[ Peter had figured she would shut him down again, would tell him there was nothing to talk about with the same, straightforward, exasperated air she had on the balcony on Ego’s planet. “There is no unspoken thing.” “We have nothing to discuss.” Even though there is, and they do, because in the time since the shit with Ego almost literally blew up in his face, since the two of them stood side-by-side as Yondu was commended to the stars, they’ve been building to something. He’s pretty sure Gamora sees and feels it, too, otherwise they wouldn’t be here; otherwise they wouldn’t be doing this.
But the answer she gives him catches him off-guard, and it shows – the way his eyebrows knit together, the way his lips part, the way he tilts his head as if he’s reexamining her.
Since they arrived here, Peter had figured they hadn’t talked about this because Gamora didn’t want to. It hadn’t occurred to him that they hadn’t talked, because she didn’t know what to say. He really should have figured that; he knows all too well that she doesn’t share Peter’s habit of talking and talking and talking, wandering around in circles until he finally stumbled on his point like searching a house for a set of keys. Gamora likes being certain, and this – feelings and vulnerability and this weird, warm, heavy weight of whatever they are – is far from certain.
(Even if Peter knows. He’s known for fucking months. He’s known since she took his hand, standing among the ruins of the Dark Aster, and called them a family; since she smiled softly at him on his newly rebuilt ship, listening to Mom’s new mix tape, and swayed to the music.)
He licks his lips, looking down at the napkin ring, rolling it between his palms again. Then, gently, ]
We don’t have to do this now.
[ Because things have been coming into focus, bit by bit, and he can content himself with it until she’s ready. ]
I mean, we don’t have to talk about it. We can just enjoy the night, have fun with the movie. But—
[ He cuts himself off, lifting his head to search Gamora’s face. There are a million things he wants to say and ask, and in the span of a breath, he seems discard about a dozen questions and statements, one after another. Once he comes to a decision, Peter sits up, visibly steeling himself. ]
But... it’s not just me, right? [ Quietly, hesitantly. ] You and me. There’s... something.
no subject
But the answer she gives him catches him off-guard, and it shows – the way his eyebrows knit together, the way his lips part, the way he tilts his head as if he’s reexamining her.
Since they arrived here, Peter had figured they hadn’t talked about this because Gamora didn’t want to. It hadn’t occurred to him that they hadn’t talked, because she didn’t know what to say. He really should have figured that; he knows all too well that she doesn’t share Peter’s habit of talking and talking and talking, wandering around in circles until he finally stumbled on his point like searching a house for a set of keys. Gamora likes being certain, and this – feelings and vulnerability and this weird, warm, heavy weight of whatever they are – is far from certain.
(Even if Peter knows. He’s known for fucking months. He’s known since she took his hand, standing among the ruins of the Dark Aster, and called them a family; since she smiled softly at him on his newly rebuilt ship, listening to Mom’s new mix tape, and swayed to the music.)
He licks his lips, looking down at the napkin ring, rolling it between his palms again. Then, gently, ]
We don’t have to do this now.
[ Because things have been coming into focus, bit by bit, and he can content himself with it until she’s ready. ]
I mean, we don’t have to talk about it. We can just enjoy the night, have fun with the movie. But—
[ He cuts himself off, lifting his head to search Gamora’s face. There are a million things he wants to say and ask, and in the span of a breath, he seems discard about a dozen questions and statements, one after another. Once he comes to a decision, Peter sits up, visibly steeling himself. ]
But... it’s not just me, right? [ Quietly, hesitantly. ] You and me. There’s... something.
... Right?