( closed ) but never break.

[godslay]

who: Gamora and Peter Quill
what: Soulmates Shenanigans
when: September 5th-8th (maybe)
where: ?????
warnings: People who are frustratingly bad at feelings.


[ Gamora has discovered two things since her encounters with that new flavor circulating around the city. One: Peter Quill takes up a lot of space in a very small bed. And two: she happens to like sharing that very small bed with the aforementioned Peter Quill.

Not that she's said that to him. Or mentioned the nights spent in his bed. Or done it again since – though that doesn't mean she hasn't been tempted to do so; there have been evenings when she's paused by her own bed, looking over to Peter's and considering crawling under the blankets before he comes in for the night or, on later evenings, nudging him over again to demand a spot on the bed.

But she doesn't – as much as it soothes her, as comfortable as it had been, and as well as she'd slept; she doesn't know how to mention it. Because the first night had felt like a fluke, and she's not entirely sure what had come over her. The second time she'd been affected physically in that odd, cold way, and— maybe she had encountered something, like that pollen that took Peter's memories. Or maybe it was that additive that had been in her coffee and the treats.

On the other hand... it had been so nice, hadn't it? She hadn't been opposed to sharing so much space with him, to being that close, and she'd been content. Beyond content, she'd been happy. And Peter had impressed her with how he'd handled it and the way he treated her, and she liked it.

But does that mean she's going to bring it up?

Probably not.

However, that doesn't mean she isn't thinking about it, which happens a lot in the following week. Actually, it's hard not to think about it, because the city itself seems to have been wholly overrun by a new festival dedicated to love.

What convenient timing (or possibly inconvenient, given it forces Gamora to keep running into all sorts of different romantic things throughout the entire week).

About halfway through the week, Gamora is still preoccupied with that... thing with Peter. Their months in the city and the time before they arrived, and that Unspoken Thing keeps looming over her, now with even more bits and pieces to consider. Finally, finally, she allows herself to be stopped by one of the vendors on the streets on her way home from work. He plies her with potions – which she immediately and adamantly refuses, because she has no interest in swallowing something she doesn't trust – and eventually, offers her a tiny jar with a red thread inside of it.

This, she looks at more seriously. Apparently, all she has to do is tie the thread around her finger, and an identical thread will appear between her and her "soulmate."

That sounds utterly foolish, because it's a silly idea on its own, but... what harm is there? She doesn't actually believe the claims that it will "help her find love," but considering how much she's struggled with her feelings recently, why the hell not?

She accepts the bottle from the vendor with the small string inside of it, and once she's headed down the street, she opens it up and pulls out the thread and note.

... Well, the note is useless, but the thread she ties around her pinkie finger.

Almost immediately, the thread begins to glow, and the light trails out and away from her hand, long and red and disappearing into the crowd. People walk through and over it with hardly any problems, so she has to imagine the vendor wasn't kidding that only she and one other person could see it, but she still tugs experimentally at it, watching it move and wiggle like normal string might.

Frowning, she unties the thread, and—

Ah. The light is still wrapped around her finger.

... She also realizes she forgot to ask how long this would last.

With some measure of reluctance, she starts to head through the crowd, following the thread to at least see where it leads. ]

Comments

[godslay]

[ Here lies Peter Quill: murdered for a prank.

She pauses halfway through spearing a bite of pasta, glancing back up at Peter with a somewhat cautious look. That never seems like a good lead-in for anything, but she doesn't cut him off. ]

... Yes?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ That sounds like permission, even if it's as reluctant as Peter currently feels, and he returns to fucking around with the napkin ring, rolling it between his palms.

At length, he peers up at her, eyebrows knitting together; when he speaks, it's slowly and cautiously. ]

If all this stuff was useless and frivolous— [ Her words, not his. ] —then why'd you mess with this?

[ And he lifts up his hand, waggling his pinky. ]

[godslay]

[ ... Ah. That question is about as compelling as she thought it might be.

She's quiet for a few moments, putting down her fork with a soft noise that borders on frustration – though more for her own lack of what she considers to be a satisfactory answer. ]

It seemed harmless.

[ Harmless and potentially helpful. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter doesn't exactly look happy with that answer, judging by the way his lips briefly press into a thin line. ]

You said that already.

[ Maybe not in so many words, but it's basically how she responded earlier, when they first found the string binding them together. ]

I mean, there's lots of stuff that's harmless, but that doesn't mean you just do it.

[godslay]

[ She hesitates, and then finally: ]

I wanted to see what would happen.

[ If anything at all.

But she wanted to see where the string would end up, whose finger it would wrap around. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He watches her for a second or two longer before sighing, shoulders sagging slightly. ]

So are we not talking about this?

[ In a level sort of tone, even if he feels anything but level. To Peter, those answers sound like dodges, like sidesteps. Gamora tends to cut to the heart of things when they speak – a quality that was both admirable and infuriating, depending on his mood at the time. And right now, she’s hardly being direct. ]

[godslay]

[ Gamora is direct – with the courage of her convictions, when she's confident, when she knows the why of it all. The biggest struggle for her now is that emotions make things unclear. It was why Thanos beat them out of his children, taught them that feelings made them weak – and Gamora embodied that for so long. She shunned her emotions, she turned away from thinking with her heart to be as brutal, as effective as possible.

But now, that history is damning her. As she tries to understand what she feels and why she feels it... she's lost.

On the one hand, she isn't trying to shut those feelings out, but she also doesn't know what to do about them or— ]

... I don't know how to talk about this, Peter.

[ And admitting that is grudging, reluctant. Gamora hates admitting to weakness – which, somehow, this feels like one.

Because once again, here's Peter, willing to open himself up to new possibilities, and here's Gamora...

A jerk who doesn't trust anybody.

(But she does trust him. She hasn't said it in so many words, hasn't brought this up with him since they screamed at each other on Ego's planet, and she's just lost – but she still trusts him.) ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

... Right?

[godslay]

[ Something relaxes in her when he speaks.

"We don't have to do this now."

She doesn't like being put on the spot like this, immediately being asked for an answer, like she should already know, already be able to define it and make sense of this thing.

But there is a thing – and that's the key. She feels like she has acknowledged it, though, back on the Quadrant.

("It's just... some unspoken thing.")

Whatever that means for them, whatever it is, but it's there. She hasn't changed her mind, and she hasn't been frightened away from it. She just... feels like she's drowning in her lack of experience and practical conceptualization.

(Because she still doesn't really know what Peter wants from her either. That would probably be something to define, when they actually do.

But she still doesn't know how – and she doesn't want to ruin this or disappoint him by going about it the wrong way.)

When he looks at her, when he straightens up and asks—

At least that, she has an answer for.

Hesitantly, quietly, she reaches across the table and sets her hand on the tablecloth, palm up – offering. ]

It's not just you.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ It feels like an eternity before she answers him, and he wonders if even that question was too much. Peter's pretty sure he knows the answer, but he's always liked having that verbal confirmation. He likes hearing things, because that's easier to latch onto than tacit understandings.

So when she finally answers, when she reaches out, he doesn't even have to think before he reaches out, too, resting his hand atop hers. His fingers curl around hers, and he smiles softly with obvious relief. ]

Okay, then.

[ He searches her face for another second, before letting out a breath, squeezing her hand. ]

But just so you know— [ Lightly, to take some of the edge out of the sharp turn of their conversation. ] —you're not really off the hook for this. We still need to hash this out.

[godslay]

Because you already know exactly what you want?

[ Her tone isn't accusatory in the slightest, if only because it's something she's wondered about Peter's intentions. They haven't exactly specified what they're both looking for – given that would involve talking about the thing that they're not talking about – but if Peter has a more concrete idea than she does, that might help.

... If it happens to align what she wants.

She wonders if part of her hesitation comes from not being entirely certain of what his expectations are. She knows his reputation, she knows the attention he readily garners, but... something simple, casual, meaningless – that isn't what she wants. Even if she's not sure what it should look like otherwise, she's at least convinced she has no interest in something fleeting (though that's also somehow strange and daunting).

If that's the direction Peter is most interested in, then it might almost be better if they stayed nothing more than friends.

(Because at the end of the day, his friendship is what matters most to her.) ]

[nostalgiabomb]

Yeah. [ And the lightness drops from his voice, broaching on something far more sincere as he holds her gaze. ] I do.

[ Because he might have a reputation, but at his heart, he's a romantic, raised on the perfect love stories in films and television. Two people catching one another's gazes from across the room and instantly going crazy for one another. Two people stumbling into one another, teasing and joking and hitting it off instantly. Two people finding a spark between them and letting it catch, letting it build into a brilliant burst of flame, and—

He wants that. But more important, he wants that with Gamora.

His gaze darts away to the table – not quite shyly, because Peter is anything but shy – and he clears his throat, slowly pulling his hand away. ]

Like I said, we can talk about it later.

[godslay]

[ Gamora searches his face as his eyes hold hers, looking for the lie.

Accomplished though he may be at spinning stories, this doesn't feel untrue – even if it catches her somewhat off-guard. His response was so easy, so immediate, and... genuine.

Hearing that from Peter doesn't come often.

She pulls her own hand back when Peter does the same, picking up her fork once more to return to her dinner. ]

Later.

[ Which is absolutely an agreement, rather than an attempt to be dismissive.

She means it, even as her eyes flicker down to the red string stretching between them. ]