InsaneJournal

Ever since learning that Gamora’s ankle had been sprained in his embarrassing skid-fall down the ski hills, Peter had made it his mission to be at her service. The medical team at the resort had wrapped her up, given her a pair of crutches, and explicit instructions on how to handle the injury. It wasn’t anything major – should heal up just fine if she rested and went easy on it – but she was down for the count for the next few days, for sure.

Since their run-in had been followed by a goddamn blizzard and the revelation that anyone currently at the resort was snowed-in until the excess snow could be cleared up, she didn’t really have a choice but to obey that.

Peter’s dad had a room he’d reserved at the resort, and Peter had taken advantage of it. He’d promised to keep Gamora out of her asshole dad’s reach, knowing well what the urge to get the hell away from a parent felt like, and he’d followed through. The suite was big enough for the three of them (Mantis, too, since there was no getting out for a while), and he thought they’d all been getting along pretty well over the past few days. He even thought there had been a vibe going on between him and Gamora, but he hadn’t tried to really pursue it. For once, he held back.

It wasn’t like him. He wasn’t ever someone afraid to go after who and what he wanted, and he would insist he wasn’t afraid now. But Gamora was intimidating. Hot but intimidating. And since he was the one that had gotten her stuck here, it didn’t feel right to try to hit on her. He was pretty sure she could eviscerate him, anyway. Which really only contributed to the hot-but-intimidating factor.

Instead, he was doing his best to at least provide some entertainment and a boost when Gamora needed it (since she didn’t seem to do more than scowl at the crutches). Right now, he’d gotten her settled on the couch in front of the fireplace and handed her the remote for the TV before going to retrieve an ice pack for her.

“How’s the swelling?” he asked, plopping down beside her and waiting for her to pull up her pant leg for ice pack placement.

Gamora felt like she wanted to crawl out of her skin sometimes. She was stuck, and while the room was – unfortunately – fucking lovely, the lack of control over the situation had her on edge. She hadn’t stepped out since she moved into the room Peter offered her. Not that she couldn’t (she knew damn well how to use crutches, she just didn’t want to), but the risk of being seen wasn’t worth it. Her phone had blown up with various messages between her siblings, her father, and she ignored most of it.

She wanted out. She wanted to climb onto the first plane even if she was stuck in cargo, fly off and never come back. That was the plan when the snow melted.

But she couldn’t completely deny that some of this experience wasn’t—the worst, or whatever. No one expected anything of her. She didn’t have to entertain anyone (Peter came by to entertain her instead), nor did she have to deal with gaudy Christmas celebrations thrown at her face at every turn. Gamora insisted she did not need Peter to check up on her, yet he did it anyway. He was nice enough to stow her away in this room, but she was also aware it was probably to even the scales of what happened.

Him being proactive with her healing process wasn’t necessary, though.

“It’s fine,” she sighed, rolling up the leggings she’d been lazing in. Gamora had been trying to be a good patient and listen to instructions. She didn’t want to make it worse and get herself stuck here longer than necessary. The swelling had gone down significantly, and the bruising was becoming lighter. “I’ve been keeping it propped up and elevated.”

Peter laid the ice pack around her ankle, making sure it wrapped around the most swollen places. He was relieved every time he came to check in and saw how much the swelling really had gone down. There would still be some healing to do, but he figured she’d be up on her feet before long, free to fend for herself against the overbearing Butt-Chin.

“Good, hopefully by this time tomorrow you’ll be able to walk on it without wincing,” he said, leaning back against the couch next to her. “Gonna miss your secret hideout when we’re free?”

“I’ve had worse accommodations,” Gamora replied with a shrug. It was hard to complain; the view of everything veiled in white was nice, the furniture was atrociously comfortable, and it wasn’t as if she had slim pickings when it came to dining. Room service had been utilized and she had to ensure that it was her card on file to accrue charges for that because it was definitely adding up.

She propped her elbow onto the back of the couch, supporting her head with the back of her hand. “And it’s been peaceful,” she added. “Aside from your insistence on bringing me ice and ibuprofen. Your sister sent me a Get Well Soon balloon.”

Gamora pointed over towards it by the nightstand. There was a stuffed reindeer that anchored it to its spot. It was… cute, she supposed.

Peter looked up at the balloon with a small smile and a fond shake of his head. Mantis had been good about all this, considering the circumstances that had gotten them there. She’d trusted him to get it taken care of, and he though he’d been doing a pretty great job. Their father keeping his distance because of the snow had definitely helped keep things moving smoothly.

“Consider yourself lucky. It was almost a hug,” he told her with a playful smirk.

“I’ll take the reindeer,” Gamora shot back at him immediately, a teasing little quirk to her lips. Her exposure to Mantis had been fleeting but it wasn’t difficult to decipher that she was intense. Well-meaning, awkward, a little loud. Very different from Peter, though she liked seeing how close they were despite all their differences. “And while my secret hideout is nice–”

She paused to sigh, the exhale making her lips flutter. “I’m going a little stir-crazy. I was going to ask if–you’ve seen my father around a lot? I’m trying to gauge how present he is in the public areas. I could use a quick change of scenery even if I have to put a pillowcase over my head.”

“Nah, he’s not around,” Peter assured her. “I think I saw him, like, once at one of the restaurants, but he’s not really out there looking for socializing opportunities.” He’d been keeping an eye out, too, when he wandered out into the resort’s public spaces. He and Mantis had popped by the gingerbread contest that was going on. At one point, his sister had tried to talk him into yoga, too, but – yeah, no. That wasn’t happening. But he had been looking to make sure Butt-Chin wasn’t lurking around.

“If you want back-up, though, like, just in case. I got you,” he offered. “Have you answered him at all yet?”

“Nope,” was her answer, and it sounded unapologetic despite the guilt that bubbled sometimes. Gamora always had a sense of obligation to that man; she wanted to be in his good graces while also hating him and making her disdain crystal clear. Reaching out for her phone, she brought it over and unlocked it, welcomed by the surprising sight of no new messages. “I’d like to think he’s taken the hint.”

Or he was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to show his face when she least expected it. The Mayor was calculating like that.

“What’s the cheapest thing to do in this joint? I know that’s where he definitely won’t be hanging around.”

The more Peter learned about the Mayor, the more he was kind of surprised he wasn’t best friends with Mantis and Peter’s dad. He was glad he wasn’t because that would be bad. So bad, catastrophically bad. But they were so similar in some ways, it was kind of hilarious. In another life, maybe they were BFFs who ruled the world or something. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“Probably just grabbing some hot chocolate and going to see the band,” Peter suggested. “These guys, the Crownkeepers, they’ve been playing out there during the day. They’re not bad. Not all Christmas songs either.”

Gamora took a deep breath, like she was about to admit to something deeply courageous. “I’m going to make use of those crutches,” she decided, and while they were functional and helped contribute to a speedy ankle recovery, she fucking hated them. But her pride couldn’t handle being carried around by Peter again, anyway - not that she’d ask, or consider that an option since their situation wasn’t as dire as the moment they collided. “And I’m going to go down there. Now I know for a fact that you enjoy music and hot chocolate, so - join me? I’ll buy it. I might even let you add marshmallows if you ask nicely.”

“Yeah, sure.” Peter grinned at the invite. “I can be nice for marshmallows.” In just a couple days, they’d come a long way. There was almost no murder in her eyes when she looked at him, and now she was even asking him to hang out of her own accord. It actually made him kind of nervous, but he kicked that feeling aside and instead busied himself with removing the ice pack from her ankle. “I’ll put this back, give you a few minutes to get ready.”

“I don’t need much,” Gamora told him, and she wasn’t one to spend the day in pajamas so she was already casually dressed – she just needed shoes. Which would be flip-flops in this case, because the thought of shoving the foot with the sprained ankle into an actual shoe still wasn’t appealing, and it wasn’t as if they were exposing themselves to the snow outside.

Legging rolled down, she stood up with swiftness and grace as if she wasn’t injured, and did well with making her way towards the crutches that leaned against the wall. It was important for her to do that herself; otherwise that helpless feeling was going to sour her mood. “I might ditch these at some point and limp,” she then added, realizing how much she hated the feeling of these under her armpits – it was fucking terrible. “But I’m ready. Try not to embarrass me by walking too fast, would you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t outpace you,” Peter agreed with a grin. He could slow down to turtle-like speeds if it was easier for Gamora. The whole point of this outing was for her to get a change of scenery, and well, he’d been invited. He hadn’t turned down a single opportunity to hang out with her yet, and he wasn’t about to now.

“I bet one of the expensive shops has a fancy cane or something if that’s better,” he said, half-joking. If she didn’t want to suffer with crutches, the option was there.

“I’d buy it just to whack you for that suggestion,” Gamora replied dryly, doing the big girl thing by opening the door by herself. She held it open with the crutch, and led the way out – all while trying not to be immediately fed up with these damned instruments of mobility. The elevator ride down was one without awkward strangers to stand in silence with, and when they reached the common areas that looked nothing like the walls she’d been hiding in for the past two days –

She sighed, in fucking relief.

Peter wouldn’t have minded being whacked – crutch, cane, just an open palm slap. He could take it – but he refrained from saying it. There was no doubt Gamora fit right in with his taste in women, as his sister had pointed out after he’d given her a rundown of the whole incident. The risk of being eye-stabbed or, hell, regular-stabbed was sort of thrilling.

“Want to grab us seats and I’ll go get hot chocolate?” he suggested, nodding toward the variety of tables, booths, cushioned chairs and couches that lined the lobby. “Extra marshmallows for you.”

Gamora pulled the wallet from her pocket and slapped it into Peter’s chest. “I’m not giving you my pin number,” she deadpanned. “But use the credit option. I’m giving you permission to forge my signature. And tell them to make mine spicy. They should know what that means.”

Sitting down sounded like a dream anyway, since it meant these damn crutches wouldn’t be digging into her armpits. There were plenty of options but not a lot of vacant ones, so she chose the nearest - some cozy two-person booth with a small, round table.

Peter blinked in surprise but accepted the wallet without protest. He would’ve paid – not like he was lacking, thanks to Asshole Dad’s funding – but he had learned quickly Gamora didn’t take no for an answer all that easily. So, while she went off to find them somewhere to sit, he went over to line up for their hot chocolates, added a few pastries into the mix when he got up to the register, too. That was the risk of handing over her credit card, but he figured she’d have factored that into the equation.

“Spicy hot chocolate,” he announced as he approached the booth she’d claimed. It was small, inevitably going to be a bit of a tight fit, but he didn’t mind. He plucked her mug off the tray to set in front of her, then slid the tray onto the table within both of their reaches. “You ever heard this band before?” he asked, nodding toward The Crownkeepers.

“Not at all,” Gamora answered with a shrug, taking her mug by the handle so she could bring it to her lips, and gently blow. They must be local, but they were good – she always enjoyed a decent cover band and their Christmas covers weren’t making her want to stab her eardrums.

There were a few pairs out there – couples, presumably – getting up for a little bit of a dance, with twirls and dips. It wasn’t exactly dancing music, but they seemed to be having fun with the awkward little flails.

She wouldn’t be caught dead.

“So what are your plans?” she asked, taking a tentative sip of her hot cocoa so as to not scald her mouth. “After we’re freed from our snowed-in prison?”

Peter had heard the band here and there before. He wasn’t much into cover bands – he preferred the real thing most of the time, call him a purist. But these guys were decent. They were clearly having a good time, and they had enough interest to have kept the lobby filled up and interested. Hell, people were even dancing, and he was always going to support that.

“Back to real life, I guess,” was his response, slinging an arm across the back of the booth. He was already close to her, but he shifted his weight to get just the tiniest bit closer. “I’m sure Dad’s going to pull Mant and I into some happy family photoshoot thing as soon as he gets a chance.”

Gamora grimaced. Obviously not at her beverage – really, that was mixed to perfection with the extra marshmallows Peter had gotten her – but at forced family bonding. If it could even be considered bonding, really. “Why don’t you just take your sister and bail?” she asked. It was a personal question, though she and Peter had divulged in quite a few personal details since their encounter.

And if she minded the closeness, she didn’t voice it.

“I have a really spacious closet back home,” she smirked at him. “That could be your secret hideaway.”

Peter smirked right back. “I’d be all right going back into the closet for you,” was his very flirtatious response before reeling back to answer her question. “We’ve thought about leaving a couple times. Biggest problem is the old man wouldn’t take that well. I’ve done no contact a couple times and skipped town, and he’s always found me. So, I’ve just settled. I don’t want to leave Mantis alone, and it’d probably just be more of the same shit if we tried to leave again.”

Sometimes he wondered why the hell their father still wanted them around. They were grown adults and, from his perspective, not particularly successful ones. They hadn’t expanded the dynasty, had even been arrested for petty crimes a few times, and still, he wanted to paint them as this picture-perfect family.

“He’s not the kind of guy to let you out from under his thumb real easily,” he concluded, meeting her eyes. “But I know you get that feeling.”

“Oh, I know,” Gamora set her mug down, folding her arms over her chest. She didn’t live here anymore but she felt her father’s pull even at a distance, and all she could do was stand her ground. This visit was a moment of weakness. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep trying. Run away with me.”

That was her being playful.

Maybe it was a little flirty.

Peter full-on grinned as he leaned in closer, taking her more receptive tone as an invite to nudge the boundaries. “Ask me again tomorrow, and maybe I’ll take you seriously,” he replied. “Can’t say the temptation isn’t there. That big city of yours sounds a hell of a lot more fun than small town claustrophobia.”

Gamora didn’t shy from the closeness. She didn’t shy from much period, and the look she was giving Peter could give the impression that she was, perhaps, challenging him. “You should take me seriously,” she insisted, crossing her legs. “The city has a lot more options and more variety for clothes than -”

She plucked at his shirt.

“Wal-Mart, by the way. And we don’t get hit with the same kind of snowfall. You’re less likely to sprain someone’s ankle there the same way you did with me.”

Oh, Peter felt that challenge coming his way. It was hard to miss with the way she seemed to lean in closer, too. He didn’t even mind the playful tone of judgment in that Wal-Mart comment, not with the way she pulled at his shirt while she tried to entice him.

“Hey, you know that was a one-off,” he protested mildly. “Someone shouldn’t have been walking the ski hills in snowy conditions, just saying.”

“How flattering,” Gamora shot back at Peter dryly, and went on to harshly jab him in the chest. He could take it. If he couldn’t, then he deserved to cry about it. “I was trying to escape this snowy little hellhole and considering it’s gotten me stuck here, my results are awfully ironic. I’ve at least spiced up your stay around here.”

The mug was picked up again, and now that her cocoa had cooled, she was able to take a more appropriate sip from it. “Unless I ruined it by distracting you from potential booty-calls. I heard your sister make a comment about those.”

Mantis. Peter couldn’t even bring himself to act surprised; his sister wasn’t really known for keeping secrets. She had her moments, but the filter was generally turned off. He leaned back into the booth and huffed out a sigh.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he told Gamora, scooping up a cinnamon roll. “Hell, if anything, you made it way more interesting. Maybe even fun.”

Gamora gave him a deadpan look. Like she didn’t believe him. “I’m more interesting than a booty-call,” she leveled, looking outright unimpressed but she was honestly fucking with him - she’d find it amusing if she could make Peter squirm a little. Just a little. “Wow, such a high compliment coming from you.”

Maybe the twitch of her lips that threatened to form a smile would give it away. She supposed she could allow it.

Squirm he did, just a bit. “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he sighed. She didn’t seem actually angry, so that was a good sign. His phrasing, though? Could have used some work, he could admit that. “You’re more interesting than most people, alright? Could stand to get some better music taste–” He smirked at her there. “But overall, twenty out of ten.”

“This is a pleasant melody,” she shot at him, heatless despite how that look tightened into something more akin to a glare – but she ended up smiling anyway. It was a small one. “If your sister tells me you use that ‘twenty out of ten’ line on other people, I’m going to slap you on the dick. I’ll accept your compliment - for now.”

“You really know how to charm a guy,” Peter retorted. The idea of being dick-slapped wasn’t exactly enticing; he may have winced, just a little bit, at the thought. But the way she was smiling made the easy banter fun, despite the threats.

“Hey, let’s go dance,” he suggested after a moment. “You like the music, and you could probably stand to put more weight on your foot. Up for it?”

He wanted to – what? Gamora had just thought about how she wouldn’t be caught dead swaying around with another body in public like this. It felt sappy. Felt intimate, and unnecessary, so clearly her reply was–

“Fine,” said her mouth without her brain’s consent. There was no taking that back now. Gamora would have to roll with it on a rolled ankle and try not to look like an idiot. She pressed her foot into the ground with some extra pressure, testing it out, and it wasn’t screaming.

So that was promising.

“I might hobble a little awkwardly,” she admitted, offering her hand to Peter. “But I’ll set my pride aside for a moment and let you take the lead.”

“The more you’re on your feet, the less you’ll hobble in the end,” Peter proclaimed. “Probably, I mean.” He took her hand and took the lead, as requested, pulling her among the couples swaying around the band. “Just put your arms around my neck,” he suggested, taking one arm to guide it gently into place.

“I know how to dance,” Gamora pointed out, not condescendingly but softly with a smile, as if she was confessing a secret. She let Peter direct one arm, and she clasped his other hand with her free one. “Not that I do it often, anyway - I don’t have partners often.”

“You should have people lining up around the block for you.” Peter shook his head, almost in disbelief, that she didn’t have a parade of admirers. Even with the initial icy reception, it was easy to feel a little spellbound around her. “But guess that just puts me at the front of the line.”

The dancing wasn’t terribly painful, and Gamora moved in a way that made it hard to tell she was even wounded. How long that would last, she didn’t know - but she figured she might as well enjoy it while it lasted. “You’re flirting with me,” she told Peter boldly. There wasn’t a trace of annoyance in her tone, either; just a resigned amusement. “We could make our fathers very upset with this fraternization, Quill.”

“I mean, that’d be reason enough to flirt with you if I wasn’t actually interested in you anyway,” Peter agreed with a soft smirk. He turned gently, careful to keep his feet back so he wouldn’t accidentally ram into her bad ankle. “But if that’s what you need to be into it, I can work with that.”

“I’m a little into it without it,” Gamora admitted, trying not to regret the words. They were sincere – she meant them, but putting the words out there peeled back a layer to her that showed a little more vulnerability. She played with the hairs that touched his neck, and gave him a soft squeeze of her hand. “We’re a little doomed, don’t you think?”

Small town boy, big city girl. She didn’t live here. She also wasn’t planning on coming back, so pursuing anything with Peter would be…

Difficult.

“No one’s doomed at Christmastime,” he countered. “Or at least, they don’t think about that part. They enjoy the fun parts. The hot chocolate, the candy canes, and the Christmas magic. You know? I think that’s the way we should take this, too. Enjoy it while we can, figure out the rest of it later. And right now… I really wanna focus on kissing you.”

“You’re either bold,” Gamora began, eyes dropping to his lips before meeting his eyes, again, “or really, really stupid.”

She would go with both.

Her feet stopped moving because of this. She didn’t have enough grace with a somewhat functioning ankle to keep on dancing and what came next, nor did she realize that she had stopped them under one of the area’s many mistletoes. Gamora kissed Peter, a soft pillowing of their lips that was sure.

But it lasted five seconds at best.

Peter hadn’t been too sure what way that was going to go. Getting kissed was the preferred option, but it was about as likely she’d shove him away, call him a dumbass, and they’d have to move on from there. He was leaning more toward the kiss option – after all, she’d admitted she was into him, at least a little – but he was held in suspense at that moment.

He was stunned for a few seconds, enough to pause – then he moved forward and closed the distance between them again, hoping to deepen that kiss, make it linger this time.

There was a noise in the back of her throat. Surprise, she supposed, though she shouldn’t be. Gamora wasn’t some blind idiot to his flirting, and she questioned herself whether or not it was smart to give in – but the way he kissed her back, and moved his mouth against hers to deepen? She may have finally wobbled, though it was hard to tell if it was because of her ankle.

Maybe she’d gotten a little weak in the knees.

Peter kissed her until there was no choice but to break apart and breathe – and a couple cat calls that may have spurred him to pay more attention to their surroundings. He wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed, grinning instead like he’d won some kind of massive prize, and that was when he finally caught sight of the mistletoe over their heads.

“See?” He nodded for her to look up. “Christmas magic.”

Gamora wasn’t often rendered dazed by anything or everyone, though at this moment, she needed a few minutes for her brain to re-calibrate so she could understand what point Peter was trying to make. She blinked, and licked her lips, and looked up to–

A mistletoe. They were under a fucking mistletoe.

It was truly miraculous how her eyes didn’t roll themselves into an alternate dimension. The ugh she let out was succinct. “Are you kidding me,” she huffed, and then grabbed Peter by the front of his shirt like they were about to fight. “Fine. Take me to dinner, Quill.”