riverviewlogs | ( closed ) he's a jukebox hero.

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( closed ) he's a jukebox hero.

who: Gamora and Peter Quill
what: Beetles and crystals and dreams – oh my!
when: 20 January thru... later.
where: AROUND?
warnings: Beetle murder and later, genocide and trauma.

[ It's not every day the Perimeter Guard gets to deal with enormous beetles.

Giant monsters? Sure, most days.

These ones just happen to be especially large and bug-like and capable of doing far more damage than anyone is comfortable with. They breach the Abandoned City's walls before the Guard can respond, but in a matter of hours, it's all hands on deck. Peter and Gamora aren't part of the force that will push forward in the experimental mechs, but Gamora isn't fazed. They've dealt with unnecessarily big creatures in the past – back home and in the Quarantine – and despite the size of the herd of beasts, the Guard is fortunate enough to have numbers of its own.

So for now, they're playing ground support.

The Abandoned City is simultaneously an excellent location – given its vast and varied battlefields – and also wildly inconvenient depending on where they meet the beetles. Now, they find themselves pushing back against the insects on the front of a boardwalk on a riverside beach, caught between the water and empty, rundown buildings. Some of the behemoths simply step through the river, others knock aside old houses, smashing structures that dare stand near their horns.

One of the herd rears up as Gamora and her team advance. They're attempting to take out a leg, maybe hobble it or slow its progress, but it brings its mighty weight down and forces them all to scatter as a ruin collapses around their heads. Shouted commands, quick orders to move, take cover, get out of the damn way! and Gamora dives out of the path of a falling sheet of concrete just in time to avoid being crushed. She can't see Peter, can't see the rest of her squad through the dust in the air and the chaos around them, and just as she's trying to make sense of her surroundings, another creature swings its formidable horn low, sweeping over the riverbank and crushing a stretch of rickety wooden planks that line the boardwalk.

She darts forward again, ducking behind what used to be a storefront, now reduced to crumbling cement and glass. She grits her teeth, looking above her for a sign of another massive bug, but—

She's clear – at least for a second.

Her fingers are curled around the hilt of her sword, and she leans around the corner of the broken building, looking for anyone nearby, and—

The familiar and distinct sound of Peter's blasters. ]

Peter!

[ Shouted out across the chaos, through the debris and constant destruction of the beetles pushing relentlessly forward. ]

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And it looks like a crown of flowers.

[ ... That's probably the best Peter is going to get out of her, if they're being realistic.

At least it's some praise. ]

Here, you can fix some of these gaps.

[ She plucks up a few additional flowers, then moves to scoot closer to Peter, her hip resting against his. ]

Weave them in place.

[ Her shoulder presses against Peter's in that way that's become the most natural thing in the world to her, though she marvels at how real it feels to be close to him, how that contact and warmth of his body seems so solid, compared to the more floaty, indistinct sensations that are true of dreams. ]

[ He shoots her a flat, unimpressed look – obviously that wasn't the effusive praise he was looking for, and he sighs before giving an insincere smile. ]

Thanks, Gamora.

[ When she presses in against him, Peter pauses, looking at her a little startled. For a dream, this is hitting pretty close to home, he thinks. It feels real – or at least, the weight of her against him does. He slowly takes the flower from her, carefully filling in the gaps, trying to weave in the stems without disturbing the existing braid too much.

Once he's incorporated flowers into the larger gaps, he holds the crown up for Gamora's inspection. ]

Better?

[ She's patient and quiet as she lets Peter make the adjustments to his arrangement, and a few blooms later, it looks almost passable. ]

Much.

[ She shifts, leaning her head against his shoulder as she makes herself comfortable. Her heart is practically singing with this opportunity to share something like this with him, to share this specific moment, but—

She shouldn't be able to. It shouldn't feel this real if it's nothing more than a dream, and more than that, Peter is never the person she sees in dreams about her home.

That's probably because...

Gamora finally takes notice of the fading lights when they flicker completely out of view above them. The noise of distant life coming from the city at their backs is changing steadily, shifting from the expected bustle to something harsher, louder, more—

—panicked.

She goes completely still at Peter's side, her eyes glued to the flowers in his hands, not wanting to turn, not wanting to look and see the change. It's starting to build as the smell of smoke and plasma wafts through the air, and her jaw tightens, her gaze hardening, but she doesn't look – not yet, not yet. But finally, the collapse of a building booms from behind them, shakes the ground beneath them, and it feels so real, and Gamora's hand snaps out to squeeze Peter's arm. ]

[ He's not sure when it is he notices the way things shift, but he does.

The bands of light overhead disappear, like someone's thrown a switch, and Peter goes rigid, gaze darting upward. And then the quiet drone of the city changes, too, goes from the constant white noise of conversation and machinery to—

Screams. Shouts. The crackling of fire, the snapping of masonry, the high-pitched whines of guns. Gamora doesn't turn, but Peter definitely whirls around, the flower crowns dropping from his hands and his head, spurred on by his natural inclination to help.

He only gets as far as a crouch before Gamora's hand wraps around his bicep, squeezing so tightly it—

Actually kind of hurts. ]

—Gamora?

[ And he's caught somewhere between confused and startled, because he thought nothing was supposed to hurt in dreams, but—

Another explosion, and Peter stares, wide-eyed, at the city ablaze. ]

Gamora, c'mon. We have to go help—

[ It won't help, it won't help—

Gamora doesn't let go of his arm, doesn't turn towards the wails and screams, and just gives a sharp shake of her head. ]

Don't.

[ She hisses it from between her teeth, her eyes fixed on the grass – but the flowers are all wilting, petals draining away their vibrant color to curl in dry, brown flakes hanging from their stems. Everything is dying, just like the people in the city behind them.

This, she remembers vividly. This, even when the memory of her mother's smile and the sight of her childhood home have left her – she remembers this. The cries of agony and fear, the bodies that line the streets as the beauty of her planet is savaged by soldiers sent to murder and destroy and leave nothing in their wake.

Another shake, and she still tries to hold him in place. ]

We can't do anything.

[ Can't stop it, can't save anyone, can't stand up to the destruction of Thanos's armies as they lay waste to her home all over again. ]

Edited (punctutaion??????? ) 2018-02-06 07:57 (UTC)

What?

[ And Peter can't believe what he's hearing, what he's seeing. Gamora's moral compass has always been a lot stronger than his, so to hear her give up so quickly, so easily— ]

You're—

[ —kidding, is what he means to say, but he knows that's not true, knows that Gamora wouldn't joke about something like this.

But that doesn't mean he can believe what he's hearing.

He tries to tug his arm out of her grasp as the grass and the flowers shrivel and die around them. He curses under his breath, turning back to stare at the burning city, listening to the screams and the report of gunfire. He moves to stand, even with her hand still gripping his arm. ]

Gamora.

Edited 2018-02-06 08:48 (UTC)

[ Her jaw is so tight it hurts, and she refuses to budge, refuses to release him. ]

You'll just get yourself killed.

[ Snapped out, some odd combination of desperate and resigned, because no matter how real this feels now, no matter how much she can smell the death in the air, feel the ground shaking under her legs, hear those voices crying out clear as crystal— she knows how this ends. She knows this dream from start to finish, and there's no stopping it. ]

You can't, Peter.

[ And somehow, this is worse than usual. This dream never involves Peter, which means she never has to deal with him being at risk, never has to worry about watching his murder alongside her parents'. The difference now is that she's outside of the city instead of in the thick of it, when usually she stands in the streets as her people die, as Thanos wrings the life out of her world.

She's starting to push herself to her feet, but not to get up with Peter and help; she wants a more secure grip, just in case. ]

[ —now he knows this is a dream, because Gamora would never give up so easily.

He grabs hold of her wrist, trying to loosen her grip on his arm. ]

So we don't do anything? That's what you want to do? You wanna just sit here and wait?

[ She bristles immediately at the implication of his words. ]

You think this is what I want?

[ This helplessness, this loss of control. No matter how old she is, no matter how many times she's relived this nightmare, it always leaves her feeling like a defenseless little girl again, feeble and small – just as incapable of saving her parents as she had been decades ago.

She lets him loosen her grip, releasing him as her eyes narrow. ]

You think I'm letting this happen?

I think you're not helping. I think we're standing here instead of doing anything about this—

[ And he gestures sharply to the city on fire, in absolute chaos. Two people can't do much against that, he knows, but that doesn't mean they can't do anything. ]

I think you're Gamora. And the Gamora I know wouldn't just roll over like this.

[ He takes a step toward the city, then another, still facing Gamora as he goes. ]

Are you coming or not?

[ Somehow, he's just as infuriating in this dream as he can be in real life.

A growl of frustration catches in her throat, fingers clenching into fists at her sides, but— ]

This is completely foolish.

[ And yet, she reaches for Godslayer at her hip, flicking out the blade as she jerks her chin towards the city. ]

Go!

[ Peter's more relieved than he's likely to admit that she's not trying to stop him anymore, and he gives a quick nod as he darts off, trusting Gamora to follow.

He doesn't remember having his guns when this dream started, but there they are, the instant he reaches for them. And there's his mask, as he hits the trigger for it behind his ear.

A part of him keeps insisting this is a dream, that he doesn't have to do anything but watch, but it feels so real. He can feel the heat of the various blazes, can feel the weight of his guns in his hands. The cacophony of screams and shouts and explosions and blaster fire is near deafening. Dream or not, Peter can hardly just sit on his hands and wait for it to all play out.

The chaos and the damage has reached even this far edge of the city; the night sky glows orange with the fires blazing, and his mask protects him from the smoke and the stench of burning flesh filling the air. All around them are armored soldiers, slaughtering people in the streets, and Peter barely thinks before he's opening fire on one, as the soldier bears down on a fallen man and his child. ]

[ She wishes that the fact that she's had this dream so many times would make it easier for Gamora to stomach it. Watching the slaughter of her people never got easier, never let her detach from the moment, and she feels utterly suffocated by the sounds around her – so much clearer than usual, too solid to be comfortable. She knows that it has to be a dream, just like all the rest, but they never feel this... real.

But all the same, she follows Peter's lead into the city, immediately setting in on the soldiers within reach. She cuts one down, a second, a third, and she can feel the weight of their bodies on her sword, the slickness of flesh as she cleaves them in two.

So real.

She finds herself stopped up short as she watches one of Thanos's men drag a little boy into the street, tears tracking down his green cheeks as he screams and screams—

The soldier burns a hole through his belly with plasma fire before Gamora can get to him.

Fighting tames the way her body wants to shake apart, and she slices through any enemy within reach, pushing through the carnage, but there's so much. There doesn't seem to be an end to Thanos's forces, and all around them is nothing but blood and death, flesh and corpses, agony and fear.

So many years later, and Gamora still doesn't know how to deal with this. ]

Gamora!

[ She stops dead in her tracks, whirling around to meet familiar, deep brown eyes. She knows that face so well, but unlike the layer of haze that tends to haunt her dreams, the image of her mother is as clear as a photograph, her voice ringing in Gamora's ears.

So real, so real.

But her mother is not alone, of course not, and she kneels on the ground, her hair caught in the fist of—

The Mad Titan. ]

[ It's chaos, and just the two of them are hardly making a dent in the enemy forces – but they're doing what they can, saving a handful as they fend off the soldiers looking to slaughter these people.

Peter knows what this is, but he's trying not to name it, trying to keep from identifying what this particular day means to Gamora. The reality of it is too heavy for him, even as he tries frantically to fight against the growing tide.

A soldier moves too fast for him, blasts through a woman still standing before Peter can shoot him down. Another returns fire, and Peter has to duck for cover. He can feel ash and debris clinging to his exposed skin, feels the heat pressing in against him. His mask protects him from the thick, suffocating smoke.

He hears someone shout Gamora's name, and he whirls around again, sees— a woman, terrified and desperate, and so much like Gamora. Peter's gaze follows the giant fist holding her in place to the hulking figure behind the woman, to the flash of purple skin and golden armor. For a second, he feels his stomach drop.

But only for a second, because immediately after that hesitation, he opens fire on the image of Thanos, hoping to draw his attention away from the woman. ]

[ Something howls in Gamora to move, to do more than stand before Thanos. The cruel curl of his lips twists up her lungs, and she swears that she can't breathe, she can't speak, she can't try to stop him—

Peter's blaster fire might as well be little more than harmless flashes of light, for all that they faze Thanos. His smile holds no humor, no warmth, and he doesn't even bother to look at the Terran, doesn't break eye contact with Gamora. She tries to breathe, tries to force herself to take one step closer, but she's paralyzed by fear, trepidation, because she knows what comes next. ]

Don't—

[ A crack in her voice, choked out.

Thanos lifts her mother by her scalp, forcing a pained cry from her throat as he drags her up, up, exposing the line of her throat. ]

Don't—!

[ Gamora manages to shout, and Thanos hears her, but he—

—laughs.

There's a flash of metal, a spray of brilliant blood—

Gamora screams.

The world goes white.

She bolts upright in bed, gasping and shaking violently. Her hair sticks to her forehead with sweat, curls a wild mess, and for a moment, she stares into the darkness of the bedroom, gripping her own arms as she tries to remember where she is. ]

[ Gamora's frozen, but Peter isn't – and when he realizes his shots have no effect, he runs, trying to close the distance, but—

He's not fast enough, and Gamora screams as Thanos draws a blade across the woman's throat, and—

Something explodes, rocketing him back into the waking world, and Peter gasps, eyes flying open. For a brief second, he's not sure what it was that woke him, but as his senses catch up to him, he can feel Gamora trembling through the mattress, can hear her ragged breaths in the dark, and Peter sits up after her. ]

Gamora. Hey—

[ Quiet in the stillness of their room. Groot slumbers still, the heavy sleep of childhood, and Peter can hear the quiet, stiff rustle of movement before Groot settles again.

Peter rests his hand on her shoulder, telegraphing his intentions, before he slides an arm around her back. His other hand rests gingerly against her cheek. ]

Hey. [ And his own voice shakes, unsteady and terrified, though he's not sure why. ] Hey, you're alright. I've got you.

[ The instant Peter makes contact with her, her spine goes ramrod straight, her entire body seizing up with unyielding tension. She doesn't process who's touching her at first, and because of how real the dream felt, her senses aren't immediately certain that this is reality, that he's solid and here instead of that world (her world).

She's still breathing unevenly, trembling, but some part of her must recognize Peter, because instead of shoving away from him, she allows the contact.

But she doesn't lean into him yet.

She shakes her head quickly, insistently, but she can't speak yet. ]

You're okay.

[ Whispered, and he doesn't try to tug her against him – because he worries that might make things worse, that she'll feel trapped and smothered. Instead, he shifts around the bed to catch her gaze, bracketing her face now with both hands. He keeps his touch light, barely there. ]

You're okay, Gamora. Just breathe, alright? Deep breaths.

[ She doesn't draw away from him, doesn't struggle (where months ago she would have yanked free, maybe even walked out of the apartment), but it takes a while for her to start to calm. She squeezes her eyes tightly shut; she doesn't want to see him looking at her, not while she can't gather her composure.

Ever so slowly, she starts to settle her breathing, going from shallow to purposefully deep, to finally steady.

She swallows around the lump high in her throat, still not opening her eyes. ]

... I'm fine.

[ A hoarse, weak whisper. ]

[ Yeah, he doesn't believe that for a second.

But he doesn't begrudge her that feeling of control, and instead, he moves in close, loosely wrapping his arms around her shoulders – an invitation to let her lean against him, but not a demand for it. ]

Whatever it was, it was just a dream, okay?

[ She could break contact now that she's coming back to herself; she could shrug off the comfort and continue insisting that she's fine, that she doesn't need his reassurance—

But instead, she finally sinks into him. ]

It's fine, Peter.

[ Her voice is still low and ragged, the exhaustion of being so tense and terrified. ]

It's fine.

[ Bullshit, he wants to say. That's a total lie.

But he knows better than anyone that sometimes, it helps to fake it till you make it. Sometimes it helps to pretend that you're impervious, because eventually that might be true – or eventually you can put up a sort of mental barrier that tricks you into thinking it's true. ]

I know.

[ Quietly, gently. Now's not the time to inform her that, no, it's clearly not fine. That can wait until she's feeling a little more like herself.

When Gamora falls against him, he wraps his arms around her a little more tightly, reaches up to rest his hand at the nape of her neck. He drops a quick kiss against the side of her head before nosing at her hair. ]

I've got you.

[ Since when does she let anyone see her like this? Since when is she this exposed and vulnerable and aching in front of another person? She's been open with Peter, more than anyone else, but—

This is different.

She swallows thickly, turning to press her face against his neck as the last of the shaking slides out of her body. Eventually (too many minutes later), she's still and— almost pieced back together.

(Not quite.) ]

... I need to...

[ She shakes her head, slowly starting to pull away from him, reaching down to push tangled blankets from her hips. She needs to get up, to move, to not sit and wallow in the wake of the dream. ]

[ When she pulls back, he lets her, and he helps her push the blankets aside. Still, he looks startled, confused. ]

What are you doing?

Getting up.

[ Moving, not sitting here.

She pushes her fingers back through her hair, shoving sweaty locks out of her face as she stands, already heading for the bedroom door. ]

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