riverviewlogs | ( closed ) domesticity isn't so bad.

Entry tags:

( closed ) domesticity isn't so bad.

who: Peter Quill and Gamora
what: An evening in the life of ridiculous space dummies.
when: August 11th — right before the amnesia event.
where: Community housing: floor 13, room 4
warnings: None!

[ Despite the fact that they've only been in the city for over a month, it's become surprisingly easy to find a new routine. It's far more laidback in comparison to their usual fare – less scrambling for legal and slightly-less-than-legal jobs – and only having to share a room with Peter is much better than the way they'd all been living on top of each other back on the Milano. There hadn't been much of an opportunity to adjust to the Quadrant, but their apartment is cleaner than the overall ship itself, so it has that in its favor. (That excludes the general messiness that comes from living with Peter, but that's bearable.)

But everything feels easier. The weight of the galaxy doesn't sit on their shoulders, they don't have to report to the Nova Corps, they aren't constantly recognized by "fans" or otherwise so— it's different. Gamora has a normal (emphasis on "normal") job for the first time in her life, and though it also happens to involve killing monsters and protecting anyone meandering beyond the wall, she has something as mundane as shifts. She reports in, handles a squad of her own for the Guard, but then she goes home for dinner like everyone else.

But being home for dinner means that a regular meal at roughly the same time has become part of her schedule, and since hers and Peter's shifts tend to coincide more often than not, that usually means they see to their dinner together. They've managed to sample a good deal of the restaurants the city has to offer, and their fridge is generally full of whatever leftovers they've had for the week; they don't cook much, but they still somehow manage to sit to eat together most nights.

It becomes a habit. In fact, she'd be more surprised by Peter missing dinner than she is by how they've fallen into such a domestic routine.

And that's what it is, isn't it? Domestic. Living together, eating together, spending downtime together. Sometimes that includes Mantis (because Gamora has become oddly protective of her, tentatively treating her like any of the other Guardians), but sometimes, it's little more than absently keeping busy near or with each other in the hour or so they may have to spare.

(Though as the days roll by, she's become especially fond of something as simple as waking up in the morning to see Peter snoring softly in the bed across from her. Sharing space isn't new, surely, but with their unfamiliar surroundings and all of this change – both here and back in their own universe–, just seeing him helps.

It makes her smile, and somehow, for the first time in a long time, she feels less displaced.)

Tonight, she comes bearing a bag of pasta for their dinner in various red and white sauces. She's discovered that this kind of food is actually tasty, and though she'd never experienced any of these sauces before coming to this city, she's decided that the Terran ones Peter had her try are more than worthwhile.

She unlocks the front door, letting herself inside, and then kicks it closed as she heads to the small kitchen to set down their food. She starts going through the boxes, putting them out one by one, before going to fetch a couple of plates and forks for them both (while ignoring the small pile of dishes already in the sink; they should probably take care of that tonight, but she maintains that it's Peter's turn again).

She pauses long enough to pull out her communicator and fire off a text. ]

Hurry up if you want to eat before it gets cold.

Or I'm going to start without you.

[ Probably not, but still. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Peter hears the way the line cuts, at least, and he makes a face as he pulls the comm device away from his ear. He grumbles to himself as he’s stepping into the lobby, as he’s walking onto the elevator— ]

Oh, okay, I’ll see you soon, Gamora. Yeah, no, don’t worry about ending the conversation properly. I mean, it’s only the polite thing to do. No, yeah, it’s totally cool, manners aren’t important or anything—

[ And he scoffs as the elevator doors slide shut.

In the allotted two minutes, the door to their shared apartment opens, admitting a still slightly disgruntled Peter into the space. He kicks the door shut, spotting Gamora. With an exasperated air, hands on his hips, ]

Uh. Bye, by the way?

[ At least Peter doesn't keep her waiting for much longer, and Gamora is content to flip through her comm device for those last couple of minutes it takes him to make it to the elevator and get to their floor. She doesn't look up at the sound of the door, only glancing around when Peter speaks. ]

I think you mean "hi."

[ She's clearly ignoring the criticism of that lack of goodbye, except: ]

Did you have anything else you needed to say that couldn't be said after the two minutes it took you to get here?

I did.

[ He didn't. ]

But now you're never gonna know. [ With a slightly wounded air. ] Because you were rude to me.

[ He harrumphs as he heads to the fridge, depositing his bag on a nearby counter to pluck things out. ]

Then it must not have been that important if you don't still need to tell me.

[ Clearly.

But she comes around to lean against the counter near him as he starts to unpack his bag. ]

What is all that?

[ He wads up the bag and stuffs it somewhere, because apparently Peter Quill, ever the pragmatist and recycler and full-time hoarder, saves his plastic bags. ]

Ice cream. It's a Terran dessert.

[ He suddenly realized earlier in the evening that they've been here all this damn time, and he still hasn't shoved ice cream in Gamora's or Mantis' face. Frankly, that's a crime.

As he's putting the little pint tubs into the freezer, he names off the flavors: ]

Chocolate. Vanilla. Mint chocolate chip. And last but not least—

[ This with a bit of a flourish, tossing the little pint up into the air, catching it with the other hand. ]

Rocky road.

[ ... which is technically just chocolate again, but Peter likes chocolate. ]

[ Gamora watches him pull out the pints with open curiosity. She's enjoyed most of what Peter has introduced her to, though she prefers the sweets in smaller doses, and she's had chocolate and vanilla flavors in other forms, so she's not too concerned about this "ice cream."

She reaches for the tub of rocky road in Peter's hand, raising a brow. ]

I assume it isn't made of gravel and dirt.

[ Terrans just tend to have weird names for things, she's learned. ]

[ He lets her take the pint from him, though what she says earns her a flat look. ]

Yes, Gamora. I thought we'd finish off dinner tonight by eating spoonfuls of literal rocks.

[ And now he's taking the tub back, scoffing as he puts it in the freezer along with the others.

Maybe Gamora doesn't deserve rocky road. ]

[ Rude???

Gamora returns his flat look with a bland one of her own. ]

They should have picked a better name.

[ —is what she's getting at here.

It seems terribly misleading.

But there's still dinner to be had, so she's willing to focus on the pasta instead of poorly-named Terran desserts, which is why she turns back to the food she'd set out on the counter, going to get the plates before she offers one to Peter. ]

I brought the ones with the those sauces you said were your favorite.

[ Because she genuinely pays attention when Peter tells her about the things he likes – and then she commits it to memory for later. ]

It’s a good name! [ A touch defensively. ] It’s got a history to it. [ Probably.

Please don’t ask Peter what that history is, Gamora. He doesn’t know it. ]

And, I mean, it’s memorable, right?

[ He shuts the freezer, and when Gamora offers him a plate, he takes it with a quick nod of gratitude. At her comment, though, Peter pauses for a second, eyebrows rising a little. ]

You did?

[ He’s not surprised she did that, but he’s surprised that she apparently remembers his favorites. Apparently he’s not used to anyone extending him that sort of consideration (or at least, he’s not used to anyone admitting it aloud), and it shows. ]

I... uh. Thanks.

[ Gamora absolutely is about to ask him about whatever strange history is behind "rocky road," but she's derailed by the naked surprise on Peter's face. ]

Did you think I would pick something you didn't like?

[ Though considering most of what she's eaten has been at Peter's recommendation, that might be difficult, at this point.

Still, the gesture stands. She purposefully bought the pastas he'd been the most openly enthusiastic about, because...

... she likes seeing him happy.

Even if it's over something as meaningless as pasta.

She goes about opening up the boxes, grabbing a couple of spoons to make it easier to serve themselves. ]

[ He huffs out a breath at that. ]

I mean, of course not. [ Because Gamora wasn't a dick, and Peter makes a point of criticizing the crap he doesn't like. Loudly. Vehemently. Repeatedly. Peter is a vocal person, obviously, but he's a lot more vocal about the stuff in his dislike column than anything.

So unless she was making, like, a power play, she wouldn't get the stuff he didn't like. ]

I just— figured you'd get whatever you wanted. [ And he says it without reproach; it just seems natural that if Gamora was getting dinner, then Gamora would get what she liked.

He tracks her movements as she's opening boxes, and— yep. Sure enough, it's all the stuff he likes, and he lets out a quiet sort of laugh. ]

You're the best. Have I mentioned that lately?

I believe you mention it at least daily.

[ Not that she minds hearing it from him. It's endearing, really, and the compliments that come more genuinely are welcome, because they don't feel like there's any ulterior motives behind them.

(Unless he wants something and he tries buttering her up before he asks. But that's different and much more preferable from flattering for the sake of simply stroking her ego.

She likes to think he already knows that won't get him anywhere.)

And as nice as she may have been about ensuring sure she picked all the right foods, she's still going to go ahead and serve herself first, fixing up a plate of some of each. It's all good, so it isn't like she's going to avoid anything; she may have gone for Peter's favorites, but they're also conveniently things she wants to eat, too. ]

Are we watching something tonight?

[ She goes to lean lightly against the counter to make room for Peter to serve himself, taking a bite of one of the pastas. ]

[ He doesn't seem to mind that she goes first. Gamora's the one who bought the food, after all; only seems fair that she serves herself first. Once she's finished, he moves in to stand beside her, plating food for himself. ]

That was the plan. Unless you'd rather sit in awkward, stony silence until we both finish eating?

[ Another bite of the food, and Gamora just shrugs. ]

I would not be the one making it awkward.

[ But she does enjoy sitting with Peter and poking through the programming available to them, so she's hardly going to complain. ]

Did you have something in mind?

[ He nudges her hip with his as he's dishing up the pasta, flashing her a teasing smile. ]

You'd probably be the one making it stony, though.

[ Once he's filled up his plate, he plucks it up, nodding toward the couch. ]

I bet there's probably some cheesy sitcom that we can make fun of.

There always seems to be plenty of those.

[ It's not hard to mock sitcoms, after all, though they're also strangely enjoyable. The lives of the characters are so... simple by comparison to everything Gamora's ever known, and that's somehow comical to her.

But they're also generally cheesy and the writing is absurd, so that's the right kind of ridiculous too.

She pushes away from the counter, taking her plate with her to go sit in the middle of the couch. She doesn't take one end or the other in an effort to avoid sitting properly next to Peter, and instead, by choosing the middle seat, she's essentially guaranteed they'll be next to each other.

... It's not even an intentional choice, but rather something she does automatically.

She sets her plate on the small coffee table in front of the couch, then goes looking for the remote. ]

Where did you leave the controller?

[ He follows after her, and after months of practically living on top of each other in the small space of the Milano, by now, Peter hardly notices when he and Gamora end up side-by-side, or if their shoulders brush as they pass one another one the way from one end of their shared room to the other. Even their brief time with the wider accommodations of the Quadrant left them sitting hip to hip more often than not.

It's easy. It’s comfortable. And with Peter being a tactile person, the quiet points of contact soothe something in him.

Peter’s about to take a seat against the arm of the couch when she asks after the remote, and he purses his lips as he thinks back on it. ]

Uhhh.

[ He drags the word out as he sifts back through to last evening, and he leaves his plate on the small table. Instead of taking a seat, he picks through the pillows on the couch, and— yep. There it is, wedged between the seat cushions. ]

Gotcha. [ As he plucks it up, holding it out to her. ] I’ll let you pick the poison.

[ Gamora moves accordingly to make it easier for him to fish out the remote, and once he finally produces it, she takes it from him. ]

With so many options, how will I choose?

[ She says it fairly blandly, but it's not entirely sarcasm: there are a plethora of things to watch, all in varying levels of ridiculousness.

Settling back into her space in the middle, she brings her plate to her lap before she starts flipping through channels. She goes from one thing to another, then finally settles on one they've seen episodes of in the past – called Pals or something similar. Menial problems and bad jokes, but all the same, it serves a purpose.

And rather than letting the remote get lost once more in the cushions, she puts it on the coffee table instead. ]

[ Ah, okay, this one’s not bad, actually. Pretty over the top and ridiculous, but it’s kind of up Peter’s alley.

(Even if one of the romance plots is actually kind of obnoxious. Peter likes will-they-won’t-theys, but come on.)

And it’s weird, how— comfortable this is, how familiar. Sometimes he’d have dinners like this with Mom, watching Alf or Who’s the Boss? or whatever was on TV when she had a later shift. Background noise as they talked about their days, as Peter hemmed and hawed over whether or not the other boys at school were treating him poorly. As Mom pretended to not be exhausted from a long day at work.

But it's different, of course. Because it's Gamora. Because she's warm against his side, and sometimes their shoulders brush. Sometimes Peter has to tune out the TV to mess with the pillows so they're both comfortable. Sometimes when she doesn't finish her dinner, he'll snag a bite from her plate without thinking.

Currently, Peter snorts out a derisive noise. ]

"On a break."

[ He echoes it in a throaty sort of voice, corners turning down in an exaggerated scowl. He stabs at a few pieces of pasta with his fork, bringing it to his mouth. He chews for a few seconds before saying around the bite, ]

That's not how that works.

[ how would u know, peter. ]

[ Gamora's brow rises, and she glances at him out of the corner of her eye. ]

You don't agree with him?

[ Obviously, Gamora is far from Russ's side of this entire argument, but she's almost surprised that Peter isn't sympathizing.

(Pleased, but surprised.)

As far as her food, however, she's finished off one particular type of the pasta on her own plate, so she reaches over to steal a bite from Peter's. ]

[ He snorts again, chewing another mouthful of pasta. ]

It's a dick move.

[ And maybe the words are cast out a little more grimly than necessary, but there it is.

When she reaches over with her fork, Peter's first instinct is to pull his plate away and let out an irritated, ]

Hey—

[ An old habit from his days with the Ravagers, when he had to guard and scarf down his food before someone snatched the best bits of his dinner.

But he relaxes almost as soon as he does it, letting her take what she likes. Still, he grumbles a little, looking at her askance. ]

I guess you can have that, by the way. [ In the most put-upon tone in the galaxy. ]

[ That grim note in Peter's tone is enough to make her focus on him a bit more intently, but for now— she doesn't comment. She could pry, but she also realizes there's only so much she should do at a time, and occasionally it's simply best to leave things be between them.

If they need to address it later, they can.

For now, though, she seems content to look pleased by her mouthful of food, and as she chews her stolen bite, she offers Peter her own plate.

"WE WERE ON A BREAK!" Russ declares loudly from the television as the other pals take that as their cue to evacuate their apartment. ]

I hope Rachelle doesn't forgive him. I am completely uninterested in watching them continue their relationship.

[ ~~Could she be any less interested?~~

A bland comment as she reaches for another bite of Peter's pasta.

... She could get another serving of her own, but apparently, she's not going to do that. ]

She deserves better.

[ Is she actually commenting on the status of a sitcom character's romantic entanglement?

Peter might be rubbing off on her. ]

[ He takes a forkful once she offers up her own food, apparently mollified enough by the exchange. ]

That guy's kinda obnoxious, huh?

[ He scoffs in derision again – though not at the way Gamora snags more from his plate. He takes another bite from her plate, as well, he gestures at the television with the pasta skewered on the end of his fork. ]

If you're in love with someone, if you want it to work, don't get to just friggin' put it on pause.

He's intolerable.

[ Sniveling and whiny and unable to own his mistakes? Gamora absolutely can't stand him.

And with another bite of (Peter's) pasta, she nods. ]

I agree. I would understand taking time to be apart, but that shouldn't dissolve their entire relationship.

[ Or, well, she understands in theory. She doesn't exactly have experience to guide her opinions, but she assumes that's how she would want someone to behave. ]

He acts like a child.

Yeah.

[ "Intolerable." "Acts like a child."

Now, why does that sound familiar?

Maybe there's a reason Peter doesn't like this dude. Maybe there are a lot of reasons, and all of them circle back around to the fact that Peter's been accused of exhibiting a lot of those qualities, or that Peter recognizes a lot of those flaws in himself, and that he kind of hates it.

Or maybe Russ is just genuinely unlikable.

He snags another bite from Gamora's plate (and maybe they ought to just switch plates at this rate, considering they seem to prefer whatever's left on the other's plate, but nah). ]

I just don't get it. How the hell a guy can be so into someone, can claim to be so crazy about her, and still be douchebag enough to just— set it all aside?

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