The Bowie hummed softly as Peter Quill adjusted the ship’s controls, his fingers moving with a practiced rhythm that felt more automatic than deliberate. The rest of the team was either asleep or pretending to be—at this point, it was hard to tell—but Peter couldn’t bring himself to rest. Not tonight. Not with her onboard. Gamora—or at least the version of her who now looked at him like he was a stranger who didn’t know when to quit—sat across the cockpit, methodically cleaning her blade. The faint glow from the dashboard reflected off her armor, making her appear every bit the warrior he remembered and yet nothing like the woman he had once known. The woman he had once loved.
This Gamora was cold, calculated—everything his Gamora had been before they became the Guardians. Together, they had forged something greater than themselves. If only this Gamora could understand how much she meant, not just to him, but to the entire team.
Now here she was—the colder, meaner Gamora—dragged into an adventure to save someone she once called a friend: Rocket. To her, he was just a talking raccoon, barely more than a pet, serving no purpose beyond the potential for units. Peter couldn’t help but wish Nebula had thought to consult him before hiring the woman he’d been searching the galaxy for ever since their fateful re-encounter in the demolished ruins of the Avengers Compound in New York.
Peter couldn’t help but glance in her direction every now and then. The next time he did, he was caught—a pair of sharp brown eyes locked onto his. She scowled at him, shoving both her blade and the washcloth she’d been using to clean it down onto her lap with deliberate force.
“What?” she sneered, her voice low but edged with irritation. Despite her annoyance, she kept her tone quiet enough not to wake the other Guardians.
“I didn’t say anything,” Peter replied quickly, snapping his gaze back to the void of space, the stars and distant planets now suddenly much more interesting.
Gamora rolled her neck and let out an exasperated groan. “You didn’t have to say anything—I can feel you staring at me!” She threw her gloved hands in the air before snatching her blade and pointing it at him. “Look, Quinn—”
“Quill,” he corrected, wincing at her misstep. His Gamora had only used “Quill” when she was angry, long after she’d felt comfortable calling him “Peter.” Now, hearing it from this version of her, he felt like he was back at square one.
“—I don’t know who you think I am, and frankly, I don’t want to. You think we know each other, but we don’t.”
The last word hit Peter like a punch to the chest. Somehow, the sharp edge of her words stung more than the insults his Gamora had thrown at him back then. Maybe it was because, with her, he’d spent years building something real—a connection he thought would last forever. Now, being forced back to square one felt unbearable.
“Why don’t you focus on flying this thing instead of wasting your time looking at me?” she added coldly, her tone slicing through his thoughts.
“I wasn’t wasting my time,” Peter shot back defensively. “I just—” He hesitated, fumbling for the right words, trying not to anger her further. “Wanted to check if you’re settling in okay.”
She didn’t even glance at him, her focus returning to her blade. The knife was spotless, the blood from her last mission with the Ravagers long gone, but she continued cleaning it regardless. It helped pass the time. “I’m fine.”
The cold finality in her response should have shut him down, but Peter couldn’t let it go. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to talk to me like a person. Just once.”
Gamora finally looked up, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp and unyielding. “I’m not here to make friends,” she said flatly. “Nor to rekindle any kind of romance you think we had. I’m here to get you to Orgocorp’s headquarters and collect the units my sister promised me.” She paused, her gaze hardening further as she added, “Don’t get it twisted, Quill.”
“I’m not getting anything tw— That’s not wha— I was just—” Peter stumbled over his words, floundering under her icy stare. Inwardly, he cursed himself. If he had any hope of winning Gamora back, he needed to stop being so awkward and dig deep for the pure Star-Lord charm—the charm that had once wooed her.
Well, maybe not her specifically, but a version of her. A version he still believed was
somewhere in there.
All he knew was that this was going to be a long flight ahead.