WHAT: The reunion that doesn't get Peter kicked in the balls WHERE: New Asgard WHEN: Backdated to Peter's arrival WARNINGS: It's very soft STATUS: Complete
In the last few months, Peter had mowed (Mown? No, that sounded too much like moan) more yards than he ever expected to. Retiring was an interesting experience, but he was really glad he got a chance to get to know his grandfather. There was still so much time to catch up on.
And so much pop culture, holy cow. And it was all at his fingertips for the most part? The future was pretty great. And one thing he'd been certain to do was learn how to actually drive. He even had a license now, so it was completely official, even if he thought parallel parking was the dumbest thing and flying spaceships was a hundred, no a thousand, no a million times better. The lack of flying cars was a bit disappointing.
But those thoughts always made him miss his new family. It was just time for them to all go their separate ways, that's all. Rocket was going to be a great captain. Drax was going to be a great, uh, dad?? person for all those yub yub kids on Knowhere. Nebula, surprisingly but also not at all surprisingly was already turning out to be a great adopted mom (whoa did that mean her and Drax..? NO, of course not) for all of them. Mantis was off exploring herself. No, that sounded wrong. Unless she was doing that, too, no judgement. But yeah, she'd spent her whole life with other people, she deserved a chance to find her own space, too. Still, it'd be great to introduce his mother flippin' SISTER to his grandpa.
It took him a moment to realize that falling feeling wasn't just the comfort of his bed, so he opened an eye and pulled out on of his earbuds. Yup, falling. Directly towards some barrels on a pier or dock of some sort. Thinking quickly, he pinwheeled his arms to try and steer himself towards the water. Instinctively, he tried to activate his gear, that he wasn't wearing, and failed. Instead, he tucked into himself to soften the landing and hit the dock, barely missing the barrel of fish, then bounced into the water. So the splash definitely made him realize this wasn't a dream. He kicked to the surface, blinded by spray and just yelled.
"COME ON, GUYS. ANOTHER KIDNAPPING? I'M RETIRED!"
Gamora didn’t know what gave her the urge, but she just happened to look up – and see a body plummet from the sky.
An interesting trend as of late, one that she had fallen (no puns intended, she didn’t even know what those are) into when she arrived. Then to Nebula, then to Rocket, and she wasn’t quite sure what the hell made New Asgard the place for it all to happen, but the pattern was becoming clear.
She witnessed the body try to control their landing. Gamora could have situated herself to catch them, she supposed, she did have the cybernetic skeleton that offered her an above-average sense of strength, but her feet stayed rooted to where they were. So she observed instead, and she watched them make an impact with the dock (then dodge the dead fish, which was assuredly more plain luck than skill), and then watched him hit the water.
Gamora watched them – him – burst to the top, shouting so loud he could wake the dead, and she sucked in breath that made her quiver. She had held a slight hope for the past few months, knowing that people came and went here, wishing that some of those people were hers. And they were. It brought an onslaught of complicated feelings; like the ache of all the time she had lost with them and the possibility that, perhaps, she hadn’t come to terms with her own death.
Peter had told her to go right, and she wondered if things would have turned out differently if she listened.
The boots she wore made her steps sound heavy as Gamora walked along the dock. Her movement was frantic, or hurried – languid at best – but they came to a stop when she reached the end, and seated herself at the edge.
“Hi,” she greeted Peter, drinking in the hilariously drenched sight of him, with a tremulous smile. Gamora was happy. Gamora was relieved. Gamora also felt the dam inside her begin to crack, and did her best to hold it together with every metaphorical stick and stone she could find. “Need help?”
Peter's head had already whipped around at the sound of bootsteps on the dock. No sneaking up on even a retired legendary outlaw. But he'd just stared as she strolled down the dock and sat down. Look, if this was one of those slow-motion moments out of the movies, he'd know, right? Did she toss her hair as she walked? It was kind of also a blur. Things were getting better between them if she offered help instead of just throwing a floatie at his head. Floatie. Thing. Life preserver, that was the name.
"Uh, hey Gamora," he added, offering a lop-sided smile. "Yeah, if you don't mind? It's kind of, ah, wet, down here."
Puppy eyes. That’s what Rocket had told her. Puppy eyes towards the new Gamora, the one displaced in time, and part of her wondered if there had been a – thing between Peter and this new Gamora. She hadn’t thought to ask Rocket or her sister, trying to keep the focus on them, and their arrival, though the urge to bombard them with inquiries was ever-present.
These weren’t puppy eyes, but he at least looked to her as if they were on good terms.
“You look like you’re having fun,” she chuckled hoarsely, kicking the tips of her boots at the water. “How about you swim, Peter.” Gamora held her hand out. “I’ll pull you up.”
"Oh, loads," was the answer, as Peter treaded water towards the dock. "You know, if you missed me, you could've just called or something. No need to get your buddy Stakar to rip me away to some other… planet?" But yeah, so in his heart of hearts he didn't really want to believe their relationship was over, but he'd been willing to accept that and move on, since it was clearly what she'd wanted. But like, here they were together. Again.
He reached up a hand once he'd reached the dock and smiled. "A laugh sounds good on you, though."
Stakar, what? Nebula had mentioned the Ravagers before–assumptions were made, of course, she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to know all the details of who this other Gamora came to be in the aftermath of her death, but she had gleaned some tidbits.
She still didn’t know how to feel about it.
Gamora took Peter’s hand but didn’t pull. She offered to help, she planned on it, but–she was holding his hand, and she was allowing herself to at least have feelings about that. It had been months. “I have missed you, but you’ve got the wrong Gamora,” she said quietly, the smile turning into a cautious frown. “I’m the one you told to go right.” I’m the one who died.
And just like that, Peter's mouth shut off. No jokes, no witty comments, no references that he'd probably be the only one to understand. So maybe this was a dream, after all. It wouldn't be the first time, even. Just most of them usually had a better entrance on his part. His grip on her hand tightened and he didn't pull himself up, either. Just that moment, right there. He wanted to savor it for as long as he could, looking into her eyes, the curves of her jaw, those kinda-hot silvery implants that framed her face; she was a whole package, okay?
His features softened completely and he was totally just wet from the water, not crying. "Gamora?"
Last minute, Gamora decided to level the playing field here and joined Peter in the water with a quick slip off the dock and a light splash. She was fully clothed and did not care. They could both be drenched idiots. “That was a lot colder than I expected,” she huffed out through a returning grin, body bobbing up in the gentle waves once she kicked her feet to float (her boots were heavy, and that was proving to be annoying).
She still hadn’t let go of his hand. In fact, she interlocked their fingers with purpose. “Vormir wasn’t long ago for me,” Gamora explained, hoping to help his brain cells connect. “But Rocket and Nebula filled me in on some things–and Thor, we’re in New Asgard. In Vallo, which is some other world in another dimension. I’m alive here.”
"We don't have to talk about Vormir," answered Peter, returning the smile and pulling Gamora closer as if he could warm her up in a giant body of cold water. "Or Thor," he added. Still, if they made a New Asgard and got Gamora there safely, he could at least be thankful.
He briefly thought about rattling off how long she had been gone for him or how it wasn't quite as long as it should be since he got blipped, but really to hell with all that. Gamora was right here, why worry about the time she wasn't? Enjoy the moment.
"I'd rather just kiss you right now. It's a way better topic."
Gamora didn’t protest at being pulled, she went freely–curling an arm around his neck, the pose as if they were about to engage in some dance in the water of all places. She also didn’t hesitate to do the thing that Peter wanted, and that was to kiss him.
It had been a handful of months for her since the last time. A few years (she didn’t have space in her brain for exact math right now, she was busy) for Peter, and she wanted it to be a good one. She wanted it to be a long one, the kind that might make them both gasp for air. Missing her people hurt, but missing Peter had been this awful, different ache considering their last moments. Blaster pointed at her. His finger on the trigger.
Bubbles.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered once the kiss broke, keeping her eyes closed. They didn’t have to talk about Vormir (or Thor), but Gamora at least needed to say that for a few reasons; for asking him to kill her, for not listening.
Peter's eyes also stayed closed for a few more seconds after the kiss broke. He was content, despite still being in the water. There was even still a soft smile played across his lips - would it be weird to say he missed the taste of her? Yeah, probably weird. Don't say that. If Nebula was in earshot, she'd say Ugh, gross.
"You absolutely don't need to apologize for that," he answered, not immediately getting what she was apologizing for. "If anything, I should be the one apologizing. You were just having a relaxing day, I think, and now you're completely soaked." It hadn't yet clicked that the things he'd drunk himself stupid over and recovered from were still fresh (relatively) for her.
Here was Gamora, attempting to be a bit serious and here was Peter, saying something moronic made her laugh. Or chuckle, really – this breathy, amused noise she let out as she pressed the front of her face into his cheek. “You absolutely don’t need to apologize for that,” she repeated back at him, squeezing him tight, content to be submerged in water forever (or maybe just a long period of time) if it meant that she got to have him like this. “Trying to get Nebula and Rocket to acclimate has not been exactly relaxing.”
Rocket’s sticky fingers. Nebula’s penchant to want to punch someone. The toddler debate. Gamora’s complaint was at least expressed with fondness, not annoyance. She wouldn’t have those idiots any other way.
She kissed Peter’s face all over. It would have made an audience gag if they had one but she’d gladly let them choke on their own bile. “I missed you,” she sniffed, knocking their foreheads together. “Are you alright?”
"Way better than alright," breathed Peter, just honestly soaking in the attention. While also soaking in the water. Ocean? He mentally noted for later that she didn't mention Drax or Mantis or Groot. Or Kraglin. Or even that gold guy who he wanted to make fun of but also owed his life to, so that was out the window.
Leaning into the just contact of having her so close, Peter lowered his voice. "Honestly, if this is some kind of dream, just keep me here?"
“I can keep you somewhere a lot more dry,” Gamora chuckled, smoothing her wet hands over Peter’s equally wet hair while she just–looked at him, trying to pick at the little differences that time could have brought. He looked content and relieved, but she could see the weariness in him too. “Preferably on land. In a quaint cottage that I am currently living in.”
She had asked Nebula and Rocket to stay in New Asgard with her. Thor had other homes available to offer, and they’d all have their own space so the chances of loving homicide would lower exponentially but she was not giving Peter that decision. She was going to selfishly make it for him. “The bed is a nice size,” Gamora pointed out, her eyebrows suggestively flaring. “Perfect for two unless you fight me for the blanket.”
Because Peter was Peter, he felt a few 'tingles in his nethers' as she went through all that, because it was his kind of suggestion. But also since Peter was Peter, he worked up his face into a thoughtful expression and tilted his head a bit. "Moving in together is a big decision, you know. You can't just undo it if you change your mind."
Then he smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Guess I'll just have to get an extra blanket to be safe."
“Smartest thing you’ve said to me in a while, Peter Quill,” Gamora murmured, giving his mouth a final kiss for the moment). They had a lot to catch up on and she hoped Vallo would give them time, if not permanence, but the cynic in her wouldn’t hold her breath. She’d avoid putting focus on that. “Now can we please...”
She pulled back but curled a hand into his shirt, tugging at him. “Get out of this water? I might not be able to salvage my boots.”
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. We should do that, I've probably got wrinkles in places I'm not supposed to have wrinkles."
With a bit of reluctance, he let Gamora pull away and headed for the dock, looking for something easy to grab onto so he could pull himself up. There were plenty of tie-offs for boats, at least, and that seemed the best bet.
He wished again he had his gear, because he could've just launched himself onto the boards dramatically instead of emerging like a wet noodle. With a hand firmly in place, he turned to offer Gamora a boost--
Gamora didn’t need it. Hoisting herself up onto the dock was done effortlessly, gracefully, despite the waterlogged sensation that clung to her wardrobe. She was already up on her feet and wringing the excess moisture from her hair, a grin sliced across her face
“Not to kill the mood,” she began, flipping hair over her shoulders once she was done, “but I might have to see if Thor has dry clothes for you to borrow until we can get these dried.”
"No, it's cool. I think he and I came to kind of an understanding. And I'm sure I fit into the same stuff he does. Obviously." Peter grimaced as he pulled himself up out of the water, still in sweat pants and a band t-shirt. His hip ached a bit from the impact earlier and he wasn't actually dressed with the expectation of jumping dimensions.
While he spent another thirty seconds or so peeling the wet clothes loose (why did it always suction to every part of you? Stupid science reasons, probably), he felt the need to add something important. "He tell you I gave him some great advice?"
Gamora wasn’t going to complain about how the shirt stuck to Peter like this, nor was she going to be ashamed of how her eyes were roving over him. “You can tell me about that advice later,” she hummed, stepping over to him to oh so helpfully pluck some of that wet fabric off the outline of his muscle. “I have a few errands to run with you so I can make sure you’re settled in, but first -”
She met Peter’s eyes, and gave him a look. It wasn’t a murderous one. Obviously it was his lucky day. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”