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 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. ]

[ He nearly loses his footing again as she grabs hold of him, stumbling forward and catching himself by grabbing hold of her unwavering arm. She swings at him, and he thinks distantly, Oh, fuck— as he braces for impact, entire body going rigid, but—

The blow doesn't come, and he feels her knuckles digging into his stomach, controlled but wavering, and—

He looks at Gamora, studying her face, and— he hates what he sees. The coldness in her eyes, the shaking of her shoulders. The tension drifts away from his body, and concern stands naked in his expression. ]

... Gamora. Hey—

[ And he reaches up, fingers tentatively curling along the hinge of her jaw. ]

Yie—

[ She's about to repeat herself when Peter doesn't surrender, but his hand touches her face and cuts her short.

The fight leaves her in a rush, and Gamora's eyes drop to the floor, her grip on his shirt weakening. She doesn't shove him away, though, doesn't try to force separation and step back to compose herself; instead, she leans forward until her forehead touches his shoulder. ]

We can return to the apartment.

[ Softer now. ]

[ He only hums quietly in response, and when he feels the way her hand relaxes where it grips his shirt, he carefully, slowly, puts a hand on her waist, palm sliding to her back to pull her in – assuming she's willing to be pulled. He brings up his other hand to cup the back of her head, and he turns to press his lips against her temple.

He murmurs, ]

Yeah. In a minute.

[ She tenses briefly as his palm settles on her waist, but then she goes where she's led, melting into Peter without protest. The hand poised to smash into his stomach winds around his back, holding herself to him as she keeps gripping his shirt.

She doesn't speak, if only because she doesn't want to draw attention to this, to how she's allowing herself to be swept away in the crushing weight of her dream, of how real it had been. Instead of some nebulous, dramatic nightmare that played moments on repeat with a filter-like quality, everything had been so clear and solid, and—

Seeing her mother—

Her teeth clench around the hitch in her breathing, and Gamora pulls him closer, hides her face in his shirt.

"In a minute."

She just... she just needs a minute. ]

[ He loops his arm around her waist when she sinks into him, holding her close. It's— so eerily silent in here, now, with only their ragged breathing to fill the quiet – his, because he's completely winded, and hers, because she's caught in whatever her nightmares had dredged up.

He had heard the stories, a while back, of people sharing memories. Sharing dreams. The Quarantine was fucking weird like that, as impossible as it seemed. And— it can't be a coincidence, can it? That he could have an awful dream like that the same night as Gamora lurched awake from her own nightmare, about a planet he had never seen before. Her planet, and her people, and the memories laid to waste by Thanos and his invading armies.

And— fuck, he had said some stupid shit to her, back there. He should apologize, but— he's not sure if Gamora's drawn the same conclusion as him. He's not sure if he should bring it up, should admit he remembers everything he saw and felt and heard. He's not sure if it would be better or worse if he feigned ignorance.

For now, he stays mum on the subject, quiet and worried, running his hand along her back and murmuring soft words of reassurance. ]

[ Even the little murmurs help, and Gamora relaxes by bare increments, sinking into him more and more, until most of her weight rests against Peter's chest. She focuses on her breathing, on calming herself, and when she finally feels... not better, but at least level, she turns her face to press against his throat, forcing a slow exhale. ]

Let's go back.

[ At the very least, so that they can put Groot to bed. ]

[ She sounds... well, more composed, if not better. Though he's not entirely sure if that's an improvement, honestly.

At her suggestion, he pauses, not quite committing to pulling away but turning a little to try and get a glimpse of her face. ]

You sure?

[ She nods without hesitation. She'd rather be in surroundings that feel... more like home, now. ]

Yes. I'm finished for the night.

[ Continuing to fight wouldn't be the wisest course of action – for either of them, at this point. ]

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WOMAN. ACTIVITY.

https://riverviewooc.dreamwidth.org/101951.html?thread=5740607#cmt5740607 OH MY GOD

:)

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