I'm a little late in joining this fandom, but I finally saw Guardians of the Galaxy, and loved it.
So, this is very Gamora centric, I think, with a fair bit of Nebula. This is also Peter x Gamora, because I loved them and I loved the characters and the actors and the potential for them, if its done well. I hope that you like it!
Another thing, I've never read the comics. So, I don't know anything about the characters/universe aside from what we saw in the movie.
Disclaimer: Everything, aside from the plot, belongs to Marvel.
I hope you enjoy!
Sacrifices
Gamora is pulled from a restless, pained sleep by the rattling of chains. The darkness releases her unwillingly, tendrils clinging to her skin like sticky seaweed as she emerges slowly from the heavy, crushing water. As she begins to come to, the numbness of her unconscious state leaves her, and a faint groan escapes her as she becomes aware of her aching body. Everything throbs and burns in time to her heart beat, little lances of electricity shooting up her spine with each breath, and she wishes for that black abyss once more.
The rattling sound is persistent, and she becomes aware that whoever has woken her is cursing under their breath, words in a tongue that in her muddled state she cannot identify.
She opens her eyes unwillingly, and finds herself staring at the floor, hard and cold under her knees. There are stains marring the otherwise smooth surface, and it sends a wave of revulsion through her, the knowledge that she is kneeling in her own blood. There is a crick in her neck, her muscles protesting at the position in which she slept, head bowed to her chest, arms stretched up and chained above her. It makes it difficult to breath, and whenever a wave of panic hits her she has to force herself to breath deeply before she begins to hyperventilate, and wheeze. She has lost consciousness more than once due to the position she is in, rather than the pain her captors inflict on her.
At that thought, she grimaces, and winces when the movement pulls at her split lip. This is not the first time she has ever been captured — though one of the very few. She can count on one hand the number of times she has landed in captivity. It is certainly not the first time she has been tortured, though this is one of the rarer times, as her punishment has not come from Thanos, but from someone baring a grudge. A serious grudge against the man he believes she calls father, and she has not been able to explain that he is wrong.
The uniqueness of this situation stems from how she ended up here. That she surrendered to her captors, rather than fighting tooth and nail until the end. It was her only option, their only option, because if she hadn't her friends would be dead. She still believes that, even now, however many days later. She's lost track of time, but she still clings to the hope that her sacrifice did save her friends, despite what the man said, despite the tale he told her of her friends ashes scattered on the wind, their bones broken and forgotten, because she could hear the pleasure in his voice, and she herself has used that tactic to break her victims.
The rattling stops abruptly, and she tenses, wondering for a moment if this is another thing someone is about to use against her. She can put up with torture — it has been part of her life for a long time now. Admittedly, it has been several years since she had to endure it at all, as her fear of Thanos drove her to please, and she learnt to perfect that art, but her mind still remembers it. She thought that she'd buried it deep in her subconsciousness, but she was so terribly wrong. Every moment she spends here, every hand they lay on her and every wound they inflict sends her back to the day when Thanos tore her apart and burned her, before putting her back together with fear thrumming through her veins, and that is what she dreads every time she wakes up, because it is breaking her down, bit by bit, and she is not sure how long she can stand it.
She is Gamora, the deadliest woman in the galaxy, but she is not unbreakable, and sometimes she is still a slave to her past, and the terrors it holds.
'You can stop pretending to be asleep now, Gamora'.
Her head jerks up, and she regrets the move immediately as her seized up muscles spasm. But she ignores the pain, because she knows that voice, and when she sees who is chained opposite her, the shock numbs everything else. 'Nebula?'
Her sister is chained in a similar position opposite her, her hands bound to the floor rather than to the ceiling. It strikes Gamora as somewhat odd that her sister is still there at all. She could easily escape by breaking the robotics in her hands. 'Why are you here?'
Nebula laughs shortly, before turning her attention back to her bounds. Gamora cannot quite see what she is doing, but her focus is diverted when her sister speaks. 'You didn't think that our father would just let you go, did you?'
Gamora's blood runs cold. But she spits, venom and defiance, 'he is no father of mine'.
Nebula shakes her head, a condemning gesture, contemptuous at her sister's ignorance. 'We've never had that choice, sister. He is our father because he made us who we are, and he owns us. We are tools to do his bidding. And he wants his favourite daughter back'. The bitterness in her voice twists something in Gamora's heart, because she doesn't want to be the favourite, and Nebula has never seemed to understand that.
'I never wanted to be his favourite daughter, Nebula. You do understand what that entails, don't you? I'm his favourite because I served him well, because I was terrified of what would happen to me if I didn't'. There is a pleading note to her voice, as there so often is whenever she speaks to her sister.
Nebula snarls, 'and yet, you betrayed him'.
Gamora sighs, turning her head in an effort to ease the pain in her neck. 'Would you not have done the same, if you had seen a way out? That was what I saw - a way out, an opportunity to get away from our father' she spits the last word, acid and poison in her mouth, choking her like bile. 'You may call it betrayal, foolishness and stupidity, sister, but it was the best decision I ever made'.
And it truly was. It was the first decision she had made in years that was solely for her, and her alone. It landed her in the path of her friends. These past few months, despite however they may clash sometimes, have been the happiest of her life. She has enjoyed living with her friends, working with them, because she has slowly come to realise that they want nothing from her, nothing that she is not willing to give. They don't want to use her. She misses them. She misses Drax's steady strength and well-meaning gestures, the insults he will hasten to correct when he realises their true meanings, the fact that he was the first to call them a family, and that all his bar fights these days are the result of someone insulting one of them. She misses the way Rocket will bite and jab at all of them in a way that she finds entertaining, rather than irritating, but he knows when it is not the right time, and she has seen the softness he hides behind his sarcasm. She misses little Groot, growing quickly, still yet to speak, she misses his expressive face and the way he dances to Peter's tapes, still unaware that they know he does. And Peter, Peter, she misses Peter desperately, his warm hands and soft touches, the care with which he handles her without treating her like she is made of glass, because he knows better, she misses his respect and his stupid smile and his pleasant songs, the way he sits with her at ungodly hours after a nightmare.
She wishes that she'd pushed those moments a bit more, now. Wishes that she'd leaned against him when he sat beside her, so relaxed she felt she could, that she'd turned her head to meet his lips when he lent in to kiss her cheek, that she hadn't pulled her hand away so soon, even if their touches were lingering, that she hadn't been afraid to explore the glaring possibility that they could be something more than friends. He convinced her to dance again, once, and his hands had remained firmly on her waist as they swayed, and she thinks that is possibly the most peaceful memory she has, with her eyes closed as she breathed him in, moving to the same sweet melody as before, and it was her greatest moment of vulnerability, the moment when she nearly tipped forwards over that line, with her head bowed to his shoulder and his breathing rustling her hair, she'd nearly lifted her head and kissed him, nearly, almost, but she hadn't.
She's only been free from Thanos for a few months now. Under his rule, she learnt that attachment leads to weakness, and weakness is unacceptable for one of his daughters. Her relationship with Nebula was not always so strained, so violent, but Thanos saw the gentleness they used to hold, and crushed it, and both bare the scars still. Nebula turned on her and focused on proving Thanos that she was not made of her old weakness, that she could outstrip her sister, and they became desperate rivals, fighting for survival in a world doomed to hurt them.
And leaning against Peter, in dangerous territory, she'd been gripped by the fear that she could come to hurt him, because she is the darkest of their group, the monster, and she could never bear that. So she teetered, but she did not fall, and now, she wishes that she had.
'And here you are, reaping the benefits of that decision'. Nebula's voices cuts through her thoughts like a knife, and she winces instinctively. She's come to associate her sister with the need to be on guard, and her scorn usually precedes violence. The moment elicits a startled groan from her lips as her fresh injuries pull and burn.
Her captor is a careful man. His anger towards Thanos is old and ever present, and he's had a long time to practise control. He tortures her, but he never goes too far, and he leaves enough time for her healing chip to repair most of the damage before he returns the next day. Flesh wounds, bruises, mild things, they never heal, because he leaves his mark on her frequently throughout the day, but he never pushes the deeper injuries too hard. The whipping is coldly calculated, and on the days (hours? She doesn't know how long she's been here) that he goes too just far, breaks too many bones, spills more blood than he should have, he sends in people to patch her up, men with the ability to heal sown into their blood. It is almost sickening, that he is intent on making sure she lives, just so he can draw out her suffering. It would be sickening, if she hadn't experienced worse at her father's hands. It would be nauseating, if she didn't know that what he did was child's play.
She chooses those words to throw at Nebula, rather than the thousand other things she could say. 'You and I know that this man's punishments are child's play compared to what Thanos has inflicted upon us'.
A shadow passes over her sister's face. Silence reigns in the cold chamber, until Gamora breaks it with a question. 'Why did you allow yourself to be captured, sister? And why are you still here?' She can hear the weariness in her own voice. She is exhausted, mentally and physically. It's been too long since she slept properly. And she needs her sleep. Her body may heal at a rapid pace, but her mind needs longer to recover.
The chains rattle again as Nebula shrugs, her attention returning to her manacles. 'Infiltration, and I wanted to see exactly what sort of condition you were in. Give myself some personal satisfaction before I return you to Thanos. I also wanted to understand how you even managed to get yourself captured. These people aren't exactly advanced. You've always said you could get out of much worse. Unless that was another way of boosting your image in our father's eyes'.
Gamora sighs heavily, her eyes closing. 'I… I gave myself up, to save my friends. As a result, I was not conscious when they brought me here'.
It is a simple explanation, but an honest one. They came across her captors when following up a distress signal on what appeared to be a dead moon. They were wary from the start, but that did not prevent the ambush. It became clear almost immediately that their adversaries were focused on Gamora. The majority of their forces were concentrated towards her, trying to overpower her with sheer numbers. She fought them off with practised precision, heart pounding at the thought that she was going to get her friends killed. It was a struggle, but she was able to hold her own, and it seemed to be going relatively well, until she turned and realised that one of them had Peter in a headlock, and the others surrounded.
And she gave herself up without so much as a second thought, and when the man struck her on the back of the head and she lost consciousness, the last thing she heard was Rocket's string of abusive words laced with worry, and Drax's roar of rage. The last thing she saw was Peter's stricken, horrified expression.
Nebula tilts her head, and when she speaks her voice is mocking, but her expression holds something else, something more complicated, 'compassion, sister? Your affection for your friends makes you weak. I thought you would've learnt that'.
Something twists in Gamora's heart, because the last time Nebula said something similar, Gamora had been trying to keep her sister alive, from a distance, even if her sister had not believed her. Without Thanos' presence real and overbearing beside her, Gamora had felt safer, in her small disobediences. She'd betrayed Ronan because in the end she feared him far less than she feared Thanos, and it gave her just enough freedom to act. 'It appears I haven't'.
Sudden rage ignites in Nebula's dark eyes, fire burning across ink, and she snarls, 'you're a disappointment, sister. You think you know pain, know punishment? Our father was not pleased by your actions, not in the slightest and he — ' she breaks off, her jaw working, trembling in rage. 'You will learn, sister, when I return you to him. You will learn not to stray again'.
But Gamora has picked up on Nebula's unspoken words, and horror spreads through her like icy water, her skin crawling. 'He took it out on you, didn't he?'
Nebula's shoulders tense, her jaw locked, eyes narrowed to slits. Her chest heaves, and she tugs fruitlessly at her chains.
Before either sister can utter another word, the door opens with a soft hiss. Gamora tenses at the sight of her captor, her horror momentarily forgotten. He is a tall, broad, humanoid creature, or so she assumes from his body. She has never seen his face. He wears close fitting armour, formed of some blush material that looks like close fitting scales. A helmet encases his head, and his face is obscured by a sheen of dark material. But he is strong and surprisingly quick on his feet, as she learnt from her first attempt to escape.
'Ah good, you're awake. Isn't this a nice surprise, Gamora? Your sister decided a reunion was in order'. He has a voice like glass, smooth and polished and slippery, until it shatters and into deadly shards, which it has on the rare occasions that his rage bubbles to the surface. She hates his voice.
Nebula hisses, 'she is no sister of mine'.
'Oh?' The man sounds surprised, but it could all be fabricated. Gamora wishes she could see his face, to better read him. To memorise it so that she can find him once she's escaped. If she escapes. She doesn't like that 'if' has become such a frequent thought recently. 'Are you not both the children of Thanos?'
'She betrayed our father. And she will suffer the consequences'. There is something almost robotic in the way Nebula says that, something detached, and it hits Gamora that her sister is trying to distract the man, though she cannot fathom why.
The man bends down until he is level with Nebula, his smooth mask inches from hers, and Gamora knows that it is an intimidation tactic, and she nearly laughs. He's tried that many times on her, and it has not worked, because he can hurt her but he will never be able to intimidate her, not after what she's experienced, and she know the same is true of Nebula.
Nebula meets his stare with one of her own, staring past his mask to the two glowing points she assumes are his eyes, and does not flinch. From her position behind them, Gamora can see what her sister is doing. Her hands, positioned in front of her, with far more freedom than appropriate for a captive, are busy unhooking something from the man's belt.
The man does not seem to notice. He laughs quietly in the face of Nebula's steely calm. 'You will learn to bend your head, girl'.
Nebula snarls and spits on his mask, sneering at him as he stands up. 'I will never bow my head to someone as pathetic as you'.
The air in the room grows heavy with the man's anger, and he reaches to his belt, retrieving the long rod that Gamora has become very familiar with during her stay. He slams the point of the rod into Nebula's shoulder, and her sister's head snaps back as the electricity pulses through her body. The sister's may be resilient, but they are not immune to pain. Nebula's jaw is locked, clamped shut against the scream Gamora knows is rebounding in her own skull. Thanos always hated it when they screamed — he considered that a sign of weakness in itself.
Gamora reacts without really thinking it through. Gripping her chains in slick, bruised fingers, she hoists herself off the ground, and swings her legs around from behind her as fast as she can, ignoring the way lights pop in front of her eyes as her back screams in agony. The man is swept of his feet, hitting the floor hard. Nebula's hands move, and the object she stole from him is hidden.
And the man's attention is once again fully focused on Gamora.
She'd done that once before, earlier on, in an attempt to escape, and she'd gotten into the corridor before she was captured again. Since then, the man had kept his distance from her, but with this attention divided elsewhere, he'd forgotten.
The man cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, his voice low and trembling. 'You will pay for that'.
He slams the rod against her chest, and as the electricity rolls through her body, Gamora sees the shock in her sister's eyes. But the man keeps the rod there, pressing down hard, and as the seconds roll into minutes and a scream finally tears from her throat, she sees that surprise turn to something else, and she does not have time to decipher it before the blackness surges up from the corners of the room, and claims her once more.
When she wakes up, she finds Nebula's face inches from hers, her dark eyes gleaming. She does not flinch away, and Nebula does not back off. For a moment they are locked in an unbreakable silence, staring at each other, and Gamora cannot read her sisters thoughts.
Then, Nebula says, 'that was foolish of you. I had it under control'. There is something in her tone that Gamora cannot decipher, and she does not have the energy to try. Every muscle in her body is alight with dying flames, like the coals in a dying fire, and her head is pounding.
Her mouth is dry, and her voice comes out as a croak when she speaks. 'You're here because of me. You delayed escape because of me. Thanos punished you because of me. That was my way of repaying you'. She is breathing in short wheezes, tight and painful, and she thinks that he might have broken one of her ribs this time.
'I am here to take you to our father, and yet you'd rather prevent me from coming to harm? Where is the logic in that, sister?'
Gamora wonders whether Nebula is so used to saying our father that it's become reflex, because not moments ago she denounced her. Unless that was truly her way of distracting the man. She has no answer for that question, and she struggles to form a coherent response, her world fuzzy around the edges. 'It's… it's about doing the right thing, sister. I've followed the word of a madman for too long. It was… instinct'. And she's learnt to trust her instincts over the years. She's had to. Instinct saved her life many a time. Instinct led her to trust her friends.
She hears voices suddenly, approaching from the other side of the door, loud and violent, and she tenses. Nebula shoots to her feet, tense and alert, backing away from her sister to listen more closely to the voices, to whether they will pass by. But they are increasing in volume, coming closer, and their destination is clear.
'Sister, please', her voice is low with urgency, pleading and pained, and when Nebula turns to look at her, she feels sick.
'Nebula?'
And she knows, the moment her sister glances towards the door, that Nebula is not going to help her. The voices are growing closer, and she can see her sister calculating the odds. Thanos has ordered her to retrieve Gamora, but they both know that she is in no condition to run, and Nebula cannot carry her and get out.
It is logical to leave her, but that does not prevent a bitter disappointment from flaring inside her chest, disappointment and despair and defeat. She swallows past the sudden lump in her throat, and shakes her head. 'Just go, sister'.
For a moment, Nebula hesitates. Its a fraction in time, a moment of stillness, where her sister's weight is transferred to her back foot, as if she is going to move towards her. Her eyes have lost that calculating look, and in their fathomless blackness Gamora thinks she sees a memory, where their sibling rivalry was as yet non-existent.
And then she is gone.
Gamora bows her head again as the door swishes open, and she hears the chaos that erupts as Nebula catches the guards unawares. There are screams and shouts and gunfire, but she does not look up.
Defeat has settled on her shoulders like a thick suffocating blanket, and she does not have the energy to shake it off.
She feels suddenly, like there is no hope at all. She's doomed to die here, and she cannot even bring herself to care. Her friends — her family, are probably dead. Groot, newly born not long ago, is burnt to a crisp, never to flower again, and stars she misses that dumb tree and his innocence. Rocket is dead, and she identified with him more than she ever thought possible. He knew what it was like to be ripped apart again and again and remade into something unrecognisable, knew what it was like to hear the word monster whispered in your footsteps, and she'd learnt to smile in the face of his sarcasm and death threats, because they are so alike, underneath everything. Drax was more difficult for her, the most difficult to warm up too, because sometimes he looks at her and she thinks she still sees resentment in his eyes, but she could be wrong, she could be imagining it, and now, now she'll never have the chance to ask. And Peter… Peter has saved her life twice now, not counting the time he managed to save the galaxy. He saved her life, and despite the bluster and bravado he produced after the actions, it means more to her than she can describe. No one has ever done something like that for her before, no one, no one has ever risked their life for her so selflessly, and stars she never truly thanked him. She misses his light touches, the smiles in his eyes and… she misses the feeling that she could have something with him, something more, something beyond what she feels when she thinks of her knew family.
And they are probably all dead, and all the hope they held for her, all the possibilities, are burned with them.
What is the point, of escaping, when all there is to face her now is a life without them, and with Thanos still hunting her, ever on her trail? She would rather die than go back to him.
She wants to believe that she is better, stronger than this, that this feeling of crushing despair isn't her giving up. She's endured worse. But she had hope, had what she might dare call love, and it was ripped away from her, the first happiness she's had in, well, forever, and it feels like being broken apart all over again.
She has always feared Thanos, always, and she knows that that fear will never leave her. She cannot return to a life under his thumb, with his presence so close. She will not.
Grief hits her like a wave, and there is burning behind her eyes that has nothing to do with her wounds, and she wants to curl up and sob, sob her heart out, because if this is what it truly is to love, she wants no part in it.
The door swishes open again, and she knows that it is her captor by the weight of his footsteps. She takes a deep breath, in… and out, and lifts her head, meeting his gaze with steel. It is not he who has broken her, and she will not let him believe so.
When he raises the whip again, all crackling electricity to match the rage rolling off him, she realises that she is not beaten, not yet. There is something sweet in her memory, something warm and strong, and when she focuses on that, not the bitterness at the end, but the burning heat of its existence, on Groot's glowing pollen, Rocket's hidden concern, Drax's deft belief in them all, and Peter's warm hands, and not the knowledge that she may never see them again, she thinks that perhaps he will never truly beat her.
In the darkness, the all consuming blackness, she registers that he went further than he should have, his rage eliminating his self restraint. There is blood in her mouth, coppery and suffocating, and the pain has not faded. She drifts in and out of consciousness, alone in the room, with a steady drip drip to keep her company. Perhaps he has left her to die, broken ribs and gaping wounds, and she is not sure if it is truly as bad as she thinks, or if in her pain muddled state, she is exaggerating.
She knows that there is a knife jutting out of her right shoulder, slipped snug between bone and vital arteries, that she is not truly worried about in terms of whether or not it will kill her. But it is embedded with something else that sends little jolts of electricity through her, and she has stopped trying to remain silent.
She dreams of her parents, before their murders, of their soft smiles and warm hands, the passion in their voices when they spoke of something they loved. In her dream, their smiles turn to snarls and looks of revulsion, their voices bitter with disgust, what a monster you've become, child, and when she sobs and cries for forgiveness and reaches for them, her hands are stained, and they crumble at her touch.
She dreams that her friends are not dead, that the man lied to her, and even in the darkness she clings to that idea, holds onto it until it is part of her, warm in her heart.
Everything is fuzzy and unfocused, like she is underneath the water and there are voices above her, her dream distorted as if through opaque glass.
'Gamora? Shit, Gamora, hey, wake up, Gamora can you hear me? Shit'.
It surprises her, even in her dream. She's never heard Peter sound so concerned.
There are hands on her face, gentle and callused, tilting her chin up and smoothing her hair from her eyes.
'She will not wake, Peter Quill. Her body has shut down in order to recover'.
Nebula?
The voices drift in and out of focus, and she cannot reach them, she can't grasp at them no matter how much she tries to rise from the crushing darkness that burns her with each breath.
The warmth on her face vanishes and in the darkness she cries out, twisting to find it again, lost in a storm of pain and silence that smells like death and all the blood she has on her hands, and she tumbles back into the abyss.
She dreams of the screams of her victims and the blood on her hands, hot and slick and fresh, the blood of innocents who died because she was too terrified of rebelling earlier. She watches herself kill them, again and again, and sometimes her victims have the faces of her friends, eyes wide and betrayed, not unknowns.
There is something wet and cool moving across her face, tracing along her jaw and across her cheek bones, and a warm hand in her own. She can hear a soft melody playing in the background, a very familiar tune that she can't quite place. Her head is clouded with a thick fog, and it occurs to her that this is a very strange dream.
There are voices talking quietly, and she struggles to make them out, to understand what they are saying. Everything feels lethargic and heavy, like she is weighed down, and she feels warm and soft and strangely safe. She is not sure if she wants to wake from this dream, back to the cool darkness of her cell.
'…well I don't trust her, and I say we lock her in the holding bay. Make sure she doesn't try any funny business'. Rocket sounds angry, but firm, as if he believes that it is a logical and wise choice, and her confusion rises. Is he talking about her? Is this some strange dream where her friends are not her friends?
'I do not think she is funny, but — '
'Oh you literal… its a phrase, Drax, just an expression'.
Drax speaks over the raccoon, his voice rising in volume, 'I too do not trust her, but she led us to Gamora. Without her, we would not have found her'.
'Argh, we would've got there eventually'. Rocket sounds bitter about it all, and Gamora is beginning to realise that this is not a dream.
'Rocket, I get where you're coming from, I don't like having her on board either. But Drax is right, if not for her we wouldn't have found Gamora. Maybe you're right, maybe we would've eventually, but I don't really want to think about the condition she would've been in, considering how she is right now'.
Gamora starts at Peter's voice, so close above her, and the cool cloth stops moving across her face. It leaves her skin, and the hand in hers squeezes gently, 'Gamora? Can you hear me?'
She tries to speak, and a garbled, hoarse sound escapes her throat. She can taste copper and ash on her tongue, and she feels like her throat is formed of dust and sand. She coughs, and she can feel a hand shifting to the back of her head, and the hand in her own is gone. She wants to protest, she needs that warmth, that anchor, but in a moment someone is pressing a glass her lips. She relaxes minutely as the cool liquid soothes her throat, and she manages to drink as much as she can.
She hears a clink as the glass is placed down, and then the hand is holding hers again, and she breaths a sigh. It takes a moment, but eventually she is able to open her eyes. The light is dim and soft, and for a moment everything is blurry. Then she blinks, and Peter comes into focus, leaning over her slightly. He looks like he hasn't slept in days; his face is drawn and pale, his hair disheveled, his eyes exhausted and desperately concerned, his mouth pulled down at the corners. '…Peter?'
At the sound of her voice, frail and quiet as it is, relief floods his expression and he smiles tightly, 'yeah, its me'.
'Good morning sleeping beauty!' Rocket's cheery voice hides a deeper concern, and when she turns her head to search for him, ignoring the way her neck cramps, she can see it in his eyes, wide and honest and worried. 'About time you woke up, sleepy head'.
'She does not have a 'sleepy head', friend Rocket'. Drax ignors Rocket's groan and fixed his eyes on her, his expression serious and relieved. 'You had us worried, friend Gamora. It is good to have you with us again'.
Gamora manages a smile at the sincerity in his voice. In the face of their concern for her, she is remembering exactly why she did what she did. They are her friends, and here they are caring about her. It makes her feel warm in her heart, a pleasant, comfortable feeling. Her throat tightenes momentarily, and she looks away, staring up at the ceiling. Her surroundings are somewhat unfamiliar, though she cannot place why.
'Did I… hear you right? Someone led you to me?'
She addresses the question to the room at large, but it is Rocket that answered, his voice tight and perhaps a bit bitter. 'Yeah, your dear sister, Nebula'.
She turns her head sharply, hiding her wince beneath her astonishment. So she hadn't dreamt that. 'What?' She sounds somewhat breathless, her shock written all over her face. She just can't fathom it. Rocket's words aren't connecting in her head.
Rocket and Drax exchange a glance, first with each other, and then with Peter. She cannot read it, and by the time she turns to look at Peter, the exchange has passed.
'We should probably check on her, actually. We left her alone with Groot, but I'm not entirely comfortable with that'. Rocket hoists one of his many blasters onto his shoulder, his expression grim. 'We don't want her sabotaging us and leading us to Thanos'.
Gamora tenses at the mention of the mad titan, and the movement sends a chain reaction through her bruised and battered body. Her shredded back burns as her muscles clench, and she screws her eyes shut against the pain, blackness flittering at the edge of her vision. She fights it, fights it with a grimace twisting her lips, because she is scared of returning to that empty, unconscious state where her nightmares seemed to be reality, clawing and clutching at her skin. In that state, she cannot wake if she must, she cannot fight it, with her body working tirelessly to repair her, and her mind exhausted. She squeezes Peter's hand tightly as the world spins, the soft sheets fading away as a ringing fills her ears. But the hand in hers is strong and steady and warm, an anchor in a violent storm, and she focuses on it, breathes through the pain until it fades and the world rights again. It feels like a small victory.
When she opens her eyes, Rocket and Drax are gone. Peter is leaning forwards, his expression anxious, holding both her hands in his own, his brows drawn into a tight frown. When their eyes meet he gives her a soft smile, 'hey, you still with me?'
He sounds so worried that she makes an effort to smile, though she thinks that it is perhaps too strained to be convincing. 'Yeah, I'm here, I just…' She trails off, unwilling to tell him exactly how much pain she is still in. It's an ingrained belief, a knowledge — do not show weakness, because it will not be tolerated.
But Peter squeezes her hand gently, and she nearly laughs, because of course he understands that she's in pain, because he would've seen her injuries. With that in mind, she asks, 'how am I doing?'
Peter's eyes darken considerably, rage and helpless anger whirling together. He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks it is with a forced calm, almost clinical. 'You're on the mend, now that your body is able to recover without continuous… damage'. The word torture sticks in his throat, and he cannot bear to say it, because he cannot, even now, stand the thought of what happened to her. 'You've got numerous bruises and lacerations, but they're not too worrying. Your back is the probably the worst — we're going to have to be careful that the… whip marks don't get infected. That could be disastrous. The fingers in your right hand are broken, but they're almost healed now, though badly bruised. You've got three broken ribs, but now that they've been set in the proper position Rocket thinks they'll be quick to heal, what with your implant and everything'. He takes another deep breath, and Gamora thinks that he looks a bit ill. 'And finally, you've got a rather nasty wound on your right shoulder. There was a knife imbedded there when we found you, but luckily it missed anything vital'.
There is something… sweet, about the way he is trying to put a positive spin on all her injuries. She smiles tightly, squeezing his hand in return. But she cannot help but correct him. 'The knife wound was no luck, Peter. This man knew a lot about my anatomy. A lot about the modifications Thanos made to me. When he tortured me he knew what he was doing. He was very careful to ensure that he never went too far, and that my body would have time too… recuperate, before he did it again…'
She trails off, suddenly noticing Peter's reaction to her words. He looks ill, ill and furious, his anger no longer hiding behind his concern, and his other hand is clenched into a fist on his knee. 'Peter? Is something wrong?'
He breaths out slowly through his noise, clearly trying to calm down. 'I… Yeah, Gamora, something's wrong. You were…tortured, and I can't stand to hear you talk about it like it was nothing'.
She frowns, running her thumb over the edge of his hand, trying to help him calm down. 'I've had worse, Peter'.
The man physically flinches, his grip on her hand tightening painfully, and his jaw works for a moment, as if he isn't sure how to word his thoughts. 'Gamora… I know that, okay, I just… I don't like the idea of you being hurt — actually, I hate it. You've had enough pain in your life and you're turning over a new leaf and you're trying to get away from all that, and you've just spent close to a week locked up, being tortured… because of me'.
Her eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise as she stares at his face. So that is the emotion concealed behind his anger and concern. Guilt. And she is so surprised that for a moment she just stares at him. 'Peter… none of that was your fault'.
'Yes, it was. You were doing fine, when they attacked us. You were kicking their arses. And I'm pretty sure you would've beaten them all, if I hadn't been so stupid. I let my guard down, and because of that — '
'I made my own choice, Peter'. Gamora cuts him off, sharply, her voice slicing through the air between them with more power than she'd thought she had within her in her current state. 'I will not let you blame yourself for that. Yes, I saw that you were in danger, that you all were. Do not forget that the others were defenceless, too. You have no need to feel guilty. I saw that you were in danger, and I value you, and your friendship, more than…' she stops suddenly, one train of thought having run into the other, her conflicted feelings having bubbled to the surface. She takes a deep breath, ignoring the change in Peter's expression. 'I made a decision to save you. And I do not regret that, even now'.
Peter is tense, his eyes searching her face intently. His gaze is burning, burning with guilt and anger and concern, because stars he cares about her, and he hates seeing her like this, exhausted and pained and pale, her eyes dim and clouded. 'You shouldn't have done that, Gam'.
She does not comment on the shortening of her name, but her eyes narrow all the same. 'What, are you the only one of us permitted to make sacrifices? You did the same for me, remember? You threw yourself into space when we barely even knew each other'.
Peter does not look away, not even now, and there is something else in his eyes now, something as vast as the expanse of space and as unfathomable as its origins. 'I'm not worth your life, Gam'.
And she recognises this, suddenly, as a tipping point. A moment where their friendship balances on the point of becoming something more, and it's so inevitable really. Her chest tightens, fear and anxiety urging her to deflect it, to choose a sarcastic comment to throw back at him, to step back from that line. But she won't, because this is also what their friendship is rooted in, and it would be unkind and unjust to do that, and even with fear worrying at her, she wouldn't want to. Maybe she wants to take the plunge.
Gamora smiles softly, and shifts her hand in his, lacing their fingers together tightly. 'Maybe it is, to me'.
His eyes go wide, and though he looks far from convinced, he seems to decide against arguing with her. They remain silent for a time, Gamora staring up at the ceiling while Peter stares at her. She has often felt his gaze on her in their time on this ship, and for a while it bothered her, but its unlike what she has received before; stares of rage and fear and fury, of lust and greed and desire. Its something else, fondness and affection and awe, and whenever she turns to confront it head-on she finds herself somewhat speechless in the face of his warmth, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners before he shoots her a cocky grin, and she's discovered that there is nothing sinister about the way he looks at her.
'Peter?'
'Yeah?'
'Did Nebula truly help you?'
Peter nods slowly, running his thumb over the back of her hand absently. 'We didn't want to believe her at first. We'd heard a rumour that those… things, had stopped to get fuel after they took you. We were trying to track your trail, so we stopped there. She turned up. It wasn't… easy, I'll tell you that. We saw her and our immediate reaction was to, well, shoot. But she started yelling at us that she knew where you were and that if we wanted to see you alive we'd better shut up and listen to her'. He smiled slightly. 'It didn't go down very well with rocket, as I'm sure you can imagine. He heard it as a threat. But I don't know, we were desperate. And there was something very… convincing about what she was saying. She sounded just as desperate as we felt. So we listened to her. We didn't have much choice'.
Something terrible happens to his expression. His mouth twists and his eyes shine, his face screws up and it sends a jolt of panic through her heart because for a moment she thinks that he is in pain, that there is something wrong. 'Peter?' Her voice is sharp, concerned, and she almost sits up before she thinks better of it.
He shifts suddenly, leaning forwards, and bowing his head against her shoulder. She blinks, but does not stiffen. The contact is not unwelcome, because it is warm and friendly, and so different to what she's experienced for, what was it Peter said? A week? His hair brushes her cheek, his breath warm on her skin, and she's missed this, and if she tilts her head against his slightly, well there is no one there to see it.
'I was so worried about you, Gam. I was terrified that we'd - I'd, never see you again'. His voice is small, muffled against her skin, and Gamora can feel the reverberations in her bones. 'And we couldn't find you, no matter how hard we looked, we just couldn't. And then Nebula turned up and it was this frantic race because stars I didn't trust her, none of us did, and I was worried we were being led into a trap but there was this look on her face and we didn't really have any choice and then… fuck'. He stops, his rambling trailing off, and his voice sounds thick and choked, and she presses her head against his more, squeezing his hand, her eyes closed. He clears his throat, and when he speaks his voice sounds stronger, but he does not move away from her. 'Drax stayed in the hallway, to make sure no one entered, and Groot stayed in the ship, prepped for a quick get away. Nebula led Rocket and I into this room and…' his voice trembles, but he sounds angry when he continues. 'It was like walking into a nightmare, seeing you kneeling there. I thought… I thought you were dead. And you wouldn't wake up and… you've been asleep for ages. Three days. And it was really touch and go for a while and I thought we were going to loose you'.
She has the strangest urge to apologise. To comfort him. But she does not know how. She could tell him that she was asleep so that her body could mend, and that it definitely has, because though her back aches dreadfully, it does not pulse in time to her heartbeat any longer. She breaths in deeply, inhaling the scent hanging around him, the soap in his hair and the leather from his discarded jacket, a slightly musky smell that is rather sharp, though not unpleasant, as if he has not changed his clothes in a while. And he hasn't, though she does not know that, he hasn't slept since she went missing, and showering has certainly been the last thing on his mind.
Gamora does not tell him to move, so he doesn't. He has this strange, but perhaps understandable need, to be as close to her as he can, to feel the way her chest rises as she breathes, the steady thump of the pulse in her neck against his cheek, the puff of air against his hair as she exhales. Signs that she is alive. She smells metallic, of the blood they found her kneeling in, and the antiseptic that he applied to her wounds. He remembers how his hands shook when he carried her from that room, how they trembled even when he tried to control them, in the moments when treated her wounds. The guilt burning in his chest has not eased with her words, because it is his fault, but she is right. It was her choice. And though it shouldn't, the thought that he could mean that much to her has stirred a warm, contended feeling in his heart, similar to how he feels in their smaller moments of intimacy, when she lets him hold her hand, when he persuaded her to dance that one other time, when she smiles at him. But it's greater, more consuming, spreading through his body until the anger is dull. It is safe to say that he likes it, a lot. And the words, the words that he's run through his head over and over again in those terrible hours when she was missing, are on the tip of his tongue, dancing across his vision, and he wants to say it, wants to let them fall into the air between them, but they stick in his throat and they feel too heavy for tonight, after everything thats happened. So he stays quiet.
'Peter?' Her voice is quiet by his ear, and she sounds hesitant. He makes a muffled noise against her collarbone, stealing himself for what he believes will be a request for him to move. Instead her head falls more heavily against his, and she whispers, 'are you comfortable?' There is a note of humour in her voice, but he cannot detect any hostility.
He huffs a laugh and nods. 'Yeah, I just… have you ever been afraid that you're going to wake up and discover that everything thats happened has been a dream, and that you're still living in a nightmare?'
It is perhaps one of the most vulnerable things he's ever said to her. And something that she can relate to immensely. She nods slowly, her hand tightening in his grasp. 'Honestly Peter, these last few months have almost seemed like a dream'.
He nods, understanding. Though they are a strangely mismatched bunch of, well, assholes, and they sometimes want to tear each other to pieces, its so vastly different from what Gamora has had her entire life, that it probably does seem surreal sometimes. He takes a deep breath, and says quietly, 'I just need to know that you're okay. That this isn't a dream'. It isn't the words he wants to say, but its a start. Small steps.
Gamora swallows tightly. They've fallen, hard, and she isn't used to feeling like this, to caring, to being cared for. She isn't used to kindness, and though she shied away from it at first, stiffening whenever Peter touched her, its become something she craves. Maybe it does make her weak, but in her current state, where she is physically so, she's not sure if she can bring herself to care. She thought that she'd never see him again. She needs the reassurance as much as he does.
'Peter?' She breaks off for a moment, hesitant to voice her question, because reminding him of whats happened to her seems to bring him great distress. Peter lifts his head for a moment, looking down into her eyes, and she's distracted by how close he is, by the knowledge that if she lifted her head just a fraction from the pillow and tilted her chin, she'd be able to kiss him. She swallows again. 'What happened to the man? I never did find out his name'. She almost hopes he's alive, so that she can rip him to pieces and scatter his ashes on the wind.
Peter's smile is victorious, and almost cruel. 'Nebula killed him. He tried to stop us as we were leaving. Got really cocky. She kicked him in the groin and ran him through and broke his neck before he even had time to scream'. Peter doesn't like to admit that he enjoyed it, even if it was rather gruesome. Seeing the man broken and dead in a pool of his own blood was far too satisfying. But the man hurt Gamora, tortured her when she's left that life behind, and he hates him with a bitter rage that burns and cools in even quantities.
'Good'. Gamora spits the word, the first real smile since she'd awoken gracing her beautiful, bruised face. 'Though I would've liked to do it myself'. She frowns then, and Peter wishes he had the courage to kiss her, to smooth that frown from her brow. 'It seems I have a lot to thank Nebula for'.
'You didn't think she'd come back?' Nebula had told him, briefly, about how she'd allowed herself to be captured in order to find Gamora's exact location, examine her condition and determine exactly how to get her out, in order to take her to Thanos. That is another concern he has about having Nebula on his ship. He doesn't know if she still intends to bring Gamora to the mad Titian.
Gamora shakes her head, grimacing faintly as her neck aches. 'No. I thought that maybe… maybe she'd come back with an army and take me back to Thanos like that. But by all the stars I never thought she'd go to you'.
He smiles at her, still very close to her. 'Hopefully that means we don't have to worry about her hijacking the ship while we're asleep'.
They are silent for a while, and Peter shifts so that he is sitting on the bed with her, still holding her hand, gazing down at her as she stares up at the ceiling. She is frowning faintly, and worrying her bottom lip, a question burning on her tongue. 'Peter… do you think that it is truly possible for someone to, what is the expression? Turn over a new leaf'?' There is something very vulnerable about her question, in the soft, hopeful note in her voice. Because thinking about her sister makes her think about her time with Thanos, and everything she did for him.
Peter's frown is severe. 'Of course I do! Look at me, I was a womanising ravager who used people and betrayed them for my own goals. I like to think that I'm not at all like that anymore'.
She smiles at him, softly, and it does something to his heart. 'I'm not sure if you were ever truly like that, Peter. You talked Drax down from killing me and threw yourself into space to save me. That is not the mindset of a user'.
He laughs, spurred on by her smile. 'More that of a lunatic'.
She hums, the smile still playing about her lips. But then it's gone, and she says, 'Peter, I am Thanos' favourite daughter. Nebula will tell you that. But I am his favourite daughter because I have done… horrible, evil things. I've killed and slaughtered and I've done it to save my own skin, because doing what Thanos wanted meant that he wouldn't harm me. It's no excuse but… of everyone in our group, I am the one who should be locked up, Peter. Do you really think that I can change who I am?'
And Peter does what he's been yearning to do since he first met her, that he's desperately wished he had done ever since she went missing. He kisses her. Softly, briefly, almost chastely, before pulling away quickly, fearing that he may have gone to far. His cheeks feel hot, but his voice is steady. 'Yeah, I do. Gamora, you were the first one who was determined to get the orb into a secure environment when you found out what it really was. You were the first person to reach out when I touched the infinity stone. And you remember how you said, as if it was an off hand thing, 'no one's blowing up any moons'? You've been doing the right thing for as long as I've known you. So yeah, I do'.
Gamora stares at him for a moment, her lips tingling, her eyes wide. His words have curled around her like a warm embrace, caressing her heart and working to unravel the darkness Thanos stitched into her skin, and when he smiles at her, that wide, honest, lopsided grin, almost shy, she feels what might be tears prickling her eyes. She thinks that perhaps she loves this man, and that she certainly could one day. She smiles, a smile that blooms across her entire face, lifting the exhaustion from her eyes as their corners crinkle, and Peter thinks she might be the most beautiful woman he knows, and stars, it runs deep. She has a heart of gold that is battered and beaten and scarred, but not broken, and he might love her for it, for everything.
And Gamora remembers how she wished she had kissed him while they danced, and decides she's had enough of wishing, and regretting. She lets go of his hand for the first time since she's been awake, and reaches up to cup the back of his neck, and pull him down. She tilts her head up to meet his lips, and hers are dry and cracked against his and she tastes like copper and ash, but he does not care, she is warm and alive, and he rests his hand against her cheek and plays with her hair and thanks the stars that he found that orb, a lifetime ago.
They break apart and he rests his forehead against hers, and he's never been one for cliches but she's unlike anyone he's ever known, and he thinks he loves her (he knows he does) and so it is different. For a moment, they are silent, and Peter listens to her breathing and the faint sounds of his music elsewhere in the ship, and feels his heart pounding. 'Gamora?'
'Mmmm?' Her eyes are closed, and she feels a measure of peace that she hasn't experienced in what feels like years.
'When you're better, will you dance with me?'
She laughs. 'Yes, Peter, I will dance with you'.
So, what do you think?
In character, not in character? Too sappy, not sappy enough? Shit, not shit?
I don't think that this is too out of character for Gamora. Yes, she's a lot more open than perhaps she usually is, but I do think that that is entirely possible in these circumstances. I hope. And I hope that this doesn't read too much as 'guy saves girl' sort of thing, because its actually meant to be more about Nebula saving Gamora, because that is what happens. The Peter x Gamora stuff is I hope, hinted at as something that was growing between them before her capture, and that would have happened eventually. Gamora allows it to happen at this point because she regretted that it hadn't, and wished that she'd let it. Thats my thoughts.
I am willing, if you want it, to write another chapter, where I would include more Gamora/Nebula interaction, and more Peter x Gamora, etc. Let me know if you would like that :)
I am open to constructive criticism, but please, no flames.
Please review! :)