( closed ) domesticity isn't so bad.

[godslay]

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. ]

Comments

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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. ]

[godslay]

[ There's something almost skeptical in the way Gamora looks at him, hesitant if only because this feels... different. Maybe it's the fever, maybe he's just legitimately that worn down, but this contact and this quiet way of asking for her help is such a separate experience from the last week.

... It must be the fever.

But, instead of turning him down, she gives a short nod, dropping her hand from his face to turn and adjust the way she keeps an arm secured around his waist.

It's meant to be steadying, helpful, but not so pointed that she'd practically carry him herself. She doesn't want him to feel too much like she's compensating for his own strength (mostly because she'd rather him allow her to help than protect his ego too carefully). ]

Kitchen.

[ An agreement, before she takes a step to help lead him out of the bedroom. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[godslay]

[ After Gamora deposits Peter into the chair at the table, she goes to the fridge to get his dinner out. She glances over at the tv, realizing she'd left it on, but she pauses when Peter speaks up. ]

... Have you been watching this?

[ She realizes he might have watched it while she was at work, but considering he'd been out of the apartment during any free time he had (from what she had noticed), she'd doubted that he'd bothered much with the television – and especially not the ridiculous shows they'd followed together. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[godslay]

[ She doesn't take her eyes off of him, meeting that confusion with something searching. "When?" she wants to ask, but she's also not convinced that won't raise his hackles again, won't make him try to brush her off for trying to pry into... whatever he's done with himself this past week.

So instead, she settles on, ]

I didn't realize you'd had the time for it.

[ But she goes to take out a bowl, transferring his dinner into it so she can heat it in the microwave. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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. ]

[godslay]

[ She hits a few buttons, frowning as she turns back to look at him, puzzled rather than angry.

(Even if part of her is almost... bothered by the idea that he might have been watching the show without her. Not that she should be or that it's reasonable, which is what surprises her all the more.

It's not like he would remember why it matters.) ]

It seems like it would be harder to watch it in a bar.

[nostalgiabomb]

—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?

[godslay]

[ Gamora blinks right back at him, confused by his confusion. ]

Any time I've passed you when you're returning in the morning, you smell like alcohol. Have you not been staying out drinking?

[ Because that had certainly seemed like what he was getting up to. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

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?

[godslay]

... Not for a while.

[ Not this entire week, at least.

But she also doesn't know how he'd remember watching it with her, since that had all been... before.

Hesitating, Gamora fills a glass with water, bringing it over the table to set it in front of him. ]

When did we watch it together?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ The glass of water goes ignored for now, and Peter lets go of the blankets in favor of rubbing at his temples with both hands, now.

Slowly, because the words are rising out of a fog, ]

When we bitched about— about that asshole. We— [ It's like a word he can't quite remember, knowing it starts with a "p," but the other letters won't fall into place. It's like having the snippet of a song, a few notes of a melody, but nothing else.

Maybe he's going crazy. Maybe his fever is melting his brain. But he swears— ]

You said he was intolerable.

[ And childish. And those words had stuck with him, while everything else is sluggishly moving into place. ]

[godslay]

[ There's a moment where Gamora is just stunned into silence.

All of that had been before he'd woken without his memories. All of that was from here, their time spent together, and not from whatever section of his life he'd remembered where she and the Guardians weren't a factor. ]

That was a week ago.

[ Her voice is careful, testing. ]

What else do you remember?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ That’s a big question, and it’s not like he can answer it without direction. His head pounds, and he grimaces with it, gritting his teeth as he tries to gather his thoughts. But it’s like herding cats, and he hardly knows what he’s looking for, and also there’s a tornado and the floor is lava.

(This is fine.)

But a part of him knows this is— probably important. That there’s a weight in Gamora’s voice that wasn’t there before, and they’re teetering on the edge of something. This is important. ]

Narrow it down.

[ Bitten out. ]

Ask me something.

[godslay]

[ Ask him what, she has to wonder. There are so many things, so much she could bring up, but— ]

What are the names of our teammates?

[ Because Gamora has yet to give him names (hasn't had much of a chance to catch him up at all, really), and remembering the Guardians... that's something. That would be more – beyond just the Quarantine and what he may or may not have seen in the city. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

Rocket. Drax. Groot. Mantis. Kraglin.

[ And the answer is as close to automatic, as easy as breathing. It takes a second for him to jolt to attention, and he jerks his head up to stare at Gamora, eyes wide and mouth dropping open.

Breathless and startled, ]

Oh, shit.

[godslay]

[ Something like open shock is there on her face, and she just stares right on back at him.

Then: ]

Where did you and I meet?

[nostalgiabomb]

Xandar?

[ This, with a little less certainty, and he scowls down at the table for a second before giving a decisive nod. ]

Xandar. You tried to steal from me.

[godslay]

[ Gamora tries not to look... as relieved as she feels, but the fact that he remembers it, uncertain as it may be, is so much more significant. ]

What about our time here? Do you remember what we saw in the gardens?

[ Bits, pieces, because she wonders the scope of his memories, if they're all slowly crawling back or if it's still dependent on some sort of timeframe. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He chews on his lip, rubbing at his temples. It's a few seconds before he slowly answers, ]

Those... glowing trees?

[ A question, because things haven't quite settled yet, like everything is still trying to find its proper place. That particular memory is still indistinct, still blurred. ]

Lots of weird flowers.

[godslay]

[ But it's more, it's something, and after this last week, a little of that weight of grief starts to ease off.

She nods, reassuring. ]

Yes.

[ She keeps watching him, taking in the way he's trying so hard to get it. ]

The tea must be working.

[ Right? It was supposed to fix this, and it's the only change that's been made since all of those memories just... vanished from his mind.. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He breathes out a tired laugh, relieved, and lets his forehead fall back against the surface of the table. ]

Yeah. Sounds like you won't have to behead that guy, after all.

[godslay]

It wouldn't be fair now.

[ Even if it did make him incredibly sick.

She goes back to where she'd left the bottle of painkillers before, bringing it to the table to set next to Peter's water. ]

So it... should all return? Your memories?

[ She asks it tentatively, uncertain, because she isn't sure what he was told specifically about the tea. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ The rattle of the pills in the bottle makes him turn his head, and he finally rouses himself again, sitting up to grasp the bottle and shake out a couple of the pills. ]

Guess so.

[ He sounds just as uncertain as Gamora does, if only because he hadn't expected it to work in the first place. ]

Some bullshit about some pollen blocking folks' memories. Then some other bullshit about some red leaf counteracting it, and blah, blah, blah, drink this stupid tea, you might experience some flu-like symptoms, happy trails.

[ He chases the pills down with the entire glass of water, then lets the glass and his head drop back to the table. ]

Maybe no murder. But I still feel like that jerk deserves to get roughed up a little.