He licks his lips, head still bowed over his bowl. Apparently he's made his choice re: this tomato, because he quickly puts it in his mouth, along with a forkful of noodles, trying to buy himself some time.
He takes his time chewing, and given he has no compunctions talking with his mouth full, he knows it's obvious that he something he doesn't want to say. (For a born liar, Peter can wear an awful lot on his sleeve, sometimes.) ]
I don't remember.
[ Yet still, he tries. Let it never be said that Peter Quill is a quitter. ]
The worst part is that Gamora doesn't entirely understand why – why he feels like he needs to or why he wants to. She feels like she's spinning her wheels trying to make any headway here, because she doesn't get it.
But instead of directly confronting him or calling him on it (whether out of kindness or otherwise), she's willing to change tactics. ]
Then what do you remember? Anything after we left the Sovreiegn?
[ ... A change in tactics does not mean dropping the subject, apparently. ]
[ He huffs out a sharp sigh, stabbing at another tomato. ]
Does it matter what I remember? I mean, we're here now, right? And it's— over, whatever we were dealing with before. We're done with it, and now we're here to deal with whatever bullshit that entails.
[ There's a second – all of a heartbeat – when Gamora looks completely struck by Peter's words.
"We're done with it."
So much happened, in so many different ways, and it seems so demeaning to trivialize it and throw it aside.
But if that's what he wants, Gamora is perfectly capable of adhering to that decision.
Almost immediately, her expression smooths out, her jaw setting, and she turns to what's left of the pasta, starting to scrape away the trimmings into the garbage, to put the dishes into the sink. ]
[ He misses the change in her expression, focused as he is on shoving around the contents of his bowl.
What he does notice is the shift in her voice, the way it goes flat and impassive, and Peter lifts his head to watch her move around the kitchen. He has the sinking realization that, not for the first time, he's royally fucked up.
... Shit.
He's silent for a long while, chewing on his bottom lip, trying to decide if he wants to salvage this or let it go. (But he wants terribly to just forget it all, like he claims to have. Because if he forgets, he never has to tell anyone the extent of what a giant fucking douchebag his father was. He won't have to face the reality of what it all meant.)
At last, he lets out a slow breath, placing the bowl on the counter. ]
[ Still with that flat tone as she takes the rest of the noodles off of the stove. There's plenty leftover, but she has no idea what to do with the remainder, so she reasons it'll probably just be thrown out – unless someone else happens to wander in looking for food at this late hour.
Either way, it's a way of keeping her hands busy, giving herself something to do that doesn't involve scrutinizing Peter like she had been. ]
You said that it's over, and we have more important things to deal with here.
[ ... That is what he said, yeah. He can't exactly argue with that.
He scrubs at his face, frustrated, trying to dredge up words that refuse to come, that refuse to be collected, and he flounders. He's out of his depth, here, and as much as he wants to forget, he doesn't want to fuck things up with Gamora more than he already has.
(He still can't get it out of his head. Rock crumbling beneath her feet. Gamora, falling away into some fathomless depth.)
His shoulders sag, and he practically deflates. ]
I remember the Sovereign, okay?
[ Slowly, voice low and exhausted. ]
And I remember Berhert. And I remember Ego's planet.
[ He still can't meet her gaze, and he swallows around the lump in his throat. Instead, he focuses on a seam on his pants, picking at it with the pad of his thumb. ]
Enough.
[ Too much.
He's quiet for another few breaths, before he huffs out a quick, joyless laugh. ]
Finally, some of that tension starts to ease out of her shoulders, her impassive expression losing its cold edge.
Because that tells her enough; she doesn't need him to detail everything that happened on Ego's planet, and she doesn't even need to discuss what they went through.
She just... wants to know that they're on the same page. ]
I don't think I need to.
[ She doesn't smile, but the corner of her lips is that much softer.
Turning on the water, she tests the temperature with her fingers, and though she doesn't look up at him, she does add, a little quieter, ]
[ Another dismissive noise, as he finishes off the last of his spaghetti. He hesitates before bringing the bowl over to her, a little mindful to keep a bit of distance between them. ]
[ She glances up, watching him as he approaches. The offer catches her by surprise, if only because she's more than familiar with the constant squabbles on board the Milano about whose turn it is to deal with the dishes or who left what plate out on the table, so—
She doesn't expect it.
After a second of consideration, she gently shakes the water from her hands, stepping away from the sink. She doesn't go far, doesn't keep some wide space between them, but she doesn't stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, either. ]
[ It’s silly, he knows, that of all the things they’re going to talk about, it’s going to be this. ]
It was common, back on Earth. Like, it was basically everywhere, ‘cause folks loved it. When I— [ A pause, as he considers his word choice. ] —When I left, I never really found anything close to it.
[ At least this is a safer topic. The wounds from Ego's planet are still too fresh, she knows, and at least with that shred he's given her, she's willing to move onto something else – for now.
(If she's honest, she wants to feel less awkward with him.) ]
There seem to be many kinds. I saw drinks made of it, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 12:55 am (UTC)He licks his lips, head still bowed over his bowl. Apparently he's made his choice re: this tomato, because he quickly puts it in his mouth, along with a forkful of noodles, trying to buy himself some time.
He takes his time chewing, and given he has no compunctions talking with his mouth full, he knows it's obvious that he something he doesn't want to say. (For a born liar, Peter can wear an awful lot on his sleeve, sometimes.) ]
I don't remember.
[ Yet still, he tries. Let it never be said that Peter Quill is a quitter. ]
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Date: 2017-11-20 01:15 am (UTC)The worst part is that Gamora doesn't entirely understand why – why he feels like he needs to or why he wants to. She feels like she's spinning her wheels trying to make any headway here, because she doesn't get it.
But instead of directly confronting him or calling him on it (whether out of kindness or otherwise), she's willing to change tactics. ]
Then what do you remember? Anything after we left the Sovreiegn?
[ ... A change in tactics does not mean dropping the subject, apparently. ]
Do you remember Berhert?
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Date: 2017-11-20 01:25 am (UTC)Does it matter what I remember? I mean, we're here now, right? And it's— over, whatever we were dealing with before. We're done with it, and now we're here to deal with whatever bullshit that entails.
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Date: 2017-11-20 01:36 am (UTC)"We're done with it."
So much happened, in so many different ways, and it seems so demeaning to trivialize it and throw it aside.
But if that's what he wants, Gamora is perfectly capable of adhering to that decision.
Almost immediately, her expression smooths out, her jaw setting, and she turns to what's left of the pasta, starting to scrape away the trimmings into the garbage, to put the dishes into the sink. ]
Right. We're done with it.
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Date: 2017-11-20 02:03 am (UTC)What he does notice is the shift in her voice, the way it goes flat and impassive, and Peter lifts his head to watch her move around the kitchen. He has the sinking realization that, not for the first time, he's royally fucked up.
... Shit.
He's silent for a long while, chewing on his bottom lip, trying to decide if he wants to salvage this or let it go. (But he wants terribly to just forget it all, like he claims to have. Because if he forgets, he never has to tell anyone the extent of what a giant fucking douchebag his father was. He won't have to face the reality of what it all meant.)
At last, he lets out a slow breath, placing the bowl on the counter. ]
I didn't mean it like that...
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Date: 2017-11-20 02:08 am (UTC)[ Still with that flat tone as she takes the rest of the noodles off of the stove. There's plenty leftover, but she has no idea what to do with the remainder, so she reasons it'll probably just be thrown out – unless someone else happens to wander in looking for food at this late hour.
Either way, it's a way of keeping her hands busy, giving herself something to do that doesn't involve scrutinizing Peter like she had been. ]
You said that it's over, and we have more important things to deal with here.
[ That seemed pretty clear to Gamora. ]
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 02:20 am (UTC)He scrubs at his face, frustrated, trying to dredge up words that refuse to come, that refuse to be collected, and he flounders. He's out of his depth, here, and as much as he wants to forget, he doesn't want to fuck things up with Gamora more than he already has.
(He still can't get it out of his head. Rock crumbling beneath her feet. Gamora, falling away into some fathomless depth.)
His shoulders sag, and he practically deflates. ]
I remember the Sovereign, okay?
[ Slowly, voice low and exhausted. ]
And I remember Berhert. And I remember Ego's planet.
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Date: 2017-11-20 02:25 am (UTC)Peter speaks.
And she pauses. ]
I see.
[ Her voice isn't as hard this time, and she looks at him over her shoulder – careful, rather than harsh. ]
How much of it?
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Date: 2017-11-20 02:31 am (UTC)Enough.
[ Too much.
He's quiet for another few breaths, before he huffs out a quick, joyless laugh. ]
You wanna tell me "I told you so" again?
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Date: 2017-11-20 02:40 am (UTC)Finally, some of that tension starts to ease out of her shoulders, her impassive expression losing its cold edge.
Because that tells her enough; she doesn't need him to detail everything that happened on Ego's planet, and she doesn't even need to discuss what they went through.
She just... wants to know that they're on the same page. ]
I don't think I need to.
[ She doesn't smile, but the corner of her lips is that much softer.
Turning on the water, she tests the temperature with her fingers, and though she doesn't look up at him, she does add, a little quieter, ]
... Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 02:43 am (UTC)Pretty sure there's nothing worth thanking me for.
[ Everything that happened on that stupid, shitty planet was his fault. ]
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Date: 2017-11-20 02:46 am (UTC)[ That's, at least, worth thanks. It's a weight off of her mind, even if it doesn't sooth away the reality of the entire mess involving Ego. ]
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Date: 2017-11-20 03:02 am (UTC)Let me do that.
[ With a nod to the pot soaking in the sink. ]
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Date: 2017-11-20 03:12 am (UTC)She doesn't expect it.
After a second of consideration, she gently shakes the water from her hands, stepping away from the sink. She doesn't go far, doesn't keep some wide space between them, but she doesn't stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, either. ]
You don't have to.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 03:18 am (UTC)[ And he shrugs out of his jacket, setting it aside on the counter. He rolls up his sleeves as he picks up the sponge, the bottle of soap. ]
The cook shouldn't have to do the dishes.
It's a Terran rule.
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Date: 2017-11-20 06:02 am (UTC)That's a good rule.
[ She approves of this rule. She doubts it'll be useful too often, since most of their meals are taken care of, but for now, she won't complain. ]
Did you see they have Terran sweets here?
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Date: 2017-11-20 06:06 am (UTC)I kind of figured they would. Haven't really gone looking, though.
Anything good?
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Date: 2017-11-20 06:09 am (UTC)[ The packages tend to boast that, anyway. ]
And many variations of something called chocolate.
[ She's seen it in bars, drops, liquid form – it seems to be an obsession. ]
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Date: 2017-11-20 07:46 am (UTC)Really? You've seen chocolate around here?
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Date: 2017-11-20 09:07 pm (UTC)Yes, plenty of it. Is that something you like?
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Date: 2017-11-20 09:33 pm (UTC)[ It’s silly, he knows, that of all the things they’re going to talk about, it’s going to be this. ]
It was common, back on Earth. Like, it was basically everywhere, ‘cause folks loved it. When I— [ A pause, as he considers his word choice. ] —When I left, I never really found anything close to it.
no subject
Date: 2017-11-20 09:47 pm (UTC)(If she's honest, she wants to feel less awkward with him.) ]
There seem to be many kinds. I saw drinks made of it, too.
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Date: 2017-11-20 10:01 pm (UTC)You’ll have to try some. It’s... [ how does one even describe the wonder that is chocolate? ] Sweet. A little bitter, sometimes? But not a lot.
I think you’ll like it.
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Date: 2017-11-20 10:12 pm (UTC)[ Apparently, she's willing to trust Peter's judgment on what chocolate she might like – trusting him to show her the thing that he enjoys. ]
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Date: 2017-11-20 10:29 pm (UTC)Sure, if you want. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t really need the invitation.
[ Any excuse to eat chocolate is a good one, as far as Peter’s concerned.
He sets the bowls and the utensils into the drying rack, shaking his hands into the sink to rid them of excess water. ]
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