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

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( 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. ]

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[ He grits his teeth, staring at her for a long moment.

He doesn't know what the fuck this is. The two of them, whatever they are, whatever it means to him, or at least, whatever it meant to him. He doesn't want it now – that's a fair assessment – but he did, at some point. He knows he did, because he looked... happy in those stupid pictures. Looked stupidly blissed out like he took a hit of something damn good. Looked content and pleased in a way Peter hasn't felt—

... possibly ever. And he doesn't know why.

And the part of him that'll try anything once if it's rewarding enough says, I want that. It's the attachments, it's the anchors, Peter could do without. ]

You ever jump in the middle of folks playing a game? Like, you just pass by, and suddenly you're part of it, but they don't tell you how any of it works? You don't know what you're doing, and they're getting pissed off at you because you're doing it wrong, because you're not playing how you expect them to?

That's what this is. I don't know the fucking rules, so I'm asking you what they are.

[ She— gets that, she does. It's exactly why she wants to tell him about this, but she'd thought she'd already been doing what she could to not expect things from him.

(She didn't send him messages after he'd left, hadn't mentioned the concert again after it became clear that everything was wrong, hadn't tried to treat him like he should be behaving the same way he had before.

Is she doing this wrong?)

She breathes out shortly through her nose, steadying herself so she doesn't snap back. ]

We don't— have rules. I told you, we haven't discussed this.

[ That smooth expression gives way, just enough, and she shakes her head.

She feels lost trying to explain this. ]

So much has happened, Peter. Things changed so quickly for us, and then we were dragged here, and—

Now we have this. [ She gestures at the apartment around them. ] We go to work, and we eat takeout and watch insufferable people on television talk about their trivial lives, and we listen to your music and...

We dance.

[ She stops, frowning as she looks away from him. ]

We do not have rules. We just... are.

[ He sees the moment her mask gives way, and it douses a great deal of his anger.

He knows this is fucked up for her, too. Or he knows it distantly, at least, like recognizing back on Earth that the seasons were flip-flopped in the southern hemisphere. A fact he knows, but he forgets it until it's brought up again.

It's not her fault he's lost all this time, but she's the easiest target. The only one within reach. And that's shitty of him to keep taking it out on her, but he's— having a really shitty day. It's not an excuse in the slightest, but for now, he feels like it's a valid enough reason for his frankly shitty behavior. ]

So where's that leave us now?

[ A little less sharply than before, at least, and his exhaustion bleeds through.

What a day. ]

[ She lets her gaze flicker back to him, taking in just how tired he looks. ]

Wherever you decide. You should not feel obligated to something that you don't want.

[ And he's made that clear enough. ]

Given that you aren't the only one dealing with this, I... assume something can be done to find the cause.

[ He huffs out a breath, something caught between an irritated noise and a sigh. ]

Yeah, sure. It might just be something we all ate.

[ A touch of sarcasm, because that tends to be his fallback defense mechanism.

He watches her for another few seconds, studying her. This new information should've shifted a few things into perspective, should've made him feel a little more comfortable, now that some of the pieces have clicked into place. Instead, he's just— more uncertain. Because even while she's saying she doesn't expect anything from him, that doesn't mean that she won't, despite it all.

It just makes the unsteady ground even more difficult to traverse.

Eventually, he slowly returns to the table, lowering himself into the seat across from her. ]

Even if they figure out what happened, that... doesn't mean it's reversible. You get that, right?

[ It isn't what she wants to hear, because she's been trying to focus on believing that this can be fixed, that somehow, there will be a way to get his memories back. Gamora has been reaching for that optimism (the same optimism that drove her to encourage Peter to give Ego a chance, but, well, look how quickly that deteriorated), but there it is, the cold, hard reality spread out on their little table. ]

... I'm aware.

[ And she's aware of the difference that would make for them. For what they had.

This Peter never brought the Guardians together. This Peter never fought alongside them to save Xandar. This Peter never plucked her out of the vacuum of space. This Peter never held her hand as he shared his mother's music. This Peter never danced with her to Sam Cooke. This Peter never showed her the wonders of Terran food or asked her to the masquerade or stood with her in the gardens under the light of alien flowers.

This Peter never loved her.

(Because she still remembers what Mantis had said on Ego's ship. Vividly.) ]

So what do you want to do?

I dunno.

[ Breathed out, that edge of irritation still sharpening his tone. ]

Look. I'm sorry for flipping my shit at you earlier. [ The apology is a bit of lip service, doesn't sound entirely sincere, but it's the polite thing to do. ]

But this is fucked up. For both of us. [ And he's finally acknowledging it aloud, at least, that he recognizes that he's not the only one screwed over by this. ] I barely know you, and I'm willing to bet good money that you're not too happy with me, so it's— it's weird.

[ It's fucked up, to borrow his own phrasing. ]

I can find someplace else to crash.

[ ... She hates that idea, she realizes immediately.

When was the last time she was living in anything but close proximity to Peter? It's become natural to at least exist in the same space as him, and if he's not there—

Then it's probably easier for him.

Her jaw tics slightly, her fingers still curled in her lap. ]

Fine.

[ She nods towards the bedroom. ]

There are things you can take with you.

[ She's not trying to rush him out the door, and she doesn't want him to go (because maybe being around someone who used to be important might... jog his memory? or maybe she's only being selfish), but considering she's surprised he came back in the first place, maybe she already expected he would go— be somewhere else. ]

[ Oh.

Uh.

Part of him had kind of hoped she'd, like, insist that he still had a place here, but— no, maybe not. Not when he's not the man she probably wants. So that kind of backfired on him, and, you know what? He deserved that.

He'd said it himself, after all: It's fucked up.

And, really, it's probably a better idea for him to put some distance between the two of them. They're strangers without that shared history between them, and if this is permanent, as he thinks it probably is, then why stick around to rub salt in whatever wounds she's carrying? Why stick around, when she's just going to confuse the shit out of him?

He gives a quick nod, rubbing at the back of his neck. ]

Okay. Cool. [ He forces confidence into his voice. ] Better than starting over from scratch.

[ Gamora is still biting back her initial ache to tell him to stay – but she also assumes that the reason he suggested it was because he doesn't want to be in the apartment to begin with. It's not like it holds sentimental value to him now, something just as foreign as wherever he may find instead, but at least wherever else he may go won't have the addition of this, of her, of that big, terrifying thing that so clearly sends him into a panic.

... All the same, that sharpness in her chest hates the idea of waking to that empty bed all over again.

It looks like she'll have to get used to it. ]

There are many vacancies in this building or I'm sure there's temporary accommodations you could find.

[ Or he could charm his way into wherever he liked, she's sure. ]

You have a job with the Perimeter Guard you may wish to continue.

[ She's forcing that evenness back into place, trying to recover from that slip in her composure – though she can't seem to will the tension out of her shoulders or to release the white-knuckled grip of her fists in her lap. ]

[ He nods slowly at her suggestions. He was kind of figuring he’d just hole up in a motel or something; the idea of charming his way into someone’s bed is a little soured now, after all, with that weird thing hanging between them. It might not mean anything to him, now, whatever it was they had with one another, but it means something to her, and—

He reluctantly thinks of Mom, looking wistful on clear nights while looking up at the stars. Sad and lonely and lost.

He doesn’t want to do that to another person.

So is leaving better orworse?

She continues on, though, and his frown deepens. ]

What’s the Perimeter Guard? [ Because it sounds weirdly official, and Peter’s not really one for the straight and narrow.

Then again, he never thought he’d be one for dating, but he’s been wrong more than once today. ]

It's an organization responsible for protecting the city from anything that may seek to get past the fences – and to aid anyone who goes beyond the safe zone.

You are part of the surveyor unit, responsible for salvage and repair.

[ She shrugs, offering the explanation plainly. ]

You may find you enjoy it.

[ Peter had when they were getting settled in, at least. Memories or not, it still may be the kind of job he'll put up with. ]

[ His eyes narrow again, something doubtful in his gaze.

Peter hasn't worked an honest day in his life, really. Working with the Ravagers meant working a whole lot of odd jobs at his own pace, many of which required stealing or shooting his way out of messes. It's what he's good at. ]

Maybe.

[ A bit of skepticism in his voice, and he lets out a breath, shaking his head.

His gaze falls on the takeout box with the little handwritten note. Nothing more than two words, but it's— weirdly personal in a way that makes him uncomfortable. He pulls the box over – cold, of course – and flicks his gaze up to her. ]

Was this you?

[ as if it was anyone else. ]

[ Gamora glances over to the takeout box as Peter draws it in front of him, and something softens in her eyes, her voice a little less removed when she speaks again. ]

Yes.

[ It had been a genuine gesture, a desire to see him come back to the apartment – and maybe a foolish one, now that she thinks on it. If she didn't want him there, she wouldn't have bothered, but she'd purposefully picked out the food he'd said he liked, had left it with the note for him, just— in case he returned.

Because she wants him in that apartment with her, memories of no.

Which is why she's actually willing to add, ]

... I was hoping you would be back.

[ She decides it's worth saying, because she doesn't feel like she's telling him what he has to do or what he should do, but... she'd set it out for him, knowing that he still likely wouldn't remember anything but still wanting to see him in their (her?) home again. ]

[ Well, then.

She may as well have punched him in the gut for how much those words hurt.

That sour curl of guilt writhes in his stomach, and he keeps his gaze fixed on the box.

He's not used to this. Someone waiting up. Someone wondering when he'd be back. Yondu and the other Ravagers always threatened to leave his ass in the dust if he wasn't quick enough getting back to the ship. And beyond those assholes, he never really developed a healthy enough rapport with anyone else for them to give enough of a shit to wonder where he was, to leave dinner waiting for him on the table.

Sure, he made friends. But he never made friends. Mostly by choice.

Whoever he used to be, whatever he lost in those three months (or more?), Peter can't help but feel like that guy was a giant dumbass, setting himself for heartbreak.

Peter doesn't push the box away, though he's tempted to. He studies it like it might pop open at any moment – any excuse to keep from looking at her. ]

You didn't have to bother.

[ Gamora has taken a lot of steps forward in the last three months. She's learned a great deal about herself, about what it means to sincerely trust people, to feel safe with those she surrounds herself with.

To have these feelings for Peter.

But right now, it feels like everything she put forward, all those tentative steps she's taken with him, the parts of herself she's trusted to him, don't matter.

(And they don't, she realizes. They genuinely don't, because he has no idea who she is or what they've been through together.) ]

I wanted to.

[ Even if he didn't remember. Even if it nothing had changed.

But this is probably making it all worse. ]

... Just take it with you.

[ Because he's still going, isn't he? ]

[ His eyes harden as he stares down at the box, jaw clenching into a tight line for a second.

He should go. He should leave. Because this is weird for both of them, and maybe they weren't actually a thing, but they were close enough that they were— intimate, he guesses. Little conversations back and forth of offering and giving favors.

("Mind if we get noodles tonight?"
"I'm at the store. Need anything?"
"Set off some fireworks and praise the hell out of me: I did the dishes.")

But he's not sure how much of that was friendship, or how much of that was their weird... thing.

(And, see, the thing is, Peter wouldn't mind friendship, so much. He's friendly, sure. It's simple for him to get buddy-buddy with someone, but actual companionship? Something that lasts beyond the handful of moments he spends with someone in the flesh? Something that doesn't end the instant he leaves someone's sight?

He hasn't really had that since Earth.)

He swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, shifting in his seat. ]

... Listen.

[ Uncertainly again – that seems to be the theme for the night. He winces at himself, head chin dipping a little more toward his chest. ]

Listen. If you want me out now, I'll go. But do you mind— just for tonight, obviously. But do you mind if— maybe I just crash here?

I mean, I'll go, if you want me to go. But it's late, and— I can head out tomorrow.

[ Listen.

Gamora isn't certain what she's suddenly bracing herself for, but she distantly realizes it can't be much worse.

She watches him intently, despite the way he doesn't make eye contact, studying him for— something. (She has no idea what.) She waits, and she listens, and it's... actually not what she expected.

Better, maybe? ]

... Stay.

[ She doesn't say "stay for tonight" or "stay as long as you want," because she wants him to interpret it however he wants, whether he decides it's just until the next day or if he wants to see what comes of continuing to coexist with her. ]

[ He risks a glance up, doubt still clear in the thin line of his lips, in the narrowing of his eyes. He figures she means just for the night, and that's— probably okay. But— ]

You sure?

[ Because this is more her space than his, and Peter may be a self-proclaimed asshole, but he's not dick enough to intrude on someone's space where he's not wanted.

(Unless he's stealing something. But that's work.) ]

If I wanted you gone, you would know it.

[ Gamora isn't exactly subtle, after all, and feelings for Peter or not, she wouldn't offer him a place out of obligation. ]

You can stay.

[ However long that ends up being convenient for him.

(Even if a part of her still, still hopes something can be done, that something will change.) ]

[ His gaze darts away from her again, a weird knot of confusion and curiosity (and fear). He doesn't get it, if he's honest. Doesn't get why she's making these offers when she knows he thinks of her as a stranger. Maybe it's just some misplaced sense of loyalty, for whoever the hell she remembers him being before all this?

All the same, he supposes it works out for him, at least for the night. A place to crash for the evening before he sets out tomorrow. (Because he should leave tomorrow, as he suggested. Because this is too fucking weird.) ]

... Thanks.

[ Is what he offers up for now. He licks his lips, idly glancing around the little kitchen for lack of anything better. ]

If you wanna head back to sleep, go ahead. I might be up for a while still.

[ There's a flicker of hesitation, but finally, she nods. ]

All right.

[ In another circumstance, she absolutely would have offered to stay up with him (or maybe not offered, but simply decided she would), but considering it wouldn't have nearly the same kind of comfort for either of them now, there's no point.

She pushes away from the table, getting to her feet. Before she steps away, she pauses, glancing at him again. ]

If you need to know anything else, ask.

[ Like where he works, perhaps, or something else mundane; she assumes that's what he's most likely to want to know. ]

[ He can't help the quiet sigh of relief that escapes him when she stands. It might have been a nice gesture if she'd stayed, but it would've just been awkward for the both of them. Peter, making small talk. And— Gamora, he reminds himself. Gamora, having to suffer through the idle chatter of him testing the waters.

It's too late in the night for all that bullshit. Maybe in the morning, it'll be easier, but not now.

At her offer, he nods, offers a tight-lipped sort of smile that fails to reach his eyes. ]

I'll try not to wake you when I come in.

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( closed ) domesticity isn't so bad.

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