Disclaimer: I don't own Guardians of the Galaxy.
Summary: Her hand creeps forward, as if to brush the cheek of the slumbering figure before her, but she pulls away at the last moment, not allowing herself even the smallest of touches. DraxGamora, oneshot
Okay. Slightly intimidated about writing for this fandom for the first time, but I love it and I can't help myself. My mind is all full of ideas so I thought I'd start with this one. It's not very long but I love the pairing of Drax and Gamora - I love a lot of pairings, really - so I thought I'd give them a shot first. Anyway! I hope that y'all enjoy! Thanks so much for giving this a shot!
Chasm
Gamora comes upon him by accident.
It is somewhat surprising to see him asleep, soundly, in one of the chairs on the Milano. His chest rises and falls and he would look peaceful if not for the tense lines on his face. It turns out, not even sleep can soften his normal expression. Not even sleep can smooth the furrows from his brow, or the tense set of his mouth.
In fact, she had never really thought of Drax sleeping at all. It was a strange notion - a person who never slept - but she had often found herself wondering just that. On a few occasions previous to this one, she had come across him late at night, walking the corridors of the ship, pausing briefly to gaze out a window or fiddle with some buttons and levers - which, she was certain, Quill wouldn't be happy with.
So, really, it is a shock to her system to see his large frame draped over a table, forearms pillowing his cheek. His eyes are closed, but she can see them move beneath the lids, indicating a deep sleep. A deep sleep that he probably needs.
Somehow, just thinking that causes her chest to become that much tighter.
Gamora stamps that emotion away, like she is so good at doing. It has become easier with time, but now that she is part of this rag-tag group, she finds that it is becoming harder and harder to box things away and pretend they never existed.
Despite that, she finds herself reaching for him.
It is almost like it is happening to someone else, and not to her. Before she can even fathom what is going on, she finds her hand lifting from its idle place by her side, reaching out to him, fingers slightly twitching as she thinks - subconsciously - that she would like to touch his brow, feel that tough skin beneath her fingers, just for a moment.
In that instant, just as the thought speeds through her mind, she stops just as her fingers are about to brush his skin. She cannot allow herself this luxury, and she knows this. She must keep her distance. She cannot allow herself to even think of possibly doing otherwise.
So, she lets her hand drop to her side, fighting with herself all the while - it is funny how she is able to subdue so many opponents and yet it is her mind that gives her the most trouble - and just contents herself to look at him. She gazes longer than she would like, but somehow she can't bear the thought of looking away, and it is then she realizes that looking is just as bad as touching.
Almost.
Still, she does not tear her gaze from him, not for a while. She finds herself thinking about this man, this man who had wanted to kill her, this man who is now her friend, this man who could be something else...
Stop.
The singular word is enough to derail her train of thought, enough to put those odd thoughts at bay for the moment. Discipline is not a foreign concept to her, not at all, and she finds that it is handier in this situation than she has any reason to believe.
Gamora lets out a sigh that feels a bit more anguished than it should be and steps back, still not breaking her gaze from the sleeping man. Some part of her wants to cherish this image, to remember him as he was this moment - vulnerable, at rest, and still so far out of her reach she was surprised she could see him at all.
With her breath nothing but a shaking exhale, all of Gamora's willpower is put into turning and leaving him as she found him, her thoughts a mixture of calm approval and screaming derision.
End.