gamora--of--the--galaxy

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

A Lovely Night

Peter Quill knew Gamora was brave. She never fled from a fight-- be it with a Vanlivvian space biker or the ravenous bugblatter beast of Traal. Not to mention, she also was currently the Milano’s designated spider killer.

But despite all this, Quill didn’t think he had ever seen the warrioress as courageous as she was that one hazy night on Trantor. They left the ship as dusk fell, bidding farewell to the other Guardians under the guise of purchasing parts for the Milano. Most likely it wouldn’t have mattered either way-- the others were already submerged in a deep dispute about the latest contestant on Sontaran Idol-- but Gamora had not gained her reputation as the deadliest woman in the galaxy without being very careful.

The two walked down the disembarkment ramp connecting the Milano to Trantor’s spaceport, hands almost touching.

“Get ready,” Quill told his fellow Guardian. “This will probably be the last few moments of silence you hear in the next couple of hours.”

The warrioress raised her eyebrows, giving away nothing but a subtle amusement. “Really? How many people live here anyways?”

Truth be told, for all he had heard about the planet, the star captain wasn’t entirely sure. So he ballparked it. “45...billion at least. I think. Or maybe that’s just the number of McMar-vells.”

“45 billion...My father would despise this place.” Quill glanced over at Gamora just in time to catch one of her rare smiles. Presenting an intergalactic passport to customs official, the titan’s daughter stepped into the crowd, spreading her hands wide enough to almost hit a disgruntled spaceport-goer in the face. “And yet, look at it. It’s thriving.”

Star-lord stepped to her side. Quite frankly, there was no place in the galaxy that he’d rather be.

“Yeah, it totally is. Looks like Thanos doesn’t know everything, huh?”

Gamora stopped herself before she could spit out her father’s constant reply-- “not yet”-- and nodded. Then she smirked. “Not at all. He doesn’t know about us. Or how to give a good compliment. Or even how to bake more than half a cake. Trust me Quill, reports on the mad titan’s efficiency are far overblown.”

At first Gamora felt brave saying it. Then guilt seeped into the edges and she was left with a mess of emotion she didn’t know how to deal with. So she changed the subject. “Anyway, you promised me food and dancing tonight. What would you say are the chances I’m going to get it?”

“Hmmm. I’d go for ten million to one on.” Quill grinned-- he was learning not to push too far. Gamora would tell him things. But like the warrioress had said before, she just needed the time to figure them out first. “The planet’s kind of freaky actually because they make almost everything from yeast. Hot dogs, spaghetti...I just realized I’ve never actually seen spaghetti in space so maybe not...”

Gamora knew what neither of those things were-- which meant they probably were from Earth. Maybe one of these days, she’d actually travel there and figure out what in the Systems made Peter Quill love it so much. But for now…

“Yeast isn’t so bad actually.” She replied amiably. “They add nutrients so that, if complemented properly, it can comprise almost an entire diet. Great for space travel.”

“Horrifying otherwise.” Star-Lord grimaced.

Gamora shrugged. “They have barbecue-flavored. And chocolate. I’ll tell you what, Quill-- I try your Trantorian restaurant, you try my yeast.”

“Ha. No. I’d rather give Rocket mouth-to-mouth.”

“What? Don’t tell me the great Star-lord is scared?”

Peter Quill gave his fellow Guardian a look half of exasperation, half of grudging admiration. “For a existentialist space assassin, you really shouldn’t be that good at burning people.”

“So you’ll do it?” Gamora raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I guess so. But--” Star-lord raised his index finger in a gesture more philosopher than space pirate. “That means you have to try whatever I say too.”

“Deal.”

And that was the end of the one argument that Gamora and Peter Quill would have on Trantor-- for though no moon was visible through the haze that capped the city, they knew the hours of the night were waning.

First came dinner. Star-lord was true to his word and ended up trying the yeast. Though he did eventually admit that the taste wasn’t that bad, the Earthian insisted to Gamora that the mushy texture was still enough to ruin the whole culinary experience. She was surprised and a little amused by his pickiness. “After the Pop-tarts I assumed…”  

But Star-Lord shook his head. “You live onboard a Ravager ship long enough and you get to sample stuff from all over the galaxy. Not to mention… Yondu’s a pretty good cook. You didn’t hear it from me though.”

“Ex-assassin remember?” Gamora teased, touching his shoulder in a brief moment of intimacy. “Your secret is safe with me.”’

And Peter Quill believed her.

After dinner came the dancing. Trantor was full of nightclubs but the best could only be found by those who knew how to look-- then how to get in without arrest or some form of serious injury. Fortunately, between Star-lord’s dubious charisma and Gamora’s somewhat less dubious fighting skills, the pair was fine. The two Guardians came across a seedy looking joint-- “The Emperor’s Folly”-- and entered without more delay than a brief moment to admire the neon glow.

Then it was straight to the dance floor. True to Trantor’s reputation, the club was filled with to the brim with people, sporting various styles of dress and speech from every side of the galaxy. And Gamora was soon surprised to find that despite the one beat splitting the night, there was no single dance. Some twirled. Some stomped. Some even flew-- all without any trace of self-consciousness.

Peter Quill offered the other Guardian his hand just as Ren McCormack might. “You ready?”

For a moment Gamora hesitated-- none of this: the people, the lights, the music-- felt real. The scene could have just as easily been plucked from a fairytale, even a Hallmark movie. And she didn’t believe in those.

Right?

A split second before, the world had been clear but, just as Star-lord offered his hand-- doubt had entered yet again. Was it possible for her to deny what was right in front of her face? Could she really look upon this paradise and turn her back on it?

Gamora knew the answer was no. And while should have made her feel weak, the choice was freeing. So with a wild grin--“I was born ready, Quill.”-- the space assassin grabbed hold of her Earthian’s wrist and pulled him into the pulsing heartbeat of the crowd.

Within, the dance was intoxicating.

Star-Lord swirled and shook as though under a spell stronger than any Mind Stone. Here in the middle of the music, he could forget everything else for a while and just be.

Be with Gamora--

For someone who claimed she couldn’t dance, the titan’s daughter was moving with a grace and fluidity to rival the most masterful ballerina. There was no rigidity in her-- every movement flowed with the music as though she was a stream tumbling around pebbles and reeds. And… she was happy. The intense stare that Quill had learned to know and love had melted away into a slight smile, relaxed and free upon her lips. This, the Guardian knew, was no small feat either for Gamora...or him for that matter. Both had learned long ago that the act of forgetting the past, of throwing it all away for a moment in order to simply live, could take all the courage in the galaxy.

But the two were braver together. So they held each other close and lost themselves to melody and touch until dawn was at hand.

***

The streets of Trantor were just as crowded in the early hours of the morning as they were at night, blanketed in a chaotic din heavy as the smog that filled the air. But even among this discord, even with feet hurting from a night on the dance floor and jaws aching from too much smiling, Gamora and Quill were impossibly relaxed as they entered the spaceport. The pair joked like friends that had known each other for decades instead of mere months, lips loosened by a potent mixture of exhaustion and ecstasy. Perhaps they felt invincible, immortalized by a night of fantasy. Perhaps they finally felt free.

Either way, it was no wonder when it all ended in disaster.

The slip started innocently enough-- as such things always do.

Gamora was the one who spotted it first. A souvenir stand just outside the Milano’s terminal selling such travel necessities as T-shirts emblazoned with the slogan “Froody for Trantor” and plastic bobbleheads of the planet’s famed mathematician Hari Seldon. At first the two only laughed at the sight-- the warrioress because she had never seen such a pile of useless junk before in her life and the star captain because it boggled his mind that someone would be selling useless junk without adding a troll doll or two into the mix.

Then they found seats across the concourse and settled in to wait for the moment the terminal’s gates unlocked for the day. A half an hour passed. The spaceport announced (as it did near weekly) that it was facing delays due to an unexpected influx of travellers.

At last only three options remained for the stranded Guardians: either call Rocket and ask him to get the terminal open somehow-- a risky game considering that most days he slept until noon-- continue to marinate in their own boredom waiting for the gears of bureaucracy to turn, or check out the tacky little tourist trap on the other side of the concourse. Peter Quill knew which one he preferred.

“Hey,” he said to Gamora who was half-asleep in one of the plastic spaceport chairs. “I’m going to take a look at the souvenir thing, okay?”

“Mmmmph.” The other Guardian let out what could have been a snore. Star-lord decided to take it as a confirmation. “Be back in five.”

The Earthian rose to his feet, stretched and began to push through the Trantorian crowds. That was the first mistake.

Even at such early an hour, getting through the swarm of spaceport goers was near impossible. For a brief moment, as he accidentally crushed the toes of a man in pink pastel skinny jeans-- Quill even wondered if Thanos had a point. Not in a let’s-kill-half-of-the-people-in-the-galaxy way of course but more along the lines of wondering how people could even live here on a daily basis. The star captain knew he couldn’t that’s for sure. It was only hours from leaving the Milano and he already missed the wide open expanse of space.

Speaking of space-- the sea of people finally began to thin as Star-lord finally reached the souvenir stand, the overt tackiness taking on a repellent effect. It didn’t drive away Quill though-- he supposed he was made of stronger stuff than to be driven off by “Taken with Trantor” shot glasses. Or... well, he had to admit he kind of enjoyed the showiness too.

The shopkeeper smiled and gestured to his goods with four greasy hands as Star-lord rifled through the display. “Four credits apiece,” he declared, an obvious rip-off. It didn’t matter though. Spaceport sellers were always willing to haggle and Quill had learned the trade from the best.

“How much for this?” he asked, holding up a small sun-dome snow globe.

The shopkeeper played dumb. “Like I said, four credits a piece.”

“Right, and I’m a Guardian of the Galaxy.” the ex-pirate picked up the knick-knack and pretended to examine it. “We both know no one’s going to pay that much for this piece of--”

Suddenly Star-lord stopped mid-sentence, eyes fixed in rapture upon the place where the snow-globe had been. He reached out a shaking finger and asked about an octave higher. “How much for those?”

The store owner perked up. “Five credits.”

“I thought you said--” Quill quickly submerged his awe in frustration. Not that it was any use. He had broken the cardinal rule of haggling-- don’t care-- or as Yondu put it “Never show interest unless you want to spend the rest of your life paying it off”.

“Fine.” the star captain sighed. “I’ll pay. Just gimme a moment-- there’s someone I want to--” He pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick message.

Hey.

Gamora

U got 2 see this

He hit send. That was the second blunder.

A few awkward minutes passed. For a moment, he wondered if the other Guardian hadn’t got the text-- or, just as likely, whether she was ignoring him. But finally the ex-assassin stumbled out of the crowd a somewhat milder version of the trademark death glare fixed upon her face. “This had better be worth it Quill. Because I’m fairly certain they’ve actually started opening the terminal.”

“It is.” Star-lord confirmed. At least he was pretty sure it was. “Look.”

Gamora leaned over a mass of Imperial Palace paperweights to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that her partner was so excited about. Then she squinted. “Is that... supposed to be us? On a bubble gum packet?”

“I know, right!”

The space assassin was lost. “Listen, uh Quill. I’m kind of getting the vibe that this is a really big deal to you. Which I’m sure it is. But you might have to explain it to me a little more.”

Quill looked deep into her eyes with great gravity. “Gamora, if there’s one thing I learned in my brief childhood in Missouri, it was that once you get your own bubble gum trading card, you’ve made it.

“Made...it?”

“Yeah, it’s like you’re famous-famous. I mean Cyndi Lauper was on trading cards. David Hasselhorf was on trading cards. And now... Star-lord.”

Gamora shook her head, unable to keep a slight smile from painting her face. She still hadn’t the faintest clue why her partner cared so much whether others knew his name. Not even the real one--Peter Quill-- but the one he had adopted for himself. Maybe it was different when you were a self-proclaimed “nobody from Missouri” rather than a mad Titan’s daughter. That was Gamora’s best guess. Not to mention, she couldn’t deny it was refreshing. At least Quill thought of the galaxy as more than a faceless mass, half allowed continue their lives, the other half chosen to die for their own good.

She handed a crumpled credit-bill to the vendor. The third mistake. “We’ll take the lot.”

Star-lord almost fell over in shock. “Oh man, Gamora-- you don’t have to do that. I mean that’s a lot of money and these are just--”

The shopkeeper pocketed the money before he could get out another word. Meanwhile, the ex-assassin smirked to herself as she dumped the candy in a flimsy bag.

“Hush Arse-lord.”  she said “I’m buying the gum. Just don’t think you’re keeping it all for yourself.”

The Earthian seemed to recover, only the faintest tinge of red remaining in his cheeks. “Alright then... But I’m gonna say this is the new food I’m making you try. Like the promise from earlier”

“...I’ve had gum before, you know Quill.” Gamora raised her eyebrows. “Rations were fairly minimalist on the Sanctuary but they were never that strict. Besides, gum helps with concentration.”

Star-lord shrugged. “Okay-- so maybe you’ve had gum before. But you’ve never tried Guardians of the Galaxy gum.”

“I...don’t think there’s a difference.”

“What? Nah. There’s totally a difference. I’ll tell you when we’re back on the ship.”  Peter Quill was bullshitting and they both knew it. All the same, Gamora smiled as he grabbed her hand.

It may be bullshit but at least it was entirely his own.

And fingers laced, the Guardians returned to their ship unaware that the final nail had been struck into their proverbial coffin. For a mere five minutes after they left the terminal, the picture was uploaded to Spacebook-- GUARDIANS IN LOVE? emblazoned across the front like a neon pink eyesore. In just under fifteen minutes it went viral. Half an hour later it popped up as clickbait on the glowing screen in the hands of one very bored, easily distracted intern. Fame, it seemed, could be a fickle mistress.

***

And as this disaster took shape, the vendor smiled. Selling souvenirs in Trantor’s biggest spaceport was a crap job to be sure. But the interesting people made up for that.

Oh yes, they did.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Okay.

So after a wonderful hour hitting the bag with Ronan’s face on it, I finally asked Quill for his take on things. For some reason, he seems to have a lot more experience with emotional shit than I do--Systems know how considering he was raised by a pack of pirates-- but I won’t question the ability. It’s much too convenient.

Anyway-- he said something along the lines of.  “It’s kind of a pride thing, I think. Like why Nebula never responds to any of your communications and stuff.”

To this, I replied “oh” then added that Drax didn’t seem to think he was a better assassin than me/hate my guts.

For a moment, Quill just stared at me. I have no idea why. Finally he asked if that was really why I thought Nebula was avoiding me. Fingers on my dagger-- which unfortunately seems to have become a nervous tic--I nodded. “It seems to be the most plausible explanation.”

“No.” The Earthian shook his head, surprising me again. “No Gamora, she most definitely does not hate you.”

I sighed. “She’s told me so herself, you know.”

“Yeah, well.” Quill kind of shrugged. “Your sister’s an asshole. So what else is new?”

“Drax giving me the silent treatment. The raccoon threatening to kill us all.”

The star captain shook his head. “Nah. Rocket always did that.”

“Maybe to you. He always kept some modicum of politeness with me.”

“Really,” Quill sounded almost shocked.

“Really.” I replied.

“You lucky woman.”

I rolled my eyes. “Quill focus. Drax. Why.”

“Right.” The Earthian stroked his stubbled-coated chin. “So like I was saying-- the problem’s pride. Drax vowed to hunt down your father, remember?”

“Quill, I’m an ex-assassin. I’d be dead if I didn’t have a good memory.”

“Okay. Fair. But anyway-- we both know Drax takes his promises very seriously. So he probably feels that to have a friendship with you would be breaking his word, and--”

“Thus to ruin his honor as a warrior!”

“Exactly.” Quill’s grin reflected my own pleasure at the conclusion. “See Gamora, you’re better at this shit than you think you are.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” I snorted. “But all the same...that means things only go back to normal when he figures out that being friends with me is not the same as being friends with my father. And Systems know how long that will take.”

“He’ll figure it out.” The captain reassured me-- but I could only shake my head.

“He’s as stubborn as I am, Quill. You know that.”

“Well... even you came around in the end, right?” The bastard raised his eyebrows, a smile both endearing and completely ridiculous quirked upon his lips. “You know-- what with the dancing and all that.”

As if I didn’t know what he was referring to--

“Hush Arse-Lord.” I said, struggling to suppress the same foolish smile. “We’re being quiet about that, remember? Anyhow, I liked you from the moment I first stepped on this ship. I just needed some time to figure everything out, that’s all.”

“Seriously?” It almost offended me how surprised he was.

“I’m being completely serious, Quill. You may not be some sort of intergalactic casanova but you are a good person. And Systems know, that’s a far rarer, infinitely more precious asset.”

“...Thank you.” The Earthian murmured. Blood rushed into his face, turning it a delicate shade of crimson (a process which I could watch over and over again.) “On a kind of, uh, similar note, I was wondering if whether you’d want to go on-planet with me when we get to Trantor tonight. You know. To get your mind off the Drax thing. We could eat out, go dancing, I hear they’ve even got these fabulous sun domes on top of the buildings...”

I considered it-- On one hand, I’d insisted that we’d keep the relationship as far out of the public eye as possible-- the Guardians already got enough publicity over the “Gamora-is-Thanos’s-daughter-thing” and I didn’t want to make things any harder. Particularly for myself. On the other hand...the only time I had ever seen Trantor was from the viewport of the Sanctuary, several light-minutes away. And the chance to finally go there-- with Quill…

“Yes-- I think I would enjoy that.” I finally replied. “I mean--there’s only so much of the world you get to see as the mad titan’s assassin. And it certainly isn’t sun domes.”

“I’ll show you everything then.” Quill promised, and took my hand. I almost flinched--despite everything, touch was a sensation that still felt somewhat new to me-- but would not allow myself. That life of being my father’s daughter, his weapon-- that was gone. And in its place I would make something new and beautiful.

Preferably with Peter Quill and Trantorian sun domes.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Ugh.

This situation has passed through realm of headache into intense migraine. You’d think that a musclebound warrior who doesn’t like metaphor would be straight up with his intentions but no. 

We can’t even communicate unless I tell something to Peter or Rocket

who tell Drax

who replies to them

who finally get the response back to me.

It’s exhausting. Not to mention Rocket said he’d shoot the brains out of the next person who tried to use him as a messenger raccoon.

And the thing is--I don’t think I’d even mind this kind of silent treatment if I thought that was how Drax really felt about me. If I knew that he honestly believed I was nothing more but a devotee of Thanos, unrepentant, unforgiven. But I don’t think he assumes any of that.

I mean, I don’t know for sure--

But Drax isn’t the kind of person to hide hostility.

So then the question that frustrates me is why. If he doesn’t hate me, why won’t he talk to me? What purpose does it serve other than to drive the rest of the team insane?

…

Systems, I need to punch something.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

[A couple sketchy pics of Rocket and Groot]

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Good morning @gamora–of–the–galaxy. I hope you are doing well.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Crap. I’m beginning to realize that neither Drax nor I really thought this not-talking thing through. I mean, it works fine on the ship actually but in the middle of a fight...

What am I supposed to do-- stay quiet and have the asshole get himself hit in the head?

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Gamora quietly slipped onto the sun deck, an assassin’s instincts making her every footfall go mute upon the floor. There was Drax-- just as Groot had said-- leaning up against the windows, looking at the stars. This worried Gamora. Her fellow Guardian had always worn his heart upon his sleeve--even if he probably would object to the figurative language-- but now… she hadn’t the faintest clue what he was feeling.

So the warrioress approached with caution, inching forward like a bird on a wire.

Finally she spoke: “Drax?”

There was no response. It occurred to Gamora that this could be some sort of an ambush-- it wasn’t unheard of--but that wasn’t in her friend’s nature. If the situation came to violence, it would be most be settled by a duel of honor. One sword each, no seconds and to the death. Gamora didn’t think she could kill Drax if it came down to down to it though-- after all, if either of the two of them deserved to live...no. She couldn’t think like that now. As an assassin maybe-- but not now, as a Guardian.

At last, Drax’s voice split her thoughts in two like a dagger. “Gamora,” he said. “You’re here to commiserate with me on how the Galactic Herald slandered you.”

His words formed a statement but the warrioress decided to take it as a question. “No Drax, I’m not.”

“What?” The other Guardian cocked an eyebrow. It was about as much surprise as his face ever seemed to show. “They said you were the Mad Titan’s daughter. You can’t tell me that’s not offensive.”

Gamora shrugged, trying to think of the best way to put things. “No I really can’t. But…”

“But what? There are no other buts, at least that I acknowledge.”

Acknowledge. There was the key word. Drax did know everything-- and he likely suspected that what the Herald wrote could be the truth. But it didn’t fit with the image of Gamora he created in his head so he had dismissed it. Just like that.

The Guardian supposed she should feel flattered. Instead, it just made telling the truth a whole lot harder. No more lies, Gamora repeated to herself silent and stern. She was done with that.

“Drax-- what they wrote about me was true. I am Thanos’ daughter.”

The warrior rose to his feet in what was anger-- but not quite surprise. “What?”

“I am Thanos’ daughter.” Gamora would repeat it as many times as she had to. “But hear me out: I still am the same--”

Drax pushed her aside. “No.”

The warrior took a few powerful strides toward the door unwilling, seemingly, to hear her defense.But then he hesitated,-- turned to Gamora a second time and, with a peculiar mix of rage and sorrow on his tongue, spoke. “I will give you one last chance. Tell me you are not his… offspring.”

Gamora shook her head.  “I am his daughter-- but I’m still me. Everything else you’ve that you saw-- that I’ve done-- it’s all the truth.” She would make no excuses for herself. If Drax desired a friendship, then he would need to accept both what Gamora had been and who she was now.

And yet that didn’t seem that likely to happen. The warmth in the warrior’s eyes had faded into embers. Burning, but faint as the most distant star. “Very well then, deceiver. Because we fought together once you shall live another day. But know this-- we are not friends. And if you attempt to speak to me, I shall ...gut you and send whatever remains to your father. Understood?”

The ex-assassin was quiet.

“You can speak to me for this part.”

“Understood,” Gamora sighed.

Drax nodded stiffly in return. “Then I take my leave” He stormed out without so much as another glance, rattling the ship and leaving Gamora to her thoughts. Truth be told, she didn’t make too much of the other Guardian’s threats. She knew she could take Drax in a duel and was actually pretty sure that he knew it as well. And...Systems knew why he wouldn’t just say it outright, but Drax hadn’t seemed to want a fight. If he did, Gamora had learned from ample experience that the two of them would already have knives at each other’s throats .

So where did that leave them? And the Guardians for that matter? Perhaps dead and buried. Yet perhaps only missing-- lost somewhere in the the chaotic space between stars, where anything could happen. Gamora had a feeling that only time-- that great stone which had eluded her father for so many years-- would tell.

But she could wait.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Why is it so hard to find someone who’s over six feet tall and covered in tattoos?

Shit. Drax probably knows too.

I’ve got to talk to him.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Shit. Drax probably knows too.

I’ve got to talk to him.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Okay. Count me wrong on the autograph thing. Somebody asked for movie rights and I had to spend an hour and a half of my life explaining to Rocket why it’s not going to happen, no matter how much money they’d give us.

…

Well, I guess now the whole galaxy knows. Hmm.

Maybe people will finally stop asking for my autograph.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

…

Well, I guess now the whole galaxy knows. Hmm.

Maybe people will finally stop asking for my autograph.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

The Interview [As Recorded by the Milano]

Reporter enters. She is several feet taller than Gamora. Actually several feet taller than the doorways of the Milano so she has to stoop down to enter. She is holding a clipboard with Property of Uxulia Jeamos-Ivic emblazoned in strong letters across the top. In her pocket is a hidden a recording device. Uxulia’s motto is “You can never be too careful.”

Meanwhile, across the small gaming table, Gamora crosses her arms -- clearly uncomfortable with this conversation. Uxulia flashes her a smile in hopes to calm her down and gets a glare in return. Oh well. She’s seen worse.

Uxulia: I’ll get straight to the point. My name is Uxulia Jeamos-Ivic and I am an interplanetary culture reporter for the Galactic Herald. The newspaper, not the Silver Surfer just to be clear. I assume you’ve heard of it?

Gamora shrugs.

Uxulia: I’m sure you have. It’s rather hard to miss. Anyway, I’ve received a tip from one of the Herald’s many patrons--

Gamora: Let me guess: ratty trench coat, smug-ass smile, and a robotic fucking mohawk.

Uxulia [somewhat unsettled]: ...The patron wished to remain anonymous. For reasons quite understandable given the subject matter--which brings me to my next point. Can you, Gamora, Guardian of the Galaxy, confirm or deny whether you are indeed the daughter of the Mad Titan?

Gamora [with a humorless laugh]: What? Do we look related?

Uxulia: Maybe not by birth but adoption is entire possible. Just look at that madness on Asgard a few years ago.

Gamora: Asgard? I think anyone who doesn’t live there can agree that the place is a nuthouse.

Uxulia: Maybe so, maybe so. But my point still remains. So answer me this Guardian, if I were to call you by your full name, would it be Gamora Titan?

The ex-assassin lets out a long sigh. She is quiet for a few moments-- eyebrows furrowed, fidgeting with the knives at her waist. Uxulia decides to scooch her chair a bit farther back from the interviewee. Just to be safe.

Uxulia: Well?

Gamora [making eye contact at last]: You’d be wrong.

Uxulia [pressing onward though not without anxiety]: Are you sure? Because the party-goers last night told a very different--

Gamora: Quiet. I haven’t finished yet.

The reporter withers in her seat.

Beside her, the Guardian closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. For courage perhaps.

Gamora:  You’d be wrong because my full name is Gamora Zen Whoberi Ben Titan. Yes, Titan. But you answer me this, reporter-- do you honestly believe that after watching one half--exactly one half-- of her planet die by the Mad Titan’s hand, after spending her childhood locked away in his flagship, after saving the whole damn galaxy from him--

Gamora [voice breaking, slamming her hand on the table]: Do you honestly believe that Thanos’ daughter owes him any fealty?

Uxulia Jeamos-Ixic’s reply is barely audible, punctuated by a string of apologies flowing like blood from a wound between her lips. It is negative.

However, Gamora Zen Whoberi Ben Titan never hears any of this. By the time the reporter opens her mouth she is already out the door.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Today was cleanup.

For any normal party, this would mean something along the lines of picking beer cans off the rug and fishing unmentionables out of the toilet. At least according to Peter Quill who, as usual, I cannot tell whether is bullshitting or not.

Unfortunately, it seems I won’t get to find out--reporters from the Galactic Herald showed up a couple hours ago and now refuse to leave without some sort of exclusive interview with “the Mad Titan’s daughter.”

I don’t know how it got out...

But my bet’s on Yondu. Wish me luck.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Aftermath

Gamora Titan and Peter Quill stood together on the Milano’s ramshackle sun deck. It was almost midnight and yet the skies blazed with a prism of varied light.

Ravager fireworks, Quill had explained to her when the two had still been in the mood for words. Used only for special occasions: death, birth--

And new starts? Gamora asked. In that moment, the Guardian had wanted more than almost anything for that light to be an omen. After all, her people had always believed in sort of thing: 

That the color of the stars could speak of a fate--

That when the sky opened, it told a truth that mortals could not--

At least... she was fairly sure that was what they believed. It had been a long time.

Though Quill could not have known any of the thoughts barrelling through her mind, he held her hand close and spoke as though he could see them all. New starts are good. Especially yours.

Gamora wondered then if perhaps the two would continue what they had begun earlier that day. To say she would have be willing was be an understatement on par with calling her broadsword a butterknife.

But her fellow Guardian seemed to have something else on his mind. Do you… He hesitated.

Go on. Gamora had replied.

Do you hate him? Or do you actually... love him?  

Well. There was no mistaking the him that Quill was referring to.

But the answer...that was less clear. Thanos had destroyed so many worlds-- including her own. There was a 50% chance that he had killed her biological parents. And he was, quite possibly, the worst father figure ever.

And yet…

And yet…

Gamora supposed it was just very hard to hate someone once you got to know them. Once you had seen them fail a million times and then get up again. When you knew every quirk and every thought and every habit.

It made them too real.

So at last she gave the only response she was able to:

I don’t know.

And then: Do you hate your father?

For a moment, Quill stared into the colorful abyss . Then he closed his eyes and leaned back into the crook of Gamora’s neck, letting his answer rise just above the din.

I don’t know either.

Then-- The ex-assassin replied, her words escaping from her lips to touch, gently, those of the star-captain below. I guess we’ll find out together.

And in the bright of a night like day, the two Guardians picked up where they had left off....

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

[so where were we...ah yes]

Closer…

Closer--

Gamora’s tongue hit cold metal. “What. The. Hell?” she spat.

A familiar scratchy voice cracked the silence open like a grenade. “Sorry Quill, I tried to hold him off but he had half a pineapple upside down cake and-- oh, hello Gamora.”

The assassin followed the words up the long metal barrel she had been tasting just a few seconds ago to the very furry, even more agitated face of her new least favorite Guardian.

“Hello Rocket.”

“So all I’m saying is that we either need some heavier ammo or to get our asses off this ship because--” A tremor shook the Milano. “Shit. He’s here.”

The three Guardians watched in a bewildered sort of shock as the Mad Titan strode into the room, slamming the door behind him.

Gamora furrowed her brows-- her father had never slammed doors; it was impolite.

There was a short second as Rocket hammered the trigger on his gun and a spray of bullets flooded in Thanos’ direction. But the Mad Titan only held up his hand and every one of them stopped, hanging in the air like a swarm of flies.

“Ahem. Listen here...rodent.” Her father’s voice had a strange ring to it-- though Gamora couldn’t quite place how . “I told you that I wished to see my daughter so see my daughter I shall. We have terms to discuss-- those of her betrayal-- and those of her return. Yes Guardians I am stealing your friend away from you!”

“Yeah right, dickface: over my dead--” The raccoon had started to let out a low growl when the assassin jabbed a finger in his ribs.  “Rocket. Be quiet.” She muttered through gritted teeth. “I appreciate the gesture but he actually takes that stuff really seriously.” 

“Uh duh. He’s Thanos. And you be quiet. I’m trying to save your ass over here.” There was a theory bandied about in intergalactic philosophy that the smaller you were, the more emotion-- in this case, the more rage-- was concentrated closely within your body. At the moment, Gamora could believe it.

All the same, no one was forcing Rocket to be a self-righteous dick

“I’ll save my own ass. And yours too since you apparently get your kicks from hurling it into danger.”

“What?! You take that back--”

“Excuse me,” Gamora’s father stuck a delicate purple index finger between their two faces. “I don’t mean to interrupt what is clearly an emotionally charged conversation, but I would like to pose a solution. Consider this: you all fight me.”

The three Guardians stared at him.

“He really is mad.” Rocket muttered.

“Well I thought it was a decent idea.” Thanos replied , obviously taking offense at the raccoon’s words. “Everyone gets a go at the most hated criminal in the galaxy; the Guardians strengthen their bond by fighting together and any chance of beating me skyrockets.”

Quill turned his gaze sideways to Gamora. “Is this… some kind of trap or something?”

But the other Guardian just shrugged. There was something off about this whole conversation but this-- this was just Thanos being Thanos. “He’s probably sincere. No point in beating an opponent if they aren’t at their strongest, right?”

“I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree there.” Quill sighed. “But you’re the expert on--”

“On fighting.” The Mad Titan cut in, again in that peculiar tone. “Not on me, correct? Because Gamora doesn’t know anything about me. We barely interact except when I...when I force her to do my evil will.”

“Your… what?” This conversation was becoming very strange indeed. As far back as Gamora could remember, her father was probably the only person in the galaxy that hadn’t used the e-word when referring to himself.

“My evil will” Thanos continued as though the idea was perfectly obvious. “You know, the tasks that you always rage and rail against with courage befitting a true heroine.”

The aforementioned heroine was about a couple of seconds away from grabbing this purple stranger by the neck and asking him what on earth he had done with her father. At least then she could get an explanation for this madness. But something made her stop in her tracks.

A wink.

So fast and faint that had Gamora not been a cybernetically-enhanced assassin she might have missed it.

But she was.

“Shit.” Gamora could see her father’s lips twitch as though he was trying to hold back the word “Language” -- which only served to confirm her suspicions.

The assassin swore again, this time more quietly. Then: “Father, please stop this.”

“Stop what?” Now that the Guardian knew what was going on, she could pinpoint what was wrong with Thanos’ tone-- anxiety. The Titan Eternal’s voice, normally so confident and full of fire, had taken on a slight tremor as though it were that of an actor, lost upon the world’s greatest stage. Which Gamora supposed, to be fair, it rather was.

And as per the usual, her father had done it for her.

No more. The ex-assassin raised her voice to respond. “I said stop this ridiculous charade. Someone’s going to get hurt. Most likely Rocket. And besides that- I’m done with all the lies, all the secrets.”

For a moment Gamora thought her father was going to ignore her, but today must have been the day for all impossible things, because he only shook his head and sighed. “Are you sure, Gamora? If you wish these to be your friends… well I cannot change who I am but I’d be willing to play the villain they all think me to be. And paint you the heroine you’ve always been”

“I know. But, like I said, no more secrets.”

Gamora’s glance slid from her father over to two other Guardians who were exchanging a look of confusion. And for once, the daughter of Thanos could not blame them.

“Uh, do we still shoot him?” Rocket asked, hoisting his gun-- which apparently still had ammo-- over his shoulder.

His teammate replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “You could try. But I doubt it would work.”

“Seriously Gamora, what’s going on?” Quill muttered. He was still, the ex-assassin noticed at her side, “What his he saying-- ‘play the villain’, ‘paint you the heroine?’ Also, why does he talk like that?”

Again the third Guardian shrugged . “Well… I can’t answer that last one. In fact, I’m pretty sure no one can.  But as for the first two questions… Peter Quill, Rocket Raccoon, I’d like you to meet my father Thanos.”

“Greetings.” The Mad Titan waved.

“As you may have noticed, we fight a lot. I disapprove of basically everything he does. And he’s made a lot of shitty mistakes parenting.”

“Well I don’t know if I’d go that far--” Thanos stopped short as Gamora gave him a look. “Alright. Well, at least one mistake. Maybe a couple. At least I never taught you how to use that word.”

“Fair. Anyway, I used to help him do his world-conquering death crap. Yeah. It’s the truth even if I wish it wasn’t.” Gamora shut her eyes, blocking out the Guardian’s faces. Peter already knew what she was but Rocket...this would be a surprise for him. “But I never liked it because I thought it was wrong. So I stole an Infinity Stone, left and met all of you.”

“You used to… be on his side?” The raccoon, for once in his life, appeared to be at a loss for words.

But Gamora was not. “That’s what it meant to be Thanos’ daughter. What were you expecting, Rocket?” The words came out harsher than she intended. Byproduct of a couple of months living in abject fear of discovery, the ex-assassin supposed.

“Dunno. Mostly to be more pissed than this. Guess you can’t help who your parents are” The other Guardian let the gun fall to his side. All the same Gamora noticed, he never clicked off the safety, continuing with a small note of bitterness in his words. “But you can help what you do. Like lying.”

“Don’t blame her, Rocket the Raccoon. Blame me for I was the one who--”

But the Mad Titan’s words were cut off by the click of nail on metal as the Guardian strode over to the door. “Yeah, you aren’t really helping anyone’s case, grapenuts. I’m going to find Groot-- he’s gotta know what’s going on too. I mean-- along with you know who. But there’s no way in the Seven Systems I’m going to be the one to tell him.

“Shit.” Peter replied, earning a glare from Thanos. “I forgot about that again. He’s ...probably not going to take this very well, is he?”

“Again duh. But that’s not my problem because I didn’t lie to the rest of my team.” Rocket gave what could have been one last sarcastic grin as he slipped out the door. And as much as Gamora wouldn’t have minded punching him in the face right there and then, she knew that in a lot of ways she deserved every bit of venom dripping from the raccoon’s tongue.

She had worked with Thanos.

And she had lied.

But that phase in her life was over. All of them-- Rocket, Drax, Groot and Peter-- they’d have to realize that eventually right?

“Don’t worry.” Quill took her hand. “He’ll come around at some point. Rocket’s just got… a lot of trust issues he needs to work through. And with finding out that you are who you are-- I doubt that task is particularly easy right now.”

Gamora winced. The two had shared the same living quarters for several months but there still was a large gap in her knowledge when it came to the combative raccoon.

“He certainly is a troubled character, isn’t he?” The Mad Titan commented, seeming almost to pull the words right out of Gamora’s head. “All the same… he was willing to lay down his life to keep you from my grasp. I agree with Star-lord: your bond will not be broken easily. And well…” Thanos cleared his throat rather awkwardly. “If it means anything, I approve.”

“It means something.” Gamora still wasn’t entirely sure what that something was but she couldn’t deny it all the same. The two were quiet for a moment in what could have been a shared moment between father and daughter. Or perhaps an empty silence between two people who were just now realizing that the other was not what they seemed.

“I suppose I should get going then.” Thanos sighed. “Ronan’s waiting in the Sanctuary and, anyhow, this was only really meant to be a short visit.”

“Are you sure?” Gamora asked, half out of propriety and half because she didn’t know what else to say. “I mean, most of the pirates have already left and as, well, long as you don’t intend to kill half of everyone here…”

Quill started as though in all the chaos he had forgotten that was a possibility. “You weren’t actually going to do that... right? Because that would, uh, totally ruin the party.”

Thanos gave the Guardian a faint ironic smile. “While I have a long and storied record of ruining parties, anyone who knew my purpose would see that I do not invite death without good reason. In fact,” The Titan drummed his fingers against his side in the kind of absentminded gesture that would better suit a professor than a warlord.  “to show my good will, I have left enough of my pineapple upside down cake in the atrium as to ensure the enjoyment of all your guests. Well. One half of your guests anyway. It was a sociological point that had to be made .”

“Right…” Quill said rather faintly. Gamora brushed her fingers to his in a small gesture of understanding-- her father was a lot to handle, especially if you weren’t used to him. And not many, on occasion including herself (if she was being honest,) were.

“I shall take my leave then. Well wishes to you both-- particularly to you Gamora.” Thanos paused. “Remember, I am always here whether you need an elite Chitauri army or… an ear to listen.”

The Mad Titan’s daughter almost smiled. “Yeah. I’ll remember.”

If she looked carefully, she could see the faint traces of a smile on her father’s lips as well. “Very good then.” he replied. “I’ll be in touch.”

And with that, Thanos Titan, Thanos Warlord, Thanos Death strode out of the room with a happy look on his face and a hum under his breath.

[gamora--of--the--galaxy]

Gamora watched as the screen of her phone went still, her mind a reckless chaos that could not be touched. And yet-- the assassin’s gaze was unchanging.

If she wasn’t able to see it, to feel the proof that what had happened really did, Gamora didn’t think she could believe it.

She had finally told him. At least part of it anyway.

And what’s more, he had listened.

That was a kind of insanity that the Mad Titan had never bothered with before.

The assassin likely could have spent an eternity pondering their conversation-- what had Thanos meant by “here?”-- had a familiar voice not sliced through her thoughts.

“Gamora-- hey Gamora! It’s me, Peter, uh, I mean Quill. Or Star-Lord if you actually want to use that name now. Listen could you just stay where you are please? I’m kind of trying to find you and that would make things a lot easier.”

Ironically the effect of his words was almost enough to send Gamora sprinting the the opposite direction. There were few things in the galaxy she wanted less at this moment than to see Peter Quill.

Especially since she was fairly sure how this argument was going to go.

First he would yell and cuss and shout. “How could you not have told me that you were half evil on your adopted dad’s side? Seriously, what the Systems Gamora?”

Then he would say what he was really feeling. “I thought we were a team. I thought we were friends.” This was the worst part.

And what was Gamora supposed to say in response? “I thought we were friends too. And I was hoping that we could be something more.”

He’d never buy it. It was a Hallmark movie happy ending, and the assassin hadn’t been lying when she told her father that she didn’t think those existed.

All the same, she stood stock still in the crowd, trying to get a glimpse of her fellow Guardian’s face. Maybe it wouldn’t be pretty. Maybe it wouldn’t be nice. But, by this point, Gamora felt she owed it to both Quill and herself to give the relationship a swift, clean death.

And if there was one that she was good at, it was that.

A swift clean death.

It was only a few moments before the assassin spotted Quill’s foolish looking facial hair drifting through the crowd, barely one before the Guardian was at her side. He’s fast, Gamora thought as an lump grew inexplicably large in her throat. Probably from all the dancing.

“Gamora…”

The assassin closed her eyes-- half so that she would not have to see her friend’s face and half so she would not lose her resolve.  “It’s fine Quill. Say what you want. I’ll be leaving at the next port anyhow.”

“...wait, what?”

The bastard wasn’t actually going to make her repeat that, was he? Perhaps this ending was going to be more messy than Gamora had previously thought.

“I said you could call me whatever you want. And that I was leaving at the next--”

“No, no, I heard you the first time. I’m just-- why in the Seven Systems would you do that?”

Gamora slid open one eye. What exactly was Quill playing at? But no, he looked...genuinely confused.

Could it be that he actually-- Gamora would not let herself finish the thought. Quill had been there when it happened. He had heard every word that had come oozing out of Thanos’ mouth. And so Gamora could not see any way in the entire galaxy, heck even in the entire universe that her former friend could look at her without seeing the Mad Titan as well.

“You know who I am now, Quill. Every secret I’ve been trying to keep. Surely you understand why it would be foolish for me to even attempt be a Guardian of the Galaxy now.”

But the star captain shook his head. “Why not?”

“... Are you mad? Because--”

“Because.” Quill interjected. “You’ve already did it once. And you were a daughter of Thanos then too.”

Systems… was he serious?

“Not to you. Not to Rocket or Groot or Drax. Honestly, Quill you don’t actually think I’m delusional enough to believe that we can still be a perfect happy little team after this.” Gamora balled her fists. “When I’m the enemy you’ve been fighting against all along.”

“What? That’s got to be the craziest thing you’ve ever said . You’re the reason Thanos doesn’t have the stone; I mean, you stole it from him; you’re--”

“Who do you think got it for him in the first place?”

Gamora breathed a sigh-- half of relief, half of regret-- as the Guardian quietly closed his mouth . Finally he got it. Finally he understood what it truly meant to be Thanos’ daughter.

“I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Quill. Truly.” She’d sever it quickly. Quietly. Like a knife cut in the night. “But my time with the Guardians is--”

“Don’t say over Gamora.”

Even after knowing that, he still wanted... He still wanted her to stay?

The Guardian continued with a fire in his throat. “I don’t care if you were the one who got Thanos the Infinity stone. You’re still Gamora. The same woman who flirted with me then kicked my ass in twenty different directions. The same woman who got us out of the the tightest jail in the galaxy. And the same woman who saved the mother-flipping galaxy with me.”

“Quill--”

“Don’t you see? You’re Thanos’ daughter and you still chose to be you. That’s goddamn Guardian material if I ever saw it.”

“...I...I never saw it that way.” Gamora was at a loss for words. Quill was the strangest, most stubborn bastard she had ever met in all of her travels throughout the galaxy.

He also was… something new.

The Earthian almost seemed to smile at her words. “Of course you didn’t. You’re Gamora and, well, that’s not the way you roll. But it’s why you need people like us-- a team-- who can see it. It’s why you need to stay.”

The assassin stared at Quill.

“I mean, maybe. I’m not going to make you or anything--”

Gamora shook her head. “I’m staying. And don’t make me say it again, Quill or I’ll do something ridiculous like-- like kiss you.”

“Like kiss...me?” The assassin had to admit she enjoyed the peculiar shade of pink the Earthian’s face turned at her words.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Gamora smiled. When had she last done that freely-- weeks? Months? “But somehow the maddest things seem possible tonight”

“Then say you’ll stay again. And whatever follows--even if it seems ridiculous-- you can do that too.”

“I’ll stay.” Gamora leaned in so that their lips were almost touching. She had kissed people before sure. But it had always been part of a hit, a job-- never by choice.

This, too, then was something new and she intended to savor it.

Closer…

Closer--