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

[ 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.

Of course it would’ve.

[ And this manages to get a bit of feeling back in him, just a touch of incredulity and frustration. ]

If I hadn’t screwed it up, we could’ve taken the gauntlet. I could’ve— I could’ve used it and turned him into glitter.

I could’ve gotten the Time Stone from Strange, or I could’ve taken it from him. And I could’ve found the Mind Stone on Earth and taken that, too.

I could’ve brought you back, Gamora. I could’ve—

[ —fuck. Fuck, this is exactly what he didn’t want to do, because his throat is closing up, and guilt snaps and writhes in his chest, dark and hideous and all-consuming, and— ]

I watched them die. Mantis and Drax. They died because I screwed up. Half the universe, just gone, because I fell apart, and I—

[ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’s going to lose it. He’s been keeping it together for weeks – because he didn’t during that moment on Titan, but he’s been trying to now, because he can’t fail his team again. He can’t have them witness him falling apart again. He needs to be strong for them when he couldn’t be before, but—

He can’t. He fucking can’t. And that’s always been his problem, hasn’t it? He’s not strong enough for this. ]

It’s my fault. I fucked up and took down half the universe with me.

Peter.

[ She can hear it in his voice; she can see it on his face. She feels it, too, that writhing, angry guilt, vicious and promising to eat her whole, because she deserves it, because she helped bring the universe down around their ears, and all of those people died, and they didn't have to, if she— ]

It wasn't you.

[ She could have stopped it earlier, before Thanos ever caught her. Maybe she should have run, put distance between herself and her team to keep them safe—

No, that wouldn't have saved them, any more than it saved Nebula. Thanos would have swept them up and waited for her to come calling.

He would have found her. He would have found a way, because he knew. He knew, and he knew she wasn't strong enough to bear the weight of that knowledge if he threatened what she loves. She can't, she can't, she—

She tugs Peter towards her by his wrists, staring at a point on his collarbone with that sadness and steel behind her eyes. ]

It. Wasn't. You.

[ He resists when she pulls him, shaking his head sharply.

She’s wrong. She’s so horribly wrong, and that rarely ever happens. Or maybe she’s just saying this shit to try and make him feel better? Like, some misguided attempt at soothing away his guilt?

But he doesn’t deserve that. Not really. Not when every single one of his fuck-ups made it all happen. He deserves all the shit that’s coming to him. For not being fast enough on Knowhere, for hesitating, for not keeping his word. For losing his shit on Titan. For not helping Stark and the kid wrestle the gauntlet off of Thanos and using it against the bastard, once they had it.

For his inability to protect his team. For his failure.

You don’t understand. [ And his voice is rough, barely above a whisper. ] You weren’t there on Titan. You didn’t see how it happened.

That doesn't matter.

[ And she says it with her own conviction, even hoarse as her voice is, as she refuses to let him go. ]

You were in that position because I put you there. On Knowhere, on Titan – all of it.

[ Keeping the Soul Stone from Thanos feels like the last stopgap. The only one that mattered, because he knew where to get the rest of them. He knew how to take it all, if he'd wanted to.

She was the missing link. Vormir was the last piece of his puzzle, and she'd solved it for him. ]

We weren't going to win.

[ It feels like a stab in the gut when she says that, and he looks stricken again, eyes wide and lips parted.

We could’ve, he nearly says, but does he want to say it? Peter’s already gone through every dance number in his head, has changed the steps, over and over and over to determine where he went wrong. He’s spotted a billion different slipups over the past couple of weeks, corrected for them, and—

He really thinks they could have won. He honestly and truly believes if he had just been better, none of this shit would have happened. Thanos would be dead, and the Infinity Stones would have been scattered across the universe again. Peter would still be back home, with Drax and Mantis and Rocket and Groot. They would have kept existence as they knew safe for yet another day.

(But if he had been faster on Knowhere. If he had shot first without trying to talk Thanos down, if he had succeeded in keeping his word to Gamora—

On the off-chance that Thanos let them live after that, would Peter have been able to live with himself?

Ego, sighing and shrugging: I did what I had to do.

And Thanos, with milky eyes, through gritted teeth: I had to.

Gamora had asked this of him. It would have been wildly different, Peter knows, but in his heart? It feels the fucking same. And Mom had told him, over and over, You’re so much like your daddy.)

He lowers his gaze to the hollow of Gamora’s throat, swallows around the ugly lump that’s lodged itself in his esophagus.

And the only thing he can think to say: ]

I’m sorry.

[ He looks like she's slapped him across the face. It twists in her stomach, and she has to move her hands up, up his arms to bracket his face as she steps into him. ]

So am I.

[ She won't tell him not to be sorry; mistakes were made, on all sides, by all people. She feels like she has the most reason to seek repentance, but she has no idea where to even start. She could have— she should have—

And she didn't. ]

Look at me.

[ She smooths her thumb over his jaw, tugs gently, but with some of that heavy exhaustion that's held fast since she woke up in the Quarantine. ]

[ When she releases his wrists, he lets his hands drop to his sides, heavy and limp like a marionette with its strings cut. His jaw clenches, a muscle jumping beneath the pad of her thumb, and for a few seconds, he doesn’t move.

But he relents, soon enough, just barely lifting his gaze to meet hers, and his own exhaustion mirrors hers. He’s barely slept since he’s been back; how could he, when every time he shut his eyes, he kept reliving every moment? Gamora, with tears in her eyes and resignation in her voice. Staring sightlessly at the console as they sat on Knowhere, music blaring overhead. Mantis, crumbling away, and Drax, calling for him with fear and confusion in his voice.

Peter doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he’s sure as hell been haunted since he arrived back in Riverview.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches her with a bit of trepidation. He’s not sure what it is she means to say, but whatever it is, a part of him is reluctant to hear it. ]

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