A/N: Before you all grab your pitchforks, I did write some sweetness here. Just gotta squint and look at it with Gameter goggles. Note: I do not plan to kill Peter, so whatever happens to him, he isn't dead. (I love him way too much). This chapter is more Gamora-centric, fyi.

1.) Zinfer, I hope you still think so after this chapter heh. I'm doing my best to capture their characters and interactions within cannon. Normally, I don't update this quickly. (For me, it's more like once a week or...once in a blue moon) But I just feel so inspired and I've been on a GotG bender as of late.

penguin357, you know it. I love him just way too much, so yeah, he won't die.

Boooyakasha, thank you so much! More is on the way. C:

Indywolf, meeep thank you so so much! There's more coming. :)

2.) This chapter was inspired whilst listening to "Lightning" by Cash Cash, so please do listen to that while reading.

She stays with him through the night.

The others stay as well, but she's the one who stays awake and watching. Her eyes fix on the monitor several feet away. The glowing blue line stretching across the dark screen blips occasionally, displaying alternating bumps and depressions which she guesses to be Peter's heartbeat. The blips come so few and far between that when perchance she happens to miss it, her own heart almost stops and she'll lean forward, eyes wide with worry until she notices the minute rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

She waits with the rest of the Guardians once they'd brought him to the Xandarian hospital, and it was her who remained with him afterwards. The nurse, a slip of a thing with skin a shade of pink even brighter than Gamora's own hair, asks if Peter had any family. After a shared glance among the raccoon, the assassin, and the walking thesaurus, Gamora shakes her head. "We are all that he has," she answers, burying the confusing swell of emotions the words bring to her.

She is there when the three of them are told news they'd already expected-he would need surgery to remove the shrapnel with any hope of survival. When the doctors finish, none of the trio are able to see him. Gamora herself paces outside the door, her hands folding and unfolding, clenching into fists until the doctor emerges with clipboard in hand. He' leaves the door slightly ajar. (Gamora strains to catch any sight of Peter, but the doctor has stood conveniently in her view.) (It bothers her immensely)

"How is he?" It's all she can do to hide the desperation she can already hear in her own voice.

"He'll survive," the doctor responds. "He's lost a large amount of blood, but his heart rate's still a bit weak. Boy's made of pretty strong stuff."

"Pretty?" Drax, of course.

"It's a metaphor, Muscle Man," Rocket grunts.

"May I see him?" she asks, arching a brow.

"He's in a medically induced coma," says the doctor slowly, as if to dissuade her. It's a futile attempt because she is Gamora, and she is not easily dissuaded. She shoulders past the doctor and saunters into the room, barely hearing him as he calls after her, "He'll hear you if you've got anything to say to him."

She's leaning forward, and her dark tresses fall over his shoulder. Her gaze flits over his pallid face, and in that moment, she wants nothing more than to see those bright green eyes open and winking at her, that ridiculously disarming smile on his lips and some foolish attempt to woo her. She half-expects it to happen and is not surprised when the man lying on the bed remains lying there, once nearly dead now barely alive. She reaches across and lays her hand on his, curling her fingers around the curve of his hand.

"Quill, if you can hear me or not, I am not sure of this. I will presume you can as it is likely I will not repeat this," she begins, smoothing her thumb across the back of his hand. The pad of her thumb brushes the scar on his hand-a scar she'd left when (ages ago, it seems) she'd thrown one of her knives at him. To be fair, she had at that point had only acquiring the sphere in mind. She takes a deep breath and continues, "I do not live to regret many things. I have not done many things to regret. One thing, I have found myself wishing I had done. That is the definition of regret, is it not?" She swallows past a lump in her throat and blinks a few times before she continues, "I wish that I had-I am glad that you are not awake to see this or else I wonder you should laugh at me. Something at which I would not be pleased."

She clears her throat. "I wish that I had...danced with you on Knowhere." In her hold, the muscles in his hand twitch slightly. His thumb moves just enough that she dares to hope he has heard her.

She leans in closer, now, her lips inches from his ear and whispers so softly she can barely hear herself, "You once told me there is a legend about people like me. You must tell me of it when this is over." As she's whispering these words, all she thinks of is the time not so long ago when they'd stood together looking at the cosmos. He'd slipped his headphones onto her ears, and the light touch on her hip had been him resting his hand there. She'd stiffened when his fingers sought hers, and now she feels the tiniest twinge of guilt as she pictures his startled (and hurt, she realizes afterward) face when the blade of her knife had pressed against his exposed throat.

Initially, she isn't sure what the beeping sound is when it meets her ears, but as she sits back up, the noise becomes louder. She turns her gaze to the monitor only to find that the glowing blue line is flat and still. The machine maintains a steady beeeep. "No, this cannot happen. I forbade you. Quill, please do not do this." She's pleading, begging the powers that be for aid she cannot give. She slumps on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her arms as warm tears roll down her face. She doesn't bother fighting them. The man for whom they fall has turned everything that has made her her upside down, and from what she knows of Terran emotion-tears are that which soon follow.

Her cries soon wake the others.

"What in the-"

"I AM Groot?!"

"What has happened?"

The silence that settles in her soul renders her too numb to answer them. The last shred of hope in her being clings like a dying flame to a passing thought, more like a memory.

"He isn't completely Terran. The results from blood testing have displayed two differing species in his D.N.A," the doctor adds, as an afterthought. "Could be how he survived the loss of blood." Or bearing the Infinity Stone, Gamora adds in her mind. "That'd kill any human."

She doesn't count (or bother to) the passage of time. She doesn't care that the others are watching her. All she does care about is that the man before her eyes is in the darkness where she cannot reach him. She leans down and closes her eyes as she presses a lingering kiss to his cold lips. Tears run down her cheeks and fall onto his.

A/N: *sobs in a corner because what the fuuu-did I just kill Peter Quill?* Hint: It's all in the genes, guys. P.s., sorry for the lack of Peter's perspective. I know I've been alternating with him, Gamora and then the other Guardians, but next chapter will be his p.o.v, promise.

Aaaand I blame Chris Pratt and Zoe Saldana for their fantastic performances in GotG for all this feels-inducing mess I call my fanfiction.

Thoughts? Whatever's on your mind, tell me in a review?