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WHO: (

nostalgiabomb)
WHAT: Reunions
WHERE: District 1, apartment building

WHEN: Shortly after their arrivals
WARNINGS: Bickering, probably

[ How many times would she arrive in a place that looked like it belonged better on Earth this week? Apparently, twice. Which wasn't a whole lot, but it's annoying that it's happened twice. ]

[ It's unsettling not because it looks like Terra, but for the whys and hows. It's not like sleep is entirely unnecessary for her, but she hardly needs to do as much as someone else might and even if she did she hadn't been asleep. Her first instinct was to control her hand and turn it into a concussive gun, just in case, as she had made her way out of that stupid vehicle (train). With every fiber of her being determined to take it out on the first person she saw... except, there was no first person. ]

[ By the time she had found anyone else, she'd already turned her hand to normal. That conversation has been useless - someone else who'd been dragged here and just as unhelpful as she was. She'd left in a hurry, with more important things to do. Important being find a way back to Knowhere and find who - take names, kick ass you know - but hours had turned into a near day and the only information she had was that the dead could come back to life. Not Infinity Stone Science bullshit nonsense, but the actual dead. It's a spin and a half and for a moment her mind had wandered not about the woman she had met here but the her she'd met, if this place could bring her here too. ]

[ Too much of a headache and a what if to linger on, she'd kept her word and investigated the buildings they could. Had run headfirst - literally - into the edge of the district just to be turned around. She did it several times before accepting it for what it was and that acceptance is used loosely, she's not familiar with technology or magic that can do either. If this city was off to begin with, there's something hauntingly worse about defining it for what it is: ]

[ They're trapped in a prison. ]

[ Sure, a creepy prison that houses you with everything you need... Or it thinks you need, because what she needs is to be back on Knowhere. There's a city to maintain and rebuild and children to take care of. She has no time for off-shore vacations to other planets and she doesn't want one. But with the world circling in on itself, no ship in sight, and darkness pitching itself over the city even she knows when to go back to the drawing board for the day. ]

[ The drawing board, in this case, being the fact that she was still covered in soot and grime from their earlier battles and she'd long since found it disgusting. She didn't exactly have to break in anywhere, but it didn't stop her from finding first some clothes... And if she paused as she picked them up and couldn't find a way to pay for them before taking them and leaving, she didn't. Then found a restaurant that had street-food on display it... Shouldn't be possible and if it was poisoned, she'd find out, since at the moment she has the clothes under one arm and the food skewer in the other as she chews into it; At least the food tastes Terran, too, and she's got off-and-on experience with the New York area that she knows she doesn't hate it but — ]

[ Current mission: Look in these apartment buildings for a room that opens to clean up. Try not to make a mess, awkwardly apologize if it is someone's apartment (at this point, she doubts it is)... And well, maybe, rest for a couple hours. She thinks in terms of do, do, do or otherwise she'll just get frustrate at the situation all over again. ]

[ She finds herself then in the second floor of an apartment building, mid-ranged style and is on the verge of opening a door when down the other end, near the opposite exist, she spots something that can only be called familiar. Someone, who'd served often as a nuisance and attachment to her sister in their past that had evolved into someone more complicated - family. Her head turns sharply in the direction, but there is no double take because her mind doesn't let her forget anything. ]

Peter.

[ She half calls with a waver of surprise and then stops - almost accusingly adding: ]

How long have you been here?

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[ When Peter woke up on the train, it was with a sort of world-weary resignation. He probably should've freaked out more. Maybe he should've, like, tried to figure out how to commandeer the train to get him home. Maybe he should've tried to go into problem-solving mode right away and started coming up with a game plan.

Instead, he had sighed to himself and mumbled, What bullshit am I dealing with now?

A couple of days in, and he's rolling with the punches. He figured out that there were finite boundaries to this place, that the edges were clearly defined, and that, at the very least, he wouldn't go hungry. So that was nice. He hesitates to call it kind, but at least it's relatively humane. Plus there are other people here, and gregarious as he can be, at least he doesn't have to suffer through this shit alone.

If nothing else, Peter Quill is adaptable. He learns quickly that if he wants to find a way out, then he needs to survive, first and foremost. So he scavenges. He finds a place to call his own. He learns quickly what the basic expectations are. After that, he'll start tackling the problem of getting the hell home.

He has his backpack on him after a fun-filled adventure through the grocery stores. He'd never call himself a cook, by any means, but he picked up a couple of things. His brief return to Earth also means he's learned a couple of simple dishes, so at least he doesn't have to sentence himself to sodium-poisoning after eating too many instant noodles. So he's got a couple boxes of dried pasta rattling around in his Jansport, some pasta sauce and packages of meat, along with a couple boxes of far too sugary cereal. He has a jug of milk dangling from one hand as he opens the door on the apartment he's claimed as his own.

Deja vu, he thinks to himself, when he hears his name called. For a place that he was pretty sure was a really well-appointed purgatory, he seems to be running into quite a few familiar faces. His head jerks up, and at least this time it's a far simpler task of figuring out the direction the voice came from.

He's recognizably tense when he gawks at her. He's been having a weird time of reunions lately, okay?

There was no fucking world in which he wouldn't instantly recognize her, but he's still hesitant. This place, apparently, was having a whole lot of fun screwing around with time, so he's half-expecting murdery Nebula. Stabby Nebula. The Nebula from some point in his past who always seemed at least five seconds away from happily cleaving his head from his shoulders.

The instant he recognizes the uniform, though, dirtied as it appears, he visibly sags with relief. ]

Nebula.

[ He doesn't say, "thank fucking god," but the words are definitely implied in his tone. ]

I just got here a couple days ago. When did you get here?

[ Wow, Peter, you think that like sometimes she still wouldn't mind stabbing you from time-to-time (the would she actually is a bit more wobbly). Briefly, she wishes she'd come across him after she was cleaner than she was - for no other reason than she's hit with the fact that they'll be due for a really long and uncomfortable conversation given... hours ago for him, a month for her. ]

[ Nebula notes the expression of surprise and wariness and then the relief that comes with it — like he was expecting someone different. Maybe he was. She finished off the last bite of the skewer before answering: ]

A couple of hours, give or take.

[ Closer to a day, but what's time when you're trying to figure out a city and running into sister ghosts. Her attention goes to the details - if he's been here a few days he wouldn't have been in uniform (probably wasn't by that point anyway, unlike the rest of them). He doesn't look that different from last she saw him and, clearly, he still trusts her so: ]

Have you found out anything?

[ A couple hours. Okay. That makes a lot of sense, given that he was kind of wandering around by his lonesome for a bit – and isn't that funny? That he should be left to his own devices for a little while, to twist in the wind and assume that he was, in fact, stuck in the middle of bumfuck nowhere on his own?

The uniform is a good fucking sign, he thinks – that she has something of their shared history. He's not entirely sure how much, granted, but the uniform was a relatively recent addition to the team. Someone's brilliant idea – we should have something sturdy and protective to wear to provide a united front – that they had gone ahead with, with surprising aplomb. He still gets the distinct feeling that there were days where she still wanted to sew his face to his dick, but once the uniforms came into play, he was far more convinced that she wasn't likely to act on that impulse.

He juggles his groceries from one side to the other, just to shift the weight. Then, ]

Not much about the identities of whatever scumbag kidnapped everyone. Free food, though, that seems to replenish on its own. Free housing.

[ And given that Nebula's only been here a couple of hours, the offer comes easily— ]

Do you wanna crash with me?

[ There's that perpetual itch again, the feeling of something not right. Free isn't a word she knows. The closest may have been with Stark and at that compound, but it's complicated - more of a united front to fix what Thanos had done (what she was a part of, in some form or other). It wasn't free, there was pain, loss, and work. She can't say it is anymore so now, which colors her answer: ]

If we're trapped here, it isn't free.

[ Why were they trapped here? What was the point of it all and providing them, like some fancier prison than in any part of the universe she knows? There are people already settled and living. She supposes they are meant to do that, too, and she scowls at the thought. ]

[ Or maybe she scowls at the question, it certainly appears she could be. Far from the strangest question in the world in this timeline, it's still a courtesy she doesn't expect even from the Guardians. ~~And because letting dice choose is fun,~~ Nebula huffs with a short nod. ]

Fine.

I need to speak to you anyway.

[ because she kind of wants to prevent any freak outs before they happen on her time. ]

[ He hums quietly, just the barest hint of resignation in the undertone of the sound. He knows she has a point – imprisonment and free food and lodging don't quite go hand in hand, after all – but it's easier to say "free food" than it is to say, "you don't have to exchange any money for something to eat or someplace to stay, unless you count ability to leave as some kind of currency!"

That's just clunky, ain't it?

At her agreement, he nods again, deciding to save the smug, pleased act for later. Especially since she hits him with the "we need to talk" thing, though maybe in not so many words. That's never good.

He shoves open the door to his apartment with his foot. The one he's chosen is relatively modest – a selection borne more out of convenience than anything. It was the first place he came upon that didn't already seemed to be claimed, and didn't have even the hint of fingerprints from the previous denizens, whomever they may have been. ]

If you wanna get cleaned up, shower's over there.

[ He nods to the bathroom further in the apartment as he's unloading his scavenged groceries into the empty pantry and fridge. Peter hasn't connected the dots just yet, hasn't realized that he should recognize the scorch marks all over Nebula's face and uniform from his last day on Knowhere. He just knows that as a Guardian of the Galaxy, they got up to some crazy shit, and he recognizes, at least, that she probably doesn't relish the idea of hanging around while covered in soot. ]

[ Fairly, remainders of battles could come from any myriad of the battles they've faced throughout their times. It's not like they came out wholly unscathed from most jobs, but that really was just the life they chosen. Dealing with the when they came from would happen later, because Peter's right: the sooner she can get cleaned up the better. It's why her attention only lingers on the apartment for a moment — definitely not a Peter apartment, in her book — before grunting with a jerk of her head as acknowledgement. And then she's gone. ]

[ Some time later, she comes out with the uniform folded neatly under an arm and in a more casual fit (the left sleeve of the shirt was ripped off). She feels more comfortable and clean at the moment, which does wonders for her temperament. Which is possibly good for both of them since the first thing she does after coming out is look for him and the nearest wall to lean against before really taking in the apartment for a moment. Waits for him to speak first this time. ]

[ While she's gone, Peter's tossed his jacket onto the back of the nearest chair and shoved up his sleeves. He's puttering around in the kitchen. He's— kind of had a bad day, and while he did happen across some packs of beer in his scavenging earlier, he decided against taking one home. The temptation was high, though, and he's still kind of regretting it, at least a little.

Without that easy crutch to fall back on, he's instead trying to keep his hands busy, to have a task set in front of him to keep from marching back to that convenience store and getting absolutely shitfaced.

So he has a pot of pasta boiling to one side. So he has tomatoes in front of him that he cuts with far more care than they're probably due – probably because of his inexpertise with a kitchen knife, and probably because he's eager for something to focus on, and the tomatoes are an easy target. It's an easy recipe, and one of the first ones that his step-grandmother showed him when she realized what a wreck he was in the kitchen.

By the time Nebula finds him, he's stirring his pot of sauce, the rhythm broken up when he mushes a tomato slice to help it break down. He glances up when she moves to prop up a wall before directing his attention back to the stove.

Dryly, ]

Do I need to be sitting down for whatever it is you wanna tell me?

[ Also drily: ]

Who are you and what have you done with Peter Quill?

[ It's her immediate response to him... cooking of all things. Despite it's dryness, it's almost humor - comedic in effect. Unfortunately, the straight-face she wears while saying it doesn't make her look like she is. Dark eyes watchful. She wouldn't admit to it being concern that she's expressing, but it's close enough to.

She doesn't move from her position as she adds, ]

Depends how much you're going to freak out.

[ He shoots her a look from where he's stirring. ]

Well. I was gonna offer you some, but I've changed my mind.

[ It's probably a bluff. And they both know it's probably a bluff. But Peter's deciding to play it off like it's a promise, all the same. ]

And I'm not gonna freak out.

[ Which isn't a bluff. More accurately, it's a token denial – an old call and response. ]

Besides, how am I supposed to know if I'm gonna freak out or not if I don't even know what I'm supposed to not be freaking out about in the first place?

A pity. I was looking forward to food poisoning.

[ It's probably a bluff and he probably IS capable of not food poisoning her, but also it's easier for familiar snark in this situation than something else. After all, there's still more to process here than anyone would like. Like... how to approach the rest of this. ]

[ Nebula hums a sound that sounds like she disbelieves he'll not freak out. She wonders if just asking if he's met anyone else is the best answer - it's probably not. So she says it outright: ]

Gamora's here.

[ He scoffs over the saucepan, grumbling down at its contents – even if a part of him is relieved for the familiarity of this back and forth. It's been a month since he left Knowhere for him, and even if he still reached out for quick chats, even if he sent off the occasional photo and message to the rest of the Guardians, new and old alike, it was a poor substitute for the real deal.

He did miss her, in his month away. If this place has nothing else going for it, at least there's this.

Then, Nebula finally stops skirting around the elephant in the room, the pleasant, the pleasant, scraping noise of a wooden spoon against the metal saucepan comes to a stop. The only noise that there is, for a moment, is the quietly burbling water, the hiss and pop of tomatoes cooking.

Then, the scraping noise starts up again.

When he finally speaks, it's a low, quiet thing. ]

Yeah. I know.

[ Nebula folds her arms and settles herself against the wall. It wasn't that she meant to avoid it, but knowing how Peter handled this kind of situation it wasn't like she knew what to say - or how to be more gentle than she is (and she's not gentle, this is inarguable). ]

[ Well, he doesn't freak out - maybe he has already - because he just stops and gets quiet. She wonders if that's a better thing, but not for long since she doesn't hesitate to add: ]

Then you know she's the Gamora from before.

Yeah.

[ That same low tone.

He glances over at the boiling pasta – not because he thinks it's ready, but because he has the sudden, overwhelming desire for something to do. Easier to keep his mind at least partially diverted to the task at hand, otherwise he'll so easily start spiraling. ]

I ran into her. Earlier. I thought she was—

[ He cuts himself off, jaw clenching around the words. Yet again, he feels so fucking stupid. Hindsight is 20/20, his grandfather liked to say, and with the benefit of time and distance, he still has no idea how he could've ever mistaken his Gamora for the other Gamora.

He takes a long breath. Inhale through his nose. Exhale through his lips. ]

Anyway. It didn't go so hot.

[ Nebula stays quiet. ]

[ Her attention remains on him, rather than the food he's making. There's been a part of her who's felt sorry for him in this whole situation — But that's the kind of feeling she's still learning how to process. It's at least easier with him than it would be Gamora, when you think it might be the reverse. ]

[ Her head tilts in response and then first: ]

No one could fault you that.

[ Assuming which Gamora it might be. How could they? Gamora existing in their present should be an impossibility, a fluke of some Infinity Stone bullshit magic. She doesn't take her sister's existence for granted, but there's no doubting that when so many others died she lived. Why? And now, here, they are. ]

[ By some blessing she refrains from snorting at the comment. ]

Obviously.

[ Because there's no world in which that reunion would go well. She uncrosses her arms and steps away from the wall. Brows pinching together. It's not the first time she'd ask this, it won't be the last: ]

Gonna be okay?

I dunno. Probably not.

[ And even if it's true, he casts it out like a joke, with a smile that doesn't really reach his eyes.

He picks up the pot of pasta with more focus than absolutely necessary, dumping the water in a waiting colander in the sink. ]

You gonna risk food poisoning with me or not?

[ The returning snort is here answer — more or less. At least he can see he's likely going to be an idiot about this whole thing. Unfortunately - or fortunately - she doesn't know if there's anything she could even say that makes it any better. Her own position is strange, but for different reasons. In some ways, it was easier to be distant siblings than friends. ]

Don't make promises you can't keep.

[ As in food poisoning... as in doing it so well she'd really feel it. Why is she like this? A good question, but she crosses over to take a seat all the same. If she watches him with a hint of concern, he's mistaken. ]

Most people don't want food poisoning.

[ The correction is mild, at least, and closer to his usual joking tone.

He plates up the food, then. He's not feeling all that hungry himself, honestly, but he recognizes the necessity, and knows, too, that he's useless in solving this stupid kidnapping mystery if he's getting light-headed from starvation. So. Here he is. Eating.

The food is fine. Simple. Peter doesn't have the inclination or the patience to fuck around with too many ingredients, at the moment, so it's just this – spaghetti noodles and homemade tomato sauce. It's not awful, and it's not likely to cause any puking, but he probably could've used a little more salt. Notes for next time.

As he's twirling a forkful of noodles, ]

You and her are good, though?

Most people don't want a lot of things.

[ Shot back quickly, pointedly. Well, it's not like poison was a method of Thanos's — but the point remains that all types of pain were things she was used to. She didn't go a day without some kind, with this body, but at least it felt more like hers - more from him than it once had. ]

[ If there's anything to linger on - and there's not - she ignores it to pick up her own fork. Mumbles a thanks in recognition as she chooses to eat than say more. Peter as she knew was perfectly capable of asking or stating something more if he wanted to. The question has her pause, all the same, not because she doesn't have an answers but because she does have one. ]

We've always been sisters.

[ Said as she shovels the food into her mouth and chews slowly. Their relationship was always complicated. When they'd began to figure it out, Thanos had happened. And now, the Gamora they'd gotten used to, had helped her to come back and fight him... but there's a distance there. The compassion that she'd seen in her sister was gone and now she was the more fit one in that regard. And she doesn't really think she's all that fit.

... She swallows and adds, ]

That's all that matters.

[ Family is all that matters. ]

Yeah. Okay. That's good.

[ That said, her response could mean anything "We laughed, we cried, we hugged" or "I tried to rip her lower ribs from her thorax and she tried to shatter my shin bone" or anywhere in between, given what he knows of their relationship.

From what he knows, it's complicated. It was clear that they gravitated toward one another, that they were loyal to one another above almost all else. So in the early days of his and Gamora's relationship, he weathered Nebula's threats of bodily harm with aplomb – because Gamora loved her, and that was enough for him.

He likes it better these days, now that he and Nebula have reached common ground. Now that they're more or less on equal footing. Now that they call one another family, and not just antagonistic in-laws who might snipe at one another across Thanksgiving dinner. These days, she's less inclined to rip his balls off, and he's less inclined to call her Ming the Merciless.

He eats another mouthful of spaghetti, working around to his next topic. ]

What's the last thing you remember?

[ Joke's on Peter, only she gets to ask how someone's doing around here. She may have grown as a person, but admitting to how she's feeling or adding more emotion than what's needed is something she'd rather not do. Ever. It's not quite a weakness anymore, but letting someone know it is still difficult to do. And her feelings on Gamora - any Gamora - are complicated. ]

[ Calling the other her sister is indicative enough in her opinion. They weren't going to kill each other. Probably. Most days. In the same way she won't him. ]

[ She's spooning up another bite when he continues on. Dark eyes considering him. Time shenanigans would have been strange before, but after having experienced it first hand all those years ago and today alone... It's a perfectly reasonable question. At least with him, it seems unlikely that they're from too different a time. If they were, his reaction to her and their conversation yet would have been more different than it was. Still, there's always a chance they'd run into... some kind of problem in their own timelines, if something was off.

Good news: He's not dead where she's from so that's not awkward. Bad news, if what she says is something he doesn't know it's kind of sad news? (Good thing it's not). ]

Knowhere, after saving Rocket and the children.

[ and all the animals, too. Enough information he should know, but not so much it gives away the 'Guardians disbanded' gambit. ]

You?

Edited 2023-07-17 04:40 (UTC)

[ His eyes narrow as he thinks, as he runs through their old jobs.

Okay. There were a couple of jobs that involved kids, to be fair, but that answer paired with how she had looked earlier – covered in burn marks that she hadn't quite had time to clean off—

Yeah. All right. He knows exactly what she means.

He nods slowly, trying to digest this piece of information. What the fuck is with this place, he wonders, if it would pull him, Nebula, and Gamora from three totally different times?

Does he need to explain that he left? That Nebula had announced her intentions to lead Knowhere? That Drax is helping to raise those kids, and that Mantis has left on her own adventure? That Rocket was leading the Guardians, and that they had filled out their ranks with new members?

He'd hate to steal all of their thunder. It takes him a couple of methodical chews before he decides he can at least give away what he's been up to: ]

I was back home. In Missouri. It's been a month and some change after we fought the High Evolutionary, for me.

[ A pause, as he looks down at his plate. He's always had a bad habit of playing with his food, as he does now, moving the pasta from one side to the other. He breathes out a rueful kind of laugh. ]

My grandpa's gonna be so pissed that I got kidnapped from right under his nose. Again.

[ In retrospect, she could have been clearer but she felt if he didn't know there was no point in spoiling a future he might never know as long as he was here. Seeing how Gamora responded to memories and lives she didn't know, avoiding that was preferable than to any potential blow-ups heftier information would give away... Heftier information it seemed he was well aware of. ]

[ She relaxes a touch herself - a month isn't that far away. For him, it probably meant settling in back on Earth. For her, it would have meant organizing wit Drax and the city homes for the children, care, and repairs. Knowhere was only partly in a fit place to live now, the battle would have set them back. It's why she itches to get back there — soon. She imagines he must want to return as well and she imagines he'd want to... Before she can ask after how that had went, he continues on. ]

Maybe try not to make it so easy.

[ Casually, drily, in that humor that's just borderline mean way of hers. There was probably once or twice that someone had been held captive for a job somewhere — She chews on her food. 'We need to get back,' she'd say but it's too obvious. Instead, ]

We need to start gathering supplies.

[ He shoots her an unimpressed look and gestures at her with a utensil. ]

Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you kinda got kidnapped, too.

[ Because the Guardians are never above petty commentary.

But, right. Bigger fish to fry – like the not insignificant matter of getting the hell out of here. He figures that particular goal is going to be the backbone of any plan the two of them make. ]

What, like food and water? 'Cause if you're talking weapons, you're really gonna have to lower your standards, based on what I've been able to see.

Sure. [ She shrugs. ] To make sure your ass doesn't get kicked around too much.

[ ... She's being a comedian. Probably. ]

[ Or maybe she does feel better having another Guardian there and of the options Peter is sometimes a preference — not that she doesn't have more respect for Drax and Mantis now (finally)... But at least she and Peter can be on the same page about things sometimes. ]

[ She eats, listens, and snorts all in the same beat. It's difficult to see with how dark they are, but she rolls her eyes all the same. ]

I know.

[ She raises her left hand, the new arm, and watches as the wires disentangle - She aims for a weapon, it doesn't shift. She settles into a flashlight before returning to her normal hand. Darkly, ill-amused: ]

Somehow, that includes me too.

[ He shoots Nebula another look – narrow-eyed with annoyance. but a little fond. As if to say, "Aww, Nebula. I knew you cared."

He rocks back and watches her little demonstration; the expectant beat of silence, of her arm remaining fully intact, makes him frown. Then, when her arm does shift to something largely harmless, then back to normal. ]

Well... Shit.

[ The wisdom of this man! The insight! ]

Okay. So they've got a no weapons policy. That makes sense, if they don't want anyone fighting back. But, I mean, you don't really need a gun to kick anyone's ass.

[ The question hangs in the air, even if he doesn't say it aloud: If they don't want anyone fighting back, why bring a galaxy-renowned assassin aboard? Much less two? ]

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im done editing i swear

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