[ Peter can't say he knows too much about fucked-up family life. He left his family a long time ago, thanks to his own shitty choices, and has been too chicken-shit and ashamed to see them again.
But Gamora seems certain on this front, or at the very least, she's certainly convinced herself of it. He doubts he'll be able to influence anything.
He scrubs his face again, frustrated and agitated and completely unnerved by the insane turn the night has taken.
God, these had been such good fucking nights, too. He should've dug deeper. He shouldn't have let his guard down, and he shouldn't have assumed the universe was finally throwing him a bone. When has it ever?
Eventually, though, ]
I can't stay here for this.
[ He's done some fucked up shit, but being an accessory to murder isn't something he plans on adding to that list.
He starts heading to the bathroom. The nice thing is, he won't have to go through the awkward dance of packing up his shit – he barely brought anything to begin with. ]
[ A better person probably would have accepted the consequences of disobeying Thanos. A better person would have traded their life readily, rather than continually carrying out the whims of a megalomaniacal power-hungry madman, but maybe Gamora is just enough of a coward to spill others' blood to save her own.
(She doesn't let her mind drift to the horrors of what Thanos demands of her. She has to shut herself down, has to act as nothing more than a weapon, because buried beneath it all is just—
—sentiment.)
She knew the second Peter saw her there, bleeding, it would be the end of this. It's almost laughable that she assumed she might be able to stumble in under the cover of darkness, cut things short civilly the next morning, that she could spare him the gore-laden details of her life, but here they are, at the worst and most ironic conclusion. Distantly, she spares the thought that this is exactly the kind of tactic she could imagine Thanos employing to teach her a lesson about attachment – expose the frightening truth, allow it to change the perception of Gamora, and then watch as it severs itself without Thanos so much as lifting a finger.
That scenario, however, would undoubtedly end with Peter's death, after he walked away.
Gamora is thankful for small mercies.
(Maybe she's trapped, but that doesn't mean there has to be collateral damage. She doesn't want Peter to be caught in the crossfire of her nightmarish life.)
She watches Peter's back head for the bedroom, before she starts trying to push herself up from the lip of the tub. Her arm trembles, threatening to give out on her, but she catches herself on the sink with a short hiss as she gets to her feet. ]
You should—
[ Hoarse, a little strained as she leans against the counter instead to steady herself and the way the room tilts.
Blood loss.
She grimaces, closing her eyes when her vision swims. ]
[ He hears the shift of movement as she gets to her feet, tensing a little and turning. She said she wouldn't kill him, but she's already lied to him, all this time, hasn't she?
It's stupid of him to believe what she says, at this point.
(Even though he does believe her.)
It's the only reason why he sees how she stumbles, how she sways when she hits the counter, and he moves before he even realizes it. He closes the distant in a hurried stride, grabbing hold of her elbow to help steady her. ]
[ Her vision blurs, black spots floating along her periphery, but she tries to shake it away – until she realizes that Peter is bracing her elbow, that he's right there.
Why isn't he leaving? ]
I'm— [ She winces as more of her weight inadvertently leans into Peter. ]
[ He should leave. He should absolutely leave. Holy fuck, he should leave.
But he doesn't want to. Not while Gamora is clearly in pain.
He's being practical, he tells himself. He's being practical, because if Gamora dies here, it's a totally bad look for him. He'd be a prime suspect, after all, and the hotel staff has seen enough of him that any of them could easily pick him out in a lineup.
He's being practical.
(That familiar sense of helplessness claws up his throat, choking him, and he thinks of his mother, swaying on her feet—)
She leans more of her weight against him, but he can tell she's in no state to be standing right now, much less walking. He clenches his jaw before gently, carefully, scooping her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her shoulders. ]
[ Gamora refrains from assuring him that she’s had worse.
She doesn’t quite realize until her feet leave the ground, but as soon as she finds herself held close to the increasingly familiar warmth of Peter’s chest, her body is instantly more at ease.
(Why does he soothe her so much? Even now.)
Her head falls limply on his shoulder, her exhale a little shakier. ]
Not the hospital.
[ All gun-related injuries are reported to the police, and Ramirez’s security would likely also be filing a report on their discharged weapons, and— it would get complicated. Even if her father could see to the records, it left too many loose ends. ]
[ He brings her back to the bed, laying her down as gently as he can. He nods a little, casting around to find her phone. Apparently it was left charging on the nightstand – probably a smart move to avoid any sort of tracking or to lower the risk of leaving something damning behind.
(Personally, Peter feels completely naked without his phone.)
He hands her the phone, letting her unlock it as he hurries to the mini fridge, retrieving a bottle of water. Just so he feels like he's doing something.
He returns to the bed, unscrewing the cap and holding the open bottle out for her. ]
[ A normal doctor is just not an option, at this point – or ever, if Gamora is realistic.
But despite how hazy she feels, despite how her head spins, she manages to keep herself steady enough to use her phone, sending out little more than a location pin to her father's lackey. Once done, she lets herself slump against the pillows with a shaky sigh – but then Peter is coming back with a bottle of water. She opens her eyes blearily, blinking at him with open confusion as she struggles to push herself up. ]
... Why are you still here?
[ Her voice is quiet, almost small as she hesitates in taking the bottle. ]
You seriously expect me to leave when you're like this?
[ Admittedly, he sounds frustrated, but that's mostly at himself.
He gathers himself after a second, forcing himself to inhale and exhale slowly, deliberately. He hovers for another second or two, uncertain, arms crossed a little self-consciously over his chest. ]
[ Rather than make him feel better, that answer just makes him feel all the more uncertain.
He shoves it aside after a second, gaze flitting first to his belongings left carelessly on his side of the bed—
His jaw clenches briefly as he silently corrects himself. It's not "his side of the bed." It's the side of the bed he's been sleeping on, but it's not "his."
He should scoop up his things and make his exit, he knows, but he tells himself he can wait for this doctor to arrive. Once Gamora is tended to, then he won't feel guilty about leaving.
Hesitantly, he sits at the foot of the bed, not quite looking at her. ]
[ He still can't quite bring himself to look at her, mostly because he doesn't trust himself to stay calm.
He's so fucking angry, still – at Gamora for lying to him, yes, but also at himself for being so fucking gullible. He feels like such an idiot for letting himself be blinded by the promise of money. He's had some decent months, here and there, but he's been scraping the bottom of the barrel long enough and often enough that having this abrupt windfall had felt like a stroke of luck.
And it still could be. All he has to do is look the other way and keep his fucking mouth shut, except—
Listen. Peter may be an asshole. He may have done some shitty things in his life, but he's not 100% a dick. He can't just sit idly by while Gamora actually murders someone. Even if he won't witness it, like Gamora intended, even if he probably won't even realize it's happened until long after the fact, he'll still know. ]
Is this guy in on it, too?
[ The words are cast a little gruffly. ]
Maybe not— this. [ And he accompanies it with a vague gesture. ] But does he know what you do?
[ Again, Gamora falls quiet. She shifts on the bed, grimacing as she tries to find a comfortable position, but— everything hurts. There's really no avoiding that.
Eventually, she manages to find the words.
(She's never told anyone. She's never shared this.) ]
Since I was six. Thanos murdered my parents because my... my dad intended to expose fraud in the company he worked for – that happened to be owned by Thanos.
Thanos adopted me because he knew I was a child no one would miss, and because he—
[ Gamora stops again, wincing, the tension in her whole body is making her head swim again. ]
[ He glances up again, this time studying her a little more closely.
She's exhausted – a mix from crashing adrenaline and blood loss, probably – and he frowns. He should let her rest until this doctor guy arrives, but a small, selfish part of him is afraid of sitting alone with all of— this. All this new, terrifying information. ]
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I don't have a choice, Peter.
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You don't have to do whatever someone tells you to do. You're your own person. Make your own rules.
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Or he hunts me down and makes me wish he'd been merciful enough to simply murder me.
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But Gamora seems certain on this front, or at the very least, she's certainly convinced herself of it. He doubts he'll be able to influence anything.
He scrubs his face again, frustrated and agitated and completely unnerved by the insane turn the night has taken.
God, these had been such good fucking nights, too. He should've dug deeper. He shouldn't have let his guard down, and he shouldn't have assumed the universe was finally throwing him a bone. When has it ever?
Eventually, though, ]
I can't stay here for this.
[ He's done some fucked up shit, but being an accessory to murder isn't something he plans on adding to that list.
He starts heading to the bathroom. The nice thing is, he won't have to go through the awkward dance of packing up his shit – he barely brought anything to begin with. ]
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(She doesn't let her mind drift to the horrors of what Thanos demands of her. She has to shut herself down, has to act as nothing more than a weapon, because buried beneath it all is just—
—sentiment.)
She knew the second Peter saw her there, bleeding, it would be the end of this. It's almost laughable that she assumed she might be able to stumble in under the cover of darkness, cut things short civilly the next morning, that she could spare him the gore-laden details of her life, but here they are, at the worst and most ironic conclusion. Distantly, she spares the thought that this is exactly the kind of tactic she could imagine Thanos employing to teach her a lesson about attachment – expose the frightening truth, allow it to change the perception of Gamora, and then watch as it severs itself without Thanos so much as lifting a finger.
That scenario, however, would undoubtedly end with Peter's death, after he walked away.
Gamora is thankful for small mercies.
(Maybe she's trapped, but that doesn't mean there has to be collateral damage. She doesn't want Peter to be caught in the crossfire of her nightmarish life.)
She watches Peter's back head for the bedroom, before she starts trying to push herself up from the lip of the tub. Her arm trembles, threatening to give out on her, but she catches herself on the sink with a short hiss as she gets to her feet. ]
You should—
[ Hoarse, a little strained as she leans against the counter instead to steady herself and the way the room tilts.
Blood loss.
She grimaces, closing her eyes when her vision swims. ]
You should— take the clothes.
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It's stupid of him to believe what she says, at this point.
(Even though he does believe her.)
It's the only reason why he sees how she stumbles, how she sways when she hits the counter, and he moves before he even realizes it. He closes the distant in a hurried stride, grabbing hold of her elbow to help steady her. ]
Shit— hey. Take it easy.
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Why isn't he leaving? ]
I'm— [ She winces as more of her weight inadvertently leans into Peter. ]
I'm fine.
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You got shot. You're not fine.
[ He should leave. He should absolutely leave. Holy fuck, he should leave.
But he doesn't want to. Not while Gamora is clearly in pain.
He's being practical, he tells himself. He's being practical, because if Gamora dies here, it's a totally bad look for him. He'd be a prime suspect, after all, and the hotel staff has seen enough of him that any of them could easily pick him out in a lineup.
He's being practical.
(That familiar sense of helplessness claws up his throat, choking him, and he thinks of his mother, swaying on her feet—)
She leans more of her weight against him, but he can tell she's in no state to be standing right now, much less walking. He clenches his jaw before gently, carefully, scooping her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her shoulders. ]
You really need to go to a hospital.
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She doesn’t quite realize until her feet leave the ground, but as soon as she finds herself held close to the increasingly familiar warmth of Peter’s chest, her body is instantly more at ease.
(Why does he soothe her so much? Even now.)
Her head falls limply on his shoulder, her exhale a little shakier. ]
Not the hospital.
[ All gun-related injuries are reported to the police, and Ramirez’s security would likely also be filing a report on their discharged weapons, and— it would get complicated. Even if her father could see to the records, it left too many loose ends. ]
There’s— On my phone. A doctor. He’ll come here.
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(Personally, Peter feels completely naked without his phone.)
He hands her the phone, letting her unlock it as he hurries to the mini fridge, retrieving a bottle of water. Just so he feels like he's doing something.
He returns to the bed, unscrewing the cap and holding the open bottle out for her. ]
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But despite how hazy she feels, despite how her head spins, she manages to keep herself steady enough to use her phone, sending out little more than a location pin to her father's lackey. Once done, she lets herself slump against the pillows with a shaky sigh – but then Peter is coming back with a bottle of water. She opens her eyes blearily, blinking at him with open confusion as she struggles to push herself up. ]
... Why are you still here?
[ Her voice is quiet, almost small as she hesitates in taking the bottle. ]
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[ Admittedly, he sounds frustrated, but that's mostly at himself.
He gathers himself after a second, forcing himself to inhale and exhale slowly, deliberately. He hovers for another second or two, uncertain, arms crossed a little self-consciously over his chest. ]
If you want me out now, I'll leave.
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She almost chokes on the water when she shakes her head. ]
I don’t.
[ She wipes her chin over the back of her (bloody) hand. ]
I don’t— [ A grimace as she presses her palm against her spinning head. ]
I don’t want you to go.
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He shoves it aside after a second, gaze flitting first to his belongings left carelessly on his side of the bed—
His jaw clenches briefly as he silently corrects himself. It's not "his side of the bed." It's the side of the bed he's been sleeping on, but it's not "his."
He should scoop up his things and make his exit, he knows, but he tells himself he can wait for this doctor to arrive. Once Gamora is tended to, then he won't feel guilty about leaving.
Hesitantly, he sits at the foot of the bed, not quite looking at her. ]
When's your doctor friend gonna get here?
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20 minutes.
[ She doesn't know where Maw is coming from, but he's at least close enough.
She watches Peter uncertainly as she returns to taking small sips from her water, not sure what to make of him staying still. ]
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He's so fucking angry, still – at Gamora for lying to him, yes, but also at himself for being so fucking gullible. He feels like such an idiot for letting himself be blinded by the promise of money. He's had some decent months, here and there, but he's been scraping the bottom of the barrel long enough and often enough that having this abrupt windfall had felt like a stroke of luck.
And it still could be. All he has to do is look the other way and keep his fucking mouth shut, except—
Listen. Peter may be an asshole. He may have done some shitty things in his life, but he's not 100% a dick. He can't just sit idly by while Gamora actually murders someone. Even if he won't witness it, like Gamora intended, even if he probably won't even realize it's happened until long after the fact, he'll still know. ]
Is this guy in on it, too?
[ The words are cast a little gruffly. ]
Maybe not— this. [ And he accompanies it with a vague gesture. ] But does he know what you do?
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But— ]
Yes. He works for my father.
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Right. Family doctor.
[ Though he says it a little sarcastically – a small outlet for the frustration that's built up at the situation.
(Just leave,, a voice in his head keeps telling him. Just fucking leave. Take the money and run.
But his conscience, the little part of him that he could never quite stamp out, tells him that can't just leave Gamora alone while she's hurt.) ]
And you've done this your whole life?
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Eventually, she manages to find the words.
(She's never told anyone. She's never shared this.) ]
Since I was six. Thanos murdered my parents because my... my dad intended to expose fraud in the company he worked for – that happened to be owned by Thanos.
Thanos adopted me because he knew I was a child no one would miss, and because he—
[ Gamora stops again, wincing, the tension in her whole body is making her head swim again. ]
Because I had seen what he was capable of.
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His gaze flits over to her – quick and all too uncertain – before he fixes his gaze on the space in front of him again. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He casts it quietly, a little roughly, if only because he's not sure what to say.
(What the hell do you say when someone tells you their family was murdered by their apparently adoptive father?
He falls silent again, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Then, slowly, ]
Why can't you come forward with all this? Go to the cops and go into witness protection or something?
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I don't trust the police. As much as I'm a part of this, I don't know how I could get out untouched.
I keep... [ She trails off, almost sleepily. ] I keep... looking for a way out. At the right time.
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She's exhausted – a mix from crashing adrenaline and blood loss, probably – and he frowns. He should let her rest until this doctor guy arrives, but a small, selfish part of him is afraid of sitting alone with all of— this. All this new, terrifying information. ]
What've you thought of so far?
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I've been... putting money aside that I didn't think my father would miss. Enough that I can disappear.
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But he nods again, at least a little sympathetic. ]
And have you got enough yet?
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Almost.
[ Her head falls back with a small, shaky sigh. ]
As soon as I can get out, I will.
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