( open ) did you do it?

[godslay]

who: gamora and YOU
what: returning from an infinity war canon update and Trying To Deal
when: beginning of september through the middle of the month
where: around the quarantine
warnings: infinity war spoilers, mentions of death, probably body horror, etc etc etc


ɪ. ᴀ ʀᴜᴅᴇ ᴀᴡᴀᴋᴇɴɪɴɢ

[ Everything hurts.

It’s been a long time since Gamora could safely say “everything hurts,” but when she jolts awake in a hospital bed (familiar and strange at the same time), her whole body feels like one big bruise. She sits straight up, ignoring the way she hurts, trying to shake away the insistent pain.When she reaches to touch the pounding point on the back of her head, her fingers find dried blood, what seems like a scabbed-over trauma, though she can’t quite figure out how—

It hits her like a blow to the gut.

Vormir.

The cliff.

The Soul Stone.

Thanos.

Gamora covers her mouth with a hand before she makes herself sick thinking about it. She shakes on the small cot, her eyes wide, sounds trapped behind her palm as four years of memories war with the realization of where she is.

Riverview. The Quarantine. She knows this place, she knows this hospital, but she— hadn’t. She had forgotten all about it, and she’s four years older now. She’s four years older, and she’s—

When an attendant comes to check on her, Gamora nearly strangles them on instinct alone, reacting to the adrenaline in her system screaming fight fight fight fight fight run—

She’s a mess, but when she grounds herself enough to let the poor attendant go (coughing, choking, looking absolutely startled and taken aback), she bolts. Her familiar leather coat is covered in dried green blood. Her hair is matted with it, the smell of ancient dust clinging to her skin, scapes across her face, her hands still left to heal. But she doesn’t care. She can walk, she can run, so she isn’t going to bother with the 24 hours of supervision.

If they want to try and hold her, they can.

Good luck.

She makes it blocks away from the hospital before she finally stops running, and she grabs at her shirtfront with trembling fingers as she gasps for breath, still quaking, still processing, still raw and running on the adrenaline of remembering what it felt like to be dragged to the edge of a cliff and thrown. She finds the spot on her stomach where she’d tried to stab herself, only to lose her dagger to bubbles, but that glimmering silver knife is back in her belt, untouched.

With a shout that fills the night air, she rips the knife away and hucks it as far from herself as possible.

No, no, no.

She’s not paying attention to where she throws the knife (fortunately retracted), so there’s every possibility she’s thrown it at someone or it’s simply clattered across the pavement, remaining unscratched and unscathed with a glittering red jewel that seems to mock her from a distance. ]

ɪɪ. ʙᴜsɪɴᴇss ᴀs ᴜsᴜᴀʟ

[ Days later, and Gamora is more composed. Not settled, not happy, not relieved – but composed. She’s cleaned up, put back together, and reinstated as captain of her squad again. Some might reasonably argue that she’s not ready for duty again, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be benched.

She needs something to do. She needs something to keep her mind off of everything that spins through her head when she lets it.

Which is why she’s spending extra time at the training facilities, running some poor unfortunate souls through some unusually rigorous drills.

When an obstacle course is cleared for the second time, Gamora stands waiting at the finish line, her arms crossed, her face impassive and unimpressed. She jerks her chin back to the start of the course. ]

Run it again.

ɪɪɪ. ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʟɪᴅᴀʏ sᴘɪʀɪᴛ

[ Oh, hey, it’s Dragosta. Gamora remembers the festival well, though it’s still strange to try and reconcile her memories of home with her memories of the Quarantine. Unlike vague curiosity the first year around, Gamora looks on with fondness in her eyes (just the faintest softening in her expression, barely readable to a stranger) as she plucks up a little bottle with red thread inside of it. The woman minding the display offers it to her with a warm smile, but Gamora turns her down.

She doesn’t need it.

She leaves the table of jars and spells behind, instead heading back to community housing. She makes it most of the way back, navigating through a crowd, before—

Those damn fairy lights.

She finds her way suddenly impeded, and when she pushes her hand against the invisible enclosure, she downright glares when she can’t move forward.

Sorry to the person who happens to be stuck with her, because your fellow prisoner looks particularly murderous. ]

ɪᴠ. ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴇʀ sᴜɴᴋᴇɴ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ

Has anyone returned home through the portal and then come back to the Quarantine? Did you lose time? How much?

ᴠ. ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ

( ooc: you know the drill. hit me with anything and everything or send me a pp @poprocks to work something out! )

Comments

[madeupnames]

[Unlike how he found Quill, Peter does not find Gamora out getting nearly murdered outside the wall by big monsters. Hilariously, he's about to step onto the tram leading to his studio apartment while she's stepping off, at some ungodly hour. Again. He's not asleep this time, but for a ridiculous moment, he's not sure if he's actually awake. Because he's just — she's here. And he's here. And she's dead. He supposes in all fairness, he is, too, but — but that old icy twist in his stomach reminds him of his mistakes.

("You should’ve told us.")

He looks like a deer in the headlights, honestly. She could punch his lights out and he wouldn't even remotely move an inch until he was laid out. Last time he saw her... he — he'd ran away from her, beside himself with guilt and misery.

("So if we're teammates," he tells Mantis, "then I'm definitely pitching in and helping you guys find your friend. I promise! I mean, as long as I can remember I kept it, but I totally promise.")

(From a small Pete to a bigger one — "... Well, then I might as well pinky swear with you, too. I’ll help out wherever anyone needs me. And I’ll try my best to keep up with... whatever happens, whenever it happens. I promise.")

(Gamora considers him silently for a moment longer, then reaches out to him with her pinkie extended.)

("It’s a nice thought. It really is," Quill says, "But don’t promise me shit when I already know you can’t keep your word.")

He opens his mouth, but no words come out — especially no promises. The tram door starts closing on him, prodding as if annoyed at the delay.]

[godslay]

[ Gamora is on autopilot. She’s getting from Point A to Point B without thinking about what she’s doing or where she’s going except— home. Somewhere familiar. It’s disconcerting for her to remember being in the Quarantine, but being home, but the Quarantine, and home, and—

It’s so hard to keep timelines straight right now.

She’s about to walk right past Peter, but she stops when he does, standing just outside of the tram as the door starts bumping him insistently.

She feels like she hasn’t seen him in years, but he looks the same.

She wonders if she’s changed, though. ]

It’s going to leave without you.

[madeupnames]

[Ah.

He steps aside — notably not with the tram, but to stand with her. Seeing the full force of Quill's despondence over Gamora and what happened at home only serves to freeze him up even more, and he feels his legs shake with what feels like stage fright. And god, he knows what stage fright feels like; he's never been good with an audience, but this is so utterly different. This is someone he screwed over, someone he didn't keep any promises on. A dead friend, who might have been able to avoid her fate a little longer if he didn't run away like a coward.

He opens his mouth, but nothing happens. No apologies or hellos or questions.

Did Quill tell her? Does she know that he knows?

How angry will she be? How much will she blame him?

He looks like he's seen a ghost, and against every ounce of restraint someone as sensitive as Peter tries to scrape up — his vision blurs and tears pool in his eyes. He hates it, but it's impossible to stop, no matter how much he tries to will it. His motormouth goes without him, though now what he blurts is surprisingly short and simple:]

Gamora, I — I'm so sorry.

This is all my fault.

[godslay]

[ Oh, he's—

He looks like he's going to cry, and he stammers out an apology, but rather than look heavily on with judgment, Gamora looks... confused. She didn't meet Peter back home, so she has no idea of his involvement or... any of it, really.

Is he apologizing for ditching her on the tram weeks ago?

(Years ago, for her.)

She puts a hand on his elbow, steering him away from the platform. ]

Come on.

[madeupnames]

[He lets her lead him, his heart thumping in his chest. He not only needs to just admit what he'd done, he needed to admit that he was involved — deeply involved, and that he was this Spider guy, that he wasn't normal and he didn't just surveillance for money, that he lost shoes and sleep over this entirely private thing he kept from her. So many stupid secrets, so many reasons he screwed this up—]

Gamora, you don't — you don't understand!

[He tugs his hand back a little, slowing them, looking at her desperately.

Just say it—]

I lied about what I do. I'm —

I'm one of the people who fought Thanos, on Titan.

[godslay]

[ He tugs, and she drops his hand, turning to watch his face, and—

There's a moment – just a second – where she looks like Peter physically struck her. ]

... What?

[ Repeat it. Say it again. ]

[madeupnames]

... I'm that Spider guy who swings around Riverview. I lied about my job.

[His mouth feels pretty dry, and his tongue weighs a hundred pounds, and he thinks he might seriously have a heart attack any second now — but hell if he didn't have it coming, so he just stammers his way through an explanation; his hands move to fidget in front of him shakily, because he can't seem to do anything else with them.]

It hasn't happened for me yet, but I'm with the Avengers. I - I, um. I end up on one of Thanos' ships after the Time Stone got taken off Earth. Eventually we... meet up with Big Pete and the others on Titan to plan a way to stop him there. [He sucks in a breath.] I was told about it... About everything. A — About a month and a half ago.

[He looks at his hands as he talks, rubbing the space between his thumb and forefinger until it hurts.]

I knew how it'd all go down.

i;

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Life has a funny way of working out, sometimes.

Like, okay, Peter's used to it driving him to his knees. He's used to it kicking him the balls, and taking a massive dump on him, and then tapdancing on his back just for fun before setting him aflame, but— sometimes, it throws him a bone. Sometimes, it shows him the slightest bit of mercy.

Sometimes, he's in the middle of running errands, staring blankly at a box of cereal, when his comm goes off. And sometimes, when he answers, the movements automatic and instinctive, sometimes, the voice on the other hand has good news for him.

It's Gamora.

And he's heard those words before, a thousand times over in the four years they lived together, in a thousand different contexts. But right now, it makes something in him shift, makes him stand in stunned silence for a few breaths, until the person on the other end has to check on him, has to ask if he's still there.

Peter croaks out, where?, and he's told she's at the hospital. He has mind enough to only offer a quick, Thank you— before he hangs up and runs.

(He thought he'd be happier about this, because he knew she'd be back. He knew she'd show up, because he had to believe it. He thought he'd be overjoyed. But right now he's feels— numb and dazed, and he's letting instincts take over.)

And when he rounds the corner to the hospital, and there's a green blur passing him by, and— his heart twists (terror? worry? he's not sure—), and he runs after her, calling her name, pushing past other pedestrians with only a quick word of apology.

And when she stops, he's out of breath, and his still injured side aches, but— she's there. She's there. Here. And he had been terrified out of his goddamn mind that he would never see her again, but— She's— covered in dried, caked blood, and— it's like something out of a horror movie. It's like something out of his worst nightmares.

Punched out of him, ] Oh, god, Gamora—

[ And he draws closer, reaching for her, but she whirls around. The knife draws a sharp line across Peter's upper arm, and he shouts, startled and pained, and stumbles back. ]

[godslay]

[ Everything in her is screaming to fight back – get away get away get away – and hearing her name, she doesn’t even recognize Peter’s voice. She lashes out because she has no idea what else to do, and she can’t let him— she can’t let him—

The knife slices down Peter’s arm before she processes who’s standing in front of her, and her chest heaves as she looks at him with wild eyes, not seeing, not focusing—

But it only takes seconds more before recognition dawns in her face. Terror melts into horror, regret, as she sees the trickle of blood cut through his jacket. ]

—Peter.

[ Her voice cracks, the knife falling from her hand and dropping to the ground. She wants to rush forward to him, but her hands are shaking, and she keeps looking at the gash across his arm, and— ]

I—

[nostalgiabomb]

[ God, she looks fucking awful, and his stomach churns with it, bitter and acrid and cold.

Maybe Gamora won’t move forward, but Peter certainly will. He doesn’t surge forward to close the space between them, but he’s slow, careful, a hand held out to her like he’s trying to calm a spooked creature. No sudden movements. That’s what got him the gash across his upper arm in the first place. ]

Hey. [ Soft, gentle. ] Hey. It’s okay. [ Even if it isn’t. Not by a long shot. But— ]

You’re safe here, okay? You’re all right.

[godslay]

[ She's not composed enough for a bark of hysterical laughter that might have bubbled up, otherwise.

(Because how hilarious, saying that "it's okay." It's not. It's not, nothing is okay—)

But she isn't looking at him like he's some stranger, because she knows it's Peter, and something in her is screaming with relief, knowing that he's here and he's intact (or he was, until she swiped at him), and she'd been so scared for him, for the others, for the universe—

She didn't think she'd ever experience such all-consuming fear again. ]

Peter.

[ His name. She can say that right now safely. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

Yeah. It’s me. I’m right here.

[ Still gently, still carefully, because he doesn’t want her to lash out again, doesn’t want her to try and snap his neck or something. (Thankfully, they’re only a stone’s throw away from the hospital, so hopefully if she does accidentally kill him, they can bring him back.)

He closes the gap between them with deliberate movements, and when he’s close enough to touch her, he stops just shy, casting her a questioning look. It’s been a long while since he’s had to ask permission. It’s been years since he’s had to be this cautious, but with her nerves so shot, with her on such high alert, with her instinct to fight cranked as high as it can go, he falls back on those old habits easily.

And just so he’s abundantly clear: ]

Can I—

[ touch you? ]

[godslay]

[ Gamora doesn't let him finish asking.

She throws herself into his arms, her own winding around his neck, her face pressed against his shoulder as she holds onto him fiercely. The last time she'd seen him, he tried to do what she asked of him. He tried to go through with his promise, and they'd been so close and he could have killed her and that would have been better that would have been better—

He smells like himself. Clean and familiar and whole. He's warm and sturdy and there, and she thought she'd never see him again. After Thanos took her, she didn't have any real hope that she could escape or find her way back to the Guardians. It was too late, at that point, and all she could do was try to protect her sister, try to keep Thanos from taking the Soul Stone, and—

She failed.

She had opportunities to take her own life sooner, moments she'd been left to her own devices, and she could have pulled it off, couldn't she?

(No, he would have put her back together, if she was still on his ship. It would have been too easy to keep her alive with all of his resources at his disposal.)

But now, she's here, somehow back in the Quarantine, and so is Peter. They're safe. They're alive. They're... something.

They're here. That's all she can process right now. ]

II. and par the course, something less dramatic

[shoplifter]

[Laura sits on a way too high perch somewhere in said training facility, legs dangling as she eats potato chips. She had been excited about Gamora's return — though in being with Quill, she knows something really terrible had happened in their world, something that made them both not quite themselves. So she'd given her some time, let her re-adapt, and spied from a distance.

She's not really supposed to be here in the training facility, but it was easy to sneak by and hang out in the rafters. When Gamora tells the poor soul to run again, Laura gives a sitting ovation. Good job, that's top quality instructor. Leave no trainee standing.]

[godslay]

[ The poor trainee groans as they take off again around the course, but Gamora doesn’t immediately turn to the sound of applause.

Finally, hands on her hips, she looks away from her squad member to Laura. ]

What are you doing here?

[shoplifter]

[The girl, who is in her signature shades, looks down with interest.]

I am watching people suffer to pass the time.

[godslay]

Shouldn't you be in school?

[ Or... something. Literally anything else. ]

[shoplifter]

... I was in it for long enough.

[Laura no.]

And I am learning plenty here.

[godslay]

Learning plenty what?

[ How to torture people with physical activity?????? ]

ii; what up i'm back 4 more

[nostalgiabomb]

[ So apparently getting his shit nearly pushed in by a creature straight out of Gygax's Monster Manual (and before that, by a particular, giant bastard that shall not be named) is enough to force Peter onto medical leave. Which— is fair, considering he had lied about the injuries he had arrived with in the first place, and the last thing the Perimeter Guard needs is to send out a rescue party for one of their own.

(Or, more realistically, for the Perimeter Guard to send a party out to retrieve his body.)

A week later, and Peter's still about in the same boat as when he arrived. His back and right side are mottled with dark bruises, and he's still a little unsteady – but that's probably from the lack of sleep. In the meantime, Gamora has physically bounced back from whatever horrors she faced, and while Peter isn't well enough to resume work, Gamora, apparently, is.

So he tags along with her, because what else is there to do? (And more honestly, a part of him refuses to be parted from Gamora for too long.) Groot perches on his shoulder, his face centimeters away from a handheld video game that Peter recently picked up for him, and while Gamora runs her teammates through their paces, Peter helps the kid with his game. They don't stay the whole time, though; Peter and Groot wander away to see what the latest holiday has to offer, and wander back as Gamora creates a new drill to put her team through.

It's pushing past dusk and into dinner time, though, and it's well past Gamora's scheduled shift. Groot has fallen asleep in a makeshift nest made of Peter's jacket. The bandage wrapped around Peter's upper arm peeks out beneath the short sleeve of his shirt as he leans forward where he sits, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. He frowns at the poor bastard gets sent back through the wringer.

When he's out of ear shot, Peter offers quietly, ]

Maybe now's a good time to call it quits, babe.

they're havin a rull good time

[godslay]

[ Work helps Gamora distract herself. She absolutely cannot settle into doing nothing, not in the wake of her return. She can't sit on her hands, because that would leave her alone with her thoughts, and for right now... this is good.

This will have to do.

Whether or not she's being appropriately demanding with her trainees today, however, should probably be up for debate. They're exhausted, she can tell, but they're not running the course well enough. They're not fast enough. They're not strong enough. They wouldn't stand a chance against—

Peter's voice yanks her out of a short daze, and she looks back over her shoulder, considering him for a silent, extended moment. ]

It's only seven.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter regards her for a second, lips pressed together in a thin line as he takes in details in a breath.

Soon enough, he nods. ]

Yeah, I know.

[ "I know," and he says it like this is a reasonable thing to point out. "I know," like they haven't already been here for the better part of the day, like her poor team isn't on the brink of collapse.

He doesn't want to argue with her, it seems. ]

But it's about time we grabbed dinner, don't you think?

[godslay]

[ Gamora continues to regard him, before finally looking over to where Groot is snoozing in Peter's jacket, then back to her teammates who are most certainly dragging.

Finally, ]

Are you hungry?

[nostalgiabomb]

A little.

[ Not really. Admittedly, his appetite has been pretty poor since he got back, but he's not on the verge of collapsing from malnutrition, any time soon. ]

Your squad should probably get their dinner break, too.

[godslay]

[ Well, she probably should let them eat, and her shift is technically over...

She nods once, but still waits until her squad comes back around. A few look like they're about to collapse on the ground when they cross the finish line, and they all glance to Gamora like they're dreading her next order.

She jerks her chin towards the locker room. ]

Hit the showers and call it a night.

[ There's a communal groan of relief, and they all start to haul what might as well be carcasses out of the gym.

She goes over to join Peter and a groggy Groot, who's just barely sitting up and rubbing fists over his big eyes. ]

What are we eating?