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

[ ... Not helpful.

She sighs, reaching for the hand he'd been scrubbing at his face. ]

Then I need you to stop deferring to me constantly.

[ Among the list of things she needs, she'll start with this. ]

[ He lets her take his hand, but at her words, he blinks at her, a little confused – and for once, he’s genuinely puzzled, rather than trying to feign ignorance to avoid having to take responsibility. ]

What are you talking about?

[ She shakes her head shortly, her lips pressed thin. ]

All you do is ask what I want. You talk to me like you're afraid I'll snap if something doesn't go my way. You keep trying to do everything for me.

Everything, Peter.

[ His frown only deepens, that confusion becoming more pronounced. He has a couple of false starts before he manages, ]

I’m— trying to be considerate.

You can be considerate and still be my partner. I am just as capable as I've always been.

[ She can hang up her own coat. She can handle the suggestion to eat pizza. She can take on more than just her own burdens. ]

[ He still looks slightly mystified, but— ]

... Yeah. Okay.

[ —this sort of offhand agreement is, very likely, exactly what Gamora’s talking about. At the very least, he’s not completely clueless (even if, in all honesty, he’s not sure why this is a problem), which is why he hastens to add, ]

I know you’re capable. I never thought you weren’t.

[ The agreement doesn't seem to placate her, because that's part of the problem. ]

Then why are you doing all of this?

[ He falters for a second, pulling back a little like he’s on the defensive (which he absolutely is.) ]

I already said. I’m— I’m trying to be considerate.

I can’t just do stuff for you without getting called out?

You can't do everything for me. You act like it's all the same, and it's not.

[ Everything is different now, and she can't be the only one feeling the weight of it. Peter has been going out of his way to ensure he's doing the caretaking – all of it – and Gamora can't go on being handled with so much delicacy. She's not okay, but she's not breaking, either, and she can't be the only one of them who's struggling. ]

I’m not—

[ —doing everything, except maybe he is. Maybe, kind of, a little, though it’s evidently not occurring to him until now. And he falters, pulling back entirely this time.

For a second or two, he looks at her with confusion and something approaching irritation. ]

I’m just trying to help. I’m trying to take care of everyone. Why the hell is that such a crime?

Because you won't let anyone take care of you!

[ ... This comes out more sharply than she intends. It's not the edge of aggression or real anger, but—

Distress? Frustration? Some combination of the two that Gamora couldn't even try to name?

(Distantly, she remembers feeling something like it back on Ego's planet, but that was so long ago.) ]

[ It's the sharpness of her words that registers first, way before the tone, and it's biting enough that he lets out a frustrated sound, getting to his feet with his Walkman still in hand. ]

I don't want to be taken care of.

[ It's been a while since Groot was this small, this impressionable, but old habits kick in again. When Peter responds, it's in a quiet hiss, keeping his voice low to avoid waking – or worse, upsetting – the kid. ]

And I don't need it, either. I'm dealing, okay? I'm keeping it together. [ His mantra for the past couple of long, endless weeks. ]

I just— I want all of you to be okay, but apparently I can't do that without getting the third degree for it.

But you are not okay, Peter. None of us are, but you can't keep all of this glued together on your own. That isn't how this works.

[ She still sounds frustrated and uncertain, but she at least has enough awareness to keep her voice down, to make sure they don't disturb Groot. ]

That’s exactly how it’s supposed to work!

[ And the words are sharp, defensive, still cast out on a low hiss. ]

I’m the captain, Gamora. [ Like that means everything. His hand shakes a little as he scrubs his eyes again before he lets out a sharp, frustrated grunt. His hand drops to his side, and he paces the small space. ] This is— you guys are all my responsibility. It’s my job to look after you guys, and—

And I fucked it all up back home. Just— really fucked it up, but now that we’re here, I can fix that. And that’s all I want, right now: to fix it. To make sure you guys are okay and to— to keep you all safe.

[ Gamora is finally on her feet again, and she steps up next to Peter, reaching up to set a hand on his wrist. ]

I am not your responsibility. I am your partner, and it's as much my place to keep you safe as it is yours as captain.

[ Her voice is firm, but that frustrated edge has softened ever so slightly. ]

I am not your job. What happened back home—

[ Her throat feels tighter all of a sudden, the words hoarser as she forces them out adamantly. ]

None of that was your fault.

[ He stares at her, jaw clenched and teeth gritted together. He holds himself rigidly, hands clenched into fists, like he’s trying to restrain himself from yanking his wrist out of her grasp.

He wants to snap at her, he wants to shout, Bullshit.

Because it is all his fault. Of course it was all his fault. He made a million mistakes that’s led them here, left them like this: broken and unsteady, barely holding together.

Instead, Peter stays silent, and he tears his gaze away to stare at the floor. ]

[ There's absolutely nothing reassuring about Peter's silence, even as he stares at her, and she's almost bracing herself for him to shout, waiting for that crack in his insistent need to take care of them— ]

You did what I asked. You did what you were supposed to. You weren't going to stop him.

[ But Gamora could have.

(Should have.) ]

No, I didn’t.

[ And the words tear their way out of him before he can stop them. ]

I really didn’t. You asked me to— you made me swear, and I— I didn’t do it. I didn’t.

[ And this time, he does try to yank his hand out of her grasp, trying to free himself to return to pacing. ]

It’s my fault. All of it. I didn’t— I didn’t keep my promise. And then I just— after he took you, I just— sat there. For hours.

Friggin’ hours, Gamora.

I just— I didn’t know what to do, so I didn’t do anything.

[ That weird emptiness had taken over, once Mantis and Drax had recovered. He had just slumped in his chair on the flight deck staring, head bowed as he listened to his music. It was like he was eight years old all over again, sitting in an uncomfortable, plastic chair, waiting and waiting and waiting.

And it’s been creeping over him at odd moments since he’s been back in Riverview. Shopping trips and outings and evenings spent watching TV, made long and awkward and silent as he floated out of himself, as he disconnected, as the world around him turned dreamlike and distant. ]

I should’ve used that time to figure something out. Literally anything. I should’ve tried to find you. I should have saved you, but I just sat on my ass, waiting around.

[ She doesn't try to grab him and force him to stay in place, and she watches as he goes back and forth, like he means to run a groove into the carpet.

She didn't know about this part. She hadn't thought to ask, hadn't thought to wonder how he'd gone through it all, how he'd processed what happened with Thanos—

(Because she'd been trapped on his ship; because she'd been dealing with her tormented sister; because she'd been dooming them all.) ]

What would you have done, Peter?

[ And it's not accusing now. ]

It wouldn't have changed anything if you tried to follow him.

Of course it would've!

[ Hissed out again, but his voice is rising a little. He has to stop to take a breath, gaze flicking toward the door leading to the bedroom. He thinks he can still hear Groot's quiet, even breaths, and Peter shuts his eyes for a second. ]

I could've found you. We could've broken you out. We could've run. Or I— I could've—

[ He pauses, rubs his eyes again with the heels of his palms. He's tired. He's just— really tired, and it's making him feel tense and overwrought. He needs to calm down. He needs to just— keep it together. ]

I could've kept my word to you. But I didn't. That's mistake one of five million. I didn't. So stop trying to say I did.

[ "I could've found you."

No.

"We could've broken you out."

No.

"We could've run."

No.

That was why she asked Peter to kill her, why she made him swear. If Thanos got his hands on her, she knew that was it; the window was closed. There would be no daring rescue, no escape by the skin of their teeth. She loves Peter, she trusts him implicitly, but she knows—

If Thanos had her, it was too late.

Her frustration is slowly softening into a sadness that's rarely slipped through – that resignation that closes up her throat, leaves fine cracks in the armor protecting her at all times. ]

I shouldn't have asked you in the first place.

[ That wasn't fair. And maybe—

Maybe she should have done something about it herself before Thanos ever had the chance. ]

[ He has no idea what to make of that sadness in her voice, and he lowers his hands to peer up at her, lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched.

Four years, and for all that time he's gotten to know her better, he still finds Gamora hard to read, sometimes. Like, maybe he can read her better than most people, but otherwise? Enigma. Total mystery. And it's led to more than a few misunderstandings, when he assumed one thing when the reality was another.

Does she mean she shouldn't have asked him, because she knew he couldn't do it? Or does she mean she shouldn't have asked him, because she should have entrusted it to someone else?

He swallows, the sound audible in the quiet of the room, and after a slightly shaky inhale, ]

I tried. I tried. But I should've— I just—

[ He froze. He absolutely froze. He thought facing Thanos would've been like facing any of the other assholes they had encountered in their time together. Talk them down, distract them, capture their attention so fully that someone else could come in low and from the side, but—

It wasn't anything like that, and it's Peter's fault for making such shitty assumptions.

His hands shake again as he rubs at his eyes, as he presses his hands against them hard enough that bursts of color flash on the backs of his eyelids. He can feel his throat closing up, can feel his eyes start to sting, but he shoves it all away as best as he can. ]

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I swore to you, but I couldn't—

[ He should look at her for this, but he can't. He can't seem to do much of anything right, these days. ]

I wasn't fast enough. I hesitated, and it's all my fault. I kept screwing up, over and over and over, and— everything that happened after that, that's all on me.

[ She lets him babble for a moment. She lets him stand there and shake, because at first, she isn't too sure how to step forward, how to help—

But she closes the distance between them. She wraps her hands around both of his wrists, not trying to tug them back from his face. ]

Stop it.

[ It's soft, a little hoarse, but firm. ]

That isn't your burden to bear, Peter. You tried, I know you did.

Even if you were faster— [ She pauses, her chin dropping as she takes a deeper breath. ] He already had too many of the stones; he could have done something else to keep me alive. It was already too late.

You don’t get it.

[ His hands drop from his face, but he doesn’t try to yank his wrists out of her grasp again.

And when he looks at her, he’s— obviously exhausted. Drained. And maybe he should feel— broken? Angry? Sad? He should feel everything, but instead he just feels numb and empty. ]

We had him, on Titan.

[ And there’s not much inflection in his voice; he’s been grappling with this truth for weeks, and the guilt of it has been fucking wrecking him, and— he can’t feel much of anything about it, now. ]

Mantis put him under, and we were getting that stupid gauntlet off him, and we almost had it. We were so close, but I—

Nebula figured it out, what happened to you on Vormir. And I just... I lost it. I wanted to destroy him. I just— I couldn’t—

[ He cuts himself off, screws his eyes shut. He grits his teeth, ducking his head. ]

I snapped him out of his trance. He got free, beat our asses into the ground, and got the Time Stone from Strange.

And it’s my fault.

[ That startles her.

That piece, she had no idea, and—

Part of her thinks it wouldn't have mattered. Even if they'd succeeded, even if the gauntlet had been pulled free, even if— ]

I don't—

[ She stops herself short, her jaw clenched tight as she squeezes his wrists (not hard, not painful, just grounding). ]

I don't think anything would have been different.

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