+summary: series of oneshots without much tie together, and varying degrees of relationship satuses between Gamora and Peter.

"I just don't think you're suitably jealous, is all," Peter said, arm wrapping quick over her shoulder, ducking for the both of them.

The green bolt of energy shattered the rock face behind them, and Gamora shielded her face from the projectiles that were now coming from both directions. Thankfully, pebbles were much less damaging than plasma, though the marks were a stretch more difficult to explain in a light that wasn't embarrassing. Saying that she had been struck by a pebble was hardly a honorable story, and she did have a pride more easily injured than her skin.

With a well planted elbow, she pushed Peter off her, regaining her mobility enough to raise herself up, whipping the knife in her boot towards the shapes, suffering from the dust that'd finally engulfed them somewhat belatedly. The knife struck home, sending the tallest against the porous wall, sleeve caught by the knife, embedded in the solid pillars that marked an open doorway used by foreign visitors who couldn't diffuse through the walls like the indigenous peoples could. Drax had finished doing the diffusion, choosing the route Rocket and , more like active transport, gel flecking off behind him as he charged through, bulldozing the ones stupid enough to stay in the same place.

Gamora stood, tossing her hair back, stepping forward just as Rocket popped from the gel around the rock face, spluttering as he attempted to groom his fur, looking slicked down. HE caught her smirk, response caught in his throat, probably by the gel in his mouth. His tail weakly thumped as he was bent over by hacking coughs, hands to his knees. The raccoon held up a finger, leaving the capture to the three operational members. Groot was still in the gel walls, looking far too happy as he oozed through the strange material, breaking the amber glow provided by the strange walls in the cavern. Rocket was too busy with clearing his larynx to snap at his larger friend; and them, at somepoint, she was sure.

Peter vaulted over the boulder (though she supposed it was just rubble now), catching her ten steps from the dangling criminal. She did enjoy that she wasn't being chased like this anymore. Not that she'd have gotten caught. Or looked anything close to that pathetic, feet pedaling in the air, mouth gaping in an excellent imitation of Rocket when he was sleeping. Minus the echoing snore.

"What?" She hissed, shrugging Peter's hand off her shoulder.

"You do realize that she touched me."

"Yes, I do, what are you trying to say-?"

Peter ran a hand over his forehead, tugging at the start of his hair, "A girl tried to cut off my dick for leaning too close to this officer from Xandar. After the danger passed; great sex, but still. I thought you'd go for my throat. Or hers." He crossed his arms over his chest, situating himself between her and the criminal. More specifically, the bounty money.

"You are being ridiculous, Quill."

"...Starlord. If you're going to ice me out on mission; Starlord."

"Ice you out provides a lovely picture of me shoving you out into space to stop this argument. This is not the time."

"Fine, but I've got this guy to myself. I mean, he's hanging by your knife, don't know how, but it's your throw so, he's hanging; where is he going to go? We've got time. I haven't got to do the finishing blow in awhile, it's more satisfying once I've kneed him in a place that fucking hurts as much as him charging me." Peter turned slightly, "So unfair, man, you are a million times heavier than me."

Drax made a low noise, shaking his head, "Not an accurate presumption, Quill, now if you would like to finish him, do it before I take the liberty."

Peter opened his mouth to say something scathing, she assumed, but he dropped like a stone, the blunt end of a terribly familiar knife very obviously the cause of it. Gamora crouched over him, hand swiping over her boots, knowing that the knife laying beside Peter's head was the last one, but it was more of a desperation check, already flinging her hand out, hand on the knife, but the freed criminal had his gun, dragging his fat with him.

All the inhabitants of the world were aesthetically overweight, which would hinder their movements, but the network of amber liquid, a substance Peter had called syrup, was as efficient as the aerial motorways on Xandar. The people could dive into the walls, and pop out the other side in hardly five seconds, while Drax had taken 10 minutes to clear a short section; and she'd give him the credit he deserved, to his ability to drive through a number of things she'd never fathomed, clearing a path. Thus the name, Drax the Destroyer (Peter added: 'destroyer of walls and my tables').

But back to the indigenous peoples.

Despite their bodies looking like the marshmallows that Peter never ran out of, their fingers were unusually long and thin. The things they could build varied, when they focused on arms-craftsmanship, this happened. Or to specify: the single barreled gun furled out, focused on her and Drax, even stretched towards Groot, suddenly churning hard enough to shift the stagnant bubbles, eager to get into the fray. She'd seen the law enforcers blown to bits just being clipped with that green energy, so she wasn't feeling all that confident in Groot at the moment. And Rocket had been scooped up in the other hand of the fat man, still wheezing, unable to speak, but she assumed the hand signals were along the lines of, 'help'.

"I will take this small furred creature as far as my ship. And then you will allow me to leave."

"Is that what you think? That you will get away from me?" Drax asked, muscles doing that rippling thing that he often did when he really got into cleaning his knives. "In past experiences, I am much faster than a slug such as you. Put my small companion down."

Rocket hacked in Drax's direction, squirming under the fat arm that was about to swallow him in a manner similar to the walls.

"In past experiences; please," the fat seemed to swish as the face screwed up in disgust, "you have no idea what my people can do, compared to your own. You are ants to me. You all are. Thin, insubstantial, slow humanoid creatures. To watch you struggle through our networking systems proves my point a million times over. I'm larger, but faster; doesn't that break some kind of rules on your planet, Terra native? Oh, he's still uncon- never mind that, I will say my piece once again. I am better, faster, stronger. And you hypocritical bounty hunters, criminals with their record cleared, masquerading under the liberating title of Guardians of the Galaxy, and might I add, Starlord- bah, I-!"

Fat trembled as Peter's shot racked the blob's body, his gun still pointed vaguely to his hit target, mumbling, "I love it when they start monologuing, it's the best shit ever. You don't usually- you know what, that was going to be a monologue too, so fuck it."

"You asshole!" Rocket was sliding out from under the amorphous blob, using the last of the gel, as most of it had been fried off, apparently. "What the fuck was that? You could've zapped me! Are you really that stupid? Why the fuck have we made him our leader unofficially? I'll make my case again; we should not make the human idiot the person in charge."

"I agree, it should be me instead," Drax said.

"Did I involve you? You're hardly any better, a brick would understand more than you do."

"A brick is an inorganic object, with no neurons firing in the slightest, so, no, it would not understand more than I do."

"It's a metaphor. We can't have someone who takes the literal meaning of a sentence to a level that-" The blob moved, cut Rocket off as the Raccoon moved, stomping on his former captor's face till the movements stopped. "It's like I'm on a water board, or somethin'," Rocket said, snickering into his paw, before he pointed at Peter. "As I was saying, you almost shot me, you 1000% dick."

"I don't think that is an accurate percentage," Drax said, hoisting one half of the blob, Groot finally out of the nexus to help him; missing for the action, and there for the money, as his companion had said.

Rocket didn't stop arguing, even as they collected their 50,000 unit reward, Peter hovering close to her, because he was impossibly good at hovering. His hand tapped once at the nape of her ass, and she reached, swatted it away, not amused with his constant belligerence that'd almost gotten Rocket hurt. And herself as well, but Rocket did seem more damagable than she did.

When they got back to their ship, Rocket was winded, splitting off, not before he said, "This ain't over, Quill."

"Yea, I know. You bring up shit I can't remember!"

"Because I'm a superior organism, Humie!"

Groot's back up was as limited as usual, "I am Groot."

"Exactly what I was sayin'!"

Peter's mouth gaped, and he looked to Drax, hand spread at the retreating forms of Groot and Rocket. Drax shook his head, picked up his knife and sat in his chair, a rickety old padded armchair, hardly up to galactic standards, but it seemed to fit his width. With a couple loud scrapes the chair was scooted into the adjacent room, leaving her and Peter alone. Which was when he caught her, like he was, arm going quick around her waist.

They were just giving this a go. This; the relationship, formed because of Peter's slow work, none of hers,in all honesty. But she was taken with him, she'd admit that, with all of his sincerity, hidden behind a somewhat rough, as well as sarcastic and immature(the list of negatives could go on), shell. A kindred spirit, in sorts, though she found that in all of her companions.

"Hey, hey," he said, soft, insistent tone finally breaking her down. Along with the jokes Rocket had made. "What?"

"I want you to apologize."

"I'm sorry." He nudged closer, tried for a hug,

"To the rest of them as well."

That's where he was needled most times, reliably crumpling in on himself, pouting, "But I just; come on, Gamora, why?"

"Because I said so."

She proceeded to, as he said, 'ice him out'. Peter finally got a hard enough slap to convince him to keep his hands off and focus his efforts elsewhere. She wasn't in the mood to be swayed in the slightest by his pelvic sorcery. When Rocket responded to his apology, she could hear the reflare of heated back and forth. Peter's sorry audibility grew, trying to cut off Rocket with this word repeatedly.

Gamora sat by the cassette player, flipping vol.1 over, thumb smoothing over the fraying sticker. Peter clomped back down the stairs, preceded by Drax's heavy steps. The metal cover clanged into place, leaving the two them alone in the underside of the aircraft. He dumped himself beside her, large hand reaching and covering the tape, pulling it back to him, clicking open the player to slot the rectangle into place. Another button was pressed, and music played from the orange foam circles around his neck; despite their outdated look, she'd never really ask him why he didn't get a chip, something similar to the translator in his neck.

"You want to know why?" She asked, resting her head close to one of the volume dials. "Why I asked you to say sorry?"

"Because we're a team. And Rocket would've talked about it for weeks; he doesn't let go at all. It's kinda frightening, but apparently, we're more concerned with my cleaning habit nowadays."

"You are not letting go of that topic, we haven't brought it up in a month, Peter."

"Okay, okay. But just so you know, and feel free to tell the rest of them this, I do make sure to at least wipe the counters."

She hummed, raised her eyebrows.

"...fine, it's a tiny bit of a lie, but still. You look gorgeous."

She shook her head, tucked her knees up to her chest, laughing for just a beat, "You can not get out of my lecture."

"I know. So tell me why."

"Yes, it's because we're a team, but also, we all have reckless tendencies that we need to curb, and I just think it's something to note. We are used to being alone, aren't we? In various ways. And rash, impulsive actions are fun when no one you care for is around to get hurt because of them."

He nodded, though a sigh reached her ears, and she saw his leg bouncing, head angled down away from hers. "You weren't hurt, were you?"

"No. But Rocket's feelings were hurt."

"That happens all the time."

"He is rather emotional," she said, smiling, "but it's appreciated."

"You think that fur bag would chill-"

Muffled clanging from directly over them, followed by a muffled voice, distorted by the floor obstacle, "I hear everything, Quill! We're going to get some kind of food, and you ain't getting none of it!"

"How could you hear that?! And you're using food as a weapon, that's pretty cruel, man," A response wasn't forthcoming. Peter sighed, poked at a hole in his t-shirt, muttering, "I'm really hungry too. Can I-?"

"No you can not have any of my food."

"What- I didn't even ask yet. How do you know what I was going to ask? You know what; fine, I don't even want your food."

She stood with a shrug, walking to the hatch, "Then you can sit here and sulk."

"Whoa-Gamora, stay, he knows your regular order. And it's not sulking, it's sitting in righteous indignation."

"Righteous?"

"Petty."

"Accurate"

He moved to lean beside her, hand close to her face, going to her hair, pushing a lock back over her shoulder before he spoke again, "Stay, okay? Keep my mind off the gaping black hole in my stomach."

"So melodramatic," she said with a huff, but stepped back from the first platform.