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

Entry tags:

( 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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[ Peter shrugs his good shoulder, resting his free hand on the edge of the counter as he leans back against it. ]

I wasn’t gonna just wait around while you went by yourself.

That would have been better for you.

[ Easier on his body, on his injury. It wouldn't have been Gamora beating him into the ground. ]

[ Another light shrug, expression softening a little. ]

I wanted to help.

[ And it wasn’t as though he could do that by pacing the length of their living room. And a sparring partner was probably more satisfying than beating the shit out of a punching bag, he had to figure.

He pauses before turning back to the coffee maker, pouring it out into the two mugs. He holds one out to her before hesitantly asking, ]

... It did help, right?

[ She pulls one hand away to take the proffered coffee, the other still keeping a gentle grip on the ice pack. Quiet at first, but then she nods. ]

It did.

[ Not much can help, but... somehow, that genuinely did. ]

But you shouldn't need to put yourself through something strenuous just for me.

[ That’s good, he figures. Gamora isn’t the talking type, so— it’s good to know that he could help in a small way, aside from his usual method of “discuss the topic to death and hope you strike on the root of the problem.” ]

I wanted to help.

[ And he repeats it, because that’s the truth of the matter. Peter’s always been in the habit of trying to do right by his team, even if it leaves him in some shitty positions. Why should that change?

He keeps his tone light, even if his gaze darts away to the closed-over door of their bedroom. ]

Anything for you.

[ She's silent in response, sipping at her coffee for a few, drawn-out moments.

"Anything for you."

It's startling how much she actually believes that, actually trusts him, and though she wouldn't ask for much...

She's willing to accept it.

More quiet, more coffee, and finally, ]

... I was dreaming about my planet.

[ Softly spoken, and she doesn't lift her eyes to look at Peter this time. ]

[ Peter turns his attention back to Gamora once she speaks, a frown working its way back into his expression. He’s silent for a second, grappling with how much he should say, but—

He thinks he knows what it is she saw. And he thinks it might be better to rip the bandaid off now, to let her know what he might have been witness to. And after a few seconds, he quietly murmurs, ]

I kind of got that impression, yeah.

[ ... Admittedly, that's not the response she was expecting.

She stills next to him, her eyes flicking up to study him, somewhat narrowed. ]

What does that mean?

[ Since she doesn't feel like she's given any indication of what she dreamt, of what kept her awake. ]

[ ... Yeah, he didn't think she'd come to the same conclusion.

He visibly hesitates again, trying to figure out how best to break this bit of news without sounding like a completely insane person. Then— ]

Were we—

[ No, hang on. ]

Do you remember me being there at all?

[ Because maybe she doesn't. Maybe this was just a coincidence. ]

[ And this conversation continues in a very weird direction that is making her progressively more and more uncomfortable. Why would Peter be asking if she remembered him being there?

(Because of course she does. He was just a part of her dream, horrifying as it had been, but—

That doesn't mean anything.) ]

... Yes. I remember that.

[ Careful, uncertain.

She'd just... assumed that was a part of the dream. A new part, but an aspect of dreaming. ]

[ He can hear the wariness in her voice, but— tearing the bandage, he reminds himself. Get it done quick. ]

Were we— [ A small wince, but he forces himself onward. ] Were we in a field?

[ Again, the question makes her go silent as she processes the implication of his words.

Had he seen what she went through? Had he been there, in as much as he could in a dream?

How? How?

The more logical part of her mind supplies the fact that so many things are possible with magic. She'd crawled into bed with him when compelled by such; they'd been linked together by a bright light during Dragosta; that's not even touching on everything Gramarye does on a regular basis.

That doesn't stop her from prickling with this knowledge. Instead of a "yes" or "no," she asks, ]

What did you see?

[ He hesitates once again, but he doesn't try to dodge the question or her gaze. ]

... Most of it.

[ Pitched quietly, reluctantly. ]

The lights. And the attack.

[ A longer pause, this time, and he studies her face. ]

And Thanos.

[ With every additional word, Gamora grows more and more tense.

But "Thanos" leaves Peter's lips, and there's a flicker of a moment when her eyes widen by a fraction, a quick flash of horror before she shovels it away as she realizes what he's saying.

Thanos, and— undoubtedly, her mother.

She looks away from him, staring hard at a point across the apartment. ]

Then I don't need to explain myself.

[ Because he knows. Because he saw. ]

[ He sees the look of fear that crosses her face, and he bites the inside of his cheek with it, uncertain of where to go from here.

After a second of deliberation, he shakes his head, not forcing her to meet his gaze, though he still watches her carefully. ]

No, you don't. [ Softly, gently. ] Not unless you want to.

What would be the point? You know what happened.

[ She isn't sure how she feels about that. She'd never told him exactly what Thanos had done to her parents, and it's easier to separate herself from the event, to be removed from it when it comes up if she's vague.

"He murdered my parents in front of me" is something that she can say in more unaffected tones; she's repeated that in her head over and over. But the visuals of it, the experience?

This is explicit. This is concrete. ]

[ He grimaces a little, licking his lips. ]

Yeah. I guess so.

[ And he thinks back on what he saw – the slaughter, the destruction, the woman gripped in Thanos' giant hand. For a few heartbeats, Peter is silent before he slowly takes the ice pack from Gamora's hand, pressing it more securely over his aching shoulder. ]

You could... tell me who she was.

[ Though Peter has his assumptions already. ]

[ Again, silence stretches between them. Gamora's hands curl tightly around her mug, though fortunately not tight enough to shatter the ceramic.

She could ignore the suggestion. She could brush it aside, and just... go to bed. Drop this and pretend it never happened. ]

... My mother.

[ It's quieter when it finally comes. Barely voiced. ]

She was my mother.

[ ... yeah, that's what he figured.

Still, his prediction doesn't really prepare him for the reality of the admission, and something bitter and cold twists in his chest for it. He could say, "I'm sorry," and he is horribly sorry for her, but Gamora has never seemed too fond of platitudes like that. ]

Is... is that how it happened?

[ She's still tense, still staring across the room. ]

Yes.

[ Clipped, through grit teeth.

She tries to take a sip from her coffee, but she finds she doesn't have the taste for it anymore. She pushes away from the counter, leaving her mug behind in favor of taking care of the coffeemaker, throwing away the filter and moving the pot to the sink. ]

[ He stays leaning back against the counter, the mug in his left hand, while his right hand braces the cold pack against his shoulder. He watches as she moves around the kitchen, licking his lips nervously as he tries to dredge up something to say.

The unfortunate thing is, he has no idea what to say, and his usual method of babbling until he hits on something doesn't seem appropriate in this case.

He drinks from his mug, if only to give himself something to do. ]

—I'm sorry.

[ —which is something he told himself he wouldn't say, because he knows how empty that feels. But what he means is— ]

For yelling at you, I mean. Back there. I didn't— I didn't realize...

[ She's prepared to brush aside his apology as soon as he offers it. There's no point apologizing for something that happened in the past, no point when it won't change anything, but—

He elaborates, and it gives her a moment of pause.

She wonders if she could have waited the nightmare out if he hadn't goaded her into fighting. Maybe she could have stayed among the dying flowers until the dream passed, and she could have avoided— all of that. Because this was so much worse than her usual preoccupying terrors, because this had been so real. She'd been experiencing it all over again, and even though she's no longer that weak, defenseless little girl, she still hadn't— she couldn't—

She shrugs before going back to turning on the sink to start some warm water. ]

I'm sure you thought it was something else.

[ He isn't entirely sure what he thought it was, if he's honest, if he thought it was anything. He just— acted on instinct, gave in to that old childhood demand that he help the helpless, in spite of overwhelming odds.

Only back then, helping the helpless meant throwing punches against schoolyard bullies, not fighting back against ruthless, bloodthirsty tyrants. ]

... Doesn't matter what I thought. I shouldn't have talked to you like that.

[ Like she was an imposter. Like she was insane, when he was the one trying to run headlong into danger. ]

I'm sorry.

[ Part of her appreciates the apology; another part still feels too raw to directly accept it. ]

All right.

[ She starts to rinse the pot, focusing on the running water. ]

Whatever it was, it's over. We'll be more aware of it.

[ Because that had felt so distinct, so different from a normal dream. She hopes that means they cna pick it out, should it happen again. ]

We can see if anyone else reported something strange tomorrow.

[ And maybe get an explanation. ]

[ Peter knows a deflection when he sees one. He's more or less mastered the art, after all.

(Deflection-Lord.)

And for a second, he watches her, caught between wanting to press her, to make her talk this through, while another part wants to let it go, to let her work through it at her own pace.

He pulls the cold pack away from his shoulder, and though a lot of the chill has been sapped away into his skin, he still shifts it to press against the deep bruise on the right side of his rib cage.

Slowly, ]

It... felt weirdly real, didn't it?

[ Or maybe that was just Peter. Maybe that was just because he had been an unwelcome guest in it. ]

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