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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[ ... Of course it was Ego. Of course the walkman was one more thing he destroyed in his wake.

She isn't surprised, but she is— angry. For Peter, more than anything, and at Ego, and— a little bit at herself.

("What if this man is your Hasslehoff?")

She'd told him to go. She'd told him to give Ego a chance, and look where they'd ended up. Look at everything Peter had lost. ]

Peter...

[ Quiet, almost apologetic. She doesn't pull her hand away from his, instead gently trying to coax the tension away, trying to get him to unclench his fist as the rest of him tries to relax. ]

... I'm sorry for all he took from you.

[ Because for some of it, she feels responsible. She still remembers Peter shouting at her, that she told him to go.

("You're the one that wanted me to come here!"

"Why are you trying to take this away from me?") ]

[ The words of sympathy make him bristle a little, though that's mostly reflex than anything. Every other time someone's told him they're sorry for something beyond their control, it was accompanied by heavy, pitying looks. Followed-up by well-meaning but pointless words of comfort or wisdom that did little but make Peter angrier or sadder,.

But Gamora doesn't continue on with some stupid platitude, doesn't say anything about how things like this happen for a reason, but he supposes that logically follows. The both of them know that shit just happens, that life has an unfair habit of stomping the fuck out of anyone when it feels like it.

And the mess with Ego? The shit on his planet and everything that followed in the dust of his remains? That wasn't life testing him. That was life picking up every piece of shit it could find and dumping it all on Peter at once.

He glances up at her reluctantly, lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second it stands naked on his face – how exhausted he feels, how angry, how conflicted, how lost. He smothers it away as quickly as he can, ducking his head and setting his Zune to one side on the table. ]

Shit happens.

[ Quiet and grim. He studies the tabletop for a second before exhaling through his lips. He risks another glance up at her, though it's a fleeting thing, and he adds softly, ]

He didn't take everything, at least.

[ And he finally lets his fist fall open, letting their palms slide together. His hand doesn't close around hers, though, giving her the chance to pull away. ]

[ And Gamora sees all of it, plain as day: all of the wreckage left behind, everything that's wrung Peter out and left him gutted and lost.

"Displaced" is what the people here had called it.

She can understand that even more clearly now.

"Shit happens" still seems to be one of the worst possible ways to brush this all aside, but— if she's learned anything about Peter, it remains that this is how he'll handle it. Tuck it away. Hide it somewhere out of reach for when he can look at it without letting this sea of anguish swallow him whole.

If he ever can.

But his hand unfurls, their palms making contact, and she doesn't recoil or draw away from him. Something in the set of her shoulders starts to unwind, and she doesn't hesitate to lace their fingers properly together. ]

I would never have let him.

[ And she says it with the same certainty she'd had on Berhert – that promise to kill Ego if he revealed himself to be anything less than what he should be.

... And, well, they had killed him, so perhaps she'd kept that promise against all odds. ]

[ Their fingers twine, and a small, distant part of him marvels over how right that feels, how weirdly perfect. There couldn't be two more different people in the galaxy, Peter thinks, and if hadn't been for the shit with the Infinity Stone, he doubts the two of them would have ever deigned to call one another friends, much less best friends.

But he's pretty sure that's what they are – best friends, or at the very least, Gamora is his best friend, which is a weird thing to have again after all these years. For a long while there, he had himself pegged for a lone wolf lifestyle, for drifting alone from one place to another. For making quick friendships purely for convenience, but not expecting anything to last him beyond departure.

Funny, how things change.

It helps, too, the determination in her words, that steely resolve that makes Peter think she could move entire mountains, if she ever cared to. He casts her a quiet, grateful look, a small smile tugging at his lips. Something catches in his throat, and for a few seconds, he doesn't trust himself to speak.

He squeezes her hand at length, that weird knot of emotion loosening enough to allow him to breathe. Then, ]

... I'm sorry. For— not asking about you and Nebula earlier. I should've asked if you were okay. [ He'd been too wrapped up in his own bullshit to notice that Gamora might have been hurting, too. ]

[ It's almost strange to her how she feels no inclination to pull away from Peter. She doesn't intend to drop his hand or suddenly back away like she hasn't reached out to him like she had on Berhert, and that's enough to help her see that things have changed. A lot has flipped so wildly in the last few months, before this strange new city and after their arrival, and Gamora has found herself easing into a new part of herself, a new life. Where before, contact would have earned suspicion, it comforts her now. Where she had shunned the idea of friendship, now she has family.

And she has Peter.

And whatever this unspoken thing is between them.

She offers a gentle squeeze in return, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. ]

There was too much going on. [ Peter had so much to deal with, and... well, she hadn't exactly volunteered the information herself. ] We had other concerns.

[ And unlike Yondu, unlike Ego, Nebula is still alive. That much is different. ]

I guess.

[ Just barely voiced. It's kind of his job, though, isn't it? Keeping an eye on everyone on the team. Making sure everyone was at their best. But he hasn't exactly been doing that, had he?

He barely paid attention to Groot, satisfied as he was in letting the others keep an eye on the little dude, in letting them raise him, because god knows Peter doesn't know the first goddamn thing about caring for a kid. He barely acknowledged the growing tension coming from Rocket, the way he bristled and snapped and grew more and more tense as the days went by.

Drax and Gamora had been easy enough, at least, but after everything, he only just now realizes that Gamora must've been dealing with some of her own problems. And how long have they been in this weird fucking city that it never occurred to him to ask? ]

You know if you need a sounding board for whatever happened with you and her, I'm here for it, right?

[ There's a touch of hesitation in Gamora's eyes, but she nods, glancing down to where their hands are joined. ]

I don't think it matters now that we are here.

[ Nebula isn't, after all, and there's no guarantee they'll ever make it out of this city. So much happened with her sister, and so much was brought to the surface from their pasts, and it's— a lot to process for herself.

Especially since she can't seem to shake the weight of that responsibility.

She was a child, trying to survive just as much as Nebula, but something twinges with failure when she thinks of all Nebula endured alone. ]

[ Peter huffs out a breath, exasperated, and gives her a hard look. ]

You know that’s not how it works. [ And it’s a bitter truth. Peter has been using this place as an excuse to run from his problems, keeps telling himself that all this impossible distance has kept his issues at bay, but it hasn’t. They still lurk deep beneath the surface, keep rising up at random, inopportune minutes – as they had throughout this conversation. ]

‘Cause if that is how it works, why would you care what happened between me and Ego?

[ He gives an exaggerated frown and a sharp shake of his head. ]

Pointless, right? ‘Cause we’re here now. And more than that, he’s dead. So, like. What’s it matter, unless you just wanted to gossip?

[ ... He has an incredibly good point, and Gamora is only mildly annoyed by the fact that he's right. Maybe not something she would admit to him being often, but right now?

He's making an excellent argument.

Her lips purse in momentary displeasure, before she grudgingly nods in agreement. ]

A fair point.

Then is now really the best time for it?

[ He's still a prickling ball of emotion, after all, and discussing everything with Ego is... immense. Wounds that didn't need reopening yet, but she'd prodded at, nonetheless. Or, she supposes, it could provide a distraction in the wake of something so heavy, even if she would rather distract him with something less fraught with her own emotional baggage. She's spent so long trying to deny it exists that confronting it for herself isn't an enjoyable task.

Terrifying, is more like it. ]

Edited 2017-08-15 02:55 (UTC)

[ His lips part to answer – probably something mindless, like, "Any time is good." But if he's honest, maybe it's not. He's still too wound up, still a little more snappish than he ought to be, and he's pretty sure being made to talk about his father like this will elicit the same response for a long while yet.

Which, admittedly, is not a great place to be when talking to someone else about their problems.

He runs a hand down his face, pensive. ]

We can talk about it now. If you want. But I'd need a second to— decompress. Clear my head.

[ Gamora watches his reactions quietly, studying him in that intense way of hers. She's so used to watching her enemies for tells, for twitches and telegraphs of their moves, and she still applies that with her friends, even in situations where she doesn't need to.

She shakes her head gently, giving his hand another reassuring squeeze. ]

We could go somewhere. Get out of this place.

[ She gives a light wave of her hand to the rest of the apartment. It's not small, not when compared to the living space they'd made do with on the Milano (with so many damn people), but it's still enclosed, and she knows well enough how suffocating that can feel. ]

[ His jaw clenches at that, giving the room a quick glance. It's a luxury, having this much space to share between them, but both of them could do with some fresh air, he thinks. A reset. ]

Yeah. [ Quietly, and he finally tugs the earbud from his ear. With one last squeeze of Gamora's hand, he lets her go to carefully wind the headphones' wire around the Zune. ] That might help.

[ Gamora releases his hand without protest, letting him wind away his headphones. ]

Where would you like to go?

[ She knows where she's begun to retreat when she needs some quiet, but what relaxes her may not be the same for Peter. ]

[ If she had asked that question when they first arrived, his immediate answer would have been, "Anywhere with booze."

Medicating with liquor is hardly medicating, but it's a method he learned from the Ravagers, and it's one that solved his problems for at least a night.

Now, though, his answer is different. It's still immediate, but he doesn't suggest the closest, cheapest bar. Instead, he suggests, ]

The gardens?

[ Because it's quiet, and peaceful, and he needs that more than he needs thumping music or the press of people. ]

[ Though Gamora would have gone with him to a bar or a club if that's what he preferred, she's grateful that his actual choice includes neither. In fact, this is infinitely better.

She nods towards their door. ]

Then let's go. It shouldn't be crowded right now.

[ And it's not too far, after all, and taking the tram down is hardly an imposition. ]

[ He stuffs his Zune into one pocket, his comm device in the other, and leads the way out.

Sure enough, the streets are a little less crowded, the trams a little less full, and maybe another time, Peter would offer up inane, absent comments to fill the quiet. Now, though, he’s mostly quiet, wrapped up in his thoughts while memories of Ego’s planet play on a loop.

(Ego, coming into his room under the guise of concern. Telling him how special he is. Telling him how gifted, how important, how different. Ego, stepping into Peter’s head, showing him a perfect galaxy, devoid of all life except whatever Ego deems worthy – like letting an ant live when one could so easily crush it underfoot.

Ego, stringing him up like a Christmas decoration. Crushing his Walkman like paper. Attacking his friends, his family.

All because Peter refused to listen to sense.)

Peter’s grip tightens around the tram’s handhold, jaw clenching into a tight, angry line.

They step out of the station into the warm evening air, make their way through the gardens, filled with both vaguely familiar and alien plants. Peter keeps his head bowed, his hands in his pockets, and for a second, he remembers how Gamora had told him he was welcome to ask her to accompany him on private little outings. He remembers how he had suggested evening strolls through the gardens.

He didn’t imagine it’d end up like this, though, and guilt stabs through him again. ]

... Sorry for this. [ Mumbled out, because he expects neither of them wanted their not-dates to start off quite so angrily. ]

[ Silence comes easily for Gamora. Unlike others, she doesn't feel the need to fill every space around her with idle chatter, and she can simply exist in the comfortable quiet. However, this quiet is anything but comfortable, if only because she realizes all too keenly how much of a roiling mess Peter is right now, and she feels— at a loss. What does one do to truly comfort someone? How does she reach out? What would even be welcome? She knows that hugging Nebula hadn't necessarily been a welcome gesture, but... it was something that they'd both needed. With Peter, she doesn't know if it would alarm him or help or—

It's all unsteady ground. She doesn't want to take the wrong step, but that's true of this entire dance of theirs. She hasn't wanted to miss the beat or accidentally stomp on his toes or, at worse, end the dance entirely.

But going with him to the gardens, that, at least, she can do. She's content to let him even have the quiet, if that's all he needs to clear his head (perhaps a break from the nattering he so often falls back on), and she only glances properly over at him when he speaks as they wander through the beautiful, alien blooms near the path. ]

I don't see why you are apologizing to me.

[ An honest statement, rather than an attempt to make him feel less guilty. Maybe a better context would have been preferred, but if this is what he needs? Who is she to be put out by it? It's always a give-and-take with them, and Gamora isn't the only one given allowances between them. ]

[ He huffs out a breath, the sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a derisive snort. ]

'Cause I dragged you out here? 'Cause this kinda thing was supposed to be something we did for fun?

[ Both of them being stuck here – that was a shitty reality, yes, but reality nonetheless. Peter was determined to make the best of it, and yet here they are: Peter fuming, letting himself be chased by dark clouds, and dragging Gamora down with him.

He pulls a hand down his face, grunting out an aggravated sound. ]

I'm being a fucking downer.

[ Gamora's lips twist, her expression somewhat flat. ]

I was the one who suggested we go out. You chose the preferable option, so I'm not bothered.

[ This isn't some loud club or bar where she can barely pick out Peter over the music; maybe that's worse, because it means the silence leaves room for cluttered thoughts, but—

There's no smothering their darker reality with alcohol and loud beats here. That's for the better. ]

You have no need to apologize for struggling.

[ She glances to a bush of bright red flowers, pausing to admire the layered petals – a Terran rose, though she doesn't recognize it for herself. ]

Being this way is honest.

[ He makes a scoffing sound on instinct and puts on slightly disbelieving look. ]

I'm not "struggling." I just got pissed off earlier. There's a difference.

[ What was that about honesty, Gamora?

But at length he relents, letting out a soft breath to force the tension out of his frame. ]

I'm just saying. When I suggested we go on these walks together, this isn't exactly what I had in mind.

[ Two steps forward, three steps back on the honesty front, apparently.

However, insisting that he's simply being stubborn and trying to ignore how serious everything was back home isn't her strategy. She knows it wouldn't go over well, and though Gamora may be willing to push in certain directions, she knows when to relent.

But she nods, at least willing to concede that this isn't ideal. ]

That means we'll have to do it again – at another time.

[ When things aren't so heavy between them.

But she says it with such certainty, like she's offering him a simple fact – Xandarians bleed blue, Elvin Bishop is a talented musician, and there will be more walks together. ]

[ Those words, that tone, give him pause, and he finally drags up his gaze to look at her. His smile isn't much of one, once it creeps onto his face; it's small and tight-lipped, but it's also soft and relieved. Those little invitations she keeps offering him – he doesn't know where they're going to lead, exactly, but he's content to follow them without pushing.

Most of his life has been spent just going where it leads him, after all. Why wouldn't he just try more of the same, here? ]

I'll have to take you up on that.

[ He falls quiet a few more seconds as they walk the paths, as they glance over the alien flowers. Some of the plants are vaguely familiar, but it's the sort of vaguely familiar where Peter's not sure if they're some half-remembered breeds from his childhood on Earth, or plants he saw out in the galaxy and never bothered to examine.

They're pretty, though. Well-maintained. Peter's not much of a garden-stroll sort of guy, most of the time, but it's nice with Gamora.

At length he gives her a gentle nudge with his shoulder. ]

The offer I gave still stands, you know. [ Softly, earnestly. ] If you need to talk...

[ She doesn't bristle at the nudge, though she doesn't look over at him either – like the moment on Knowhere, where she'd told him so plainly about her life under Thanos's control. Staring out into the stars, not making eye contact, with that matter-of-fact tone of hers.

This time, there's something softer when she speaks. ]

I don't think I know where to begin.

[ So much happened on Ego's planet, but more than that, so much happened in hers and Nebula's lives – all throughout their childhoods. ]

[ He presses his lips together, and a part of him wishes she'd look at him. But— he gets it. How not making eye contact makes things a little easier. It's a tactic he employs often, not meeting someone's eyes because it helps to put some distance between himself and whatever he's saying.

There's a psychological reason there, he's sure. There's something scientific and academic to explain why that is. Peter's mostly content to just say it helps. ]

Well... [ A little carefully, still soft to avoid shattering the peace of the gardens. ] How 'bout you tell me how she even ended up on Ego's planet?

[ A factual retelling seems safe enough ground, and Peter has to admit he's genuinely curious about why the hell she was even there to start with. ]

[ Facts are easy. Facts allow her to be removed from the emotional component, something she's done for so much of her life.

(It's what made it so effortless to tell Peter about Thanos, about her parents. When she told him what became of her homeworld and what Thanos did to her, she said it all with a sort of practiced removal. She'd had years of experience, of course, of turning it over and over again in her mind to try and understand it.

... Though she doesn't ever think she'll understand it. The torture of a child is beyond the realm of the comprehensible.)

But facts? She can do that. ]

The Ravagers gave her a ship and our coordinates. She tracked us there, and after— [ our fight ] —I left, she showed up.

She tried to shoot me from the sky, and when I took refuge in the caverns, she continued trying to gun me down – but she was foolish enough to crash the damn ship.

[ It had been so reckless, too, so absolutely devoid of any concern for her own well-being. Nebula had just wanted to blast Gamora into smithereens. ]

I saved her life when she was trapped inside the wreckage, and she attacked me again. She could have killed me easily then; I was nearly unconscious and she had my sword.

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