godslay: (134)
ɢ ᴀ ᴍ ᴏ ʀ ᴀ. ([personal profile] godslay) wrote in [community profile] riverviewlogs2017-08-09 02:17 am

( 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. ]
nostalgiabomb: (041)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 10:21 am (UTC)(link)
[ He lets out a quiet hum, frowning a little. It hasn't occurred to him that anything he's saying or doing is out of the ordinary. It all feels normal – or as normal as it can be, while he's sweating out the effects of the tea and literally dying.

(He's not literally dying.) ]


Well, you are.

[ He wipes at his forehead with the edge of his blanket, peering blearily around their bedroom – for whatever good that'll do, considering how dark it is in here, safe for the dim slanting in through the window and from the doorway. ]

It's freezin' in here, isn't it?
nostalgiabomb: (043)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He frowns a little at her hand – not because he bristles at the offer of help, but because he’s heavily considering whether or not to make the floor his new home. He’s not comfortable, exactly, but staying where he is has quite a few benefits – chief among which is not having to move.

Eventually, he heaves out a sigh, gripping her forearm to haul himself up to his feet. He sways a little once he’s standing, but he stays upright, gripping the blankets around his shoulders. (In another moment, he’d compare himself to an old, doddering granny in a shawl. As it is, there’s a weird chill running down his spine that won’t go away, and he’s miserable, and fuck how he looks right now.)

But, hey, he’s standing. Pat on the back for him. ]


How long was I sleeping?
nostalgiabomb: (216)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 08:46 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He shoots her an exasperated look, moving to step past her to the living space. His current plan is to gulp down water like a man recently rescued from the desert, then choke down painkillers for his headache, then crawl back to bed to sleep off the rest of whatever bullshit the tea has done to him. ]

I’m not gonna—

[ —collapse again, says this dumb asshole, as he starts to collapse again. ]
nostalgiabomb: (076)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 09:07 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He grips her shoulder, trying to steady himself – though he apparently doesn’t have to bother, considering Gamora has the task of keeping him upright well enough in hand.

Defensively, he grumbles, ]


The floor moved.

[ He doesn’t immediately push himself away, though, because she’s warm against him. Eventually his legs feel steady enough to support him, and he exhales slowly. ]

Think I’m okay now.

[ Which isn’t quite a “you can let go now,” technically. ]
nostalgiabomb: (052)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 09:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He can’t quite help the way he cants his cheek into her touch, even with the fever making his skin oversensitive – the brush of her hand is almost like sandpaper, but he bears it happily.

At least until she starts talking, and he grimaces. ]


No.

[ And the word is punched out of him, even before Gamora finishes speaking. ]

No hospitals.

[ Because that’s surely what she means. ]

I just need to sleep it off, okay?
nostalgiabomb: (051)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Or. This is as bad as it’ll get and, sending me off to a hospital will just piss off everyone involved.

[ “The glass is half full, but also the glass is filled with vinegar” is basically Peter’s general attitude in a nutshell. ]

I just need some food and water in me. That’s all. We don’t have to end up some place so a guy can slap a bottle of aspirin in my hand, tell me to take two and to call ‘im in the morning.
nostalgiabomb: (219)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 10:34 pm (UTC)(link)
[ He offers only a bare nod, reluctant to dislodge her hand from where it rests against his cheek—

But that’s dumb, because he recognizes that moving from one room to the other will kind of necessitate the two of them, like. Separating. Which sucks, because he can’t shake this weird feeling that he hasn’t been in a room with Gamora in forever.

He steels himself, though, gaze flicking to the doorway. ]


Kitchen, then?

[ Which is his low-key way of asking her for help, because he may or may not fall flat on his face if he tries to get there under his own power. ]
nostalgiabomb: (122)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 11:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Peter’s pretty sure he’s never minded having an insanely hot chick at his side with her arms wrapped around him, so he’s hardly going to start complaining now. He appreciates the support, in fact, with the way his legs feel like jelly, and he’s probably far more grateful for the relatively small size of the apartment than he’d cop to, once they make it into the kitchen.

He drops himself into seat at the small table (the one they rarely use for its intended purpose, instead curling up on the couch to poke fun at whatever junk is on TV), and he folds himself over, pressing his forehead against the table’s cool surface. He keeps himself wrapped in his blankets, a miserable little cocoon of sadness at the dining table. Peter can’t remember the last time he’s felt this sick, aside from relatively frequent hangovers when he happened to be drinking with the others, and he decides it’s an experience he could’ve done without repeating.

The TV still hums away, the volume soft (probably in deference to him sleeping in the next room, though with everything going on with him, he doesn’t quite realize it). Still, the character’s voice is shrieky and loud enough that Peter hears the familiar line, “We were on a break!” and he scoffs. ]


Why is that guy literally the worst.
nostalgiabomb: (093)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-08-31 11:19 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Peter rocks his head to one side to peer up at her, squinting a little. Muddled as his mind is, he doesn’t read the confusion in her voice or on her face, but she can likely read it on his. ]

... Well, yeah. [ In a tone of voice that says “duh.” He’s pretty sure they’d been watching it together.

... Right? It sounds right. But if that’s right, why would she ask?

Peter frowns disentangling a hand from his cocoon to scrub at his face. ]


Kinda hard to forget a prick like that guy.
nostalgiabomb: (011)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-09-01 04:55 am (UTC)(link)
[ His answer is automatic, if still bewildered: ]

I had just as much time as you did.

[ Considering she was there almost every time he was.

He rubs at the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut against his headache. It's like— a weird shift. The stones in his head feel unsettled, sending down little showers of dust and grit, something like tectonic plates, grinding together.

There's something big he's missing. Maybe. Maybe? Or maybe it's the fever.

... It's probably the fever. ]
nostalgiabomb: (055)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-09-01 05:04 am (UTC)(link)
—What?

[ No, okay, they're getting some wires crossed, here, and Peter slowly lifts up his head, peering at her with bleary eyes. ]

What are you talking about?
nostalgiabomb: (098)

[personal profile] nostalgiabomb 2017-09-01 05:43 am (UTC)(link)
No. [ A pause, then, ] I mean, yes. Yeah. But I—

[ His brow furrows as he tries to think – which is surprisingly difficult, all things considered. He winces, massaging his temple with the knuckle of his forefinger. There's a weird pressure building behind his eyes, and he sort of hates it. ]

I mean— I didn't watch it a bar. [ His face scrunches up, and he looks back up at her. ] Wasn't I watching it with you?

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