#fifty years later and my tagging will still be inconsistent

[bevioletskies]

you make my dreams

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

summary: peter and gamora attempt to figure out the nuances of personal space on a cramped ship, now that they’re a couple. first things first? sleeping arrangements, and what to do about those reocurring nightmares of each other’s deaths. how fun.

word count: 15.6k

a/n: if you haven’t read the main fic, all you need to know is: a) the guardians attend a superhero school on earth, b) therefore they are in their early-to-mid 20s (except for rocket and groot), c) peter and gamora were fake-dating but are now dating for real, and d) they've been playing an "endless" game of twenty questions since they started fake-dating as a way of getting to know each other.

warning for the nightmare sequences that peter and gamora have. they're relatively angsty and sort of creepy, so if you want to avoid them, they're the paragraphs in full italics, and there's a summary of them in the endnotes.

fic title is from the song you make my dreams by daryl hall & john oates.

ao3 | tag | masterpost

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Gamora began as she strolled up the loading ramp of the Milano. It was a somewhat overcast Saturday afternoon, the school year was beginning again (which meant very little at the academy, being year-round regardless), and there was a sense of anticipation for new beginnings in the air.

“That’s good to hear,” Peter mumbled from where he was face-planted into the couch, limbs dangling over the edge. He had his ass kicked in fight training just a little over an hour ago, and had no intention of moving, no matter how bad the cushions smelled.

She frowned, dropping her bookbag with a loud thump right by his head, folding her arms over her chest. “Peter, we’ve only been dating for one week. Don’t let that be our record.”

He scrambled up into a sitting position like someone had lit him - or at the very least, the couch - on fire. “Right. Yes. Go on. Did I mention how nice your hair looks today, because wow - ”

Gamora let out a slow exhale of complete and utter exhaustion. They were all of sixty seconds into the conversation and she was already tempted to give up. “I’ve been thinking,” she huffed, “that we need to start talking about how to share space on the ship. We’ve never really talked about it before, and now that we’re romantically involved, it kind of...complicates things.”

“Complicates things?” Peter was confused. “I thought it would make things easier. Y’know, since we’ve been sharing a bed since before we started dating.”

She took a few steps back so she could sit across from him in the armchair, neatly folding one leg over the other, her face set in defiance. “Right. But doesn’t the change in our relationship heighten our emotional volatility? Do you really think we’re never going to fight again? Never going to want to sleep separately at any point in time?”

“We’ve got the dorms,” he protested.

“Only if we’re grounded. But what if we go on a mission, and we argue, and we have no desire to be in each other’s presence? Then what? Someone has to sleep on the couch?” He winced. The cushions really did smell kind of more than, well, absolutely terrible. He was eighty percent certain that Rocket had been experimenting with toxins in here. It would, at the very least, explain the suspicious oil stains. “And what if the fight lasts for more than a few days, or what if we break up?”

Peter deflated near instantly, hurt. “One week, and you’re already thinking about breaking up?”

Gamora reached to squeeze his hands reassuringly, her gaze softening. “Peter, I’m just trying to be practical. As much as I’d like to move into your room permanently, it’s not a good idea. There could be all sorts of complications in moving our relationship forward too quickly, and think of how it would affect the rest of the team if we spent too much time in each other’s company. It would give us more opportunities to clash. We wouldn’t be very good influences on Groot if he saw us fighting more than usual, and going back and forth between sharing a room and sleeping out here in the common area. We need to get used to being separate when we’re together.” Noting the storm beginning to form in Peter’s cloud-colored eyes, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “And I’m not saying we’re anywhere near breaking up. The complete opposite, in fact.”

“I agree,” he murmured, pecking her briefly on the lips, pleased to feel her smiling into the kiss. “But what’re you suggesting?”

Still grinning, she pulled away. “A trial run. For this week, at least. Friday and Saturday, we share a bed. It’s the weekend, nothing stress-inducing should be happening - in theory. The rest of the week, we sleep separately, whether we’re here or back at the dorms.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Peter allowed, gently tugging Gamora by the hand so she would join him on the couch. He slung an arm over the back of her shoulders, pulling her into him. She automatically moved to rest her hands on his chest, smiling up at him encouragingly. “So...that means we’re sharing tonight, right?”

“Did you have other plans?” she teased.

He lowered his head so his mouth was by her ear. “Plans for you, maybe,” he whispered. She shivered a little at the implications, leaning in to kiss him again, when -

“Can you two stop mackin’ for a second, and one of you get up here? Twig’s got himself tangled in the wires again,” Yondu called from the cockpit. Peter let out an annoyed groan, pressing a quick kiss into the crook of her jaw before standing up.

“My turn, I guess,” he grumbled. “It’s like we can’t go five minutes without being interrupted.”

______

Dinner, as always, was anything but peaceful, especially with the entire team sitting down together. Drax was convinced Groot had stolen one of his favorite knives, Rocket was out of bullet casings for at least three of his guns and wouldn’t stop bringing it up every two minutes, Yondu had somehow failed his very first quiz of the semester despite it being a “getting-to-know-you” icebreaker, and Nebula had found out about Mantis having a crush on a mysterious someone, and was, oddly enough, teasing her about it.

“And you can’t figure out if she feels the same way? Some empath you are,” Nebula snarked.

“Who even told you?” Mantis whined, burying her face in her hands.

“Leave her alone, Nebula,” Gamora sighed. “Drax, Groot had nothing to do with your stolen knife, I found it under the couch where you dropped it after our last sparring practice. Rocket, I don’t know how you managed to run out of bullet casings since we haven’t had a mission in two months, but you can make the trip to SHIELD quarters yourself. Yondu, I...have no words. You couldn’t even answer what your favorite color was?”

“Who has a favorite color?” Yondu exclaimed. “Is that a thing Terrans think about in their spare time? Seems like a waste of time t’ me.”

“Peter’s favorite color is red,” Gamora retorted easily. Peter smiled privately to himself, pleased that she had remembered.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out,” Rocket snorted. “Just ‘cause you’re dating Quill now, don’t mean you’re the leading expert.”

“Anyways,” Gamora said a little louder than necessary. “If we can move past all of our petty problems, the Director has informed me that we’ve been taken off the mission roster until the month is through, aside from galaxy-wide emergencies. Apparently, Janet has been putting in a little toomuch effort into planning more school events since prom was so successful, so she has something called homecoming week starting soon. She doesn’t want anyone to go out of town unless it’s urgent. We should be financially covered though, since we came into quite a bit of money from the yearbook contest.”

“Yeah, and you won’t let nobody actually see it,” Yondu complained, tossing his fork down onto his plate with a loud clatter. “Where you hidin’ the money, Gamora?”

“I would speculate it is under Quill’s mattress,” Drax said thoughtfully.

“Why’s that?” Rocket asked, cocking his head in confusion.

“Because no one wants to go near Quill’s room, now that he and Gamora are...copulating,” Nebula smirked, leaning back in her chair triumphantly. “Who knows when he last washed those sheets?”

“I am Groot?”

“I am not telling you what she meant, Groot. Trust me, you don’t need the mental images I got going on right now.”

Peter turned to Gamora, a deadened expression in his usually mischievous eyes. “I have never wanted to bash my head into the wall as much as I do in this exact moment.” She only shot him a warning glare in return.

“No one’s getting their hands on the money,” she said as calmly as she could, though mentally she was writing a list of what order to punish the others in, and how exactly to do it. “We have to be responsible. It’s a lot of money, more than we’ve ever had at a time, but it’s not endless. We can’t afford to be frivolous.”

“You’re no fun, girl, you know that?” Yondu drawled.

“Hey, come on, she’s right,” Peter interjected defensively. “The money can go a long way if we spend it right. Long-term investments, you know?”

“Someone’s been paying attention in econ,” Nebula muttered.

“Thank you, Peter,” Gamora exhaled, relieved. It was comforting to know Peter was becoming more financially responsible, especially after the incident from when they had first arrived on Terra. (He may or may not have gotten too excited at discovering the advances in Nerf Blaster technology since he’d left Earth, and invested in about five too many toy guns. Gamora had to hide them in her dorm’s private bathroom cabinet, behind her tampons. To this day, she still couldn’t understand why boys were so afraid of feminine hygiene products.)

“But if I had to make one request…” he began. She immediately slapped a hand over his mouth.

“No,” she said firmly. “No toys.”

Sullen, Peter gently pushed her hand away and turned to Nebula. “And another thing,” he continued. “I mean, copulating? First of all, who even uses that word anymore, and secondly, we’ve been pretty polite about it since you guys also sleep on this ship - we’ve been sticking to the dorms. Mostly. Sometimes, the mood just hits.”

“Peter, I will do more than ‘just hit’ if you don’t stop talking right now,” Gamora hissed.

“I am Groot?”

“Seriously, I’m not explaining, so stop asking.”

“Oh, for the love of everything!” Gamora groaned, slumping forward onto the table.

“I am scared to find out if she feels the same way because I cannot handle that kind of stress!” Mantis wailed very suddenly, causing Nebula to jump. “I would not know what to do with myself if she does not, or worse, if she does!”

Drax reached across the table to pat her on the hand, a little awkwardly, but otherwise quite gentle, a stark contrast to his usually brutish way of showing affection. “I hope she finds you as disgusting, yet endearing, as I do,” he said sincerely.

It took another minute before Gamora recovered her composure and joined the conversation again. Honestly, they couldn’t even get through a single meal without it turning into dinner and a show.

______

After tucking Groot into bed (and reading him Goodnight Moon for the third time that week), Peter returned to his room to find Gamora lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. “Hey, you alright?”

“Of all the things I have been through, I don’t think I’ve ever been as exhausted as I am when I’m with the team,” she said slowly, causing Peter to chuckle. “And don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re my boyfriend.”

He smiled goofily at her as he climbed into bed, immediately snuggling into her side. “I love it when you say that. Uh, the boyfriend part, not the other - you know what I mean.” He slid his arms around her waist, squeezing her hips affectionately. “I’m gonna miss being able to hold you like this every night.”

“It’s only an experiment for this week,” she relented, turning onto her side to face him, her gaze softening as their eyes met. “I just think we need to consider establishing boundaries before it complicates the team dynamic, so sleeping separately is a good start. And I worry about what might happen the next time we go on a mission, how much will change now that we have an added layer to our own relationship. Can we be objective anymore?”

“Um, I’m never objective,” Peter said, looking oddly proud of that very fact. “I care about all of you, and maybe this is selfish of me, but other than you know, me, I tend to put you first regardless. Well, depending on how Mantis or Groot are doing.”

“And that’s my point,” Gamora said softly, cupping his jaw, though she couldn’t help but smile at how easy it was for him to admit that he was looking out for her the most. She wasn’t sure how to vocalize the same sentiment in return, though he probably already knew she felt the same way. “Maybe we’re already too codependent to begin with. We need to not rely on each other to the point of being unable to function alone, you know?”

“I get it.” He bent to kiss her on the nose, causing her to scrunch up her face so adorably that Peter’s heart melted a little. He maintained she was both one of the deadliest and one of the cutest women in the entire galaxy, her reputation be damned. “I don’t want to be like that either. But I also don’t think that sharing a bed is what’s gonna make it or break it. There’s other stuff that are signs of dangerous codependency, like…” She interrupted him with a sudden yawn, stretching, letting out a soft mewl like a kitten. Peter was pretty sure he was a puddle at this point - he really did love her to no end. “...maybe we can talk about this when you aren’t exhausted,” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” she laughed. “I promise that wasn’t in response to what you were saying. But yes, we can talk about that another time. And I’ll concede by the end of the week if you’re right.” She pecked him quickly on the lips. “Goodnight, Peter.”

He couldn’t resist chasing after her mouth for one last kiss, enjoying the feel of her arms around his neck, pulling him in close. “Night, honey.”

______

Sunday passed by in a rather lazy fashion - the start of a new semester was always relatively slow - with the Guardians dispersed across campus, going about their day. Rocket took Groot with him to SHIELD so he could pick up his bullet casings, Drax went to the gym to get in some combat practice with Thor, Yondu holed himself up in the Milano’s cockpit so he could chat with Kraglin, and Mantis found herself being dragged around by Nebula who was strangely insistent on seeing who it was she liked.

Gamora managed to get Peter to go to the library so they could get a headstart on their homework, promising she would make out with him for five minutes on one of the plush leather couches in the secluded study area if he finished. (“Can I make a case for ten?” “No, Peter.”)

She could feel eyes on them as she sat closer than usual, laying her head on his shoulder after she had been long done, while Peter was still struggling through his abstract on psychological warfare. For some reason, she felt more self-conscious now than she had been when they were fake-dating and playing up their physical affection, despite the new emotional security in knowing that they really did love each other. Janet had slowed on her insistence of Snapchatting whenever they held hands in public, and Kamala no longer shrieked every single time she saw them kiss, but it was still unnerving to be watched, and to be known as the so-called cutest couple in school.

Peter’s voice broke her out of her reverie. “Hey, you wanna go grab an early dinner?”

Gamora glanced down at his laptop screen to see his word count was only half of what he needed. “But you haven’t finished.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Yeah, but you’re clearly uncomfortable. It’s the staring, right?”

She nodded, biting her lip in worry. “It’s like the beginning of our ‘relationship’ all over again,” she muttered, downcast. Then, a bit louder, “I could go for some food. But you better not hand in that abstract late, or Madame Hydra will kill you. And with her, anything’s a possibility.”

After a much more pleasant dinner than the previous night’s, on account of being completely alone, the two of them stretched out in a leisurely manner on the lawn by the quad, watching other students pass by every now and then, breathing in the crisp air of early autumn. Already, Gamora felt much more at ease, though there was a knot forming in the pit of her stomach at knowing she and Peter would have to separate by the end of the night. And maybe that was a sign, the kind she’d been dreading - that she already spent too much time with him, had become too reliant on his presence.

“Question number I-don’t-know-what-we’re-on,” Peter said, grabbing another fry from Gamora’s take-out container and getting a playful punch in the shoulder for his efforts. “If you had to pick one person on campus to be Nebula’s significant other, who would you pick?”

Gamora laughed. “Oh, that’s awful. I’m not sure, maybe Barnes? They both have metal appendages and long, regretful histories of assassination. That sounds like a match made in Hel.” She smacked Peter’s hand away before he could steal more of her food. “By the way, do you have any idea who Mantis has a crush on? I was unaware she was even spending time with anyone but us.”

“My baby sister’s growing up,” he sniffled dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. Gamora gave him a look that he was pretty sure translated to “you are ridiculous, please stop”. “No, I haven’t gotten any hints or anything. I wanna help her, though. I want her to be as happy as I am with you.”

“Your overly sappy nature is incorrigible,” she said fondly, moving a little closer so their shoulders were brushing. She laid a hand over his, fingers splayed across his chest, delighted to feel his heartbeat speed up a little at her gesture. “But you will hear no complaints from me.”

“Now can we make out?” Peter asked hopefully.

Gamora rolled her eyes, leaning in closer. “Find us somewhere quieter, and I’ll acquiesce.”

Apparently, the spot Peter had found them wasn’t quite secluded enough, as thirty minutes later, they were shooed off by Pepper, who gave them a stern talking-to about public displays of affection, but then admitted she was glad they had won Cutest Couple (“I’d never hear the end of it from Tony if Steve and Peggy won, trust me.”). They walked back to the dorms, feeling light as air, with Peter in particular letting out hysterical little giggles at recalling the murderous expression on Pepper’s face.

It was a little sobering, however, when they stopped outside her room, fingers loosely tangled together, as he slowly pressed her against the door, kissing her languidly, wishing he didn’t have to let go. “Peter,” Gamora said in that half-stern, half-affectionate manner she usually reserved for him and him alone. “You can’t come inside tonight.”

“There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere,” he mumbled, reluctantly pulling away.

“Remember how I vaguely threatened to break up with you yesterday? I’m getting that urge again,” she deadpanned, patting his chest. “You’re meeting me at the gym tomorrow, right?”

He sighed, apologetic. “I can’t, I have to meet Cindy at the café after class. We have a presentation on Friday.”

“Cindy Moon? What’s the presentation on?”

“Whether superhero origin stories have a positive or negative effect on the psychological health of said superhero. It’s actually a debate - I’m for positive, she’s for negative. Obviously.” He smiled teasingly at her. “Why do you wanna know if it’s Cindy Moon specifically?”

“Your insistence on turning my curiosity into jealousy is exhausting,” she frowned. “Anyways, I guess we won’t be seeing each other after all. I’m having dinner with Natasha and Elektra after sparring practice, so I won’t be going to the Milano tomorrow.”

“Aww.” He pulled her in for one last embrace. “Then I’ll text you after class?”

Gamora took a few steps into her room before turning to cast him a glance over her shoulder. “If you text me and leave poor Cindy to do all the work, I’ll just text her and have her yell at you on my behalf.”

“You have Cindy’s number?” Peter asked incredulously, but she simply gave him one last smile and shut the door in his face.

______

“Peter. Peter. Peter. Hey!”

“I didn’t do it!” He practically flew out of his seat upon being prodded in the arm with a pencil eraser. He looked around wildly before his eyes landed on Cindy, who didn’t look particularly impressed.

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, did you?” She handed him a Starkbucks napkin (how Stark hadn’t been sued by Starbucks yet was beyond Peter) so he could wipe the drool off his sleeve.

“Your spidey sense tell you that?” he snapped a little louder than he meant to, though he accepted the napkin regardless.

“Wow, okay. You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Cindy retorted, narrowing her eyes at him.

Peter held up his hands in surrender before running them through his hair, sheepish. “Shit. Sorry, Cindy, that was mean of me. You’re right, I didn’t sleep well. Uh, me and Gamora, we’re trying this thing where we sleep separately, but I guess I’m not really used to it yet.”

She chewed thoughtfully on her pencil, confused. “What for?”

“She thinks we’ve been spending too much time together and wants to establish some boundaries before we get too codependent,” he said, glancing down at his laptop screen. Apparently, he’d nodded off on his keyboard and had typed about a hundred rows of zeroes in the process. Whoops.

“And she thinks sleeping in separate beds is gonna change that? Interesting,” Cindy hummed.

It was Peter’s turn to look at her suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…” He waved a hand, indicating he wanted her to continue. “...maybe in another life, where you and her, or really any of us, aren’t the people that we are, it might be kind of weird to be around each other all the time. Like, there’s stories about people who get weirdly obsessed with their SOs and stop talking to their friends and family because they’re too busy being with them. But it’s not another life, it’s this one, where we’re so-called heroes, with varying degrees of messed-up backstories. And honestly, where else are you going to find someone who can love and understand you the way that she can? And I’m not trying to be nasty when I say that, Peter, but I’m saying it’s hard for us to be with someone who doesn’t get it. There’s a reason you feel everything so deeply about her, even moreso because you run a team together. I think it’s natural, and it’s not unhealthy, which I’m guessing is what she’s really worried about."

“So...you’re saying it’s justified,” he said slowly. They fell silent for a moment as he mulled it over - admittedly, there was a lot of truth in Cindy’s statement. Before becoming a Guardian, he had found it so easy to be around others that were nothing like him. Now, he was finding it harder and harder to have conversations with people that didn’t also spend their time saving the world. “Wait, are you just trying to get me to see your side of the argument so I’ll lose the debate?”

“Damn, you saw right through me,” she said sarcastically, snapping her fingers in defeat. He stared at her for a second before they both dissolved into laughter. Still, maybe Cindy was onto something.

______

Peter: hey, how was dinner with nat and elektra?

Gamora: good, we actually had some pleasant conversation for once instead of elektra telling us about her latest outing with ‘matthew’. also, no one stole my food this time

Gamora: you get lots done with cindy?

Peter: it’s not stealing, it’s sharing :p

Peter: yeah, we’re basically ready to go but we’re gonna do a runthrough during lunch on friday

Peter: k honestly i’m super tired right now but i just wanted to check to see how you were doing

Peter: so i’m gonna head to bed now and i’ll see you in class tomorrow

Peter: goodnight - love you :)

Gamora: goodnight, love you too

She plugged her phone into its charger and set it on her side table, rolling onto her back to fixate on the ceiling. It was still somewhat foreign to her to see and hear Peter declare his love for her so easily, like it was as natural as breathing, but she tried her best to return the sentiment whenever he did. She did love him, of course, and he knew that she did, but being the first to say it, however, was a different story.

The first week of their relationship hadn’t been the smoothest - after all, they had gotten pretty angry at each other only a couple days ago, when Peter didn’t want to go on a mission for the sake of keeping the team safe - but it surprised her how easy it was to be with him. Maybe it was because they had been faking a relationship for three months beforehand, or maybe it was the fact that it changed very little about their existing relationship.

Either way, Gamora still couldn’t help but worry that they were already too attached at the hip. She had no basis for what relationships were like, aside from those she witnessed on campus, and that of her mother and father (the little she could remember of them, anyway), but she wanted to be sure they were on a healthy road and not a downward spiral. There was no harm in being cautious, after all.

She settled down into her pillow, burying her nose into it and realizing it still smelled a bit like Peter’s shampoo. They had slept here a few nights ago when she had gotten a little desperate (she may have unbuckled his pants in the hallway, it wasn’t her proudest moment). Smiling to herself, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

Gamora was running - no, sprinting - through a thicket of tall grass, if she could call it that. It was nearly twice her height and incredibly dense, scratching her face and hands, but she didn’t care, couldn’t afford to pause, not when she could hear the desperate cries of poor Groot in the distance.

Still, it seemed like the grass was endless, dizzying to the point of causing hysteria. She stopped to rest, hunching over to support her hands on her knees, panting, nearly gasping for air, the atmosphere becoming thicker by the second. She had only been running for a minute, how could she possibly be tired already? Was there some poison making its way through her veins? An airborne virus, perhaps?

Another moment passed before she realized everything had gone silent. Not silent in the way a classroom fell quiet after a teacher hushed their students, but like her ears had been clamped over by an airtight seal, not a single whistle of wind or hum of a fly to be heard. Or, more importantly, the whimpers of an injured child, desperate for help. Gamora twisted around, nearly tripping over her own feet in desperation, longing to hear something, anything again, when she found her surroundings being whisked away like some twisted house of mirrors gone mad, replaced with something familiar, and yet all the more eerie.

She now stood in the quad of the academy, but the campus was empty as far as the eye could see. There was no rambunctious laughter, no loud conversations, no students whizzing by with their super speed or magic powers or whatever it was that made them so quick on their feet. It was clean, too - sterile, almost. No chewed gum stuck to the pavement, no buildup of food wrappers in the garbage cans. It also smelled too fresh, like someone had taken a can of pine-scented aerosol and doused the entire area with it in an attempt to hide something.

Gamora was almost mesmerized by the whole ordeal, entranced, even, when she heard a wheezing noise from behind her. Whipping around immediately, she was horrified to find herself looking at Peter, tied to the bulletin board, head lolling about like he no longer had any control of his neck, and judging by how the rest of him had gone limp, had no control over his motor functions, period. He was devoid of any visible injuries - bruises, cuts, scrapes, not even a drop of blood, but there was a blankness in his eyes that made her heart stop.

She was by his side in an instant, hands grasping at the ropes that bound him there, trying to find a knot or an end to pull him free. “Who did this to you?” she said frantically, tugging with every last bit of strength she had. It seemed like a very simple rope - the kind they used on Terra to teach young children how to tie knots - so she would usually be able to snap it like it was nothing, but it had no give at all, no slack anywhere for her to slip her fingers into.

"Th...Th…” His voice was frail, lacking the energy she’d come to expect of him, but she didn’t need him to complete his sentence to know who he was talking about.

“He’s here?” She tried her best to choke back the bile rising in her throat, burning hot. “Why is there no end on this rope?!”

“G...G’mora,” Peter panted, his fingers grasping at her but not quite finding their hold. “I...I love you.”

With a final raspy breath, hollow, echoing about in his chest, his chin dropped downwards, every last bit of posture he’d been struggling to keep going slack. “No,” she breathed, her hands moving to grab his jaw. “No, Peter...no...you can’t be...no…”

“NO!” Gamora shrieked, bolting upright. Gasping, she clutched at her own chest, thrashing about, legs tangling in her duvet as she tried to get her bearings. You’re in your dorm room, she told herself sternly, once the pounding sensation in her throat had ebbed. Even the voice in her mind seemed to be shaking. Her eyes flickered over to her phone. You fell asleep, it’s midnight, Peter went to bed two hours ago on the Milano. He’s okay. You’re okay.

Am I okay? Gamora wondered, shoving her bedsheets aside. Despite the cold sweat beginning to form on her brow bone, the rest of her was burning up like a furnace. She stripped off her hoodie and sweatpants - it seemed like a good idea at the time since it had been quite chilly outside when she returned to her room, but now it felt like she was drowning in excess fabric.

After turning on her bedroom light, she tentatively made her way over to her closet. She was hedging on whether to just sleep in her underwear when she found one of Peter’s T-shirts on the floor by her bookbag. She deliberated for all of ten seconds before picking it up and pulling it over her head, staring contemplatively into the mirror. She could practically hear Peter’s voice as he explained its significance to her (“Oh man, I should really show you Flash Gordon sometime, it’s incredible”), cracking a small smile as she did. “Screw attachments,” she said to herself, making eye contact in the mirror. “It’s just one night.” Her breath finally evening out, she climbed back into bed and settled back under the covers, managing to close her eyes once again.

______

Peter strolled into Professor Pym’s lab, whistling idly to himself as he settled down on one of the benches, when he felt fingertips grazing his bicep. Flinching slightly, he turned towards the perpetrator and relaxed instantly when he saw it was Gamora. “Hey you,” he said cheerfully. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

Gamora had indeed worn the shirt she slept in over her usual leather pants. “Do you want it back?” she asked as she sat next to him.

“I told you, I like it when you wear my clothes. Just don’t take literally everything I own,” he chuckled.

She nodded absentmindedly as she began unpacking her bookbag, laying everything out on her desk. “I think I’ll be sleeping on the Milano tonight,” she said as nonchalantly as she could. She hoped Peter wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in her voice, though he was usually pretty observant when it came to her. “My dorm room was oddly cold last night.”

“Did you check with your RA? The thermostat could be broken. Or maybe the boiler,” he suggested.

“That was the first thing I did,” she lied, neatly lining up her pens alongside her notebook. “They might need to bring in maintenance and see if there’s a draft anywhere. Regardless, I’m not taking my chances on freezing in my sleep.”

“Well, it’ll be good to have you back. Groot missed you at dinner last night. So did I, obviously.” Gamora bit her lip to hide a smile, though Peter’s shy grin in return only strengthened her fondness for him. She leaned over to quickly kiss his shoulder, just as Professor Pym strolled to the front of the room.

“Alright, students, there was a little mishap in the computer lab last night, and I don’t want to point any fingers, but there’s one student with a hankering - hankering - for arson and skulls, am I right, Mister Reyes…?”

After classes were over, Gamora convinced Peter to go to the gym with her before heading to the Milano for the rest of the evening. There was something peacefully domestic about being on the treadmills together despite not having any conversation, Peter with his headphones on as always, bopping his head enthusiastically and nearly falling off twice, while Gamora was listening to a TED Talk on her phone (Natasha had gotten her hooked, and it was her alternate way of learning about Terran knowledge and culture outside of Peter’s admittedly narrow influence). It almost made her forget about the sudden terror she had experienced last night.

“So, what’d you get up to after I went to bed?” Peter asked as they moved over to the weight benches. It was like he read her mind.

“Going after the paperwork from past jobs that you haven’t filed away yet,” she replied. It felt like every lie she told was making her tongue feel heavier in her mouth, She hated keeping things from him, but she wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet, and she knew the moment she vocalized that something was wrong, Peter would start to fuss. “I didn’t realize the Director would require so much documentation.”

“I think that’s more Pepper’s doing than Fury’s,” he laughed, sitting on the floor in front of her. “I’ll spot you. Ready?”

To their relief, when they returned to the ship, the only ones on board were Rocket and Groot, the latter being a little sad, now that he was starting to shed leaves instead of grow them. The four of them had a surprisingly pleasant dinner, with minimal teasing from Rocket when Peter kissed Gamora in the kitchen. “You two are ridiculous,” Rocket said, waving a fork at them, though he didn’t look as put off by their romantic display as his tone would suggest. Groot was staring up at them with wide, puppy-like eyes from the kitchen counter, his mood instantly brightened at the sight.

Once the meal was over, Rocket went to put Groot to bed, and then was off to spend his night working on some weapons he didn’t want the others to know about that were stashed away in his room. Peter, on the other hand, requested Gamora spoon him on the couch while they watched a couple episodes of Happy Days on his holo-tab.

“You look tired,” she commented quietly, reaching around his back to gently pat his face. “I thought you went to bed early.”

“I did,” he protested, turning around to look at her. “One good night’s sleep isn’t gonna suddenly make me more awake.”

“Alright, I’ll concede,” she chuckled. “How was your day?”

“Good, good,” he nodded, resting their heads together, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I had lunch with Mantis, I’m no closer to cracking the case on her crush. But asking questions makes her uncomfortable, so I’m not gonna be an ass about it. I also stopped by Avengers Hall to check out the announcements since Janet said something about peer tutoring. Figured I could use all the credentials I can get, you know? I didn’t sign up for anything yet, but I got a pamphlet if you wanna check it out. Oh, and…”

Eventually, she laid her head on his shoulder as he continued to talk, the even lilt of Peter’s voice rumbling through his body and keeping her heartbeat steady. She inhaled slowly, taking in the smell of his sweater. In all honesty, she had hated it the moment he had first put it on, having bought it last autumn - it was the sort of open-weave knit that snagged on hooks and corners, and made everything it came into contact with quite itchy, such as her own skin - but now, it just felt like home.

Gamora didn’t realize she had nodded off until Peter was shaking her shoulder, having set the tablet aside and was now supporting the entirety of her body weight, one hand on the small of her back, the other running through her hair. “Speaking of tired,” he chuckled. “Bedtime?”

“You’re quite comfortable,” she replied, yawning as she got off the couch. “I’ll see you in polisci tomorrow?” He nodded, patting her on the hip and kissing her goodnight before letting her go. Peter made a few last paces around the Milano, checking the doors and appliances, before heading back to his room.

He let out a somewhat disappointed exhale at the sight of his empty bed. Of course, he knew not to expect Gamora to be there, but he was half-hoping in her drowsy state, she would have returned to his room like she had been doing for weeks, acting on pure instinct. He turned off the light and climbed into his bunk, hating the way it felt to spread his limbs outwards and never brush against another person, to hear only the sound of his own breathing, the sheets cool to the touch at the presence of only one body.

Peter turned over onto his side, realizing he was occupying half of the mattress in the way he had become so used to, and promptly planted his face into the pillow, where he could smell the faint scent of Gamora’s shampoo. That, at the very least, gave him some comfort, allowing his muscles to relax as his eyes slid closed.

It was warm, the sort of warm that one only felt on a beach in the tropics. It made everything a little hazy, the air rippling with the lack of humidity, making one’s limbs feel oddly light, like it would be easy to lay flat on one’s back and float away into nothingness. Peter opened his eyes to find Gamora sitting cross-legged beside him, leaning over his prone form. “Hey.” He was disturbed to find that his voice sounded disembodied, as if he weren’t physically present. One glance down at his own hands relieved him of his fear, though they were a little cleaner than he remembered. Peter wasn’t a slob by any means, but he often had blisters from the way he gripped his dual blasters, and he had scraped knuckles after his latest combat training session. These hands - his hands? - were free of flaws.

“Good, you’re awake.” Her voice was sharper than his, blunt as the edge of her sword. It reminded him of the way she spoke to him when they first met - irritable, no-nonsense, condescending, almost. “We need to talk.”

“Uh, sure. What about?” He sat up, looking around. They appeared to be in some sort of sterile white room, the kind that made him think of evil lairs in futuristic movies, where they did unethical experiments on animals and humans. Shivering, he turned back to look at Gamora, noting the lifelessness in her expression. She had been so warm as of late, with her teasing grins and gentle smiles, that the utter blankness of her face made him feel colder than the room ever could.

“About breaking up.” She wasn’t meeting his eyes, instead electing to pull out her phone and start scrolling through...something.

“I - what? I thought you said we weren’t anywhere near - ”

“Your persistence may have won me over, but now I’m realizing how wrong you are for me,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Remember when you asked me what I looked for in a partner? Discipline, intelligence, level-headedness. You may have fooled me into seeing those qualities in you with your thoroughly detailed plans to pursue Thanos, but now I realize you’re still the immature, self-absorbed, impulsive child that you were when we first met. Not to mention your surprising lack of confidence in your own abilities, and your reliance on me to make yourself feel good about the decisions you’ve made. I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, and yet, you treat me like both your child and your parent. I’m not your pet project, and I’m not your mother, either. Your attempts to both take care of me and get me to take care of you are tired, your constant pursuit of physical intimacy with me is unwelcomed, and your crude sense of humor offends me. Therefore, I wish to be in this relationship no longer.”

It was like she had taken the Godslayer and pierced it straight through his heart. Frankly, Peter wished she had done that instead. “Gamora,” he choked. “You said I was different than how I was before - I’ve been trying so hard to be more responsible, for all of you - so I can take care of the team and be a good leader - but I know I failed you - please - “ He could feel his face growing hot, tears brewing in his eyes, his fingers trembling as he reached for her.

She got to her feet, looking away from her phone briefly so she could glance down at him like he was a particularly uninteresting bug she’d squashed beneath her shoe. Without another word, she turned and began walking away. He moved as if to stand as well, but found that he could not - his feet were now glued to the floor. Crying out desperately, he began tugging at his ankles, wondering why he was without shoes, and where they were, and what had happened, and what to do - when suddenly, something dropped out of the ceiling in front of Gamora, causing her to leap backward in shock.

It was Awesome Mix 2, the cassette tape that Ego had broken before Peter’s very eyes.

Brandy, you're a fine girl...what a good wife you would be...but my life, my lover, my lady is the sea…

“Gamora!” he yelled. He changed his strategy instantly, beginning to claw at the floor in a futile attempt to drag himself towards her. He could feel his fingernails breaking from sheer force, the pads of his fingertips starting to bleed. Peter froze when Ego suddenly appeared in a cloud of nothingness, crushing the tape under his foot into dust. “GAMORA!”

“Remember, Peter,” Ego said, his voice just as charmingly affable as ever, the sort of kindly voice that had gotten his son to follow him to his planet in the first place. “The girl is temporary.” With one swoop of his arm, he picked up Gamora by the neck and squeezed. Peter could only sob helplessly as she dissolved into ash, crumbling beneath Ego’s fingers.

“You already killed my mother,” he wept, slumping against the floor. “And now...my best friend...the girl that I love more than anything else...why? Why would you do this?”

“You’re letting the human side of you win, Peter,” Ego sing-songed, wagging a mocking finger at him. “We’re Celestials. Everything is temporary. We can’t let emotions get in the way of our one true purpose. If you don’t obey me, I’ll go after ol’ Yondu next. Or maybe Mantis. She did betray me, after all. And for what? Love?”

“You leave them alone,” Peter panted, struggling to prop himself up on his hands. “I don’t wanna be a Celestial, not if it makes me a maniac like you. Small ‘g’ or not, I ain’t playing god.”

“Shame,” Ego said, stroking his beard like he was in deep thought. “I always did like Yondu. Only met him a couple times when he was still with Stakar, but he was a feisty kid.”

“NO! DON’T HURT HIM!” Peter hollered, but Ego disappeared once more in a cloud of smoke.

His eyes flew open in shock, choking violently as he did, despite his mouth being bone dry. Peter began grasping around desperately until he found his Walkman, and with trembling hands, slid the headphones over his ears, hitting play.

And I love you so...the people ask me how...how I've lived till now...I tell them I don't know…

“Shit.” He began running his fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands like they’d offended him somehow. “That’s three nights in a row now.”

And yes I know how lonely life can be...the shadows follow me...and the night won't set me free...but I don't let the evening bring me down...now that you're around me...

______

Despite being more tired than usual, Peter practically sprinted to his morning class like he was going to be late (and he wasn’t, not this time). An unusual sense of relief flooded him upon seeing the telltale red fin, bobbing over the heads of their other classmates.

“Yondu,” he exclaimed, sitting down beside him and nearly tumbling out of the chair in his desperation. “You’re okay.”

Yondu’s eyebrows shot up immediately in suspicion. “Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I had a dream about Ego comin’ after you,” Peter confessed. “It’s stupid, but I was kinda worried I was gonna wake up and find that you were gone.”

“You’re right. That is stupid,” Yondu snorted. “I’m fine, boy, relax. Though you don’t sound so good yourself.”

“I mean, I’ve been better,” Peter said hesitantly. “Ego killed Gamora in the dream. That wasn’t so fun.”

“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” Yondu let out a hearty laugh like he was remembering a particularly funny joke, twirling his yaka arrow in a way that made the students around them look a little nervous.

“So I’ve heard,” Peter mumbled.

“I don’t mean no offense by it, honest. I still remember comin’ after you on Knowhere and gettin’ yelled at by her ‘cause you spent a lot of time talking shit about me. Guess she didn’t understand the...complicated parts of our relationship. But you been mooning after her ever since you met her, and now that you’re actually datin’, you’re still making a big deal outta everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the whole sleeping separately thing,” Yondu said, brandishing the arrow at Peter in a way that even made him jump. “Ain’t gonna make a bit of difference. You’re gonna be crazy about each other no matter what. So stop making yourselves miserable to prove a point. Y’all already did that when you were trying to pretend you weren’t in love, and look how that turned out!”

In lieu of a response, Peter glanced down at his phone. “I should text Mantis,” he mumbled. “Make sure she’s okay, too.”

“Fine. You don’t wanna talk about your girl. What’s this about peer tutoring I’m hearing?” Yondu leaned back in his seat, folding his arms, kicking his feet up onto the desk in a rather precarious manner.

“It’s a new thing they’re trying out,” Peter said as he tapped out a quick “doing the big brother thing and saying good morning” message to Mantis. “Some students have more experience in specific areas than others, so they wanted to do like, group sessions. And Gamora is still trying to get her fight clinic with Nebula off the ground, but she has to get it approved by the Director first.”

“What were you thinkin’ of? Gun-slinging? Weird-ass improvised strategies?”

“Communication and leadership, actually,” Peter replied, smiling a little at Mantis’s reply of “good morning :D”. She was the only other Guardian who used emojis as often as he did. “There’s also a family component to it, and you know, considering Groot’s basically like my kid, I can kind of help with that part, too. But, uh, I dunno if anyone considers me a good leader. They probably want Captain America or someone like him to tutor that class instead.”

His mind wandered back to what Gamora had said to him in the dream, all the harsh barbs she’d thrown his way, like she had taken millions of tiny needles and dug them into every square inch of his skin. It wasn’t like anything she said was new to him - it was all variations of things other people had said about him, or worse, to him - but it was the way she had said it, like she’d been dying to say it for weeks and wanted to get it all out in as little time as possible.

“I didn’t run the Eclector for too long, but I spent enough time with Stakar to know the diff’rence between good and bad leadership,” Yondu said sagely. “Bad leadership’s when people follow you ‘cause they’re afraid of what you’ll do if they don’t. Good leadership’s when people follow you because they know they the best version of themselves when they do. And that’s you in a nutshell, Quill. We’re all good because of you.”

“Weirdly nice of you, but I’ll take it,” Peter chuckled, clapping Yondu on the shoulder. “Thanks, Yondu. I don’t know why you keep ‘dad speech’-ing me but I think it’s actually starting to make me feel better.”

“You can talk yourself into a frenzy real easy,” Yondu shrugged, though he looked pleased. “Someone’s gotta get you outta your funk.”

By the time Peter arrived at his last class of the day, the usual spring in his step had returned, his mind occupied with thoughts of potential lesson plans for peer tutoring instead of the way the nightmare version of Ego (though really, wasn’t every version of him a nightmare?) had taken hold of his brain. He happily kissed Gamora hello, and was relieved to find that she didn’t notice anything different about him. Maybe they wouldn’t have to talk about this - he didn’t want her to get mad, or worse, worry about him unnecessarily.

They returned to the Milano in good spirits, discussing the semester’s curriculum and what their favorite classes had been so far. When they approached the loading bay, they could see Rocket and Groot sitting on the ramp, working on Rocket’s chemistry project together. Well, Groot was watching in rapt fascination. Rocket was trying his best not to swear every five seconds whenever he burnt his claws with the Bunsen burner. “Hey, should you be doing that out here?” Peter called.

“Live a little, Quill,” Rocket smirked, holding up his test tube as if to toast him. “No one ever got shit done by following the rules.”

“Nothing you said just now was true,” Gamora informed him haughtily, though she relaxed as Groot came running to wrap his arms around her ankles in greeting. She knelt to pick him up, bringing him closer to her face. “Hi, Groot. You have a good day today?”

“I am Groot,” he answered happily, nuzzling into her cheek. Smiling, she sat him back down next to Rocket, and she and Peter made their way onto the ship. To their surprise, Mantis was sitting on the couch with Drax and Nebula on either side, looking oddly flushed, her hands twisting in her lap.

“What’s going on?” Peter said, frowning. “Mantis, you okay?”

“We have almost cracked the case of Mantis’s infatuation,” Drax said eagerly. He sounded just as enthused as he did right before engaging in combat. “Would you care to help?”

“Drax,” Gamora said sternly, as Peter groaned behind her, slapping a hand over his forehead. “Leave her alone, both of you. If she wanted to tell you, she would.”

“Such a buzzkill, as always,” Nebula hummed, getting to her feet. “I thought you wanted me to take interest in the other’s lives.” Before she could retreat to her room, Gamora stepped forward to grab her sister’s wrist.

“Not at the expense of their comfort.” Gamora gestured at Mantis, who had curled into herself on the couch, looking just as withdrawn as the day they met her, like she wasn’t entirely all there. “Do your homework together, or help her make dinner, I don’t know. But do not emotionally torture her for your own pleasure.”

“Whatever.” Nebula made to move again, but Gamora only followed her down the corridor, her footsteps getting increasingly heavy.

“Nebula! I’m serious,” Gamora hissed, trapping her against the wall with her arm. “Mantis may seem more well-adjusted than you and I, but she grew up with a grand total of one person in her life, and I don’t need to tell you how screwed up he was. At least we had siblings to socialize with, as much as we despised them. She’s already experiencing new emotions for the first time by having her first crush, you don’t need to complicate it with your insistence on being hateful to everyone who happens to bore you.”

“She doesn’t bore me. Frankly, her romantic drama is far more interesting than yours,” Nebula retorted, rolling her eyes. There was something in the way Nebula had said it that made Gamora a little suspicious, as if...

“You don’t...like Mantis, do you?” Gamora hoped she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she felt asking it.

“Gods, no,” Nebula spat. “I just want her to get this over with already, or she’ll turn into Quill. His mopiness when he was convinced you didn’t like him was insufferable.”

“You want her to be happy,” Gamora translated, a grin beginning to form on her face. “Your persistence is admirable, but the way you’re going about it is not. Just leave her alone, and let her tell you about it when she’s ready, okay?” Nebula only grumbled and shoved her sister aside so she could make her way into her bedroom, though she didn’t slam the door quite as loudly as she usually did.

Still smiling, Gamora made her way back into the common area, only to be practically ambushed by Drax, who looked woefully ashamed of himself. “Gamora, I would like you to know that I have apologized to Mantis. Once again, my blunders have caused great distress to someone I care about, and I wanted to rectify it. It seems I still haven’t mastered the expectations of socialization.”

“You and everybody else in the galaxy,” Peter called from the couch, where he had an arm slung around Mantis. She looked completely at ease now, her sweet (if a little unsettling) smile having returned.

“Peter’s right, Drax, you aren’t expected to be perfect. But I appreciate you apologizing,” Gamora said, patting him on the arm. He smiled at her, nodding silently before moving into the kitchen to begin making dinner.

It was then that Yondu strolled on board, his boots clattering loudly against the metal grates as always, whistling idly, though his arrow remained tucked into his jacket. “Hey, losers,” he said cheerfully. Gamora rolled her eyes as she joined Peter and Mantis on the couch. “Quill, you tell Gamora ‘bout that nightmare of yours yet?”

“I - no, I - Yondu!” Peter exclaimed, agitated.

“Nightmare?” Gamora asked, leaning around Mantis to look at him. “What nightmare?”

“Dude, why’d you have to say that?” Peter groaned. Yondu held up his hands defensively as he threw himself down into the armchair across from them.

“Y’ told me about it, and you tell your girl everything. Figured I could bring it up just fine.”

“That doesn’t mean - ugh.”

“Peter. Your room, now,” Gamora said firmly, getting to her feet once again. Letting out a reluctant whine, he followed her down the corridor, ignoring Yondu’s wolf whistle trailing after them, and shut the door behind him. “Listen, I only ever ask for two things in relationships with other people. Trust, and honesty.”

“As you’ve said before,” he grumbled. She only gave him another warning glare in return. “You also said we were entitled to secrets.”

“Not if Yondu, of all people, cares enough to bring it up.” She sat on his bed, folding her arms over her chest. “Peter.”

“I don’t need you babying me, okay? I’m a grown man,” he shot back.

“Then start acting like one!” she yelled, causing him to reel in alarm. Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose, falling silent for a full minute before looking back up at him, despondent. “Look...I don’t...I don’t know how to be a girlfriend. I don’t know what the difference is between being your friend and being your girlfriend. So if I’m being overbearing, it’s because I care about you in more than one way. Does that make sense?”

Peter sat next to her, resting one hand in her lap, and using the other to tilt her chin upwards so their eyes could meet. “I don’t know how to be a boyfriend, either. But from what I can tell, there really isn’t a huge difference between being a friend or a partner. After all, people always say, ‘date your best friend’, and that’s what we’re doing, right?”

“It is,” she said quietly, a rueful smile crossing her face.

“The only difference for us, really, is the physical stuff.” He paused, remembering one of the things she had said to him in his nightmare. “Gamora...I’m not forcing you to have sex with me, am I?”

“What?”

“Like, you’re not just having sex with me because you think it’s what I want, right? It’s something that you want, too?”

“I thought I’ve vocalized my desire, my consent, and my enjoyment very thoroughly,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “Peter, I just want to know. You’ve told me about your nightmares before, what’s different about this one?”

“They’re...not the kind of nightmares you want to be having when you’re trying to be independent.”

“You dreamt about me dying,” Gamora guessed. At his surprised expression, she added, “My nightmares are of your death as well. It wasn’t exactly a hard assumption to make.”

“You didn’t tell me you were having nightmares,” Peter said accusingly. “Come on, now.”

“You’re right.” She slouched a little, defeated. “I apologize. It’s hypocritical of me to ask you to be honest when I’m not being honest myself. I’ve been having a few bad nights in a row, the last two featuring your death.”

“How did I die?” He was almost scared to find out, though he could make a reasonable guess about what it would be.

“Thanos.” Exactly what he thought. “How did I die?”

“Ego.” He turned to lie on his back, gazing at the photos they’d taken over the course of their fake relationship that he’d stuck on his ceiling long ago. They hadn’t taken any pictures since they started dating for real, but neither felt like they had to - there was no need to prove their relationship anymore. Gamora laid down next to him, her eyes also traveling across the photos. He briefly wondered what she was thinking about. “There was some...stuff. That the nightmare version of you said to me.”

“Was it about me trying to baby you?”

“It was a lot more than that. It was stuff that hit really close to home, you know? And hearing it from you...so angry and tired…” His breath trembled slightly as he trailed off, unsure of what else he wanted to say. What else could he say, really, that wouldn’t make things worse?

“Like I was saying,” she whispered, staring almost unblinkingly at the ceiling. “I don’t know what it’s like to be in a relationship, but ours is only a week and a half old, and it already feels like we’ve put too much at stake here.”

“Comes with the job, I think,” Peter offered. “Cindy was telling me that she thinks it’s the life that we live that makes us feel everything more intensely. We’re still learning how to be together, so we can’t give up yet.” He turned to look at her. “New idea - Mantis used her powers to help my dad sleep, right? What if we got her to do the same for us, until we get so used to it that we can sleep without her help and without each other?”

“That’s quite clever of you,” she admitted, brightening. “We should try that tonight, then. But in the meantime…” In one fluid move, she’d rolled onto her side, gripped Peter’s shoulders, and pushed him down, her knees braced around his hips.

“W - what?” he stuttered dumbly.

Leaning in, Gamora murmured, “You’re worried that I’m not having sex with you because I want to, but because you want to. But ever since escaping Thanos’s clutches, I’ve never done anything I don’t want to do. Now, we’re in here alone, the others know not to disturb us when your door is closed, and dinner’s not for another few hours. But I’m already hungry, and I’d like to put your hesitation to rest.”

Peter let out a high-pitched squeak he wasn’t proud of, but once Gamora began sucking bruising kisses along the column of his throat, he was pretty sure he couldn’t be held responsible for any of the noises that escaped his mouth over the following hour.

“Your inclination to leave bites on Quill’s neck where others can see implies you think other girls will want to steal him away from you, and I can’t imagine anyone would find Quill attractive enough to do so,” Drax said to Gamora once they’d emerged from Peter’s bedroom for dinner.

“He has his admirers,” Gamora said dryly. At Drax’s raised eyebrow, she added, “I know, I was surprised, too.”

“Hey!” Peter exclaimed, but was immediately distracted by the basket of bread rolls Mantis had waved under his nose.

“Mantis, are you free tonight?” Gamora asked, wrinkling her nose a little at the sight of Peter stuffing his face with bread. “I was thinking we could do some homework together.”

Peter shot her a look of what are you up to?, to which Gamora answered with a cocked chin that clearly said trust me. “Oh,” Mantis said, a little surprised. “I did not have anything planned. Sure!”

After dinner was over, everyone slowly dispersed to their rooms, aside from Gamora and Mantis, who remained in the common area, set up on the couch, their books and papers spread across the coffee table. “I talked to Nebula about leaving you alone,” Gamora said after they’d been studiously quiet for about two hours. “She shouldn’t be bothering you anymore.”

Mantis let out a soft chuckle. “You and Peter are always trying so hard to protect me. I appreciate it, Gamora, but I am not that fragile.”

“Sure, but I also have the responsibility of taking care of Nebula as well,” Gamora replied. “She can’t go around thinking it’s okay to treat people like that.”

Hesitant, Mantis reached across the couch to lay a hand on Gamora’s knee. “You both had to be mean to survive, didn’t you?”

Gamora swallowed, but the lump in her throat that had suddenly formed didn’t seem to be going away. “Yes. Nebula more than me, since I was Thanos’s favorite daughter. If the others were cruel to me, Thanos would be cruel in return. It was not out of actual care for me, though, it was so I wouldn’t get caught up in fighting back.”

“I suppose that is where you and I differ,” Mantis said, smiling sadly as she leaned back against the armrest, removing her hand from Gamora’s leg. “You were raised to be ruthless, and I was raised to be submissive. But I do not think either of us are like that anymore. We are somewhere in the middle.”

“‘Ruthless’ is a generous word to use.” Gamora idly flipped through the pages of the article she was reading on her holo-tab, not really absorbing anything she was supposed to take in. “I agree, though. We’ve both grown substantially since becoming part of this team. It would be interesting to see who we become when we graduate.”

“I am secretly hoping we do not leave Terra once that happens,” Mantis confessed. “I know the Milano is our true base, but it has become so comforting here.”

“I always thought Peter wouldn’t want to come back because of his mother,” Gamora said thoughtfully. “You know, he hasn’t actually returned to his childhood home? To this place called ‘Missouri’?”

“Maybe it would be too painful for him. He could need time, or perhaps never return at all,” Mantis suggested.

“Or he’s waiting for the right time.” They both startled a little at the sound of Peter’s voice. He was descending the ladder from the cockpit, where he’d been running a software check for the past hour. “How’re my two favorite girls doing?”

“We’ve gotten quite a bit done,” Gamora shrugged, Mantis nodding eagerly in agreeance. “Milano’s okay?”

“She’s steady,” Peter replied, smiling. “So, Mantis, before I forget, we have a favor to ask of you…”

______

“Good morning!” Mantis said cheerfully as she practically skipped into the kitchen, stealing Peter’s multigrain bread from the toaster before his reflexes could kick in. She plopped it down onto a plate and began rummaging through the fridge for some strawberry jam. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Like a baby,” he beamed. He was in too good of a mood to berate her for toast-stealing. “I’ll bet Gamora would say the same if she were here, and didn’t leave for class super early like a crazy person. Thanks so much, Mantis.”

“No problem,” she grinned in return, settling down at the kitchen island, directly across from him. “You should have asked me earlier. I was not aware you were both having sleep troubles. I do not like seeing either of you in pain.”

“How did it work on my dad?” He leaned forward on his elbows a little. “You said he was occupied with the thoughts of his children and the so-called Expansion. How long could he go without your powers?”

The smile on Mantis’s face faded a little, her antennae drooping as she lowered her chin to fixate on her toast. She began picking at it, crumbling it between her fingernails, her appetite lost. “He did not need it that often at first,” she said reluctantly. “When I was a young girl, I could not do it as easily, so he only asked it of me when he was really overwhelmed. But as I grew older and stronger, he would ask me to use my powers every night. Sometimes, even more than once per day, if he exhausted his cosmic abilities and needed to take a nap. It was like a drug to him. He was addicted to what I could do, and I feel that if we had left him alive...who knows what he would have done to get me back.”

“So...it would actually be dangerous for us to ask you to do it every night?” Peter’s heart sank.

“I would only advise it perhaps once a week, and even then, it depends on the person,” Mantis said, apologetic. “If you have an addictive personality, then your reliance could develop by the third occurrence.”

“Dammit.” Peter stood and turned away from her, pacing over to the living area, rubbing at his temples, head bowed. They had come so close to a plausible solution - he should’ve known this was too easy.

“I am sorry,” Mantis whimpered, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I should have told you, but you both seemed so excited at finding an answer, that I did not want to turn you down. I did not want you to hate me.”

“Hey, no, Mantis, we could never hate you.” Peter almost half-sprinted back into the kitchen to put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not your fault, okay? It’s our problem, not yours. You know, maybe this whole thing was a mistake to begin with.”

Mantis’s eyes widened. “You do not mean your relationship with Gamora is a mistake, do you?”

“No, no, of course not,” Peter said reassuringly, squeezing her shoulders one last time before stepping away. “But she might be right. We rushed headfirst into being together without talking about what it means.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you two are being very mature about it,” Mantis offered, smiling tentatively. “I do not think most couples would discuss these things until it is too late. But at the same time, I think you are both making it a problem before there is even a chance of it actually happening.”

“Honestly, that’s what I’ve been thinking too,” Peter admitted. “But you know how Gamora is about preparation and contingencies, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Which is a sign you are very much in lo-o-o-ve,” Mantis sing-songed, the stiffness in her posture melting away in favor of playfully poking Peter in the cheek. Laughing, Peter swatted her away before moving to finally get another slice of toast going.

Predictably, Gamora wasn’t too pleased later that evening when everyone had returned to the Milano, in which Mantis confessed what she had been hiding from them. However, it was hard for her to remain mad at Mantis (it was hard for anyone to be mad at Mantis), and she forgave her by dinnertime. “Just don’t do that next time, okay?” Gamora said sternly. “Imagine the consequences if Peter had never asked.”

“I thought we was finally done with your relationship drama,” Yondu teased after the meal was over.

“We are never done being the ‘Quill and Gamora Show’, apparently,” Nebula sneered, kicking her feet up onto the length of the couch before Yondu could even consider sitting next to her. “Are you always going to be like this?”

“You know, for a bunch of people who tried really hard to get us together, you seem to have issues about us having issues, which, by the way - totally normal thing to happen for couples!” Peter exclaimed, accusatory.

“Let’s discuss something else,” Gamora said, joining him in the armchair, her eyes ablaze as she stared her sister down across the room, who seemed nonplussed, and as always, in a perpetual state of casual disinterest. “We’ve had a few jobs sent through the Director. We can put them off until October, but we should review them in advance and decide what to accept.”

“Whatever gets us units,” Rocket said gleefully, hopping onto the back of the chair to peer over Gamora’s head at her holo-tab. “Lemme amend that. Whatever gets us the most units. And none of them bullshit jobs with the Sovereign again.”

“Moving precious cargo?” Peter pointed at the one on the top of the screen. “That sounds a lot like ‘being shot at. Repeatedly’.”

“This one wants us to be bodyguards for a gala? That sounds vastly underwhelming and a misuse of our skills,” Drax said, hovering by Peter’s shoulder.

“What is this one about a duchess who claims to know you, Peter?” Mantis poked at the job in question, causing a profile to pop up. “Oh, she is very pretty.”

“Uhh - ”

“I am Groot!” A tiny wail caused everyone to jump, looking around wildly for the source of the crying. To their dismay, Groot had tripped over one of the metal grates (Peter really needed to make baby-proofing the ship one of his priorities) and gotten his hand stuck inside, and was now desperately tugging on his arm. Instead of leaping into action, Gamora found herself stumbling backward into the armchair. Peter shot her a perplexed glance before rushing over to help.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, Groot, just stop movin’ for a second,” he said soothingly, cupping his back. Rocket was already by Groot’s side with a screwdriver and a tub of grease he had grabbed at seemingly lightning speed. They worked in tense silence for a couple minutes, coating Groot’s arm with the grease and using the screwdriver to loosen the grate and ease him out. The others hovered nervously, except for Gamora who had seemingly frozen where she was. Finally, Groot was freed, immediately turning to bury his face into Rocket’s belly.

The others moved closer to console Groot - even Nebula was nearby, straining her neck to see how he was doing - but Gamora continued to remain seated until Peter kneeled in front of her, ducking his head slightly in an attempt to make eye contact. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching for her, but making no actual physical contact. “Can we talk? My room?”

Nodding wordlessly, she followed him down the corridor and, once again, sat on his bed as she did last time. “I dreamt that Groot was dying as well,” she said quietly, before he could ask.

“You don’t have to tell me - ”

“But I do,” she interrupted, letting out a hysterical laugh. “Because that’s what people in relationships do, right? They talk about their feelings, and spend all their free time with each other, and - ”

"Gamora.” He knelt in front of her again, cupping her face in his hands. “Breathe.”

They fell silent, aside from the steady, slow inhales and exhales as they took deep breaths together. “I feel like I’ve become an entirely different person, these past two years. But what kind of person am I?” she muttered, once the tremble in her chest had subsided.

“I can tell you what I think,” he offered. She nodded, wanting him to continue. “I think you’re someone who went from having to take care of herself to someone who wants to take care of others. But if I’m wrong…”

“That’s an apt description, if a little generous.” She smiled, bending to kiss Peter briefly. “I just feel like I’m not in control lately. Like I’ve turned over my emotions to be handled by everyone else, and I hate it.”

In all honesty, Gamora was angry at herself for being so emotionally volatile, and Peter could tell. She wasn’t used to losing control like this, to put it all out there for everyone else to see. She had gotten so used to watching Peter being so open - laughing, crying, making faces so full of expression, so full of life, that she had started to do it herself. Hell, they had all picked up so many of Peter’s mannerisms in their short time together, vocabulary that hadn’t existed to them previously, little quirks or habits that they had once thought to be annoying, and now had become subconsciously ingrained in their minds. It was like Nebula often said - Gamora had become too attached to ever let the others go, found it extraordinarily difficult to imagine a life without the team, and deemed it impossible to leave them behind.

“Then talk to me about it,” Peter said imploringly, his hands moving to rest on her lap. “Because you’re right. People in relationships talk. And somehow, we’re still really terrible at it. We never continued our conversation about signs of codependency, you know, the one we were trying to have on Saturday night?”

“Then what are we doing here? Are we healthy, or are we cause for concern?” she asked.

He didn’t respond immediately, instead electing to stand and then lie down on the bed, gesturing for her to join him. They rolled onto their sides, face-to-face, though didn’t touch. “Let’s find out.” At her furrowed brow, he chuckled softly and said, “Question. Do you think of me every minute of every day?”

The bluntness of his question caused her to snort. “What? No.”

“Do you always want me to be around?”

“Not necessarily, though I don’t mean that negatively,” she said slowly.

“Am I the only person who can make you happy?”

“You might make me the happiest, but you aren’t the only one.” Gamora was starting to catch on, another smile beginning to form on her face as she did so.

“Am I the only person you can talk to? About anything?”

“No. I have my sister and your sister.”

“Can you go an entire day without seeing me? Can you sleep without me being there?” Peter continued, determined.

A crease had formed between his eyebrows, and Gamora had the urge to reach out and smooth it away. “Yes to both,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t aware you were taking psychology this semester, Peter.”

“My answers are the same as yours,” he said, grinning. “So I’d say we’re fine. We’re co-leaders who happen to be a couple, but we don’t get weirdly obsessive over each other or fall apart without the other person around. That sounds perfectly healthy to me!”

She couldn’t help but grin back, relieved. Once he put it like that, it all seemed so simple. “So should we stop this stupid experiment of mine?”

“It’s not stupid.” He reached over to push her hair out of her face, tenderly tracing the silver in her cheekbones with the pads of his fingers. “You had good intentions. I just think we got ahead of ourselves here. I think we’ve just been worried about spending too much time together because we already hung out so much. But that’s because we were friends first.” He leaned in closer, their eyes locking. “Also, for the record? I’ve loved you for much longer than the three weeks it’s been since we first kissed.”

Gamora bit her lip, shuffling forwards so she could wrap her arms around his waist. He really did have a knack for throwing out casual statements of unfiltered sentiment like no one else did. It was the way he was in combat as well - catching people off-guard, throwing them off their game. But unlike his quips at villains, his words for her were always simply intangible tokens of affection. “Same,” she murmured, unable to form prose of her own. Maybe someday. “But what do you suggest we do now?”

“You said one week,” he shrugged. “So we’ll try it one more time tonight. No Mantis or anything. Let’s see what happens.”

“But you have your debate tomorrow,” she protested. “If you don’t sleep well…”

“One more time,” he repeated, kissing her forehead. “We’ll be okay. Also, I’ve been meaning to ask if you’ll come watch the debate? We’re the last pair to go, and you’d only have to leave class, like, ten minutes early - I mean, if you don’t want to, it’s not gonna be that interesting, but I just thought if maybe - ”

“Please stop,” she chuckled. “I’ll be there.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” She gave him a mischievous grin. “I’m curious to see how adequate you’ll be at making speeches under six minutes.”

______

Gamora stretched leisurely, yawning as she did so, rolling over onto her side and grabbing her phone off her side table. She hadn’t slept this well since Saturday night, even noticeably better than the previous night when Mantis had used her powers. Her back ached a little from the stiff mattress (they really needed to get a start on buying new ones), but she was otherwise well-rested, the dull strain in her eyes and sinuses from yesterday’s little meltdown having gone away with sleep.

She got dressed, grabbed an energy bar from the pantry, and made her way off the Milano to her first class, wondering what had changed. She had drifted off the minute her head hit the pillow, and only woke up once to get a drink of water. Her mind had been utterly clear, devoid of visions of a dying Peter or the horrid sounds of Groot’s pain, despite him being in very real pain yesterday. It was like her brain had forgotten about the whole ordeal in the first place, as if it hadn’t been plaguing her for the past three days, but that couldn’t have happened, could it?

Gamora went through all of her classes with relative ease, and received permission from Ares to leave combat class early to watch Peter’s debate (“You’ve already at the top of the class, just go already.”). She was weirdly nervous for him - he could make a damn good speech when the situation called for it, but a structured one could be cause for concern. He had come a long way from the rambling, oversharing, foot-in-the-mouth boy he had been when they first met, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t still worried about him going off-script.

She arrived at the lecture hall just in time to see Cindy sitting down after receiving polite applause for her opening statement. She scanned the room for open seats and was surprised to find one next to her very own sister. “I didn’t know you were taking this class,” Gamora whispered, slipping in beside her.

“I’m not,” Nebula replied, rolling her eyes. “Nothing good was on television, so I was hoping to get some entertainment out of watching Quill crash and burn.” Gamora could only shoot her a warning glare before the debate started again.

“The superhero origin story,” Peter began, taking his place at the center of the whiteboard. “It’s the kind of stuff that writers and creators can only dream of - and they have. At the risk of stating the obvious, it’s where we all started. And really, what determines where it ends? We carry so much of it with us, with every job we take, with every one person that we save.”

“Crash and burn, huh?” Gamora murmured, a sense of pride beginning to well up in her chest.

“I want to tell you a bit of a personal story. My origin story, if you will,” he added. “I don’t know how much you guys know about me - I’ve been told I talk a lot of crap - sorry professor - but I was kidnapped when I was a kid. Taken in by a bunch of super cool space pirates, just minutes after my mother died right in front of my eyes.” The room seemed to have sobered up, everyone falling silent as they watched Peter slowly pace around the front. “I managed to grow up pretty well-adjusted, pretty happy, all things considered. But what I wasn’t, was good.”

“I was never really concerned about being good. I didn’t think it was as important as being happy. I know, it sounds super selfish. But my priorities changed when I met the other Guardians, and after we did the whole save-the-world-and-be-awesome thing, I realized the kind of heroism I was capable of,” he continued. “You might be like, ‘what does this have to do with the psychological effects of your origins?’. ‘How does this prove that it’s a positive thing?’. ‘You’re just one example of a so-called good outcome from a bad history.’ But let me point out my teammates, and what they’ve also had to go through. I’m not saying that tragedy is a good thing - I don’t wanna romanticize trauma, because that shit’s not fun - sorry, professor - ”

“It could go all downhill from here.” Nebula sounded way too delighted for Gamora’s liking.

“I’d like to single out one person who really brings it home for me,” Peter said, trying his best not to make eye contact with the teacher, who was getting increasingly irritated. “My co-leader and best friend, Gamora.” He waved at her - she wasn’t even aware he’d seen her come in - causing several heads to turn. She sank a little deeper into her seat. Oh god, what was he doing? “I don’t think I have to tell you guys what she’s been through. I’m also not gonna tell you about her motivations, or her goals, or any of that stuff, because I don’t speak for her. That’s what gets me in trouble in the first place.” Laughter rippled through the crowd. Even Nebula looked somewhat pleased at the joke. “What I can tell you is who I saw when we first met, and who I see when I look at her now.”

“I saw a girl who suffered, and lost her family.” His voice broke a little on the last word. “I saw someone who had to take care of herself, and only herself, because that’s all she had left. But then she saw an opportunity to save other people, and she took it. Not because she wanted recognition or money, the way that I did, but because she knew despite all the awful things she had done in the past, she knew that this was the right thing to do. And that was it, really. She just happened to pick up a bunch of losers along the way, myself included.” More laughter rippled across the lecture hall. Gamora had leaned forward in anticipation at some point in Peter’s heartfelt story, gripping at the edges of the desk as it creaked, threatening to break under her fingers. “She was fierce and fearless. Diplomatic but headstrong, determined beyond belief. A real fighter, you know, and not just in combat. And guess what? She’s exactly like that now. The only difference is that she’s fighting for more than her own life. She’s fighting for the lives of everyone in the whole galaxy.”

“Quill is so incredibly gone for you, I may vomit,” Nebula commented.

“You might argue that her quote-unquote ‘backstory’ was finished when we arrived on Terra and joined this school, but I disagree. I think, like all of you, Gamora takes it with her every day of her life. The stuff she’s gone through, the life-changing moments that she’ll always remember. I think all of us carry a piece of our past with us because it’s what makes us who we are. Sometimes, it’s a physical item.” Peter turned to pick up his Walkman form the table, holding it up high for everyone to see. There were nods and smiles of recognition throughout the crowd. “Sometimes, it’s a memory. Or maybe it’s both, I dunno. And yeah, sometimes we need counseling, or therapy, or to beat up some bad guys to get us through the next day. But being able to wake up from a nightmare and still keep going is what makes us heroes.”

Gamora might have been biased, but she was pretty sure Peter’s applause was louder than Cindy’s as he sat back down at his desk. Nebula was quiet for the rest of the debate, and though her expression was relatively neutral, her silence spoke volumes to Gamora - she was impressed.

Cindy countered with several strong arguments of her own, the entire lecture hall tense with anticipation as they watched the two go back and forth. It was a spirited debate, though they kept it professional - Cindy and Peter were casual friends, there were no heated remarks made whatsoever. By the time they reached their closing statements, Gamora was smiling into her hands, attempting to hide it from Nebula before she could tease her further.

“There’s no denying that a lot of us have gone through some of the worst kind of pain to get to where we are now, and we probably don’t wanna remember it ever happened,” Peter said, making one last lap around the front of the room. “I’ve done things that I’m not proud of. I’m sure all of us have. But it’s naive to pretend that everything’s black and white - that we can divide every single event in our lives into good and bad. Which is why, in the end, I believe that where we come from isn’t something we just forget or shove aside. It shaped us, but it doesn’t define us. We can’t write off our histories and pretend we’ve been the people that we are this whole time. We can’t deny the things that have happened so we can be just a little bit happier now. We can talk to people about it, we can get help, but that’s where it all starts. Because we have to learn from our past - ” he waved the Walkman once more “ - to take charge of our own futures.” Peter smiled bashfully, almost shy. “Thank you.”

The lecture hall burst into polite applause - many students were starting to get bored by this point - as the professor approached Peter and Cindy to congratulate them on their successful debate. She then dismissed the entire class, causing most students to practically sprint out the door, hoping to catch the last rays of sunshine before early sunset. Gamora, on the other hand, made her way down to the front to approach Peter, who had his back to her as he packed his bag.

“I’m impressed,” she said, leaning against the table. Peter turned, his expression immediately softening upon seeing her. “I know you like to talk, but I have to admit - I didn’t think you would be very good at debate. You have a tendency to ramble.”

“I still do,” he chuckled, closing his bag and throwing it over his shoulder. He took her hand and began leading them out of the lecture hall. “I got a B minus.”

She frowned. “What, really?”

“Yeah. Prof was expecting me to look into more case studies to back up the facts, but there aren’t any on superhero psychology specifically - I mean, frankly, this school is the one writing those papers - which is why I went for real-life examples,” he replied, pausing to glance at her. “I had a pretty great muse.”

“Incorrigible,” she repeated, though she was blushing somewhat. “Your arguments. Were they part of what made you so confident about us being okay?”

“Sort of.” They passed through the rest of the campus, silent, as there was too much typical rowdy chaos happening around them - students chatting, showing off their powers, swapping study notes - the kind of noise that Gamora found herself glad to hear. Despite the occasional stare from other students, eyeing their clasped hands, she found she couldn’t be bothered by it anymore - she was pleased to be surrounded by people again, after knowing how eerie the school could be when it was utterly vacant.

The two of them didn’t get a chance to pick up their conversation again until they returned to the Milano, where the others were milling about, also engaging in rambunctious behavior. Sighing, Peter once again led Gamora to his room, ignoring the identical shit-eating grins on Rocket and Yondu’s faces that followed. “I think talking about everything that was bothering us and the kind of nightmares we were having literally made us sleep easier. When you first brought up sleeping alone, we probably got so stressed out about what could go wrong that it did go wrong. We didn’t have nightmares because we weren’t together, we had nightmares because we thought we would have nightmares.”

Gamora let out a defeated sigh, sprawling face-first across his mattress, unusually pliant. “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” she mumbled into his pillow.

“Hey, come on. Like I said, we’re learning together,” Peter said reassuringly, resting a hand on the small of her back. “We both have - or in my case, had - crazy homicidal dads, a laundry list of insecurities, and zero experience in relationships. Look how much we have in common!” He winced. “That was too much, wasn’t it.”

“Your sense of humor is odd and sometimes crude,” she began, turning to look at him consideringly. “But don’t tell anyone that I actually find you funny. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“So rude to me,” he faux-whined, laying down next to her, his entire arm now slung across her back. “Let’s make a deal. We stop talking about how bad we are at relationships, and instead talk about our actual relationship when stuff’s bothering us.”

“Okay,” she replied, smiling. “But I’m still terrible at being a girlfriend.”

“You help me deal with my crap, you’re really fun to hang out with, and you’re generally just a super cool, badass, all-around awesome person. For the record? You’re an amazing girlfriend.” Gamora chuckled, patting him on the chest affectionately. “By the way, this is the part where you tell me the same thing.”

“You’re adequate,” she responded teasingly. Her eyes flickered to meet his, holding steady, before leaning in to quickly peck him on the mouth. “And I love you.”

If he was surprised at her saying it first for the first time, he didn’t show it. “Love you too,” he mumbled, cupping her face. “Okay, so, here’s my plan for the rest of the night - we go back out into the living room, make out on the couch until the others get grossed out because it’s funny, then come back in here after dinner, we do homework like a bunch of bores until we fall asleep, and figure out the next step in our sleeping arrangements tomorrow.”

“Or we can determine it right now,” Gamora shrugged. “We share your bed, but I keep my room the way it is, for whenever we have fights. And I do mean ‘when’, and not ‘if’. I also get to steal your clothes whenever I want.

“I’m certainly not complaining,” Peter laughed, leaning in for another kiss. When they pulled apart, he looked oddly inquisitive. “Though I do have to ask about where you found my Flash Gordon shirt, because I swear I lost it, like, the week we got here…”

this one-shot was supposed to be like 8k words, but once again, like the main fic, peter and gamora just decided to have feelings all over the place and it turned out way longer than intended. hope you guys enjoyed it anyways!

some quick things - the song peter listened to after his nightmare was and i love you so by don mclean, which is a song peter has on his "for gamora" mixtape. also, there is a hint about the next one-shot hidden in here somewhere. finally, a brief summary of their nightmares if you skipped them over: gamora dreamed of hearing groot being hurt, and then witnessed peter dying (implied to be thanos's doing). peter dreamed of gamora listing all his insecurities as reasons to break up with him, and then ego showed up to kill her and threatened to go after the others.

once again, thank you for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and I hope you're enjoying this series :)

[dogbearinggifts]

Brothers in Arms, Part One

Umbrella Academy

Author’s note: This is Part One of the fifth installment of my Sheepdogs series. If this is the first time you’re seeing it on your dash, you can start with Part One, He Saw the Ghosts, a slight AU exploring what could have happened if a kinder vet had approached Klaus at the VFW. Dead Ringer, Tattoos with Better Stories, and Missing in Action follow the vets Klaus meets as they try to unravel the mystery surrounding his photograph hanging on their memorial wall. All installments are available on my AO3 account.

A quick warning: This installment features a character expressing homophobic attitudes typical of the era. 

1968

Humid air, heavy with rain, wrapped around Art’s skin as he sighted his target. 

Klaus never strayed too far, when he wandered, never went too near the edges of camp, but that didn’t make him easy to track down. For how high he could raise his voice and how loudly he could laugh, the guy could be quieter than Spurlock when he wanted to sneak around. 

Speak of the devil….

Art went over the story in his mind. His latest contribution to the Spurlock canon had brought laughter, sure, but most of those stories earned at least a chuckle. This one, though—this one had garnered a piece of advice, echoed and approved by every man who heard it: “You’ve gotta tell Klaus.” Being encouraged to share a joke with the rest of the group was one thing, but to hear your joke should be brought to the man who could make an entire tent laugh with a quip and a scowl? Well. There were greater achievements, higher honors, but none sent Art out in search of them. 

A few steps took him close enough to see Klaus wasn’t smiling. Nothing Art hadn’t seen before, but that just made him quicken his pace. The second he heard what Art had in store, that frown would disappear and he’d—

It was the finer nuances in the look Klaus wore that stopped him first. He’d seen Klaus upset before, of course, seen him distraught and nervous and plain old scared. He knew of no man who could make it through a war zone without having to fight through any of those things, and if one existed, Art wasn’t sure he’d like to meet him. 

But there was no gunfire nearby. There was only Dave, standing across and shaking his head as Klaus spoke. 

For a few seconds, Art could only watch. Klaus spoke at full tilt, hands upturned in a gesture resembling a plea, words inaudible from that distance. His lips moved too quickly for Art to read much of what he said, but any bozo could tell this was not the sort of conversation Klaus usually involved himself in. 

“That’s a sin, you know.” The warning came to mind with such speed and clarity that Art’s grandmother might as well have spoken directly in his ear. He could hear the rest of her lecture, too: Eavesdropping had no purpose aside from gathering information that was never yours to hear, and the only reason why one might want that information was to spread gossip, which was a big enough sin that Art’s grandmother had always pursed her lips and pointedly changed the subject whenever something resembling gossip entered her home or church. She might tell a white lie now and then, down one too many glasses of wine on occasion, but gossip was the one sin on which she never compromised. 

Art pressed his back against a nearby tree, trying to ignore that old pang of guilt. Even separated from notions of sin and damnation, even stripped of its connotations to old biddies quilting and shooting the shit, his grandmother’s disdain for gossip was far from baseless. Rumors never did anyone a bit of good, and he couldn’t recall a time when they didn’t do the opposite. 

But then, it was only gossip if you shared what you knew. 

Klaus was still speaking, words tumbling over each other in a rush too fast for Art to read. Dave shook his head, and Klaus spoke again, more briefly this time. 

Dave cupped a hand to Klaus’ cheek. Words followed, words so slow and clear Art would have needed to look away had he wanted to miss them. 

“I love you.” 

Klaus didn’t gasp. No confusion twisted his features, no apprehension made him take a step back. The statement was expected—and so was something else, something that didn’t follow even after a moment’s pause. “But?” 

Hurt and confusion, disbelief and heartbreak crossed Dave’s face, not warring for dominance so much as gathering into a force of their own, blending together and becoming something new. Without a word, Dave pulled Klaus into his arms. 

Neither spoke after that. 

“One tat doesn’t prove a thing.” 

“They share more than one tattoo,” Richard said. “You know that.” 

Art did know that. And a part of him wanted to be content with it, to take that fact and turn it into something resembling closure. “Look, Klaus—the Klaus I knew—he had ‘em on his hands, too. Hello on one, Good Bye on the other.” 

Richard and Jim traded glances, and Art knew what he’d hear before they spoke. “Our Klaus had those, too,” Jim said. 

There was no point in asking whether the locations matched; as best he could recall, the tattoos on their Klaus and the tattoos on the Klaus he’d served with were in the same places. Klaus, his Klaus, hadn’t been the only man to wear that Sky Soldiers tattoo—Art was living proof of that—but he knew of only one with an umbrella on his arm and pleasantries on his palms. 

“You said he looked like that picture.” 

“Just like it,” Jim said. 

“Like he’d stepped right out of the frame,” Richard added. 

Art drew a breath, but the small sip of oxygen did little to ease the dizziness threatening to tip him out of his chair and onto the floor. “So what are you saying? That they’re the same damn guy?” 

Again they traded glances. Art waited for one to speak, waited for some statement he could shoot down, but Jim looked at the table and Richard looked to the photo again. 

Art got to his feet so quickly the dizziness overtook him a moment, and he clutched the table for support. When his vision returned, he crossed to the photo and found Klaus in a second. 

“Fifty years.” He heard the scraping of chairs against the floor but didn’t turn from the photo. “It’s been fifty years since that photo, and you’re telling me he looks exactly the same?” 

“As best we can tell.” Richard’s words carried a sigh. “That picture’s not the clearest.” 

He hadn’t recanted what he’d said, but he hadn’t backed it up unequivocally, either. Art’s mind went frantically over the details he’d been given, the details he’d handed over, searching for any inconsistencies or alternate interpretations that might end this bizarre charade before he started to believe it himself. Yet all that came to mind were moments fifty years past. The time he’d heard Klaus humming to himself and recognized the tune, years later, in a Disney movie. The way he’d simply appeared one day, with no dog tags and no apparent memory of the training he would have received….

“You saw him crying over this picture?” 

Jim nodded, joining Art at the wall. Before Art could think of another question that might cut whatever Jim might say short, Jim pointed to the man beside Klaus, a man at the edge of the group. “Over this guy right here.” 

Dave.

“You sure?” 

“He was wearing Katz’s dog tags, too.” 

Another wash of dizziness threatened to take him, but this time Art steadied himself with a deeper breath. There was an explanation. There had to be. A logical, rational explanation. “Maybe—look, assholes pretend to be vets all the time. Maybe he just put more thought into it than most of ‘em do.” 

“Yeah, vets,” Jim said, leaning on the plural. “Not one vet in one picture.” 

“We didn’t even know that guy’s name until you came in.” He sensed, more than saw, Richard approach the wall. “And you can’t see his tattoos in the photo.” 

It was true, Art had known it was true, and yet hearing it made him want to whip out some fact that would bring the whole illusion crashing down in a second. He settled for pacing toward the nearest table and back again instead. “He tell you his surname?” 

“No.” 

“Did you ask?” 

“Didn’t get much chance,” Jim said. 

Bullshit. Art stopped short of saying it. He didn’t know if they’d had time to ask, how many chances they’d gotten or whether or not their conversations—if they’d happened at all—made such questions impolite and insensitive. Better not to assume. 

“Look.” Art wasn’t sure of exactly what he was about to say, but he plunged ahead, snatching up whatever words came to mind. “He went MIA fifty years ago. If he popped in here, there’s no way in hell he’d look just like that picture, unless time travel’s involved.” 

No derisive snorts followed those words. No chuckles, no rolled eyes, not so much as a smirk. It wasn’t until the silence settled over them, until Jim frowned thoughtfully at the photo and Richard opened his mouth as if to speak and shut it again, that Art realized he hadn’t simply expected them to scoff. 

He’d wanted them to. 

1968

Art’s instincts screamed for him to run for the first person he saw and spill everything. It would all tumble out in a flurry of words that might not swing anywhere near coherence, but it would be out and someone else would know, someone who could judge what to do with it better than he could. The secret would no longer be his; it would belong to whoever he found, and the decision would be in their hands. Knowledge would remain, but responsibility would not. 

It didn’t take him long to find someone, or for someone to find him. He wasn’t sure which and didn’t much care. He only knew George crossed his path, smile disappearing at the look Art couldn’t shake. 

“You okay, man? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Seen a ghost. That was more than an idiom—or it was now, anyway, now that Klaus was a part of their unit. Art was free to respond with some generic brush-off, but a failure to follow up an invite like that with a Spurlock story would be a greater indicator that something was wrong than any sort of honest answer. 

Art knew what he had to say, knew what he had to share, but the words wouldn’t surface. He forced a smile instead. “Yeah, Spurlock’s out there, edge of camp. Took the biggest shit I’ve ever seen, wiped his ass on a baguette.” 

George sighed. “Shit sandwiches again?” 

“C’mon, you try cooking with those hooves.” 

George’s snort wasn’t quite a laugh—nowhere near one, in fact. After the resounding approval Art’s last joke had earned, this reaction stung less like disappointment and more like failure. Then again, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to come up with a better quip even if he’d had more than two seconds to prepare. 

“You seen Dave?” 

For one awful second, Art was certain the truth had bloomed on his face. Heat rushed to his cheeks; he had to remind himself to draw a breath in and let it out. “I know when you’re lying,” Grandmother had said on more than one occasion. That she’d said it when his lies were all in her head and the truth was all he’d given her had eroded his faith in her ability to pluck out his falsehoods on sight, but that didn’t make others blind to them. 

The second passed, and George did not react. No narrowed eyes. No concern. No questions. 

“Nope. Haven’t seen him.” 

George sighed again and continued on his way. His chosen direction took him toward the pair, technically speaking, though they’d have the advantage of a few minutes’ lead. 

Art had time to call after and steer George in the right direction. He had time to think of a way to mask it, to make the truth covert enough to fit with his earlier lie. He could do it. He should do it. 

Instead, he watched in silence as George moved out of earshot and out of sight. 

“Klaus Hargreeves.” Jim’s emphasis was not lost on Art. “Means he’s Reginald’s son.” 

“If he’s the same guy.” 

“If he is,” Richard said slowly, as though mulling it over as he spoke, “then it might explain some things.” 

“Like what?” Art spent a second resisting the urge to pace before walking the length of the memorial wall and back again. It wasn’t near enough to clear his head—but then, he doubted a jog around the city block would manage that. “All that explains is how he got the same name as the Academy kid.” 

“You read his sister’s book.” 

It wasn’t a question. When first published, Did you read it? had been the question on everyone’s lips. The book was mentioned by name only at first; before the publication passed its first anniversary, inquiries as to whether or not a friend or acquaintance had read it had become common enough that most anyone listening understood that it meant Vanya Hargreeves’ autobiography. The question wasn't asked so much anymore. Asking was pointless when you knew the answer would be Yes. 

“Yeah. I read it.” Parts of it, at least. As he read, the sense of discomfort had progressed from nagging to grating, and the cause went beyond the psychological torture that had been Vanya Hargreeves’ childhood. Something about the way she included no contemporary quotes from her siblings, no insight from their adult selves that he could see, had left him with the sensation that he was peering into their lives through the lens of assumption and hearsay, seeing moments and hearing conversations that they would have kept to themselves. No matter how he tried to shake it, no matter how he told himself that she must have consulted her siblings before publication or that she could tell her own story without their input, he’d eventually set the book down, removed his bookmark, and returned it to the library. 

“So you know what he’d do to those kids.” 

A pit formed in his stomach, not unlike the one that had been his companion while reading Vanya’s autobiography. She hadn’t known all the details, hadn’t been privy to them—and that was just as well. The word experiments only belonged in talk about children when the conversation centered on the project you were helping them build for the school science fair. “I figured he hadn’t seen his dad in years.” 

“Could’ve lured him back,” Jim said. “Hunted him down, sprung it on him out of the blue.” 

If Vanya Hargreeves’ account was remotely accurate, than what Jim proposed was a possibility, albeit one that came with a laundry list of assumptions. That time travel was real. That it had happened. That it could happen again, that it could snatch anyone from their life in the present and drop them in the past, or the future, or some unholy combination of the two, if those old cliches about tearing holes in space and time had any validity. 

But more than anything, it assumed Klaus Hargreeves—the one he knew—was alive. 

1968

Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions. 

Art had only seen a hug, after all. A hug prefixed by a cupped cheek and a rather unambiguous phrase, if nothing more. The notion they were only friends crumbled beneath the sheer weight of what he’d witnessed, but he entertained it nonetheless. Best to be sure before he leaped to action. 

He could see Dave from where he stood, offering Lawrence a smile and a few words—inaudible from where he stood, but knowing Dave, they weren’t the sort to leave the other man angry or despairing for the next hour or so. Sure enough, Lawrence’s frown became a smile before Dave clapped him on the shoulder and turned away. 

Art didn’t know  a man who wasn’t Dave’s friend. Even those he didn’t see every day, even those he’d only met in passing, were treated to the same smiles and warmth. Give him half a minute and he’d pull you into a quick conversation about things back home, things you’d forgotten you’d mentioned; give him longer and he’d make the worst snafu look solvable. 

He’d heard of men like that, from the stories his Dad sometimes dusted off and brought out for company, but he’d never understood what it was to serve with one until Dave had walked right up, chatting away as if they’d known each other since first grade. Never appreciated it until Dave had found him after their first firefight, brushed some lingering dust and rubble away with a shaking hand, and asked if he was okay. Herman, weaving in and out of Dad’s time in France, had been a favorite character, one who brought a smile to teller and listener alike each time he entered the story. Art wasn’t certain he had the proper word to describe what Dave was and didn’t want to seek it out at the risk of sounding too sentimental. 

Klaus wandered over. If he wasn’t marching, he didn’t walk or run. He wandered and ambled. The sight of Charlie sent a smile to his lips, and whatever he said brought a laugh and a response in kind. Dad had served with men like that too, men who could find a joke nearly anywhere they looked, but none like Klaus. None who would begin a meandering story, drop it at the first distraction, and deliver the punchline hours later, all the funnier for having been delayed. None who could turn a simple question about the mail into a humorously suggestive one. It was a different sort of gift Klaus possessed, one that brought laughter to a war in the business of silencing it. 

The image of that embrace, that cupped cheek and those words, resurfaced in Art’s mind. 

A part of him found a certain amount of sense in it. The way they always seemed to be together, when excuses aligned. The little smile Dave wore when Klaus spoke, the smile he never brought out for anyone else. The way neither seemed bothered by a brush of the skin, a chance moment that brought their faces too close. 

Another part of him, a larger part, would have cheered their match, had one been a woman. 

He didn’t have to tell someone. Just them. Find Dave or Klaus alone—probably Dave, he knew Dave better—tell him what he’d seen and watch his reaction. He wouldn’t need a renunciation, or an apology, or anything of the like; he only needed to let Dave know the cat had put a paw out of the bag. Let him know he’d been spotted, let him know he was accountable to someone, and the problem would solve itself. 

The impromptu battle of wits between Klaus and Charlie ended with chuckles on both sides. Klaus looked off in the opposite direction, then back to Dave; he didn’t begin walking until Dave did and then he fell in step. Art didn’t try to read their lips, but their easy smiles had returned. Whatever had led to Klaus’ impassioned pleading earlier seemed to have been, for the moment, resolved. 

“I love you.” 

“But?” 

Art tried to keep the moment from resurfacing yet again, but it bubbled up for the umpteenth time. He’d heard of people who witnessed things like that, secrets that could destroy the one who held it and everyone around them. People who had come forward, who addressed what they saw and made sure help was received and all was put to rights. He’d heard the glowing terms with which they were described, of the humble quiet with which they received whatever accolades were due them. “It was nothing,” they tended to say, with a modesty betraying the warm glow of satisfaction from within. “I was just doing my part, that’s all.” 

When Art thought back to what he’d seen, when he made up his mind to do what needed done, he felt none of the steely resolve such responsibility was said to provide. He only felt sick. 

He shouldn’t have been watching in the first place. 

Dave, Klaus—they were his friends. Brothers, even. Spying on siblings might be a time-honored tradition in families fortunate and unfortunate enough to have more than one child, but there came a point when things left the realm of friendly teasing. He wasn’t sure exactly where that line might be, but he knew he’d crossed it.

Even so, what he’d seen couldn’t remain in the dark. They were his friends, and they needed help. He could bring it up with Dave, word the question to offer him as many loopholes and escape routes and possible, and then never address it again. Pretend he’d seen nothing and move on. 

Yet the moment he revealed what he’d seen, even to Dave and no one else with nobody around, he’d acknowledge that something had happened. Something had happened, he’d seen it happen, and all the trust he’d placed in Dave and the trust Dave had placed in him meant nothing next to the chance to lurk in hopes of seeing something worth pouncing on. 

Klaus came back around. No Dave, but that was just as well. He raised a hand in greeting, Klaus returned it, and they met in the middle.

“Hey.” Klaus drew out the word. “Somebody said you were looking for me for something?” 

He’d made a decision, loosely speaking, but it lacked the peace and surety of a resolution. It felt like cowardice, like surrender. 

But he still had a good joke to tell. That was something. 

Art cracked a smile. “You hear why Spurlock never goes up on mountains?” 

They said Klaus Hargreeves was alive. 

Alive and talking and knitting and here, in the city, looking near identical to his photographic double. 

It was impossible. Art knew he shouldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own eyes, yet here he was entertaining the possibility on the word of two men who had been unknown to him days before. 

Two men who had gone out of their way to find him because of the soldier in the photograph. 

Because of Klaus. 

A dozen half-formed questions swam through his mind, circled him and fell away before he could snatch them out of the air. None of the theories or possibilities quite fell into place, but Art thought he could spot where they might fit; there were holes, of course, but the picture remained, incomplete but comprehensible. 

Klaus. 

Alive. 

In the city. 

Art tried to wrap his head around it. For as long as he’d held out hope, for as long as he’d waited for news and excused Klaus’ continued absence and clung to stories of soldiers who’d gone missing and resurfaced decades later, now that he had what he’d sought, it kept slipping through his fingers. He tried to picture Klaus ambling into the same VFW bar in which he sat, tried to imagine him wandering down the streets, but his memory remained tied to the A Shau Valley. Try as he might, Art couldn’t separate Klaus from Vietnam. 

He had to see it for himself. 

A question at last burst through the flurry in his mind, and Art knew before he voiced it that it was the only one that mattered. 

“Where is he?” 

[paladinsheadcanons]

ash x tyra is my life fuel. i'm not kidding when i say i screamed after finding the ashra tag on ao3. my gay heart wants more, so would mod ash be willing to write some fluff?

i like you. i love your taste. also if you found my stuff, i hope you liked them ovo;;

as like before, my ashra stuff…. tends to get a little too long. slightly inspired by this (kinda) and this. sorry for any grammar errors and inconsistencies! 

- mod ash 

Tyra rarely gets invited to Ash’s office room. 

Of course, it’s not like they’ve made a habit out of it. Upon entering the relationship, Ash knew and made clear that they are still colleagues and in the Magistrate’s eyes, Ash is still Tyra’s superior, even if not directly. And while they worry a lot about any possible complications that this may ensue, most days are spent talking about work, and how they have spent their long shifts or missions, often ending in drinks, dinners, and passing out from laughing too much. 

And this may be a special occasion, Tyra thinks. She remembers it is an anniversary of sorts, but she does not remember for how long. She has already told Ash that she would be out for Sentinel-related issues for a few days, and would not be able to prepare or have anything ready. Ash, while sounding rather upset that they won’t be able to spend a day-off together, is still rather accepting, and just says to meet her after she’s finished with her duties.

And she is, after a trip to the infirmary and a long scolding. The wounds she had received during her duties were not the most easily-ignored, but she presses on. She has haphazardly compiled together a huge box of items she wanted to give Ash way before the mission, as well as a few trinkets she got during the mission. She had known Ash for a while, and knew she is surprisingly sentimental with items and associating memories, and so a care package may be something she would like. 

Carrying the box turns out to be a challenge. Not expecting herself to be injured during the mission, she thought carrying it would be a breeze, but her muscles complain with every move and all her body suddenly wants is to rest. She reaches the office door with great difficulty, and manages to knock once before barging in. 

Ash had situated herself by her desk, setting up… a meal? No, just some snacks on a tea snack rack and some coffee for both of them, and some other things…. she could hear the faint static-like noises accompanying a vinyl record playing, Ash herself was out of both her armor and army fatigues, instead has dressed herself in a plain dress shirt and darker pants, and having way more eye makeup than her standard eyeliner.

She looks amazing. It made Tyra feel bad that she came here without even preparing for it, and as she carefully lays down her huge box of gifts, she looks at herself – just dressed in her fatigues with a thick layer of bandages around her gut underneath her loose shirt.

Tyra looks up to a rather confused Ash. “Should I… go?”

“What– no!” Ash stands up from her seat and walks to the huntress. “Come here.”

Tyra does step closer, although a little hesitantly. She looks over the wonderful woman before her, and felt both wonder and guilt, suddenly unsure. “I didn’t expect you to have anything, to be honest.”

“It’s not much, really,” Ash starts, “it’s just slightly better coffee and some fancy snacks.”

“I should probably have headed back to change clothes at least,” Tyra says, somewhat mournfully. “You look… very gorgeous.”

“It’s fine! You’re here, that’s what’s important right?” Ash doesn’t even hesitate as she pulls her closer to embrace. “I missed you.”

“I know.” Laying her head over Ash’s shoulder turns out to be way more gratifying than it seems, hands around the woman and resting herself against her. Tyra could almost feel her heartbeat faintly through her bandages. “It’s been a while.”

For a few moments, the vinyl played soft, static-y music, filling the silence between them with recorded guitar strumming and the soft singing of a woman, familiar old tunes from home-bound tongues. It is not a tune that is strictly romantic, but it sounded like home, Tyra realises. Her embrace becomes tighter, and the tune suddenly becomes slightly faster, like one would hear in more livelier places.

“Can we… can we dance?” Ash breaks the silence. Tyra doesn’t see her, but she can tell from her tone she’s rather expectant. 

It takes her a few minutes before responding. “I… don’t know.”

Ash doesn’t let go for a second, and for a moment she doesn’t say anything, obviously rather confused. Her hands merely travel around Tyra’s back, until it stops and settles on the thick wrappings of bandage around the huntress’ abdomen. Realisation seems to hit the war machine, and she pulls away from the embrace slightly. 

Her eyes say a lot of things, peering towards Tyra looking for an answer. Worried, concern, a hint of anger. 

“Bullet wound,” Tyra elaborates, avoiding Ash’s rather concerned glare. “Jumped through enemy lines, I didn’t make out in time to get out unscathed. It’s not the deepest…”

“It’s okay, we can just do–”

“No.” Tyra insists, cutting Ash off. “I want to dance.”

If you don’t want to, it’s–”

“I insist.”

Ash pauses for a second, obviously at a loss on what to do, feeling the urgency of her insistence. She looks around, on the drinks she has made, and then on the vinyl player, still going at it with the pace. She pauses, and sighs, breaking off the embrace entirely. 

“Something slower, then,” Ash says. She unceremoniously yanks the disc off the player, hopefully not damaging it and stopping the music almost to a screeching halt, before picking out another vinyl off a nearby box and playing it instead, the tune slower and much like a sung poem. 

“You know,” Ash says, quickly walking back and resettling herself back in Tyra’s arms, and slowly coaxing her into a slow, swaying dance, “if you want something, I can make it happen.”

The singing from the record continues, still in the same old home language from earlier, accompanied by softer harps and a steadier harmony. Tyra follows the war machine’s lead, since these are familiar, easy steps. It’s not like the dance itself mattered, not really. It’s been a week, possibly longer, since the last time she’s held Ash. The Magistrate never sits idle, and as their campaign goes on, it takes the war machine away from what little personal time she has with her, and even just the feeling of her hands is making standing up for an extended period of time worth it if it meant catching up to lost time.

Anything to make it last longer.

“That’s very tempting,” Tyra says, softly leaning against Ash’s weight. “But this is good enough for now.”

Tyra doesn’t know if Ash didn’t have an answer for it or if she deemed it a good answer, but she stayed silent. Ash’s hands merely settled on her waist, right around the wrap of bandages, and the huntress can feel her hands find new places to settle on around her, as if unsure how close or how gentle is she being. 

In the end, she returns her hold by Tyra’s waist, brushing against the bandages, palms flat, as if she’s trying to guess where the wound exactly is as they swayed, and as Ash leaned her head against her. It is not too much of a wound, Tyra will admit, as she had far worse injuries in the past. But for it to hamper her physical strength and her personal time… it’s not the disadvantage she was hoping for. 

“I… wish I was there.” Ash breaks the silence. 

“Yeah, because you’d scold me for an hour longer.” 

Ash laughs, hearty and loud and raspy. “You don’t want me to be concerned?” 

Tyra has several answers to it, like not wanting her to get involved in duties she shouldn’t dip herself in, among other things. But she settles for a reply. “Well, it would make it a little easier for me to deal with if it’s you who’s scolding me.”

The war machine hums a rather dissatisfied noise, almost whiny. “If I’m there, you won’t be hurt in the first place.” 

Of course.

Ash has always liked protecting her. And it made sense, even though Tyra knows both of them are capable, strong warriors who can be independently amazing in combat. However, she knows that Ash didn’t earn her reputation out of thin air, and there are several things she regret in her years as a higher, decorated officer. Some people she couldn’t save, some things she’s seen best left to be forgotten.

Tyra dares not ask about them. But she knew what Ash would do if she were there.

“You’re going to be the one who’s hurt,” Tyra states, “then I will be the one scolding you.” A few moments pass with wordless dancing and Ash doesn’t answer, but she’s avoiding Tyra’s look rather guiltily, so the huntress concludes her guess was right. “I want to keep you safe too, you know.”

“I know.” The war machine closes her eyes, leans against the huntress. “I know.”

“Trust me,” Tyra says, “I will be okay. And you will be, too.”

“I trust you.” Ash smiles sheepishly. “But let me worry.”

The huntress merely smiles. “How many hours have you slept tonight, anyway? I doubt I’m the only one in this room with bad health choices.”

Ash avoids the huntress’ gaze. “I’ve been awake for fifty hours straight.”

Tyra doesn’t scold, nor laughs. Having such a reputation and being a high official is not easy work, and she knows Ash works hard to keep herself high up in the ranks. She remembers days where she would see her injured but still determined, shaking off any inconveniences that comes. Ash just… she is a very selfless woman. One Tyra is very glad to have met and loved.

But she hopes Ash would also take care of herself the same way she takes care of her.

“I can see where you’re going with this and the coffee,” the huntress comments. 

“I make time when I need to.” Ash murmurs softly, almost sleepily. “For you, especially.”

“Just promise me to sleep after this, okay?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, but Tyra later feels and hears her make an assenting noise. She doesn’t know if she should take that as a “yes”, but she does not want to ask further, letting the silence permeated by soft music take over.

The now-slow paced tune of the music taking over, their dancing has mostly reduced to an extended embrace disguised by the occasional sway or step. It didn’t really matter now, no one was really watching, and Tyra didn’t care if it was not close to a waltz. Ash is what matters, right?

Later on, the dancing had stopped, both of them choosing to put their attention on the now-cold coffee and the snacks Ash had brought along, slow music and harmonious singing still spinning by the vinyl. Tyra couldn’t count or sum up how long they have stayed there, as the night had dissolved into a blur of conversation, laughing and discussion, and while the coffee was a little cold, her company sure is not, later on putting her attention on the care package she has brought along, filled with charms, souvenirs, treats, and a few clothing and comfort items Tyra made way back.

They had seated themselves on the couch near Ash’s desk, hands touching while they talk about work, the mission, and life in general, not even noticing the recorded music stop and the mess of packaging and wrapper around them. Later on, they finish their drinks and snacks, and they spoke in hushed tones for hours, trading touches and kisses as they spoke.

None of them bothered to check what time it was. It’s not like it mattered. Both of them knew that once they part tonight, they might not see each other again for a long while, with the Magistrate pushing forward on it’s major campaign and it taking more and more of Ash’s time as a higher official and Tyra as a Sentinel. 

In the end, Ash never bothered to end the conversation, or tell Tyra to leave to prepare for the morning. And Tyra didn’t excuse herself, no matter how much her wound ached, or how much she knew she had work in the morning. It was in the middle of the night when both of them had decided to just fit each other on the couch to rest with each other, lying down and speaking softer and wearier. 

Tyra doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up a significant amount of time later, a little groggy and feeling several things ache. But upon seeing Ash close, her breathing steady and seeing her so rested, she knew she’s home. 

[thetravelersjournal]

GF Prologue Part 1

I decided that the prologue I posted before was a little long, so I decided to upload it in two parts! I’ll make sure to tag the original as well as the second part below. Enjoy!

The forest, the year 2014 A.D., five minutes to midnight.

A soft whisper of wind raced through the surrounding trees. The orchestra of the night was beginning. Beavers gently splashed into the water on their way home, while woodpeckers inconsistently pecked at fallen logs for a good meal. Mice softly scurried to their hiding places, trying to avoid the sinister and sly snakes. A family of deer laid down, resting beneath the starry sky.

A red Fox leaped silently over fallen trees, trying to catch up with its prey. The bunny it was chasing had much experience in avoiding its predators, and dived in and out of the bushes and shrubs, moving swiftly. The younger and slightly more inexperienced Fox foolishly pushed on, chasing the small mammal onto a small dirt road just past the tree line. It didn’t notice the truck until the last second.

The truck halted in its tracks. It was a strange vehicle, with pictures of wildlife and the rainforest on each of its sides. One might think it would have belonged to a forest observation team had it not been for the cages full of loud animals in the back, desperately trying to escape their confinements. The driver quickly got out to see what he had hit. Scars lined his face in an almost hypnotizingly bizarre pattern, making it seem like he had been the subject of one too many bar fights. He wore a shabby coat and pants that hadn’t been washed for decades, and smoked a cigar that appeared old enough to have been from the civil war. His large mustache twitched as he peered down at the unconscious and slightly bruised Fox. He stared at the small clipboard he had in his hand.

“Bonus,” he said, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small needle with an even smaller tracking device held inside. He carefully stuck it into the Fox, injected the tracker, and pulled it out.

“Alright boys, haul ‘em up!” he grunted, putting the needle back in his pocket and pulling out a lighter, “The doctor never said how he wanted them brought back in.”  His two helpers got out of the van and glanced silently at the Fox before lifting it up and placing it into a cage. The animals became even louder, apparently shocked at the state the newcomer was in, and tried even harder to escape their cramped prison. Mac banged his hand on the side of the van before shouting, “QUIET DOWN!” He lit his cigar and climbed back into the truck, slamming the door.

The van made a gurgling noise before starting up, as if it too were in protest. As it drove back down the road, the cries of animals turned into cracks of thunder, disappearing off into the night.

The Human looked out the window of the car, listening to his friend drumming the wheel. Otherwise, all was silent, except for the constant hum of the engine. Neither one spoke a word. They were both tired – their boss had them work overtime today – and wanted to get home as soon as possible. The two hadn’t even bothered to change into their street clothes after work, not even the Human, and his work clothes were rather small due to his tall and skinny stature. He fully planned to collapse into bed as soon as he got home, and didn't care if his pajamas were on or not when he did. The Human looked at the clock, which read 12:09 A.M.

“The one downside of working at a movie theater,” said his friend suddenly.

“The one downside?” the Human replied.

“Okay, so maybe one of.”

“One of many.”

“But,” said his friend, turning to him, “We get free movies.”

“Eyes on the road, dude,” said the Human.

“Oh, lighten up. There’s no one on the road anyway.”

“Besides, nothing has been out for like, six months now. That, and we get guilt-tripped into working every time we try to watch one.”

“Yeeeah… but what about the snacks? Or all the nice people you get to meet?”

“Snacks? You mean all the popcorn those ‘nice people’ drop on purpose or throw at the screen so we have more of a mess to clean up?”

“Alright, so you hate your job. Don’t ruin it for the rest of us,” said his friend irritably.

“I just hate doing the same thing day in and day out. At least the people in movies live more interesting lives than we do… I want to do something new for once, go somewhere, see places, meet people…”

“And since when have you been a ‘people’ person?”

“You know what I mean,” the Human sighed, turning back to the window.

“Be careful what you wish for,” said his friend.

“Why, is my life suddenly going to change in the next ten sec- LOOK OUT!”

The Human’s friend slammed on the brakes as a forest observation truck ignored its stop sign and flew straight in front of them. Whether the speeding van even noticed them was unknown, as it continued driving on down the road. The Human’s friend gently let their foot off the brake and slowly continued on their course back to the Human’s house. The Human sighed out all the air that had filled his lungs as he had braced for impact. The shock made his chest feel like it was on fire, and his ears were filled with a high pitched whistle. He shook it off, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, which had slid down in the sudden stop. Barely avoiding death was not how he liked to spend his night. Rain now began to fall outside the closed window, drenching him with shivers.

They sat in silence a few moments longer, before the Human’s friend spoke up.

“Well,” his friend said, “your life kind of changed in the last 10 seconds.”

“Shut up.”

“Anyways, we made it,” his friend laughed as they pulled into the Human’s driveway, before glancing sideways at him and sighing. “Sorry I can’t celebrate with you at your birthday party.”

“Naw, it’s cool. Have fun at your little sister’s dance recital,” the Human snickered.

“I wish. Later.”

The Human thanked his friend for the ride and watched the car drive off before walking into the house. He quietly went up the stairs, being careful that he didn’t wake up his parents. He walked into his room, set his glasses on his desk, leaped silently over a few old Sonic the Hedgehog comic books, and fell flat on the bed. Before he could even think about how much fun he was going to have the next day, he was fast asleep.

Dr. Cain Kintobor was getting desperate. His experiments so far had brought up more problems than solutions for his military weapon research. Thus far, his test subjects had died, grown opposable thumbs, or lost all their hair. He knew he was getting close, however. His last few experimental specimens seemed to be smarter than before, and walked on their hind legs compared to all fours. But he still had not yet achieved success, and that was why he was out at one in the morning, in the cold and rain, waiting for his new test subjects to arrive.

Test subjects. He was forced to rely on animals rather than humans, all because of ethics. The government had issued his grant money on the condition that he use it to create the ultimate weapon, but they refused to let him use criminals in his tests. No one wanted to test the waters of experimental ideas! Dr. Cain was baffled at the very notion. Why not use convicts? The world wouldn’t miss them anyway. A low rumbling awoke him from his thoughts.

The truck slowly crept up the road and came to a stop before the doctor. The truck driver stepped out and walked toward Kintobor.

“Fifty different kinds of animals, just like you requested, sir,” He said, looking down at his checklist, before stating, “Noah’s Ark is here.”

“Yes, yes, fine, fine. Anything special Mac?” Kintobor grunted, too exhausted to pretend to be kind to the driver.

“Think I got a cow with a lazy eye in the back,” Mac said, jerking his thumb over to the truck.

“Hmm. Interesting,” said the doctor, not bothering to stifle a yawn, “Well, bring them inside.”

Mac and his two helpers grunted as they started unloading crate after crate full of animals. Kintobor watched their progress for a while, his lab coat whipping in the wind, before heading back inside. He still had lots of work to do, and wanted to finish preparing this batch of animals before Thursday, as his wife and son, Ivan, were planning a picnic by the meadow with some of his close colleagues and friends. Even the Clarkes would be there, and usually Dr. Clarke and his family were too busy to come to these fun outings. Dr. Cain always liked to show off his son, and how he, like his father, wanted to become a great scientist.

Kintobor started his routine of analyzing each animal. As he walked down the row of crates, each animal cowered near the corner of their cages, desperately trying to put distance between them and the doctor. Kintobor stopped at the edge of the Fox’s cage. He peered down at the nimble creature. It was still unconscious, not aware it was imprisoned.

“This will do just fine,” he said.

He ordered his assistants to bring the sleeping animal to his lab. He adjusted his glasses and got to work, walking into a room that could indeed be labeled as a mad scientist’s laboratory. Test tubes were everywhere, most containing strange liquids or clumps of fur. Scientists and lab assistants scurried about while armed guards stood at the entrances and exits to keep out unwanted visitors- and keep the doctor’s experiments in. The atmosphere smelled of sweat, making the entire workplace hot and stuffy. The air itself was full of static electricity, so that if a person were to walk in without a hat, every hair on their head would stand straight up. Dr. Cain had no problem with this, however, as he had very little hair to begin with, the result of a genetic disorder. If anyone was brave enough to ask the doctor what disorder, he would simply say, “It only affects the family intellectuals.” Apparently this disorder did not affect the upper lip, as his mustache was so big it rivaled Mac’s.

The Fox was placed in a solid Plexiglas-like tube. Giant pipes ran to and from the tube, providing energy. The doctor turned to his colleagues.

“Are we up and running, and did you add the different DNA compounds like I asked?”

“Almost, and yes. We just need to run a system analysis on-”

“No,” said the doctor, “perform the experiment now.”

“Are you sure? If we fail too many more tests we’ll lose our funding.”

“I am sure. Now perform the test!”

Another of his colleagues spoke up. “Doctor, I do not think it is wise to-”

“I do not pay you to think! Perform. The. Test.  NOW.”

Kintobor’s partner glanced at the other scientists before begrudgingly pulling a lever. Sparks shot out of the top of the tube and slammed into the Fox. Now awakened from its peaceful sleep, it howled in agony as the electricity intensified. A strange liquid started to fill the chamber. Instead of collecting around the Fox, however, the Fox seemed to be absorbing it into its body.

“Turn on the DNA modulator!” the doctor shouted over the Fox’s yelps of pain. The Fox’s eyes shut tight as a white powder covered the entire tube. The electricity continued, not fazed by the new substance entering the small space. The doctor smiled. He could feel it this time. Any second now he would have the ultimate soldier.

That’s when a green asteroid rocketed straight through the building, broke through the glass of the testing tube, and landed right beside the Fox.

If the Fox’s screams of torture had been loud before, it was nothing compared to how loud it was now. The scientists and guards covered their ears as the Fox began to effortlessly float in the air. Its eyes opened only to show they had been rolled into the back of its head. Visible energy seemed to collect around the Fox as it floated higher into the air. Test tubes exploded, light bulbs shattered. The entire compound appeared to rattle and shake, swaying against the raging storm outside. Then, as soon as it had started, it stopped. The Fox fell back to the floor, unconscious yet again. Surprisingly, while several sparks flew from various broken wires and outlets, the damage to the lab was minimal, despite the monstrous ‘quake’.

Kintobor slowly got up from his hiding place. He looked around the smoke filled lab. His heart sank. He was so close to victory! He sighed, and looked to see if there was anything left of the Fox. What he saw surprised him.

The Fox was mostly ‘unharmed’ (“I’m surprised it kept all its limbs,” the doctor mumbled), although it was slightly glowing- a fact that unnerved Dr. Cain, but he didn’t pay too much heed to it, especially after it grew pale a few seconds later. The Fox was twitching uncontrollably, and was slowly beginning to wake up. Kintobor looked next to the Fox to see the green asteroid… but then again, it didn't look like an asteroid at all, but rather a giant emerald.

“Hmm… so you're what caused all the chaos,” he said.  He tried picking it up, but because it was bigger than his own body, he ultimately failed. It was so bright that it was practically creating its own glow. In fact, it was; the Fox’s strange hue a minute prior must have been from the glow of the emerald reflecting off of it. After examining it for another minute or so, Dr. Cain pointed to one of his partners and said, “We need to run some tests on this after we have this animal caged.”

The Fox, however, had woken up, and did not seem too happy about being caged again.  Its pupils grew until all that could be seen was yellow. Before the doctors, their assistants, the guards, or even the Fox knew what was happening, it had vanished without a sound.

The scientists stood dumbstruck at the spot where the Fox had been. Kintobor’s face slowly turned a very dark shade of red. His colleagues stepped back and plugged their ears, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

“FIND ME THAT FOX! NOW!” he shouted.

The armed guards ran from the room quickly and grabbed their guns, tasers, and tear gas canisters. Using the tracker Mac had implanted into the Fox, they found that it had teleported to a small town about three hundred miles away- almost a 6-hour drive. Based on the time it was now, they would get there around 10 A.M., at the earliest. They moved out of the building, got into their armored cars, and drove off into the now foggy night.

Dr. Cain seethed with rage. He was going to make the ultimate soldier. Nothing would stop him from creating unmatchable military might. Nothing…

The Human was awakened by a soft thud; so soft that the sound only nibbled at the edges of his consciousness. He groggily lifted his head to look at the clock, which now read 3:27. He groaned. His first thought was that he wanted to get some sleep before his party later that evening, but then he realized that it didn’t matter how tired he was in the morning; his parents probably wouldn’t care if he slept till noon. Therefore, he decided to see what made the sound, and turned on the lamp that was next to him. His eyes would’ve bulged if they hadn’t been practically closed shut.

In the middle of his bedroom was a red Fox, lying unconscious on the carpeted floor. ‘Red’ however, was an understatement. The Fox was soaked in its own blood, shining from the light his table lamp was giving. The Human blinked a few times to make sure what he was seeing was true, slowly gaining awareness of the situation. Then he pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, glancing quickly over at the animal after doing so. The Fox sat still in the center of his room.

The Human got up cautiously. He would have been cautious, at least, if his lamplight hadn’t decided at that moment to burn out. He tripped over his own feet, saved himself, then waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. How a Fox had gotten into his room was beyond him; his window and door were both closed. Where had it come from, and why was it so injured?

He was so immersed in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the Fox was twitching wildly around on the floor. It began to emit its own light again, a sort of dull green, illuminating the room and making the Human’s hair stand on end.

Still, the Human approached the Fox slowly, with great heed. It was a peculiar thing, and besides the fact that it was bleeding from head to toe, it looked rather sick, like it had been unnourished for some time. He was a foot from the Fox; half a foot; an inch. He could hear its shallow and un-rhythmical breathing as it was trying to force more air into its lungs than it could hold.

And then the Human did something really stupid. Taking a deep breath, he leaned over and poked the Fox in the stomach.

Pain flared up inside him as the Human silently began screaming. The Fox started to meld with his skin; the pain flew through him with burning intensity, until he could no longer feel his face. Peach blended with red until the brighter color took over. Hair became fur, hands became paws, and eyes grew to resemble brown flying saucers. The Human tried to scream but nothing would come out, the screams instead ricocheting inside his own head. The world was spinning, shadows laughing, the pain became audible, it hurt so much, it was too much, it was too-!

And everything went quiet. Dead silent.

The Human could no longer hear the house creak, could no longer hear the AC humming, could no longer hear his dad snoring in the room across the hall. He could not smell the scent of burnt fur, or feel the carpet underneath him, or taste the blood on his tongue, the blood that was oozing down his face like gentle rivers of water. The final terror that struck him was that he could no longer see his own bedroom. Everything was black, pitch dark.

And the Human passed out.

The Human awoke with a start. Sunlight pierced his eyes, and he had to blink a few times to get used to this sudden brightness. He was on the ground, and the blankets from his bed had fallen down with him.

“Was that a dream?” he said out loud. He looked over at the clock on his bed, and was surprised it read 9:58. He got up slowly. Sleeping had not seemed to have helped him, as he was extremely exhausted. His back ached, his hair was pointing up in all sorts of directions, and his tail drooped to the floor, so he had to drag it when he walked. The Human was so tired, that he was oblivious to the fact that he had a tail, as well as the fact that he was shorter than before. His thoughts were on breakfast.

He went downstairs, yawning with each step he took. He looked up at the kitchen table and saw a note written by his parents. It read, “Son, we went to the store. Your brother is at swim practice. I know you won’t want to, but you need to wash the dishes, take out the garbage, and vacuum all the carpets. We should be home around two. Happy 16th!  –Mom”.

The Human sighed. “I should probably change into some decent clothes before I start,” he groaned, stretching.

“You humans have some pretty messed up priorities,” said a mysterious voice.

The Human looked around frantically, trying to discern the source of the voice. “Who’s there?” he proclaimed.

“Just me, the voice inside your head that you’ve been ignoring for the last five minutes,” it replied.

At this point, the Human was fully awake, and finally began to notice some things. He had not put on his glasses, and yet he could see perfectly. He could hear his neighbors arguing next door, even though they weren’t yelling. He could smell the remains of his mom’s breakfast on the kitchen counter, but the eggs had long since been eaten, and the dishes cleared and cleaned. The entire room seemed taller, and his usually tight uniform was now too baggy; the Human doubted that even his belt would hold up his pants. He looked around, only to spot his dark red tail behind him. Whenever he moved, it moved. The Human stood in shock for a few seconds, watching his tail mimic his movements, but snapped out of it long enough to ask, “Wha- what? - why?”

“Glad you finally decided to wake up. I’m no happier about this than you are,” said the voice, sounding very annoyed.

“Who are you?” the Human finally spilled out.

“I’m the Fox that was in your bedroom last night.”

“Okay, so, how are you inside my head exactly?”

“Do you remember nothing of last night?”

The Human, of course, could remember everything from last night. He ran into the bathroom to look in the mirror. And for a moment he saw his reflection.

He found himself hard to describe with words. He appeared to be a humanoid fox with wide brown eyes. His fur was reddish, except for the white patches covering his chest and the end of his tail. What once was his hair now seemed to be fur pretending. It flowed like grass clippings from the top of his head, too short to need to be combed. Above his hair were long ears, standing straight up from his own surprise. His canines were much longer now, sticking out from his other teeth. His nose and mouth now seemed connected to a long white snout. His arms and legs were like skinny noodles, and the Human wondered how he was able to stand up.

He only had a second to ponder his appearance, however, because at that moment the front door exploded.

The Human coughed up dust, and tried to peer through the rubble that had filled up most of the hallway. This was impossible, as the smoke cloud was too thick to see anything. In fact, the cloud of dirt seemed to be growing, which only made it harder for him to breathe. And unless it was his imagination, the smoke was slightly turning green, almost as if it was-

The Human passed out on the floor. He didn’t see the armored troops come in, nor did he hear them tossing him into their truck, or hear his neighbor's’ screams, or smell the scent of gunpowder that formulated into the air, or feel the cold hard metal floor shifting as the armed truck drove down the road. He could only taste the warm, stale air being pressed onto his tongue as he breathed in the peculiar sensation of unconsciousness.

Part two of Prologue- Part 2

Read the full version!- Full Prologue

Gear and Dr. Cain belong to me.