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riverviewlogs2017-08-09 02:17 am
godslay) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-08-09 02:17 am
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. ]
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. ]
no subject
—What.
[ What. ]
Three months. You're— you're saying I'm missing three months.
no subject
[ The gravity in her tone leaves no room for levity, no lies or bent truths. ]
A lot has happened.
no subject
He sits down on the couch, because apparently standing might be asking too much, and he covers his face with his hands. ]
This is un-fuckingreal.
no subject
She purposefully refrains. ]
I am— sorry, to have to tell you like this.
[ To have to tell him at all. The apology doesn't come easily, if only because this isn't her fault, she's certain of that, but she can see how difficult this is (and she doesn't blame him in the slightest). ]
Do you need a moment?
no subject
Three months, she says. Three months just— gone. And how the hell does that even happen? Did he just— leave the front door open and those three months ran off? If he just waits, will they come back of their own accord? Does he have to slap up some "Lost Memories" posters and offer a reward?
What the hell is he supposed to do?
And part of him still doesn't believe it. Maybe those recordings had been faked – though he has no idea why anyone would go to the trouble. Maybe she's playing an elaborate prank on him. Maybe this is a weird fucking dream, and any second now, he's going to wake up on his bunk in the Milano, blinking at the overhead and thinking, I should stop eating lovir before bed.
Do you need a moment? she asks, and Peter lets out a disgusted sound. ]
What I need is my stuff.
no subject
What you have there is all of it.
[ Aside from the aero-rig, perhaps, but they hadn't come through with the Milano, and— certainly not with the Walkman. ]
We weren't dragged into this place with time to pack.
no subject
How do I leave?
[ (not we, as it might have been just hours ago.) ]
no subject
You can't. The portal to our world hasn't reopened.
The thing that brought us here has kept us trapped, and until that changes, we cannot leave.
[ She says "we," if only because of their shared world.
Little else would be meaningful to him at this point. ]
no subject
Another shuddering exhale, louder this time. When he speaks, his voice is level but strained. ]
What happened to my Walkman.
no subject
... It was broken, before we came here.
It's— [ She hesitates, uncertain. ] It's gone, Peter.
no subject
How was it broken? Where is it? [ And as he speaks, his breathing becomes more ragged, something desperate and horrified taking hold of his voice. ] I could’ve— I could’ve fixed it. I would’ve taken the pieces. I would’ve kept it. I would’ve saved something.
It can’t just be fucking gone.
no subject
(Though she understands why he wouldn't accept it otherwise, given everything that Walkman means to him.) ]
There was too much chaos. Everything was going to hell, and by the time we could get you out, there was no way to recover any of it.
[ They'd needed to finish Ego. To get Peter away.
There's sympathy in her tone, something gentler, because she knows how important the Walkman is. They all do. ]
We couldn't get it back, Peter. We would have, if there was any chance.
no subject
Something in her voice tells him she’s— telling the truth. Impossibly. Inconceivably. She isn’t lying to him, and that just... makes everything worse.
He feels— hollowed out. He feels the air fly from his lungs. He feels his eyes sting. He feels something twist in his chest, cold and bitter and furious.
(That same feeling that had exploded him in in the Kyln, though he doesn’t remember it now. That same feeling that made him dart through the closing gate as the employees processed their belongings. That same feeling that had him shouting in the faces of armed men and women while handcuffed and vulnerable.
That same cold, all-consuming rage when Ego confessed to killing Meredith Quill.)
He snatches up the empty beer bottle from the table in front of him and gets to his feet in one smooth motion. The bottle shatters against the far wall when Peter hurls it with a shout.
He wants to scream. But he doesn’t.
He stands there, his back turned to her – Gamora, apparently – with his head bowed. His breathing is shallow, harsh, far too quick, his hands clench into white-knuckled fists, and his entire body shakes with fury.
A few seconds like this, before he spins on his heel, moving to brush past her toward the door. ]
no subject
That doesn't make it any easier to see. There's so much grief, so much that she's had to heap onto him all at once, and she wishes there was a better way. She doesn't know how else she could get him to see that his options are limited, that the reality of their circumstances isn't necessarily grim, but it's not like anything he could expect. She didn't want him to walk outside and find himself panicking when he had no idea what was going on, why he couldn't find the Milano, why all of it was missing.
She doesn't flinch when the bottle smashes against the apartment wall, but she watches the heave of his shoulders, the way he shakes. Any other moment, she would reach out to him. She would go to his side and just— do something, but here she stands, a complete stranger, and what comfort could he find in a woman whose name he doesn't even know?
Her jaw clenches, her own chest feeling so oddly tight, but when Peter goes for the door, she doesn't stop him. ]
— Floor 13, Room 4.
[ She calls it after his retreating back, wanting him to know where he can return to.
(He needs a place to sleep, doesn't he?) ]
no subject
Floor 13, Room 4.
For a moment, he doesn't move, torn between whether or not he should tell this woman to fuck off, that she can take whatever sort of offering this is – something that feels suspiciously like pity – and shove it up her ass. He doesn't need her help, doesn't need her feeling sorry for him, and the last thing he fucking needs is someone treating him like he's a charity case.
He clenches his teeth around the words, though, keeping them trapped in his throat. He doesn't acknowledge her beyond the pause in his step, and when he steps out, he slams the door shut behind him. ]
no subject
(She just hopes he'll want to find his way back.)
Instead of going out to the concert, she stays in the apartment and picks up the broken glass. The pieces get thrown into the trash, the rest vacuumed up, and because now she realizes there's no way he would possibly remember, she also washes the dishes.
It gives her something to do, but in the absence of a way to distract her mind, to keep herself occupied, she leaves the apartment long enough to go down to the Guard's training facilities. She sees some of her squad mates, who look surprised by her arrival ("Isn't it your day off?" they ask), but she pays them little mind as she falls into a few easy spars.
She fights. She runs. She pushes her body until she can't think of anything but the scream in her muscles.
And then, finally, she goes home.
(She picks up the noodles Peter likes along the way. She waits before having her own dinner, waits to see if he's going to show, but after the sun has gone down and she's waited long enough, she simply leaves a note on the box.
For Peter.) ]