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"This is a courting ritual of your people?"
Gamora sounded intrigued and curious and perhaps even a bit shy, not (as he'd feared) skeptical or bored. It never stopped making Peter feel warm inside that his team were really interested in the customs of his home planet. All of them were. They might not always understand -- and it wasn't like he was the best at explaining; he'd left when he was eight, after all -- but they always listened and they didn't laugh.
"Yeah. A date. You and me, or, you know, the couple, whatever couple it is, they go to a nice restaurant and they eat and they talk."
"And what else?"
"Just that. Eat. Talk. Food, getting to know each other, stuff like that." Or at least that was the impression he'd gotten of adult courting rituals as a grade schooler. Seemed like that was about how it went in the movies his mom liked, anyhow.
"Isn't that what we are doing now?" Gamora asked, gesturing with her spoon.
"Yeah, except ..."
Peter glanced around at the ship's mess. Rocket had a gun and a couple of bombs disassembled over half the table, humming a quiet little tune as he twisted two wires together. At Peter's elbow, Drax was loudly slurping from a huge bowl of ... actually, Peter didn't even know what he was eating, although he was pretty sure he'd seen it move. Groot had extended some roots over the edge of Gamora's soup bowl to taste it, and a twiglet was cautiously creeping in the direction of Peter's.
"... Except, on a normal, Terran date, all of these people wouldn't be here. None of these people would be here. I can't emphasize strongly enough that it'd be just the two of -- ack!"
He ducked just in time to avoid a glowing arrow through the forehead. It plunked into the wall behind where his head had been.
"Sorry!" a voice called from the corridor outside.
"Apology not accepted, Kraglin!" Peter yelled back, fingering his singed hair.
He looked down to find that the bowl of whateverthefuck Drax had been eating was now upended and crawling (yes, crawling) all over the table, because Drax had dived under the table at the first appearance of the arrow. Some of it was in Peter's bowl; some was on Groot, who was tasting it thoughtfully. Some of it was also in Gamora's hair.
"I begin to see the advantages of this 'date'," Gamora mused.
"Out of all the planets in all the galaxy, you had to pick one where you've got a bounty on your head!" Gamora shouted as they dodged blaster fire. She shot the lock off a heavy iron gate and they dived through into some sort of closed sculpture garden.
"Oh great, blame me, why don't you!" Peter twisted around to return fire, sheltering behind a sculpture of something with way too many arms.
"Peter, this date was your idea, you picked the planet, and the bounty is on you, so I think it is safe to say it's your fault!"
".... fair enough."
One small firefight and a trek through the sewers later, they scrambled into the cargo hold of Rocket's small M-ship, just in time to see the door between the hold and the cabin slam shut. Peter lurched into the wall as the ship took off, the deck tilting wildly underneath them. The ship shuddered as a shot of some kind slammed into its shield.
"Rocket!" Peter yelled. "Open the damn door so I can man the guns before they blow us out of the sky!"
"No way!" Rocket snapped over the intercom. "I know where you've been! You two are stayin' in there 'til you're clean!"
"And how are we supposed to get clean while we're trapped in the cargo hold?" Peter retorted, hanging onto one of the cargo grapples in the wall.
"Hang on -- lemme find the button for the wash cycle --"
"Rocket, no!" Peter yelped, as foam began to cascade from the walls.
"Next time," Gamora gritted out as she tried to shield her head from the chemical-smelling spray, "I pick the planet."
Peter's plummeting spirits took a sudden lurch upward. "... wait, next time?"
"Oh Peter, I am so, so, so sorry."
"Not your fault," Peter groaned, hanging head-down off his bunk. "Oh wait. No, it is kinda your fault. I'll probably forgive you as soon as I stop dying."
"I swear to you, I did not know Estralian food is poisonous to Terrans. Most people in the galaxy can eat it!"
"Well, it's not like I thought you did it on purpose." Peter smiled wanly at her. "At least I hope you didn't do it on purpose. That'd be a terrible way to get out of a date."
"Think it'd work on creditors?" Rocket asked from the doorway. "'cause if it does, I'm remembering that one."
"Rocket, get out," Gamora snapped. "Peter's sick."
"Yeah, trust me, we're all aware of that, but I just came to let all 'a you know the manager of that restaurant down on Estralia is so scared we're gonna sue --"
"Yes, I wonder where he got that idea," Gamora said dryly, crossing her arms.
"-- that they're not only comping your food, but we scored a gift certificate out of the deal."
"Yay," Peter groaned, raising one hand in a feeble thumbs up. "Free poisonous food I can't eat. My favorite thing."
"You may not be able to, but the rest of us can." Rocket hesitated in the doorway. "Uh ... he's not actually dyin', is he? I mean, even though he sounds and smells like it."
Gamora looked anxious. "Peter, you're not, are you?"
"I am Groot?"
As awful as he felt, he had to grin. "No, no ... 'least I don't think so. Used to happen all the time when I was a kid, 'til we figured out what was safe for me to eat."
"It wasn't all the time," Kraglin said from behind Rocket, crowding into the doorway. "It was maybe three or four times tops. Scared the Cap'n somethin' awful when you got into those berries on Lomax, though. Thought you was gonna die that time. Anyway, here's that stuff from the medbay that always used'ta help you."
"Oh, thank God." Peter reached out his hand for the auto-injector.
"I am Groot!" piped up from around Gamora's feet.
"No, you can't help." Peter looked up as he fumbled with the injector's push button, and the first thing he saw was Mantis, staring at him anxiously from behind Kraglin. "Okay, guys, why is everyone in my room?"
"Because you are sick and we are worried," Mantis said, wide-eyed.
"I'm not -- it's just -- privacy helps Terrans heal," he tried, dropping the used injector and turning his flaming face into the crook of his arm. "So thanks for the thought, but can I get a little privacy, please?"
There was some muttering and scuffling, and he could tell as their voices retreated down the corridor that Kraglin was absolutely telling everyone about that time he accidentally poisoned himself on that one planet with the berries and threw up on Yondu, which, yay, never gonna live that one down, thanks Kraglin.
He could tell there was still someone else in the room, and had a feeling who it might be, so it wasn't a total shock when the bunk creaked under Gamora's weight and her soft, cool hand brushed across his forehead.
"You don't have to stay," he murmured into his elbow. "I'm all sweaty and ... really not good company right now."
"I don't mind." She smoothed back his damp hair. "The least I can do in return for accidentally poisoning you is take care of you for a little while. Would you like your music?"
"Uh ... yeah. Sure."
Her careful fingers settled the earbuds in place. "You know," Gamora said, picking up the Zune to study the song list, "the next date, I think it is only fair that you should pick the location."
"Mmmm." He gave up and relaxed, letting his head rest against her leg. "Couldn't possibly be more of a disaster than the last two times."
"So, I've never been on a planet that almost got swallowed by a wandering black hole before." Peter gave his teammates a grin that even he could tell was slightly manic. "Twenty-six going on twenty-seven years traveling around the galaxy and there's always a new thing to experience. Drax, are you sure you're okay?"
"It is fine, friend Quill. My legs are already nearly healed."
As Drax started to sit up, Rocket jumped up on the edge of the bed and then onto his chest, knocking him flat on his back. "They're broken in twelve places. Stay down or I'm gonna shoot you."
"Rocket, put the gun away," Peter ordered. "Drax, stay in bed. Everybody else, uh, get some rest, I guess. Or do whatever you were gonna do anyway." He started to leave and then turned back, aware that his captaining could use a little work and pep talks were always a good idea. "Nice work not getting eaten by a black hole this time. Yay! See you later!"
One brief nap later, he was sprawled on his bunk, earbuds in, cleaning his gun, when someone tapped on the door. Peter looked up, saw Gamora giving him a hesitant smile from the doorway, and hastily popped out the earbuds.
"How's everyone?" He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "Are they getting along? Is Drax doing okay?"
"Everyone is fine. I came to see if you were also fine?" Gamora's voice turned up in a question as she came in. She'd changed from her torn clothing into a dark shirt and some sort of flowy skirt thing -- not especially usual for her, but Peter had noticed she liked to wear loose, floaty clothing when she was feeling relaxed, comfortable, and didn't expect to have to fight anytime soon. Which was especially heartwarming given that they'd all nearly died a few hours ago, and yet she felt safe enough to change out of her fighting clothes; he couldn't even imagine her doing that a few months ago.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Except for my ribs, but the painkillers are helping with that." He made a face. "Uh, sorry about the date. Disaster. Whatever."
"You could not have known."
"True, but I've been thinking about this, and in the interests of not pushing our luck, I think we probably should knock off the dating thing. The way it's been going, we're gonna blow up the galaxy next time." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he backpedaled hastily. "Uh, not that I mean I want to stop seeing you. You're great. You're beautiful and you're brave and you're more badass than I'll ever be and -- I'm babbling." Gamora was looking increasingly amused, her eyes sparkling and her face alight with the subtle play of emotions that he'd learned to read so well. "The point is, some Terran customs don't translate to the galaxy at large -- please don't ask me what happened the time I tried to teach the Ravagers how to make s'mores -- and date nights might be one of those. So we can just --"
"Peter." When he stopped talking at the interruption, Gamora tilted her head to the side and held out a hand. "Come with me."
Peter looked from her hand, to her face. "Why? Are you gonna kick my ass in the sparring room? I thought you weren't mad."
"I'm not." She waggled her fingers at him, and repeated, "Come with me."
Peter raised a hand, hesitated, then closed his fingers around hers. "Okay, but if you're going to kick my ass, please at least do me a favor and be careful of my ribs, 'cause they still hurt a lot. Not that I'm complaining or anything."
Her lips twitched. "I am not going to kick your ass. Come this way."
"Will I need my boots?" Peter asked, curling his bare toes on the decking as she led him out of his room.
"No, you will not. We aren't going far."
They were, in fact, going only as far as the mess. Something smelled good, which probably meant Kraglin was cooking, since he and Peter (and occasionally Drax) were just about the only people on the ship who could cook.
As soon as Gamora led him in, Peter stopped in surprise, and then looked at her. She'd let go of his hand and was now spreading her fingers nervously against her leg, smoothing down imaginary folds in the dark skirt.
"I think we have everything here? From the restaurants you've taken me to," she said, "and the things you've said on our dates, I believe I know most of what is culturally important. Lights." She pointed to the lantern in the middle of the table, illuminating the mess with the regular lights dimmed. "Alcoholic beverages." Two metal cups stood on either side of the lantern, smoking gently. "Some flowers, thank you Groot. Food, which I recall was supposed to be ready when I brought you here --"
"Almost finished," Kraglin said hastily over his shoulder, stirring something.
"And a raccoon," Peter couldn't help saying, because sarcasm was his only defense against the sea of feelings trying to swamp him. Rocket had one end of the table taken over as his personal work space, as usual.
"Not a raccoon, Star-Munch," Rocket muttered without looking up.
"I told him to take it elsewhere," Gamora growled. "You have a perfectly good workshop. Go use it."
"I ain't goin' nowhere if there's food involved."
"Something smells wonderful," Mantis declared, popping up in the doorway.
Gamora covered her face with her hands.
"Hey." Peter cautiously put an arm around her shoulders. "Let 'em stay. Heck, maybe that's what our dates were missing before. Family. Right? Right, guys? Sure, it's not tradition on Terra to take your family on a date with you, but we're not on Terra, and maybe that's what we were doing wrong. Maybe the whole universe is just conspiring to tell us that." He turned his face carefully into Gamora's hair, and she leaned a little closer, and let him. Which was good, because he was probably gonna cry or something if he had to look at these people anymore, or at their half-assed, completely wrong, adorable attempt at setting the table Earth-style. Instead he got to cope with his emotions through a faceful of Gamora's hair, smelling like gun oil and that softly cinnamony soap she liked.
"I am Groot!"
"Like he said, let's eat," Rocket declared.
Peter laughed shakily, and took Gamora's hand, and escorted her to one of the stools on the end of the table that wasn't covered with bomb parts. The real miracle was that they made it through the entire dinner without anything getting set on fire or blown up, with no accidental stabbings or death threats, and all throughout, she rested her leg against his.