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[ closed ] there’s a room where the light won’t find you

who: ~~Star-Lord~~ Peter Quill and Gamora
what: when training goes wrong OR yer a wizard, Peter
when: early January
where: Perimeter Guard training facility
warnings: none yet!

[ It’s not that Peter isn’t a good fighter, really.

Because he is. He’s scrappy, and he’s tenacious, and he’s not afraid to fight dirty when he has to. The Ravagers taught him well, in that regard, if it could even be called teaching – how to time his shots, when to go for the nuts, shit like that. It’s worked well for him, for a long while. It’s how he’s gotten by for twenty-some-odd years out in the black, working on instinct and reflex and, when those failed him, a healthy application of gunfire and low blows. For the line of work he usually performed, it was fine.

Now, though, he’s saving galaxies and going up against zealots who might as well be as immovable as mountains. Now he’s going up against psychos who were practically immortal, who could manipulate the world around them to meet their whims. And one of these days, they’re going to go up against a megalomaniac with armies at his command, with warriors and assassins and about a zillion instruments of death at his fingertips.

So... you know. Jabbing out someone’s eyes probably isn’t going to get Peter very far, in the grand scheme of things.

If he’s honest, he’s not entirely sure what training up will do for him. It’ll make him faster, sure. Stronger, too, probably. But if he gets caught-out alone with one of Thanos’ generals? One of his other so-called children? Or, hell, the Mad Titan himself?

Being able to throw a slightly better punch isn’t going to help him much, is it?

But it was important to Gamora, for some reason, and the look of disappointment she had shot his way when he had initially refused had been like a stab in the gut. So here they are now: a former assassin and a former thief, training for a battle that may or may not happen, in the Perimeter Guard’s training facility. For once, they have the area to themselves – which is a goddamn blessing, because Gamora is basically beating the shit out of him. But, like, in a playful way. The sort of controlled, measured attacks of a cat toying with a mouse.

If he wasn’t so completely sure that Gamora was on his side, this time, he’d be flashing back to that sunny day on Xandar and running for the blasters he had left on a nearby bench.

And as it has almost every time before, it ends with Peter cursing as he hits the floor. ]

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[ The problem is that Gamora can only agree with him here. There is no good way to make up for this, and she can't make this go away.

But... ]

... Pizza?

[ There's a half-second where Peter's brain tries and fails to convince itself that Gamora said literally anything other than "pizza," but—

Nope. No, that word definitely fell past her lips, and Peter can't help snorting out a laugh. ]

... Seriously, Gamora?

[ Thankfully, he sounds more amused than anything. ]

[ She levels him with one of those flat looks of hers, seriousness etched into every line of her face. ]

I can't offer anything else.

[ Not really, and she hates that it makes her feel helpless.

But she can order pizza. ]

You can eat, and I can check the Guard's census.

[ ... ah.

He— kind of figured that was a joke, and when it becomes clear that it's not, some of that hard-earned good humor falls away.

He frowns at her, straightening a little.

Then, uncertainly, ]

Gamora...

[ It's all that he says. Just her name.

But the inflection of his voice asks it for him: What's wrong? ]

[ She straightens with him, shifting to rest her hand on the nape of his neck again. ]

I just want to see what I can find.

[ Because maybe the census is imperfect, and maybe Ego could have found some way to trick it, but there should have been a bioscan registering a Celestial – or perhaps some being more complex and ancient and worth investigating if the systems couldn't parse out his DNA.

But she wants to at least look. ]

[ He studies her for a second or two longer before offering a slow, if uncertain, nod. ]

Okay. Sure.

I can look it over with you.

[ She shakes her head. ]

You don't need to. It shouldn't be difficult.

[ And it's probably less stressful if Peter doesn't focus on searching through the records. ]

[ He frowns at that, lips pressing into a thin line. ]

If it's not difficult, then it'd go faster with two of us.

[ She gives him a considering look, like she's trying to decide if arguing is worth it or not, but— ]

All right.

[ She pulls away, getting up from the couch to go fetch Peter's laptop and bring it back to him. ]

You can access the Guard's records from here, can't you?

[ And he worries for a long second that she means to keep dragging this out; he's not sure why they're arguing about this – or at least, about to argue about this – but part of him wants to argue on instinct. He has every right to look into this himself, right? Considering this fully concerns him.

He doesn't need Gamora trying to protect him.

But she relents, and Peter forces himself to relax, watching as she moves across the room. ]

Probably.

[ Peter hasn't really bothered trying. He makes a habit of not working from home, after all. ]

[ That's good enough, apparently, because Gamora seems content to hand over his computer, give him free reign to sort through things himself. At least they have the luxury of accessing work files from home, rather than having to haul themselves to the facilities just to poke around for a trace of Ego.

While she doesn't have a laptop to speak of, she does have a tablet that functions similarly enough to what she'd worked with back in their world. It’s convenient, if only used on occasion, though this is a good time for it. She plucks it up from where it had been set on a couchside table, leaving Peter to his own devices as she logs into the census’s database. She’s used it once before, but only briefly in the middle of the night when a disturbing dream drove her to seek reassurance from the Guard’s records.

(It was comforting to find no trace of a Titan in the system.)

Now, however, she’s scrolling through the census, keeping a lookout for anything moderately suspicious. ]

[ Given Peter is Peter, it takes him a couple tries to remember his login credentials. (For a guy who likes his gadgets, he doesn't bother much with the files or the documents or any of the usual paperwork. He tends to just grin at a coworker and charm them into doing it for him.)

But he gets in, and he sorts through the documents. It reminds him a little of prepping for a job; with the Guardians, he still did the legwork, but Rocket or Gamora tended to be more thorough about it than him. With the Ravagers, though, it was far more common – considering he was one of the few members who ever bothered to learn how to read.

They work together in silence for a while, with Peter scrolling through, again and again. Nothing under the obvious hits, and anything suspicious doesn't match the description of Ego that he might expect – but the guy could literally be anyone, anything, so maybe it wouldn't be obvious? After a while, Peter huffs out a breath, glancing up from his screen. ]

You seeing anything?

[ Out of the corner of her eye, Gamora's attention flashes away from her tablet, and she shakes her head. ]

Nothing concerning.

[ No weird hits on the bioscans, no identifiable species or names or... anything.

That doesn't mean it's impossible, but... ]

Did you find anything?

[ Peter lets out another sigh, shaking his head. ]

No.

[ He leaves the laptop on the coffee table, scrubbing at his face with both hands. ]

If he's here, then he's being really subtle about it.

[ Gamora takes that as her cue to set her tablet aside, too – but only so she can pick up her phone. She leaves it on her knee at first, looking over at Peter. ]

Then how do you want to proceed?

[ That's the question of the hour, isn't it? And Peter breathes in slowly, deeply, trying to wrangle some of his more logical mind. ]

I dunno. It's not like we can try to call him out on the network or anything. And it's not like we know how to kill him if he's here, if he's even killable.

[ Peter sounds more and more exhausted with each word, more resigned, and he chews on his lower lip. ]

... They have those— collars, I think.

[ And this comes out slowly, too – clearly he's voicing the thoughts as they come to him. ]

Power suppression things, or whatever. Shock collars. Or at least, they're supposed to zap you when abilities go off. Something like that.

[ At first, Gamora feels ready to ask how they can possibly use those collars if they can't find Ego, but—

She pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly. ]

You aren't suggesting that for yourself.

[ She doesn't phrase it as a question. ]

[ He grimaces, recognizing the disapproval in her voice, but he tries to keep himself from wavering. ]

I don't know how this shit works, Gamora.

[ With a helpless wave of his hand. ]

What if I— I dunno, what if that happens again? What happened back at the training hall. What if I end up hurting someone?

Then train to control it. Don't try to lock it away.

[ Denying it won't fix anything, and that's as good as what the collar will do. ]

[ He makes a small, aggravated noise. ]

What if I can't control it? What if it's just— every time I get pissed off, bam. I put my fist through someone's head?

We do not know that's how this will work, Peter.

[ Patient, but firm. ]

If you don't at least try to learn control on your own, it could be worse if the collar fails.

[ His shoulders drop, gaze darting away again.

Gamora has a point. She always has a point, but like a lot of those times, Peter doesn't want to admit it.

He folds his arms again, hands tucking against his sides.

Weakly, ]

I seriously tried to take your head off, back there.

[ And that's what terrifies him the most about all of this, how out of control, how angry he felt – enough that he had thrown all of his strength at her without a second thought. ]

And you didn't.

[ Tried, sure, but he didn't manage it. ]

I'm unharmed, and you extinguished the light.

[ She turns on the couch to face him properly, folding her leg up under herself. ]

I'm fine. Really.

[ He looks at her, his doubt written on every inch of his face. ]

What if it gets worse?

[ Like this is a sickness, rather than a gift. Like this is something festering inside him. ]

I don't— I don't wanna end up hurting you.

[ Something twists in her chest with the look on his face. That genuine concern, that fear that he might hurt her—

It aches sharply.

She reaches out to set her palm gently on his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye. ]

If it worsens, we will deal with it.

[ closed ] there’s a room where the light won’t find you

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