[ Gamora sighs, her jaw clenched tight as she glares at the sink. ]
My father is one of the most powerful and influential men in this country. He doesn't keep it that way with direct litigation or polite negotiations over champagne.
I mean— yeah. He's rich. Rich people never do anything fairly.
[ The sky is blue. Water is wet. Eat the rich. ]
But it sounds like— it sounds like you're saying you—
[ He struggles for a second, and out of habit, he starts to reach up to scrub at his face. He stops himself, though, before he can smear blood on himself.
He lets out another sharp breath, turning to the sink to scrub off his hands. ]
[ She watches him as he washes his hands, and her mind fills with the swirls of pink she can visualize running down the drain.
Washing away blood is too familiar by now. ]
He adopted me when I was young to mold me into a weapon. When my parents—
[ But this time, she stops herself (because her throat closes up when she tries to verbalize this moment of her history, because she doesn't need to tell him, because that's too much information, because—).
She shakes her head, starting again. ]
You are not misunderstanding. And that's why you can't tell anyone.
[ He scrubs the blood away, probably a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. His hands shake a little, thanks to an ugly coil of panic and confusion and slow-fading adrenaline, and when he's done, he dries off his hands with the closest towel. ]
So. Okay.
[ He catches her gaze in the reflection in the mirror before quickly looking back down at the sink, at the little pink droplets that have collected in the basin. ]
You kill people. For your dad.
[ His voice is dull, but there's an unmistakable tremor there, too. ]
And you hired me so you wouldn't look suspicious. So you could kill people. For your dad.
A small part of him was still holding out hope that she'd bark out a laugh, as wildly out of character as that may be for Gamora, and tell him how ridiculous he sounds, that no, actually, she doesn't kill anyone, and how could he possibly think that?
He wrings the towel between his hands, still facing the mirror without catching Gamora's gaze. ]
So, all these parties and shit you have to go to— is just so you can get in close to this Ramirez guy.
[ Her answer doesn't come immediately, if only because—
She hadn't thought of it that way.
She hired Peter to make this job easier, but she hadn't equated his part in it with the end goal. She would never want to share the blood on her hands. ]
[ He turns, then, the towel still between his hands – a small outlet for the panic threatening to boil over in his gut. ]
You hired me so you wouldn't look attract attention. You wanted me there so you could get close to his wife without her immediately giving you the cold shoulder.
If this guy ends up dead, that'll be because I'm helping you.
[ He holds her gaze for a second or two, jaw clenched tightly. ]
It will be now, though, won't it? 'Cause I know this is happening, now, and me not doing anything is basically like signing off on this whole fucking thing.
[ All of the tension in her body suddenly goes slack with a flash of shock, and she stares at him with something that borders on horror. She doesn't quite manage to school her expression before she speaks, ]
But that's why you hired me instead of finding someone who actually belongs at these parties, right? Easier with a bargain-bin hooker, 'cause if I see something I shouldn't, or if you don't need me anymore—
[ That— stings. And it shouldn't, and she shouldn't care, because she's not supposed to, because she doesn't—
(Because the only way to keep her conscience partitioned off is to not care. Thanos taught her not to get involved, to view every means to an end as nothing more than that.
What use does a weapon have for attachment?)
Maybe it's the blood loss getting to her; maybe she's just exhausted in a way that sleep can't touch. But she can't shut down the way she always has. She can't box herself and her emotions up like she always has, and something in her reacts to the way Peter is looking at her, to the way he's talking to her.
It hurts.
And it shouldn't.
Her throat is tight when she speaks, and she folds her arm across her chest, pressing her palm over the bandage again. ]
I didn't hire you because I thought you were— disposable. I wasn't trying to involve you.
He knew from the start this was too good to be true. He knew something had to be wrong, here. He knew he could never be this lucky to have some random, drop-dead gorgeous woman drop an exorbitant amount of money on his lap.
She never intended to pay him. She probably planned on chucking him behind an alleyway dumpster when she was finished with her "business."
Part of him knows he's being irrational, but how else can he be, when he just found out the woman he's been spending the past few days with is a career killer? ]
Just 'cause you didn't plan on telling me what you were doing doesn't mean I wouldn't be involved.
You were gonna keep me in the dark, sure, but I was still helping, wasn't I? I was helping you get their guards down, and I was helping you blend in, and—
[ He throws the towel onto the countertop, bringing up both hands to cover his face. ]
[ To her own sense of shock, Gamora realizes she doesn't actually like seeing Peter worked up. It shouldn't matter, all things considered, and she shouldn't care that he's upset.
(In any other situation, he would probably already be dead.
In any other situation, she wouldn't even hesitate.
In any other situation, it never would have gotten this far.) ]
... It wasn't supposed to happen like this. This wasn't supposed to affect you at all.
[ She was going to pay him and enjoy him, and then they'd go their separate ways. It was going to be simple, and it was going to be hers. She can't believe she was foolish enough to think it would be so easy. God, how stupid is she that she thought this could go smoothly? How did she let herself think she could have one thing that would go untouched by the reality of her life?
(It's been years since Thanos actually flexed his control over her properly. She's performed her work to a level of perfection that was finally acceptable to the Titan, and he hadn't felt the need to make any displays of reinforcement.
She hadn't had any distractions that might affect her purpose.
But this is an almost laughably blatant reminder, and Thanos hasn't even had to lift a finger.)
She forces herself to take a steadying breath, despite the way her ribs scream, squaring her shoulders as she composes herself. ]
You'll still get your money. [ Her eyes focus on a spot on the wall, instead of watching Peter. ] You can go. Take the check, and find another place to live.
[ He tenses when she speaks, but at length, he lowers his hands a little to study her.
She’s sitting ramrod straight, despite her injuries – the wound at her side and the dark spots along her torso that signal bruises later. She’s not looking at him, and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.
Better, obviously, because he doesn’t have to face how fucking terribly he had been duped.
(Worse, obviously, because she’s seriously not even gonna look at him, after all this?) ]
That’s it?
[ And the words come out warily. ]
No “sleep with one eye open”? No “always be looking over your shoulder”? I’m can just... go?
Don't go to the police, or my father will know there is a loose end. He has too many people under his thumb for it to matter if details of Ramirez's death are reported.
[ 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. ]
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no subject
Peter stands in stunned silence for a few long seconds, processing this information and, apparently, failing to.
Eventually, ]
Please tell me you don't mean what I think you mean.
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My father is one of the most powerful and influential men in this country. He doesn't keep it that way with direct litigation or polite negotiations over champagne.
[ Her tone is— bitter. Almost remorseful.
But still flat: matter-of-fact. ]
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[ The sky is blue. Water is wet. Eat the rich. ]
But it sounds like— it sounds like you're saying you—
[ He struggles for a second, and out of habit, he starts to reach up to scrub at his face. He stops himself, though, before he can smear blood on himself.
He lets out another sharp breath, turning to the sink to scrub off his hands. ]
Tell me I'm misunderstanding you.
no subject
Washing away blood is too familiar by now. ]
He adopted me when I was young to mold me into a weapon. When my parents—
[ But this time, she stops herself (because her throat closes up when she tries to verbalize this moment of her history, because she doesn't need to tell him, because that's too much information, because—).
She shakes her head, starting again. ]
You are not misunderstanding. And that's why you can't tell anyone.
no subject
So. Okay.
[ He catches her gaze in the reflection in the mirror before quickly looking back down at the sink, at the little pink droplets that have collected in the basin. ]
You kill people. For your dad.
[ His voice is dull, but there's an unmistakable tremor there, too. ]
And you hired me so you wouldn't look suspicious. So you could kill people. For your dad.
no subject
Yes. That's correct.
[ She reasons that even if he runs, even if he tries to expose her, no one will believe him – not before Thanos ensures he "disappears."
(Why does the idea of that make her feel sick to her stomach?) ]
no subject
Not great.
A small part of him was still holding out hope that she'd bark out a laugh, as wildly out of character as that may be for Gamora, and tell him how ridiculous he sounds, that no, actually, she doesn't kill anyone, and how could he possibly think that?
He wrings the towel between his hands, still facing the mirror without catching Gamora's gaze. ]
So, all these parties and shit you have to go to— is just so you can get in close to this Ramirez guy.
I'm here to help you kill someone.
no subject
She hadn't thought of it that way.
She hired Peter to make this job easier, but she hadn't equated his part in it with the end goal. She would never want to share the blood on her hands. ]
... You aren't a part of that.
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[ He turns, then, the towel still between his hands – a small outlet for the panic threatening to boil over in his gut. ]
You hired me so you wouldn't look attract attention. You wanted me there so you could get close to his wife without her immediately giving you the cold shoulder.
If this guy ends up dead, that'll be because I'm helping you.
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I hired you to make this easier, not because I needed you to be responsible for this.
Anything that happens to Ramirez isn't your fault.
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It will be now, though, won't it? 'Cause I know this is happening, now, and me not doing anything is basically like signing off on this whole fucking thing.
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... Peter, you can't tell anyone.
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[ And he casts the words out bitterly, darkly. ]
Yeah. I figured that.
But that's why you hired me instead of finding someone who actually belongs at these parties, right? Easier with a bargain-bin hooker, 'cause if I see something I shouldn't, or if you don't need me anymore—
[ He drags a finger across his throat. ]
What's another dead whore?
no subject
(Because the only way to keep her conscience partitioned off is to not care. Thanos taught her not to get involved, to view every means to an end as nothing more than that.
What use does a weapon have for attachment?)
Maybe it's the blood loss getting to her; maybe she's just exhausted in a way that sleep can't touch. But she can't shut down the way she always has. She can't box herself and her emotions up like she always has, and something in her reacts to the way Peter is looking at her, to the way he's talking to her.
It hurts.
And it shouldn't.
Her throat is tight when she speaks, and she folds her arm across her chest, pressing her palm over the bandage again. ]
I didn't hire you because I thought you were— disposable. I wasn't trying to involve you.
no subject
He knew from the start this was too good to be true. He knew something had to be wrong, here. He knew he could never be this lucky to have some random, drop-dead gorgeous woman drop an exorbitant amount of money on his lap.
She never intended to pay him. She probably planned on chucking him behind an alleyway dumpster when she was finished with her "business."
Part of him knows he's being irrational, but how else can he be, when he just found out the woman he's been spending the past few days with is a career killer? ]
Just 'cause you didn't plan on telling me what you were doing doesn't mean I wouldn't be involved.
You were gonna keep me in the dark, sure, but I was still helping, wasn't I? I was helping you get their guards down, and I was helping you blend in, and—
[ He throws the towel onto the countertop, bringing up both hands to cover his face. ]
God, I'm such an idiot.
no subject
(In any other situation, he would probably already be dead.
In any other situation, she wouldn't even hesitate.
In any other situation, it never would have gotten this far.) ]
... It wasn't supposed to happen like this. This wasn't supposed to affect you at all.
[ She was going to pay him and enjoy him, and then they'd go their separate ways. It was going to be simple, and it was going to be hers. She can't believe she was foolish enough to think it would be so easy. God, how stupid is she that she thought this could go smoothly? How did she let herself think she could have one thing that would go untouched by the reality of her life?
(It's been years since Thanos actually flexed his control over her properly. She's performed her work to a level of perfection that was finally acceptable to the Titan, and he hadn't felt the need to make any displays of reinforcement.
She hadn't had any distractions that might affect her purpose.
But this is an almost laughably blatant reminder, and Thanos hasn't even had to lift a finger.)
She forces herself to take a steadying breath, despite the way her ribs scream, squaring her shoulders as she composes herself. ]
You'll still get your money. [ Her eyes focus on a spot on the wall, instead of watching Peter. ] You can go. Take the check, and find another place to live.
no subject
She’s sitting ramrod straight, despite her injuries – the wound at her side and the dark spots along her torso that signal bruises later. She’s not looking at him, and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.
Better, obviously, because he doesn’t have to face how fucking terribly he had been duped.
(Worse, obviously, because she’s seriously not even gonna look at him, after all this?) ]
That’s it?
[ And the words come out warily. ]
No “sleep with one eye open”? No “always be looking over your shoulder”? I’m can just... go?
no subject
Don't go to the police, or my father will know there is a loose end. He has too many people under his thumb for it to matter if details of Ramirez's death are reported.
[ She sounds almost— resigned. ]
But he won't find out from me.
no subject
[ He still looks at her with open doubt, the line of his jaw tight as he grits his teeth.
He lets out a near explosive sigh, pushing away from the countertop. ]
And you just— do this? You go along with whatever your dad wants?
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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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
(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.
no subject
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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