[ His mouth opens to speak again – some token denial. He and Gamora didn't have a lot of time to have a proper conversation – mostly because of how blinded he was by his own grief. Mostly because they were busy saving Rocket. And mostly because he was reasonably sure that she spent most of the time on the Bowie wanting absolutely nothing to do with him. He remembers nearly every word exchanged between them, the bile and acid and resentment, and he's reasonably sure there wasn't a lot of time for a casual chat about Cheers, of all things.
And then he abruptly closes it.
And— ah, here we go. The staring.
He rocks back a step, taking in the details. From a distance, he had noticed the obvious stuff, first – that it was Gamora. That her hair had that wide, bouncy curl at the ends – like how it had been when they first met. Both times they had first met, even.
But the way she's looking at him is— familiar. Achingly so. Exasperation and annoyance and barely contained impatience. The kind of look that says, "I could stab you, you know. I could stab you a dozen times before you could scream. But I won't, because I'm actually pretty nice. And I like you a little bit."
He hasn't seen that look in fucking years.
Something lurches in him – ice cold and fever hot, all at once – and he blinks. This time when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, barely there: ]
no subject
And then he abruptly closes it.
And— ah, here we go. The staring.
He rocks back a step, taking in the details. From a distance, he had noticed the obvious stuff, first – that it was Gamora. That her hair had that wide, bouncy curl at the ends – like how it had been when they first met. Both times they had first met, even.
But the way she's looking at him is— familiar. Achingly so. Exasperation and annoyance and barely contained impatience. The kind of look that says, "I could stab you, you know. I could stab you a dozen times before you could scream. But I won't, because I'm actually pretty nice. And I like you a little bit."
He hasn't seen that look in fucking years.
Something lurches in him – ice cold and fever hot, all at once – and he blinks. This time when he speaks, his voice is hoarse, barely there: ]
Gamora?