InsaneJournal

The idea of Christmas was still a bit – odd for Gamora, if she were to be honest.

The mythology behind a large human breaking into your home was uncomfortable. He left presents, yes, but he was supposed to keep track of who was naughty or nice and make judgment calls on children? And then it was customary to leave him an offering of cookies, as if he was some sort of god? Research told her that in terms of Earth, it was all deemed to be fake. Simply stories that evolved over time to entertain families and bring joy to kids.

She wasn’t sure if that rule applied to Vallo, where all things that sounded fake were true. Or could become true, so therefore: she would practice caution, particularly inside a mall people of this time considered ‘retro.’ The timeline it was pulled from was the decade Peter had been taken as a child, and she thought they’d have a pleasant time strolling through it. Traditional Christmas decor had been tossed up, though, and it was excessive.

Garland. Bright lights. There was some sort of train passing through manmade terrain of snow and little houses. Workers were dressed as elves, and there was a long line of people waiting to bring their children to see the mythical Santa.

Gamora, carrying an ice cream boat from the vendor known as Scoops Ahoy, gave that particular sight a look of disgust. “Why would you want to have your kid sit on a stranger’s lap? That’s an actor, right?”

She took a spoonful of her ice cream, and then: “Most actors are pieces of shit.”

Peter would admit Christmas had its flaws, okay. He wasn’t blind to it. He knew the story of Santa Claus, to the ears of a child, was a whole different ball game than when it was told to adults that had never been through that rite of passage. It sounded kind of creepy and kind of insane, and maybe it was those things, honestly.

But it was also a time-honored Earth tradition. A story passed down over centuries and eventually crafted into the weirdo tradition it was today. He was fond of it; he couldn’t help that. All his Christmases with his mom had featured Santa Claus, and he wanted their future Christmases with Merry to feature him, too.

It was fun. What was wrong with a little good, old-fashioned fun? It wasn’t like Santa was threatening to eat children. That had to count for something.

“I mean, you’re probably right,” he agreed before licking a stripe up the side of his festive double scoop cone. Most actors were kind of assholes, from what he’d discovered, but he’d forever stand by Kevin Bacon being great. A hero, even if he wasn’t an actual Avenger-level hero. “But Santa’s just supposed to be nice, you know? Make your kid have hope and believe in Christmas magic and stuff.”

Nice was debatable, but Gamora wouldn’t dare poke holes in the nostalgia of the tradition for Peter. She heard stories of Knowhere’s first Christmas, and the obvious example of human-trafficking aside, it sounded – pleasant? With the singing, and the lights, the togetherness, exchanging gifts.

She was capable of ignoring the sting of missing it.

“Okay,” Gamora answered slowly, turning her back to the line leading up to that majestic fake sleigh with the replica of reindeers, and she assumed there was a story behind the one with the giant red nose – that one seemed like a noble steed. She leaned against the railing as she sunk her spoon into her icecream again. “Tell me this, then. What is Christmas magic supposed to be, exactly? You all make it sound like it’s some wintry sorcery that automatically puts people in a good mood. Or what’s the word people have been tossing around–jolly?”

“Jolly’s usually just a Santa thing,” Peter replied. He was sure there were tons of people out there who used that descriptor other than just the fictional, magical gift-giver, but he always just associated it with the big guy. It was the song that did it, he was sure of that. He hadn’t heard it in years – hadn’t made either of his mom’s mixtapes – but it was forever stuck in that little kid part of his brain.

“And Christmas magic… I dunno.” He shrugged and leaned up beside Gamora. “I guess it’s just that feeling of everything seeming like the most amazing thing you could ever imagine. Like, when you’re a kid and you think anything’s possible, you know?”

Gamora hummed. It sounded like she was agreeing, but none of it was entirely relatable. Zehoberian culture wasn’t rooted in sprinkling their young with fairytales. She could appreciate the holiday’s ways of lifting people’s spirits up; she knew celebrating it with Mantis and everyone else had done wonders for his mood. As short-lived as it was.

Her hand reached for his wrist, and she brought that hand that held the cone to her mouth so she could have a lick of his ice cream. “What do you look forward to doing this year? With all of this,” she canted her chin towards a display of gaudy inflatable decor, “tradition. Do you want to get in line to sit on Santa’s lap, too?”

She was teasing. The look she gave Peter was provocative, but in a playful sort of way.

Peter’s expression turned to his best suave smirk and a tilt of his head. “Nah,” was his reply. “If I get to choose who’s sitting on whose lap, I pick you sitting on mine.” He leaned in closer to take another lick of his ice cream, eyes never leaving Gamora.

Was this the prime place for seduction? Nope. But hell, she’d started it, and he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t reciprocate.

Most certainly not the prime place for playing coy, especially in an area drowning with families – but most adults were too busy wrangling their children, and Gamora had class. They would behave. The smirk she had softened into a smile. His wrist was yanked on again, and only to bring Peter close for a chaste peck on the lips.

“You would like me to sit on your lap and beg for a Christmas gift, wouldn’t you,” she mused quietly (for his ears only). “You’ll have to give me some hints on what you want, gift-wise. Don’t say you want me. That’s predictable, and you have me.”

“Call me predictable, baby, because all I want for Christmas is you,” Peter grinned, giving her another kiss before he chomped down on the side of his cone. It was one of the ones with a chocolatey inner coat, and that was a treat he was absolutely here for.

“You don’t have to get me anything,” he went on as he chewed, then swallowed. “I got you back, and we get to do the whole Knowhere Christmas thing. It’ll be missing Kevin Bacon, but I mean, you instead? That’s just gonna make it even more perfect.”

Gamora’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and into what presumably might be an alternate dimension. She was hoping that guessing what he’d say would make Peter seriously think about something materialistic, but she should have suspected him to stick to the stubborn route. “I can’t roll myself up in what people call wrapping paper and slap a bow on myself,” she pointed out, leading them away from the Santa line.

Except she thought about that for a moment.

“People don’t actually do that, right?”

There was quiet for a moment, lips pressed together as Peter envisioned just that. Well, the bow part, anyway. Several bows if she wanted. The wrapping paper seemed kind of unwise, and when he realized why, he grimaced exaggeratedly.

“Probably not,” he told her. “Unless you want the potential for papercuts in some seriously uncomfortable spots.”

“Ugh,” Gamora sounded out, disgusted, until she took another mouthful of ice cream with a generous amount of chocolate drizzle. Terran chocolate was easily becoming her favorite thing - the types were endless, and she appreciated the culture’s investment in sugar. “I plan on getting you something anyway - doesn’t this place bring up anything nostalgic to you that you might like? This store here has–”

They stopped in front of a shop titled Sam Goody in white and pink lettering, and she gestured towards it. “Records. But there are easier ways to access music besides that, I guess.”

Christmas was hard.

“Records are cool, though,” Peter acknowledged. Cassette tapes had been the big thing last time he’d been on Earth before his recent stint, but he appreciated a record and record players. According to his grandpa’s neighbors, they were ‘in’ again, too. People liked the popes, apparently, which he understood.

“I dunno, babe. Sorry, I’m not trying to make this hard on you, it’s just–” He shrugged, polishing off his cone and stopping at a garbage can to dispose of the paper that had been around it and the napkins he’d use to clean his hands. “I haven’t really done gifts in a while. I’ve also just kinda… gotten stuff I wanted, one way or another.”

He still liked Christmas. He liked the sentiment behind it, the togetherness, the nostalgia that always made him think of his mom and his family and the good times. But he wasn’t worried about gifts.

Gamora didn’t pout. She wasn’t pouting. Not really. Her lips almost puckered like she was, and her nose twitched – but the notorious deadliest woman did not pout.

She did, however, stick her spoon right into Peter’s mouth without warning.

“Drax and Mantis fly to Earth and kidnap Kevin Bacon,” she began, pushing her body into his. “And make it impossible for me to buy you something that could top that. I might have to resort to their tactics.”

Peter let out a muffled noise of surprise but accepted the sudden spoonful of ice cream just fine. He pulled his mouth back but threw his arms around Gamora to grasp at her lower back.

“Look,” he began, “let’s not go the kidnapping route because I think that was the one and only time that would work out. And he was kind of freaked out at first, anyway, and I don’t really feel like inflicting that on anyone for Christmas, okay?”

Kevin Bacon had turned out to be pretty cool, it was true. He’d decided to stick around for a while all on his own, and he had a pretty stellar voice. Having him on Knowhere had definitely been memorable, and it had picked up his mood when he was in a terrible place. But it still wasn’t going to top the gift of just being with Gamora again, even if she grumbled at the answer.

“What’s the big deal anyway, huh? Why’re you so worried about getting me a gift?”

“There’s no big deal,” was Gamora’s awfully defensive retort, and while she enjoyed the arms wound up around her, she went to shove his forehead. Ultimately she freed herself and tossed out the icecream boat she’d been digging at. It was becoming dairy soup; that was when her interest in it waned.

She lured Peter into the store by walking into it with a somewhat subtle sway of her hips. Her fingers began gliding across a row of records. “It’s our first holiday together,” Gamora grumbled after a moment. “I guess I just want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

Peter was successfully lured, no doubt about that. He’d have followed her without the extra temptation, but it didn’t hurt, for sure. He stepped up beside her at the shelves and flipped idly through a couple of records before looking over at her.

“Babe, I’m serious, you just being here is all I need,” he assured her. He meant it and he hoped the way he looked at her, soft with an appreciative smile, told her that. “You don’t have to worry so much. Technically, we’ve had a whole bunch of Earth holidays together, and I just didn’t tell you.”

“Predictable,” Gamora said again, tsk-ing at Peter with the click of her tongue. Fine, yes, she believed him when he said she was enough and it was sweet, and she was trying to be satisfied with that answer. She was just pouting still.

Mostly on the inside.

“And what Earth holidays did we technically celebrate anyway?” she shot back after pulling a record out – ABBA – and shoving it into his chest.

Peter examined the ABBA album approvingly and reached past Gamora to snag the next one: AC/DC. It looked like they’d landed right in the 70s section, and that was his era. A couple of the good albums from then wouldn’t hurt. Rocket could probably get a hold of a good record player, too.

“Four Thanksgivings, four Christmases, four Easters, four April Fool’s Days.” He shrugged and picked up a Jackson 5 album to consider before putting it back. “They’re just regular days out in the galaxy, but I always knew.”

“You could have said something,” Gamora shot back at him, albeit gently, and she halted movement so she and Peter could have their fronts pressed together again. “And we could have done something. I would have tracked down a big, bad turkey for us to kill and feast on.”

Though that had her reeling back to their most recent Thanksgiving, which – ugh. She made a face. “After doing proper research on how to cook one. I’m still reeling from the process of having to stick your hand in it and filling the hole. Don’t,” she growled, and jabbed his chest with a finger, “make a joke. I know where your mind was going.”

Okay, admittedly, his mind was going there, but Peter resisted the urge. He hadn’t planned to respond at all, and he didn’t – but the grin just sprang to his face and stayed there when she got all growly. He did consider calling her ‘cute’, but he’d learned in the early days what fate would befall him for that.

Thanksgiving this year ended up in Guardians chaos. It proved to him that the days when he had been the only one to know the holidays and hadn’t pushed to celebrate them had been the right move.

“What’s there to say? ‘Hey, celebrate this random, meaningless Earth holiday with me? Most of which involve a lot of food that, oh yeah, we don’t have’?” He shrugged and kissed her forehead. “It was no big deal.”

“Random - perhaps,” Gamora tentatively agreed, splaying a hand over Peter’s chest versus trying to stab through him with the tip of her finger. They were having a moment in an aisle of vintage records, and anyone else can either move around the Gamora-Peter-shaped block or they could screw off for a few moments. “But not meaningless if it’s spent with you. I like catching a glimpse of what Earth life might look like for you.”

All they had was here, was this. The Gamora that was alive in their world might occasionally send him a message lightyears across the universe, but she was never going to be invested in Peter the way she was.

The records in Peter’s hand finally got put back atop the row of records nearest him, just so he could wrap both arms around Gamora fully. He hadn’t really thought of it like that, but he liked that she wanted to be involved. He had figured that out after Thanksgiving; it might have been kind of a disaster, but he understood the feeling behind it.

“Alright, I get it,” he said, splaying a hand across her upper back. “But they’re gonna be just as meaningful without presents, okay? Get stuff for Rocket and Nebula, and anything you were gonna spend on me…” He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then continued, “Save it for Merry.”

“Weaponizing our future child against me is playing very dirty,” Gamora pointed out, but she had softened up like butter. There wasn’t a day that passed where she thought about her, or looked at one of her pictures on her phone - or played a video, just to hear that little baby voice. Merry had given her hope when she had none of it.

The sigh she let out was of defeat, and then: “You’re going to have to help me figure out gifts for Nebula and Rocket. Nebula has a jetpack, and Rocket has Bucket’s arm.”

Whoever Bucket was, anyway.

“Bucky,” Peter corrected, almost automatically, amusement in his voice. Gamora couldn’t tell practically anyone Avengers or Avengers-associated apart, but he kind of loved it. “Think you just combined ‘Bucky’ and ‘Rocket’ this time, that was a good one. Call him that to his face sometime.”

He took one arm back and reached up to grab his two albums again, squeezing Gamora’s waist. “Come on, let’s keep looking. Bet we can find something Rocket likes here, too.”