A/N: I'm in the process of reposting most of my GotG fics to here from AO3. This is 3 of 5, though the first that I wrote.
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Gamora prefers the nightmares that solidify. The straight runs through memories and hypothetical scenarios, the tangibly upsetting facts and potentials that she can identify and talk herself away from.
They are the nightmares she has most often. She has wondered if that's typical for her people - or if it's a result of her cybernetic enhancements. There's no one to ask.
When she wakes with Nebula's face in her head and a sick, twisting feeling in her gut, a vague familiarity that makes her think of the longest days of her training, all she can do is try to breathe through it.
As her heart slows down and the pounding in her ears subsides, she can hear the others in their bunks.
She did not die among friends. She survived with them.
This has, on the whole, complicated the friendship and made things deeply awkward. Being prepared to die with people is one thing. Living with them is another beast entirely.
She has tackled worse. And she is... grateful, in moments like these, for the presence of other people. The sound of them, reminding her that come morning, there will be company. Conversation. Irritation. The general air of smug satisfaction is beginning to fade into an embarrassed uncertainty about what they're supposed to do next. It is not a new feeling. She remembers the days following her decision to betray Ronan - that's terrific, now what? It's a pleasant change to be sharing in it with other people.
Carefully, she latches on to that line of thinking. Her sister's face, so angry, fades for the moment, enough respite that she can begin to drift off back to sleep.
She won't mind, she thinks, searching for a new purpose all over again, as long as she is searching with friends.