Gamora grew to enjoy being grounded.
Feet planted on actual terrain for long periods of time brought a stability she hadn’t felt since very early childhood. The sense of security this world could sometimes give was akin to a siren’s song - beautiful and alluring, how could you not let your consciousness sink into it? It was devastatingly dangerous to do so. Permanence was a myth, and she was not a naive child.
But this was the sweet spot in life, if you could call it that; this safe moment in between being tossed off a magical cliff and loss that would eventually come because this world was beginning to take more than it gave. The sweet spot was seeing Rocket flourish with his radio project, and seeing Nebula bond with a younger version of Groot and enjoy things like strawberry milk and phallic-shaped cheese snacks. It was hugging her sister at least once a day and feeling her not struggle.
It was existing with Peter in what was their third chance at things. The first time, she died. The second, he came here and was taken and losing him was soothed by the presence of a child she didn’t think she could ever even make. And in this third chance, they found a rhythm that was both new and familiar, because they were together again but not scouring the stars for jobs that needed to be done and people that needed saving.
Knowhere was home. There was a space they enjoyed making their own, with sheets and towels and trinkets they’ve chosen over their months together. Pictures taken, pretty mugs made by a local artist, little cartoon magnets on their fridge from Peter’s childhood. There were scented candles because Gamora discovered she liked them, and they drowned out the stench of Peter’s socks when he wore them far too long and were begging to be thrown in a machine full of laundry detergent.
So, yes, this was the sweet spot in life right now. World bound with people she’d hold onto until everything around them collapsed, until they were here one day and gone the next. And all the moments Gamora stepped out of their home on Knowhere to do an errand or meet up with a friend, the first thing she’d do upon her return was kiss Peter the moment she laid eyes on him.
Which she did that very evening after visiting Daud; she found Peter on their secondhand couch, and sat across his thighs and kissed him soundly, humming into his mouth with a sound that translated into a content hello, I’ve missed you.
Vallo was pretty much Peter’s dream at this point in his life. Most of the important people in his life were here and together, he’d managed to stop drinking, and he’d settled down and felt at home in a way that he hadn’t in a long time—not since years ago, the days they spent traveling galaxies on the Benatar, saving worlds and making money and thriving in a different kind of way.
This was both better and worse. Knowing that any one of them could disappear in the blink of an eye was a mindfuck like nothing he’d ever known, and sometimes, it made him want to pick up the bottle. Like when Nebula had ended up in an evil twisty world and Rocket had ended up in a slimy space world. It wasn’t possible to exist around here without some fear creeping in because everyone knew—and everyone told you—that it could be over at any moment.
Most days, the good won out because Peter had Gamora. Not Ravager Gamora, who had come to tolerate them but found her place elsewhere (which still made Peter’s heart hurt, to this day, even if he wanted to be glad for her). His Gamora. He had been here for months and still hadn’t gotten over the shock and the happiness that came with knowing this was the Gamora who knew him, who loved him, who wanted to be a part of this weird little family they’d helped put together.
So, Vallo was a dream. A weird one but a good one, and it wasn’t something he was planning to let go of anytime soon, no matter how often Gamora complained about his socks.
He grinned when Gamora approached, letting his hands splay across her back as she settled across her legs and kissed him. He kissed her back for a long moment before pulling away. “Have fun with the old man?” he asked.
“Mmhm,” was Gamora’s response before diving into another kiss, one that devolved into a flutter of them, like a whirlwind of butterflies against Peter’s lips. “Was missing this old man,” she smirked, running her fingers recklessly across his scalp to muss up those curls she loved. “I wanted to check in with you first before I called out to the others and figured out what dinner was going to be.”
Takeout again, probably. Her ventures in the kitchen hadn’t been very promising. Daud had taught her a few basics that she was okay at - but the process was frustrating, and ordering cheeseburgers was simply easier.
“I can fire up the grill again,” Peter suggested. He was getting pretty good at handling that and had some aspirations to start working out the kitchen thing soon. He knew Gamora was getting frustrated, and Nebula and Rocket weren’t offering to cook. But they couldn’t live off takeout forever, especially if they would have a kid someday. “I went down to the fish market earlier. We can do salmon.”
Huh. Not a terrible idea. Roasting meat over an open fire wasn’t anything complicated - she’s done it herself several times across missions, but that was more about surviving and giving her body fuel versus enjoying a meal. And Gamora enjoyed meals here, especially in the company of her family. They weren’t worried about ingesting something potentially poisonous or salting leftover meat for the sake of preservation.
“I won’t say no to you making us a meal,” Gamora smiled, dragging her fingers down his sideburns. “Perhaps I’ll get you one of those grill aprons with something comical on it.”
Peter grinned. “Yeah, like what? ‘Kiss The Grillmaster’?” For now, he’d looked over some of those aprons and picked something simple—red with a bunch of pockets. But from what he’d seen, ‘Kiss the Grillmaster’ would be on the tame side, and the group of them were anything but tame.
“Not ridiculous enough,” Gamora countered, pressing a flutter of a kiss against his ear - she didn’t need an apron to tell her to kiss him, clearly. She patted his chest before shifting on Peter’s lap, opening her legs and bracketing him with her leather-clad thighs.
She kissed him again, slow and sweet.
“What have you been up to without me?”
Peter’s hands found Gamora’s hips, and he tipped his head up to kiss her again happily. If that was what they spent the next hour doing before they really figured out dinner, he wasn’t about to complain. They’d finally added enough logs to the door to mostly discourage Rocket and Nebula from just barging when it was closed, and that gave them plenty of time to have whatever kind of fun they were in the mood for.
But he was good talking, too. He was a chatty guy, but there was no one he liked talking to more than Gamora. Too bad he didn’t have anything particularly interesting to say right now.
“You’re looking at it, pretty much,” he admitted. “Showered, put all my socks in the laundry basket. I bought some more, too, so I have more of a rotation, and you can stop being dramatic about how much they smell.”
Gamora was humming like she was impressed. She grabbed his chin while he spoke, thumb tracing just below his bottom lip, the beard prickling her skin.
And then, softly, she whispered, “Wow, that’s very husband material of you.”
Peter grinned at her, brightening at the word husband. He’d meant what he’d said to Nebula, that he didn’t care whether he and Gamora got married or not. That didn’t mean he didn’t like the idea. It wasn’t necessarily practical when they were roaming galaxies picking up jobs, but that part of their lives was over now—even outside of Vallo. But Vallo had someone their world didn’t, and the idea of getting this fantasy existence with Gamora was pretty great, in his eyes.
“Still waiting on that ring,” he joked. “No husband material until I get a real proposal, babe.” And to emphasize that, he lifted his left hand in front of her face and wiggled his fingers.
Gamora didn’t say a thing at first, regarding Peter with this amused sort of look. Bringing up marriage had started out as somewhat of a joke – mostly to get a reaction, but she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it. It almost felt like it hadn’t mattered back home, because back home they were under this delusion that they’d have more time down the road to decide, that they could take their time cruising the stars and with the occasional ‘save the galaxy’ stunt and then eventually settle on some kind of symbolic union.
But time had run out for her, and this, here, was the only time she’d have Peter.
“Okay,” she said easily, long legs climbing off Peter so she could stand and pat herself down. Sometimes it was in her pocket, but today it was – ah, there it is. On the inside of her jacket, tucked away in a tiny pocket was a ring. She had bought it the day they first joked around about it on the network.
A ring pop, too, but that day Peter got the ring pop (green apple, per his request) while she had the real one. Gamora had been waiting for a more romantic opportunity but this was as good as any. Time was a thief - and she wouldn’t let it rob her from this chance again.
“Marry me,” she told him – not asked, told – as she flipped the ring into the air as if it was some coin, fully expecting him to catch it.
Peter really had been joking. He’d gotten his Ring Pop, and he’d been happy to laugh about that, content with exactly where they were in their relationship. The ring and a proposal had become this source of teasing between them, but he’d thought that was all it would be. Marriage would be great, sure, but it wasn’t important to him the way it was to some people.
So, when Gamora stood up and pulled a ring out of her jacket pocket, he straightened up abruptly, mouth dropping open. “Wait, you really–” But before he could finish that sentence, she’d said it – Marry me – and flipped the goddamn ring into the air for him to catch.
Which he did, obviously, reaching out both hands to capture it before it could hit the floor and roll under the couch. Then he picked it up between his thumb and index finger and stared for a minute, lost for words. It was a nice ring, had to be expensive with those jewels in it, and the colors reminded him of space.
“You’re serious?” he asked, still sort of disbelieving as he lifted his gaze from the ring to Gamora.
“Yes,” Gamora answered. Peter’s surprise was – precious, really. She expected some variation of it. The look he’d given her when the ring was out in the open made her smile. “Do I need to get on one knee to express how serious I am? I’ll get on both if I must.”
It was always a good time when she was on her knees for him anyway.
“We can just say we’re married now,” she offered him, sitting down on the coffee table before him (it was metal, it could hold her weight fine) and crossing her legs. “Or go to some government office and sign our names on paper. Unless you want to be festive about it. You’d have to accept my proposal first before we plan that, though.”
“Obviously, I accept,” Peter said quickly, his tone firm. “Like I would ever not want to marry you.” He scoffed playfully and handed the ring over to her before extending his left hand toward her again. “But you’re supposed to be the one to put it on. I’m pretty sure most people don’t just fling the ring at you.”
“Oh, my mistake,” Gamora drawled, taking the ring and holding Peter’s hand like he was made of the most delicate crystal in the universe, such a little queen. She twirled the ring between her thumb and index finger for another look at it, the band black and the shimmer on it like a cluster of stars, before slowly - for theatrical reasons - sliding it on his finger.
His size had been an educated guess, one she wished she would have actually measured before making the impulsive purchase, but she was relieved to see that the fit was perfect.
“There,” she murmured, and brought his hand towards her to kiss the jewelry and the knuckle right above it. “Better than the plastic one I gave you last week.”
Peter kept playing right into the act, holding out his hand to admire the ring on his finger after it had been placed and kissed. It really was cool, shiny and sparkly but in a little bit more of a manly kind of way. He was surprised Gamora had done it, but he loved it. He couldn’t stop grinning.
“The plastic contained delicious candy,” he pointed out, “but yeah, this is better. Now I’ve gotta get you one. If I’d known you were serious, I’d already have it.”
“I wouldn’t have teased you about it if I hadn’t had some intent behind it,” Gamora told him, leaning forward to put her hands on his knees. “Otherwise that would be a bit cruel, don’t you think? I know this sort of ritual has never been a – milestone that we strived for,” she continued, pursing her lips. “But also, why not?”
It only enforced what they knew and felt. She didn’t need the frills and extravagance of a wedding, but she liked the symbolism of a token they each wore.
Peter just kissed her. He had no more words. He had gotten the proposal he’d been joking about expecting for weeks now. And it had been perfect for the two of them, ring flinging and all. Instead, he just raised her hands to her face and kissed her to show his appreciation and excitement.
“So, wanna go ring shopping for you tomorrow?”
Lucky Peter, she loved rings – had several of them already on her fingers, in fact, all silver to stand out brightly against the green of her skin. “We can,” Gamora languidly grinned, barely allowing space between their mouths despite speaking, because she closed that tiny little gap to kiss him again. Slowly, though, savoring the feel of his bottom lip between hers.
After a moment, she spoke again. “I’ll give you permission to toss it at me too,” she mused, sliding her hands up his thighs until they were bunched up against his sides, Peter’s shirt wrinkling in her grip. “It’s only fair.”
“Nah.” Peter shook his head, grinning at Gamora and sliding his hands into her hair. He wasn’t the least bit resistant in her grasp, completely content to be yanked around as she pleased. “I’m gonna be so ridiculously romantic that you’ll never forget it,” he said. “I might even wear a suit instead of jeans and my jacket. For the getting married part, too, whenever we do that. Doesn’t have to be a wedding, but maybe the courthouse thing, like you mentioned.”
He knew it wasn’t relevant if they did it through the official Vallo government, especially knowing they could disappear right after if they were that unlucky. The marriage license wouldn’t mean anything to people no longer in the same universe. But there was something about the ceremony, the process of being recognized as husband and wife in some official capacity. He liked the idea a lot.
Gamora snorted. It was a good snort, followed by this smothered chuckle that barely made it past her lips, considering the effort she made to contain it. “I’ve never seen you in formal wear,” she said after a moment of combing through her memories so her statement wouldn’t make a liar out of her. “Long, dramatic coats. Trousers. Shirts with references you’ve explained to me before and I only half-remembered.”
“They had long dramatic coats in suit form,” Peter pointed out. “I think they’re literally called tails.” He remembered them from old James Bond movies his grandpa used to watch with him back on Earth before he’d been kidnapped and made his life among aliens. “Might be a little cheesy, though.”
“I still don’t understand why certain things are described as ‘cheesy’ when they have nothing to do with cheese,” Gamora retorted, pushing herself off the coffee table to enter his orbit again – a half straddle over his lap while she took that ringed hand into hers, giving the new band around his finger a brief look over. “Non-relevant cheese aside, you would look handsome in a dramatic suit coat.”
As for her, she’d probably wear something black – a skirt, most likely, but she wouldn’t mind changing things up by wearing some form of dress. Something that was easy to move in (should they have a fight, for whatever reason) and concealed weapons well.
It was practical.
“We’ve got a lot of shopping to do then,” was Peter’s reply, wrapping his unoccupied arm around Gamora’s waist to keep her close. He didn’t bother trying to get into an explanation of cheesy—mostly because he didn’t have one, really—and just kissed her instead.