of catch up. If anyone’s got any music recommendations, I’m all ears. Songs, artists, albums, weird, avant-garde stuff with a guy saying “number nine” over and over – hit me with your best shot. I’ll try anything once.

Also, uh.

[ A pause, and he turns the mp3 player’s face toward the camera. The screen happily displays the album art of The Best of Earth, Wind & Fire, Vol. 1 while “September” plays. Zunes, man!! Aren’t they rad? ]

Don’t suppose anyone here’s familiar enough with this that they can show me how to add stuff?

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Listen, I’m not used to this sort of tech, alright?

[ The Walkman had been a lot easier to work with. He knew how cassette tapes worked, after all, and if he still had his Walkman, it’d be an easy thing to seek out new music or make new mix tapes of his own.

But the thought stings, and it shows on his face, shows in the way his hands suddenly curl around the Zune, almost protectively.

This, though, is about as alien to him as any of the tech had been when he was first thrust into space at eight years old. It’s awkward and crude in a way he’s not used to, but he’s determined to learn.

It would help if he had anything helpful. Like an instruction manual. Or cables. Or a computer. ]

Earth technology is kind of primitive, remember?

[ ... Oops.

It wasn't necessarily intended to be a condemnation of Peter trying to understand his new device – really, she'd only been trying to motivate him to take a closer look at the dishes building up in their sink.

But the walkman, and now the zune... She understands their sentimentality; she also understands why Peter had been willing to risk his life for that little tape player before, so now to see him without it? It's like a part of him is missing.

She abandons her dirty rag (to see to later) in favor of getting to her feet, wandering closer to lean over Peter's shoulder and take a look at the zune he's holding so vigilantly.

—She understands his protectiveness, too, after everything that happened with Yondu. And Ego. And... well, all of it. ]

You're not wrong.

[ Now, as more of a gesture of good will, she's going less in the direction of dishes and instead: ]

What have you learned about it so far?

[ When she comes over, Peter watches her approach – not warily, exactly, but still with that little ounce of skepticism. It helps that she doesn’t have a rag in her hand, though. So she probably doesn’t have foul play in mind, at the moment.

Her agreement earns a huff of a breath, something caught between a scoff and a laugh. They’re both used to a more advanced form of tech, which makes Peter’s little Terran trinkets almost quaint. She seems to relent, though, and Peter casts her a grateful look before looking back at the Zune. ]

So I’m thinking I need a computer for this, if I want to add anything. And apparently I need a cable?

[ They’ve been charging it with some jury-rigged cord, and Peter luckily had it on hand whenever he was whisked away to this place. He kind of doubts it’ll translate as a data cable.

He heaves out a sigh, flopping back in his seat until his head lolls against the back rest. ]

I thought I’d be able to do this wirelessly.

[ Well, that sounds more complicated than it should have been – but she supposes primitive Earth technology just can't be simple.

... Or it's simultaneously too simple and not simple enough. ]

Is there any way it could be modified to accommodate wireless connections?

[ Though she also wouldn't blame Peter for not wanting to mess with the Zune too much. ]

[ Peter stays as he is, but he lifts up the Zune over his head so he can pick through the menus. ]

See, the weird thing is, I’m pretty sure it has wireless stuff, but it’s like. It’s not doing anything.

[ Probably because he doesn’t have a computer it can connect to. Also probably because if the Zune Marketplace still existed, Peter certainly wouldn’t be able to reach it from here.

If the Zune Marketplace still existed.

Also probably because the wi-fi features assume other people have Zunes, which, oh, dream the impossible dream. ]

And messing with firmware isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse.

[ That’s always been more Rocket’s bag than Peter’s. ]

It might be for someone else in this place.

[ Because if she's learned anything about this city, it's that there appears to be a wide variety of skills and specialties. ]

If you would be willing to let them tamper with it.

[ But running the risk of actually damaging the device isn't the greatest plan. If there aren't any other options, however... ]

[ His expression twists at that suggestion, and he tears his eyes away from the Zune's screens to look over at her with disbelief.

... It's a valid suggestion, he knows, considering how different everything is around here, the different levels of expertise and all, but—

He grunts out a sound, looking back to his mp3 player. ]

If I can't add anything, I'll live.

[ Which is to say, No one is touching my damn Zune. ]

[ It's the answer she expected, really. He has every reason to be protective of the Zune, but she'd thought it at least worth suggesting, in case he was completely determined to add more music to it.

She gives a dismissive little flick of her hand, obviously willing to disregard the idea entirely as she leans against his seat, looking down at the device. ]

You do have 300 songs, after all.

[ Which, compared to how many had been on his mother's tapes, is a massive improvement. ]

Yeah. [ This, at least, he says a little more sedately. ] Crazy, huh?

Like, who the heck needs that much music? That's, like, almost a full day.

[ And who has that kind of time? ]

[ She gives a light hum of agreement. ]

As opposed to the hour or so with your mother's tapes.

[ ... Which is absolutely the first time she's mentioned Peter's Walkman or his mother's mixes directly since the debacle with his father (and why she says this somewhat carefully). She hasn't wanted to push or tear open any still-fresh wounds, but... he's told her next to nothing about what happened when she wasn't there to witness it. In the time between their fight and her reappearance to drag Peter off of the floor, she has no idea what specifically transpired between him and Ego. ]

[ He doesn't freeze at that. He really doesn't.

But he does slowly go still – not quite rigid, but definitely unmoving. His eyes grow distant at the mention of Mom's tapes, expression falling.

("My life. My love. My lady is the sea."

Ego's voice, somehow both patient and dismissive at once. His hand wrapped around the Walkman. "Brandy" playing over the headphones, tinny and soft. And Peter knows what's coming, but he can barely move, has no hope of snatching it back before—

"Peter. This, is the sea."

The Walkman crunching in Ego's hand. Bits of metal and plastic and magnetic tape falling away to the floor.

His heart shatters with it.)

Peter rouses himself, pushing himself up to properly sit in the chair, putting the Zune on the table in front of him. He looks up at Gamora almost guiltily, realizing he's been quiet for too long. He clears his throat, pulling a hand through his hair.

Roughly, ] Not much of a chance of me getting bored, at least.

[ The silence stretches between them. Gamora isn't inclined to break it, not when he's clearly lost to his own thoughts, because that drop in his expression, the distance in his gaze— it doesn't escape her.

They haven't talked about this. She doesn't know if Peter is ready to talk about it (or if he ever will be?), but— ]

Peter.

[ It's not an agreement, not following the thread of a conversation he's clearly trying to recover in order to push beyond that span of quiet. She could let this continue to lie, leave it be. Or she could offer that opportunity for discussion, to stop pushing everything that happened to the side. It's not healthy, but then again, when have any of them been particularly "healthy" in their coping mechanisms? She isn't one to talk, given that she hasn't ventured into bringing up her own heavy weights left in the wake of dealing with Nebula, but—

Peter lost far more than she did. That bears acknowledgment.

Her voice is soft, careful when she asks, ]

What happened to your Walkman?

[ And there it is.

The question he had been dreading.

He feels something shatter in him all over again, some weird, brittle feeling that had only just started piecing up its barriers in the aftermath of the Mess.

He ducks his head, busying himself with picking through the menus on the Zune. Silence, for a few more seconds, because he doesn't quite trust his voice not to break. He swallows around that bitter lump in his throat, tries to ignore the painful twist in his chest.

When he thinks his voice is steady enough, he offers, ]

It broke.

[ Though even that comes out hoarsely, quietly. Probably a little more telling than he means it to be. ]

[ She lets him have the moment that he needs, not pushing him to speak too soon or before he wants to.

It broke.

She— assumed, if she's honest. She doesn't know how Peter would part with something so precious otherwise. ]

... When?

[ Another tentative question, lightly probing to let him take it at his own pace. She's surprised he admitted that much already, that he hasn't simply walked away or shut the conversation down.

She's grateful that he hasn't. ]

[ Silence again, tense and strained. Peter bows his head lower toward the Zune, shoulders lifting up slightly. ]

After you left.

[ And his voice hardens, warning her away from this topic of conversation.

"It broke" was an easy enough answer, because why else wouldn't he have his Walkman? Gamora knows how much it means to him, considering she witnessed him risk his own life just to get it back. If he had the choice, he would never leave it behind on Ego's planet.

"After you left," is the easy answer, too, because it's not even an answer. It was still on him when she stormed out. It wasn't on him when they dragged him into the airlock of the Quadrant. ]

[ ... Well, that's certainly the obvious answer. It had to have happened in between the time she'd disappeared (and nearly been blown to pieces by her own sister), since they'd been dancing to a song playing from his mother's tape just before they fought.

She debates simply changing the subject, leaving it alone, but— ]

So are we not discussing this?

[ A point-blank question. It isn't an effort to pry the answer from him, though, or a demand that he be more forthcoming; rather, it's an option to cut the conversation off where he likes. He can elaborate if he feels like it, if he's willing to go further, but if not, she can thoroughly drop it.

(Even if she thinks he should talk about it. Running from the reality didn't erase what happened.) ]

[ He doesn't know how to read her tone, but by words alone, it feels like she's probing. But that's probably because he's already on the defensive, feels like he's getting backed into a corner. He grits his teeth. ]

What does it matter when it happened?

[ Sharp, bitten out. One hand clenching around the Zune's rubber case. ]

It's broken. It's gone. I'm not getting it back.

What the hell is there left to say?

[ She's momentarily taken aback by the way he snaps back at her, the knife-edge of his tone. Maybe she still needs to put more work into her own abrasiveness, given her ability to be confrontational without intending to be, but... well, he asked.

She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches him carefully. ]

You could tell me what happened after I left. I know nothing about the time between— [ Our fight. ] —stepping away from the castle and coming back for you.

[ ... You could tell me, but you don't have to, she almost adds. ]

[ His jaw ticks, bitterness stirring in his stomach as she speaks.

There's a reason he hasn't talked about any of this. There's a reason he doesn't discuss what Ego spoke to him about, or how wrapped up Peter had been in his every word. Ego had made him feel special, important, and powerful. Ego had filled his head with endless possibilities, and for a few seconds, Peter had felt pride blooming in his chest, bursting through him. So much of the shit Ego had said had been so—

Satisfying.

He hisses out a disgusted sound. ]

Yeah? [ Still bitten out, lashing out to keep from being pursued. ] What, kinda like how I don't know shit about how we ended up with your sister on our ship?

[ She doesn't take the bait; instead of snapping back with heat, she keeps him leveled with that intense look in her eyes. It's not quite a challenge, but it's also not bowing to the way he snaps and snarls like a cornered animal. ]

You didn't ask.

[ Which— she didn't ask about Ego, either. Too soon, too sore, too much – and she'd been trying to give Peter the time he needs to heal.

Nebula is... a sore spot. An uncertainty that now she has no chance to confront because they've left their universe behind and her sister with it.

(But Gamora blames herself for more than she can truly articulate, and that's probably why she hasn't offered it up, hasn't tried to give him any explanations.

She's ashamed.) ]

Oh, real nice, Gamora. Make it sound like it's my fault when you obviously didn't wanna talk about it.

[ That's his assumption, anyway. Hardly anyone on the team ever wants to talk about the shit that unsettled them, the shit that left them reeling. He knows fuck all about Nebula, about whatever it was that happened between her and Gamora back on Ego's planet – doesn't even know what the fuck she was doing there in the first place. All he knows is that she was there. Then she left. And she didn't kill anyone in the interim.

... and if he's honest, that's all he cared to know. He was too busy trying to compartmentalize his pile of shit that it never occurred to him that anyone else might be dealing with anything else. He saw a glimpse of it, when Rocket murmured something about batteries, but between Yondu's funeral and the moment he arrived through the portal to this place, there hadn't been time to help anyone sort it all out.

Which probably makes him a shitty friend and an even shittier leader, and guilt stabs through him for it.

And that should temper his reactionary anger, should calm him at least a little and put things in perspective, but it just leaves him even more irritated. At himself, at the situation—

(At Ego.)

—and Gamora is the only target for it all. ]

Doubt you wanna talk about it now.

[ There's a flicker of— something in Gamora's eyes. Guilt? Uncertainty?

("You were the one who wanted to win—

—and I just wanted a sister.")

Part of her has to wonder: is there something she's trying to win here too?

"I asked first," would probably be an attempt to regain the upperhand, to deflect away from herself.

"Then why don't you answer?" would be much the same. ]

I was trying to let you grieve.

[ And that's honest, at least. The things she'd dealt with on Ego's planet, everything in regards to her sister? And she'd still left with that sister intact. Nebula lived, even if it felt like little was solved between them.

Peter had lost— so much. ]

[ That wasn't the answer he expected. He'd been hoping to provoke her into an argument, to get one or both of them snapping and snarling at each other to take the heat off of him. It's childish, he knows, and it's selfish, but it's the easiest solution to distract Gamora away from asking after this.

But she keep avoiding the easy jabs, or absorbs them and rolls with it, and Peter is getting frustrated with it. ]

Ego came by. We talked. It turned out that he preferred having a power source to a son.

[ There's more to it, of course. The way Ego had grabbed the reins of the conversation with the sort of skill Peter could only dream of. The way he had touched Peter's mind, flooded it with images of perfection and a feeling of bliss.

The way Ego had mentioned murdering Meredith Quill in the same tone of voice someone else would use when they've thrown out an old, worn-out shirt.

But Peter still can't process any of that shit, barely knows how to even voice it, and the thought of it makes his throat close up, rouses something cold and ugly and terrifying in the pit of his stomach.

His hand clenches into a fist, nails biting into palm until his knuckles turn white. ]

Satisfied?

[ Mantis had explained that Ego wanted Peter to power the Expansion, just like the other children that he'd murdered, that he'd needed Peter's Celestial genes to make it all come together. She can't imagine how that conversation could have gone for Peter, but Mantis had said Ego would have "won Peter to his side."

She still isn't certain what that might have meant. ]

No.

[ Another bit of honesty, short as it is, because she has so many questions about what happened, about everything Peter endured, but she can see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches and how tightly curled his fingers are, and—

He doesn't want to talk about this.

She doesn't think he's even prepared to. ]

But you don't have to tell me anything more.

[ She should have said that earlier, really. She should have given him a better, clearer out instead of letting this bubble and boil higher and higher, but she doesn't want to devolve into another argument. She doesn't want this to turn into another shouting match when they haven't even tended to the wounds from the last one.

Ego isn't worth fighting over again.

She's tentative, careful, ready to pull back if she needs to, but she reaches out to Peter, reaches for his hand and his too-tight fist. She's trying to get better at this, at offering comfort in the ways that she can (hugging Nebula on the Quadrant, wrapping her arm around Peter's waist after Yondu's funeral, touching his shoulder as tears fell from his eyes—), but it's still foreign to her.

She's... trying. Genuinely trying. ]

[ ... Goddammit, Gamora.

Peter was ready to be pissed off for, like, at least ten more minutes. It doesn't work nearly as well when his so-called sparring partner isn't fighting back. It's like beating at a brick wall – the only thing that's going to happen is he ends up with bloody, broken knuckles, while the wall looks none the worse for wear.

And Gamora's good at that. At taking blows and acting like hardly anything's happened. He envies her that sometimes, wishes he had that same ability to let shit wash away from him like water from a duck's back.

Her fingers ghost along his fist, touch brushing along his skin, and for a long while, he tries to ignore it, tries to hang onto that rage burning within him, directionless and blinding. But it's hard when she gives him an out, even harder with the way she's touching him – a rarity unless Peter initiates or unless she's hauling him up out of danger.

He doesn't relax – he probably won't for a long while yet, with her questions having stirred the murk of his memories – but his hands stop shaking a little.

He inhales deeply, holding the breath in his lungs before letting it out slowly between his lips. Some silly little technique he had heard of once to help calm him. It doesn't always work, but he tries it anyway. He stares down at the Zune's screen for a long while – nothing playing, nothing interesting to look at, except the home screen – and finally lets out a derisive noise. ]

He broke it.

[ Angrily still, but at least it's not aimed at her. It's aimed at Ego, dead and gone, but even now he's still echoing into Peter's life, making a fucking mess of things. ]

He was trying to teach me a lesson about— about learning to let things go. Some stupid shit about how meaningless and fleeting mortal attachments were.

Or maybe he just wanted to be a giant fucking prick. I don't know.

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