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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[ She considers the options silently, trying to decide. She likes the idea of getting out of the apartment, but she has enough presence of mind to feel guilty over waking the little sapling in the middle of the night to drag him around the Quarantine. ]

I don't want to disturb Groot.

[ ... He also happens to get grumpy when he doesn't sleep enough, and the last thing that child needs is more attitude. ]

[ Peter shrugs a little. ]

We can carry him. Groot could sleep through an explosion and not even move.

[ But, yeah, the kid would be grumpy once they woke him, admittedly. But maybe they'll get lucky and the kid will be too sleepy and out of it to throw a fit before they set off.

Fifty-fifty chance, by Peter's reckoning. ]

Whatever you need.

[ Peter makes a decent point, at least – and Groot could probably just go back to sleep, wherever they end up.

She thinks it over again, and then— ]

The training facility.

[ Something to get rid of this tension, to just let her stop thinking about it. ]

[ He nods, pushing off from the couch. ]

Okay. Let's get changed, then.

[ He watches her for a second longer, indecision in his gaze, before turning back to their shared room. He throws on a different pair of sweats, a loose-fitting shirt, and a red zip-up hoodie. He waits for Gamora to grab her clothing and change elsewhere before he goes through the arduous process of waking Groot.

Thankfully, the kid is too out of it to be properly pissed about being woken up, and he just stretches out his arms to be picked up. Peter gathers the kid up in the tiny little baby blanket they had gotten for Groot some time after he first arrived, personally selected by Groot, himself, on account of the funny little animals on them (elephants). Groot goes right back to sleep almost the instant he rests against Peter's shoulder.

Peter steps back into the living space, casting around for his keys, Groot's breath gusting gently along Peter's neck. ]

I'm ready when you are.

[ Gamora trusts Peter to take care of Groot while she changes to leave, swapping her pajamas for leggings and a sweat-wicking shirt, not bothering with a sweater, despite the chilly night air. Her hair, mess that it is, goes up into a ponytail so she doesn't have to deal with it, before she's gathering up the last of her things.

She glances up to Peter and Groot as he carries the sapling out of the bedroom, and rather than throwing a fit, Groot seems to have just passed right back out in Peter's arms.

Well, that's better than a tired, whiny toddler. ]

Let's go.

[ She doesn't waste any time, because she's antsy. She wants to burn off her energy, to stop thinking about this, and for now, training is the best solution she can come up with.

She leads the way from the housing complex, off to the trams to get to the Guard's facilities. It's dark, still the middle of the night, and while there are obviously Guard members on duty, there shouldn't be too many training at this hour. ]

[ Gamora speeds off to the training facility, and Peter keeps up as best as he can, considering he's still feeling slightly battered and he has a slumbering Groot in tow.

They find an empty training room easily enough, isolated from the bulk of the currently active guards to afford them some privacy. With Groot still pressed against his shoulder, Peter carefully shrugs out of his sweater, leaving it wadded up as a makeshift mattress just beneath a bench. He lays Groot down into it, settling the blanket securely around the kid's shoulders, before he gets back to his feet.

Peter rolls out his still healing shoulder, runs a hand along his bruised side. It'll be fine, he tells himself. More with worse, right? He stretches carefully, slowly, before taking his place on the practice mats. ]

On your mark?

[ Fortunately for Peter, Gamora is cognizant of his injuries. At another time, she wouldn't be entertaining this while he's still healing, but— she's prickling with this leftover energy, this need not to focus on all of the sensations experienced in her dream.

She stretches on the sidelines (though she doesn't need to, with her mods), giving Peter a moment to prepare before she joins him on the mats. Sliding into her stance, she watches him too closely, too intently – on edge.

A few heartbeats of time, and then— ]

Now.

[ Gamora moves.

When she advances on Peter, she isn't trying to teach him. This isn't an effort to train him, to give him openings to learn and adapt; she's effectively wailing on him. The difference, however, is that she isn't trying to injure him or end the fight quickly; she's just laying into him. She at least understands how much he can take and how not to hurt him, but that doesn't mean she's trying to make this fair. ]

[ Peter had fully intended to stay on the defensive during the fight, just to give Gamora this much needed outlet – but the instant the spar starts, it becomes less of a choice and more of a necessity.

He can tell she’s still holding back, even if she’s unyielding, even if the barrage of attacks is relentless. If he had a mind for it, he’d notice the way she actively avoids the worst of his injuries, but as it stands, he’s mostly focused on staying on his feet while blocking the worst of her blows and trying to absorb the rest. And it reminds him so much of that day on Xandar. She had been holding back then, too, but not in the patient, measured way of their usual sparring sessions; more in the way that said, “I’d rather not kill you, but I can, if I have to.”

So this, controlled as she is – it’s scary as fuck, and it’s a stark reminder of why Gamora had her reputation as the galaxy’s deadliest assassin.

It comes to an end, as these rounds always do: Peter moves to dodge a kick instead of blocking, but the same instant, he realizes he’s moving too slow. He twists, trying to absorb the blow, except she catches him in his left flank, sending him stumbling into the ground. He falls to the mats hard, and the landing sends shocks up his bruised ribs, his aching shoulder. He bites down on the pained should that tries to escape him. ]

[ She doesn't let up until she finally knocks Peter to the ground. It comes automatically, immediately, and she doesn't seem to realize what's she's done until he hits the floor and lands—

—on his shoulder.

Damn it.

She drops out of her posture, stepping up to Peter's side and kneeling quickly next to him, some of that intensity fading from her expression in favor of concern. ]

Did I hurt you?

[ Her tone isn't as clipped, and instead, she reaches to gently brace his shoulder, her other palm settling tentatively on his chest. ]

[ He breathes through his lips as he slowly rolls onto his back, bracing his left arm against his side. At her question, he shakes his head. ]

No. I’m fine.

[ Slightly tense, a little dazed, but he’s getting through it. ]

Landed wrong. [ By way of explanation – as if she hadn’t witnessed that exact thing with her own two eyes. ] Won’t happen twice.

[ After a few more seconds, he carefully moves to push himself up with his right arm, gritting his teeth against the warning sparks along his bruised side. ]

Gimme a minute. We can go again after that.

[ She sets her hand at the small of his back, carefully avoiding his shoulder as she helps push him upright, getting him to sit up. She shakes her head, lips set in a thin line as she looks him over. ]

No, we should stop.

[ Because this isn't what his body needs, and as much as Gamora wants (needs) a distraction, it shouldn't be at the price of Peter's shoulder. In reality, she shouldn't have dragged him into this in the first place, because that was thoughtless, that was focusing on her own tangled mess instead of remembering that Peter's body is all bruises and—

He should be taking it easy instead of playing Gamora's punching bag. ]

[ He winces once he’s sitting up, half-prodding, half-massaging his shoulder. He made a dumb mistake, he thinks; he should have taken the hit instead of trying to get out of its way. And while he knows sparring is hardly ideal for his recuperation, he also knows he can take one hell of a beating and has done so with gusto in the past.

More with worse, he tells himself again, and he slowly rolls out his shoulder, breathing slowly through the warning flashes of pain.

He catches her gaze, face solemn and determined. ]

Was it helping? ‘Cause if it was helping, we can go again. I don’t mind.

[ Because god knows Gamora has coached him through a shitton of his own personal problems. He owes her at least this. ]

I mind.

[ She minds hurting him, even if she'd been doing her best to avoid exactly that. The problem is that there's no way to make this completely safe when he's dealing with a fresh injury, and she can't just save him from landing wrong any time she takes his legs out from under him (though she'd also been trying to prevent that, too). ]

This probably inflamed it again. We should get you something to calm the muscles.

[ Changing the subject, drawing attention away from herself. ]

[ He can see what she’s trying to do, and he frowns at her. ]

You didn’t answer my question.

[ A little stubbornly, insistently, but not ungently. ]

Was it helping?

[ Of course he's being stubborn (though does she have room to be annoyed by that?). ]

It's fine, Peter.

[ She says "it's fine," because it's also a "yes." ]

Let's deal with your shoulder.

[ “It’s fine” isn’t a no, and he stays where he’s sitting on the mats, frowning at her.

If her answer was no she would have said so. She would have told him that this has been a waste of time, and that they would have been better off staying at the apartment. She would have told him that he barely put up a challenge.

Which tells him it must have helped, even just a little, and he pulls away from her to get to his feet. ]

One more round.

[ And he rolls out his shoulder again. The sharpness of the pain has faded to a dull ache, and Peter’s pretty sure he can deal with that. ]

Then we’ll deal with whatever.

[ She looks immediately skeptical of his insistence, her eyes narrowing. She's about to turn him down, to keep insisting that they just call it a night, but— ]

Fine.

[ She pushes herself to her feet, stepping away from him to go back across the mats. ]

One more.

[ He lets out a quiet breath when she swallows her arguments. The two of them can be stubborn, he knows, but he thinks they’re getting better about surrendering ground when they need to.

(Or when they secretly want to.)

One last careful stretch, and he falls into his usual boxer’s stance, though he keeps both arms a little closer to his sides than before – one, in deference to his healing shoulder, and the other to protected the deep bruise on his right side. ]

Ready when you are.

[ Gamora falls into her own stance, and unlike the first time, she only waits until Peter says he's ready before she's closing the gap between them.

Once again, the fight is one-sided. She doesn't beat him down as soundly as the first round, because rather than getting carried away, she's trying to keep her mind focused on landing the right sort of blows – the kind that won't slam into Peter's bruises or disturb his shoulder.

... That's a little easier said than done, but she's trying.

It's still a hail of attacks, one right after the other, until Gamora ducks to dart behind him, her arm snapping out to lock around his neck. ]

[ This time around, Peter’s a little better about protecting his injuries, trying to react faster to keep himself away from the worst of her attacks. He still takes more than he means to, but they aren’t quite as jarring, and more importantly, they don’t send him ass over teakettle to the mats.

And still, the attacks are constant, with hardly a chance for him to catch his breath, and definitely without a chance for him to try to change the tide. His attention is focused on blocking, on dodging, on taking the smaller hits to avoid the bigger ones. The fight still jars his injuries, makes him gasp or let out small, pained noises when a hit takes him by surprise, but he still doesn’t go down.

But then she moves, and Peter is agile, but not as agile as that. He tries to dance away once he realizes she’s dashing around him, but he doesn’t react quickly enough. She catches him by the neck, the crook of her arm pressing against his throat. He yelps when the change of direction makes him lose his footing, and he falls to one knee, both hands gripping her arm. ]

[ Gamora steadies him when he goes down, keeps him from toppling over entirely, but she maintains her grip, keeps her arm locked in place. Her breathing is harsh in his ear – not panting, not winded – coming sharp and— almost shaky. She still feels like a raw nerve in the wake of her dream, and as much as the spar helped distract her, it also stands as a stark reminder of beating off Thanos's forces, trying to push against the endless wave of death. ]

Yield.

[ She's not choking him, not applying pressure, but she doesn't intend to release him until he submits and admits defeat to end the round. ]

[ He should cry uncle, he knows, considering he’s not entirely sure how to get out of this hold, but— the way her breath gusts across his ear, ragged and sharp and shuddering, gives him pause. Is it better to try to keep things going to let her blow off more steam, or should he just throw in the towel?

His jaw clenches with that second of indecision, and— well, she’s not choking him, which means he has a little room to maneuver. Maybe if there were more of a risk of him blacking the fuck out, he would’ve surrendered, but he still has some juice in him, he thinks. He can go a little longer before he absolutely has to quit. And he’s always been good about thinking on his feet...

But he should yield. He should probably yield, right? He should definitely yield.

... Nah.

He grips her forearm with both hands and throws all of his weight forward, hoping to throw Gamora off-balance enough to loosen the hold. ]

[ Gamora expects Peter to give up, she really does. It's a rare day when he manages to legitimately catch her by surprise, but apparently, today is that day.

She reads his movement when he starts to shift, and though he doesn't manage to flip her onto her own back, she does go right over his shoulder. In order to avoid hitting the mats, she has to release him, has to twist on her way down to land on one knee, bracing her palms flat on the ground. At first, she looks startled more than she processes what Peter's chosen to do – and she's at least distantly pleased by his reversal.

A more settled Gamora would insist that they should end the round there. The Gamora who's latching onto this distraction doesn't waste another moment before she's throwing herself into the fight once again.

She's still mindful of Peter's shoulder and his ribs, but she puts herself in his space quickly, immediately, to make it even more difficult for him to avoid the attacks as she swings for him again and again and again. ]

[ Oh, hey, neat. That worked. He doubts he'll be able to do that twice, though – at least, not this round – but he still files the information away for later.

He's barely back on his feet before Gamora's coming at him again, and he brings up both arms to block a kick. It jars his bad arm, but he breathes through it, keeps moving and dodging with her attacks. But she's far more relentless, this time, and he's forced to absorb and roll with more hits than the first half of this fight.

It's not too long after they start up again, though, that he starts losing steam, and his blocks and dodges are a little sluggish as he tries to keep up with her. ]

[ Her eyes are hard as steel as she keeps laying into him, breathing unmoored and unsteady, and as his defense starts to lag behind, something in her pushes more, relentless, and instead of cutting it short, she keeps forcing him back.

Finally, she grabs him by his shirt to haul him in, to close every inch of distance between them, and her other hand swings around in something powerful, brutal, aimed right for his gut.

But before she makes contact, before she absolutely crushes him with all of that force, she stops herself short, stops with her fist pressed still and steady against his stomach without landing that devastating punch. ]

Yield.

[ Her voice is hoarse when she says it again, not wanting to release him as the barest hint of a tremor shakes her shoulders. ]

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