riverviewlogs | ( open ) did you do it?

Entry tags:

( open ) did you do it?

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! )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ This is the kind of question that usually takes them in circles and tends to get on Gamora's nerves. But right now, she just quietly considers it, her lips pressed in a thin line as she makes a noncommittal sort of sound. ]

We can take something home.

[ That's probably easier.

She gives the bag of goodies a passing glance, though it reminds her that Dragosta is going on right now, and she'd said that she and Peter should do something to participate.

That... might be nice. Except for the tiny tree child they're responsible for, since he doesn't make the best third wheel. ]

[ He lets out a noncommittal hum in response, shrugging into his jacket – a different one, considering his usual jacket has a tear in the sleeve and a blood stain, neither of which he's entirely sure what to do with.

He hefts the bag, reaches down a hand to let Groot clamber up to his shoulder, though once the kid is there, he stretches his arms out toward Gamora. ]

Rice bowls?

As opposed to Peter's usual answer of pizza. ]

[ The way Gamora slots herself against Peter's side is effortless. It comes with the certainty and ease of doing it for years (and in her mind, she's almost started to lose track of the time; does it count as five years or just the four?), and she's completely unselfconscious about winding an arm around Peter's waist, her other hand coming up to gently hold onto his wrist. ]

Rice bowls.

[ Even if it isn't obvious on her face, she's pleased with the suggestion, rather than having to talk in circles around trying to force something healthier into Peter's system. ]

[ If he's honest, Peter's doing his best to keep Gamora happy, to do what she likes to keep her from backsliding into the horrors of whatever Thanos might have submitted her to, in their time apart.

(He doesn't ask. He doesn't want to make her relive it. All he knows is what Nebula told him: He came back with the Soul Stone. But she didn't.)

He's been giving the others the same treatment: a game or candy to keep Groot happy. Cute little trinkets offered up to Mantis. Whatever it takes to keep smiles on their faces, to keep their spirits up. Whatever it takes to keep their minds on the now, on whatever luxuries the Quarantine affords them.

Groot hops down from his perch on Peter to settle on Gamora, now that she's close enough. Peter shoulders the small bag and leads them out. They pass by a few of Gamora's teammates, still dragging themselves to the showers, though when the guards catch sight of the two of them, Peter's pretty sure he seems them pick it up a little – like they're afraid Gamora might catch them and order them to run another lap or two.

They hit up their usual place – or what used to be their usual place, all those years ago, though only weeks have passed in Riverview. Still a difficult fact to wrap his head around, but Peter just shrugs and goes with it. Food in hand, they head back toward the tram station.

Peter's quiet for a few breaths – an obvious indicator that he's rallying himself up for something – then, ]

You worked those guys pretty hard today.

[ Neutrally, quietly. ]

[ Gamora is adjusting, because that's what she does. She adapts and she survives, and this is no different. Before, that meant burying all the horrors of her life below a level that kept her from dwelling (because then she ran the risk of being swallowed whole by the reality, and that was weakness), but rather than blocking it from her memory now, it sits like a heavy stone in the bottom of her lungs – there every time she breathes.

Peter helps, though. He's there, and he's steady, and he reminds her that she isn't going through this alone.

... She doesn't want to be going through this at all, but she has him, and she has Mantis and Groot and the few other odds and ends of people that feel both endlessly familiar and like neighbors from a years-old home. Right now, her mind vacillates wildly between "I saw them a few days ago," and "I saw them four years ago."

It's an odd experience, on top of all the other hard things.

She keeps her eyes straight ahead once they pick up the food, only glancing sidelong at Peter for a moment. ]

They aren't anywhere near the level they should be. They needed it.

[ Another small, noncommittal sound. The tram arrives not too long after, and as they step onto it— ]

I just... I'm not sure trying to cram it all in at once was the best move.

[ She follows after him onto the tram, finding a place to stand. ]

Why? If they don’t push themselves, they won’t improve.

[ Another bit of a pause, and Peter does his best to keep his voice level. ]

Rome wasn’t built in a day. That’s all I’m saying.

And? I wasn't forcing them past what they could handle.

[ ... Which, to Gamora, means none of them collapsed. ]

[ Peter doesn't want to argue with her. He really doesn't. He presses his lips into a thin line for a second, then, ]

I couldn't help but notice a lot of them were on the verge of collapse.

[ She finally looks at him properly, her gaze sharp and focused. ]

Do you have a point, Peter?

[ He shifts the bag containing their takeout to his other hand – not for any real purpose, but just to feel like he's doing something. He doesn't meet her gaze, instead looking out the windows as the scenery whizzes past. ]

Just think it might be worth it to slow down.

I mean, you never pushed me that hard.

[ Either in Riverview or back home, in the four years they lived together. ]

[ A voice echoes in the back of her mind, for all of a second—

"Maybe I should have."

—but she doesn't dare let it slip. ]

Then would you like me to push you more when you return to duty?

[ Another beat.

Then, as evenly as he can manage, ]

You know that's not what I'm saying.

Then just say it.

[ His gaze flicks over to her briefly before returning to stare at the window.

And still in that careful tone, ]

You were being rough on them. Rougher than they probably needed. That's all.

Noted.

[ And she seems prepared to leave it at that, especially as the tram is slowing to a stop at their station.

Groot hangs onto her hair from where he's perched on her shoulder, but he keeps glancing back between the two of them with some measure of uncertainty as Gamora steps out onto the platform. ]

[ He lets Gamora step out first, watching her back for a breath or two.

(His hands are shaking again as he pulls one down his face, as he tries to rub the grit of one too many sleepless nights out of his eyes; they always seem to shake these days. Exhaustion, probably.

But he's keeping it together. He's tired, sure, and that familiar numbness sticks with him throughout the day more often than not, like he's on the outside looking in, but he's keeping it together. That's the important thing. He's doing a decent job, he thinks, taking care of the others. It's worth it.)

He follows her out not long after, staying a step behind as they return to the housing building. He's quiet as they go – a marked difference from the soft, reassuring babbling he had offered when she had first returned.

There's just... not much to say, these days.

But Groot flashes him a worried look, and Peter offers up a smile and a shrug in return, as if to say, What can you do, huh? It placates the kid for the moment. ]

[ She's— tired, she realizes. And it's odd to feel tired – actually tired, when her body needs so little sleep to begin with – but sleeping means stopping and slowing down, and it means leaving her open to too many memories and nagging nightmares and—

She has better things to do.

She makes it up to the apartment with him, going into the kitchen to let Groot hop off of her shoulder. She gets his food out first, and once the lid is off of his rice bowl, he's practically diving headfirst into it to stuff handfuls into his tiny mouth.

... He's an absolute monster, but the forks are still too big for him, so this... works?

She fetches utensils for Peter and herself, setting them by her own bag of food, before she's shrugging out of her jacket (a new one) to go hang it up. She's about to walk past Peter on her way to the closet, but she pauses, just long enough to reach out, set a hand on his arm (above the bandages she knows sit below his sleeve). ]

[ Peter sighs a little as Groot dives into his food, leaves a mess as he practically swims in the thing. He grabs hold of the kid by his waist, pulling him out bodily. ]

Slow down. That food's not going anywhere.

[ And Groot casts Peter a dour look, rice and sauce and bits of broccoli clinging to his face. He looks on the verge of saying something snitty, but instead, the kid just goes back to his food – albeit at a more restrained pace.

Peter's about to shrug out of his own jacket when Gamora pauses beside him. He— doesn't quite tense, but it's near enough, before he answers the gesture by resting his hand atop hers, lightly squeezing her fingers. ]

Go ahead and dig in. I'll take care of that.

[ And he holds out a hand to take her jacket. ]

[ She feels that shift, slight as it is, and she has a hard time not latching onto it as she glances down to his hand set over hers. She shakes her head, and she lays her jacket over her elbow, before holding her hand out for his instead. ]

I can take care of it. Just eat.

[ For another brief second, Peter looks on the verge of arguing, but—

He really doesn't want to fight. And especially not over something as stupid as putting a jacket away, so he nods, shrugging out of his own jacket. The movement on his right side is a little slower, a little more careful, but not so obvious as to be worrying.

He hands it over before taking a seat at the table next to Groot &ndash apparently he's intent on keeping the kid from literally swallowing down his own hand in his rush to scarf down the food. ]

Thanks.

Mm.

[ She takes the jacket from him, and she goes to hang the two garments up in the hall.

For half a second, she pauses at the closet door, pressing the heel of her hand over her eye – not rubbing, but fighting off some of the heaviness that's stubbornly clung to her since... well, since everything. But the moment passes, and she walks off to join Peter and Groot with their food.

Her fingers trail briefly over Peter's shoulder, before she sits beside him, pulling her bowl over to set in front of herself. She pokes at it with a fork, mostly watching Groot stuff himself. ]

[ As has been the case these past few days, quiet falls over them again. Usually they'd eat dinner on the couch, side by side, with the TV on while some movie or whatever programming passes for sitcoms on Riverview played. Peter hasn't done that since he's been back, though; the noise is— grating. The canned laughter feels irritating, the stupid situations the characters find themselves even more so, and it just— didn't entertain him, really.

The same has been true since Gamora's been back. It just hasn't felt right. So they have this instead: weirdly quiet dinners, because Peter is finding it harder and harder to keep up idle chatter, like he usually does.

He pokes at his food, deigns to take a mouthful, every now and again, though he's keeping an eye on Groot. When the kid starts picking up again, becoming a small hurricane and tossing food aside, Peter murmurs, ]

Groot. C'mon. Slow it down.

[ And the kid pauses, a hunk of meat hanging from his mouth. He chews slowly, pointedly, but does as Peter says.

With the silence broken, Peter clears his throat. Then, quietly, ]

You work again tomorrow?

[ Gamora lets Peter handle scolding Groot, if only because he's more on top of it than she is right now.

(It's somehow odd to be dealing with him at this age again? Not bad, per se, because he's... not quite so dour, but unfamiliar.)

She shakes her head with a sigh, resting her arm on the table as she takes a bite of her rice.

Peter's voice makes her glance up, but she shakes her head. ]

No, I haven't been assigned anything.

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