Work Text:
Gamora had never thought that death could be a beautiful thing; she had only known it to be cruel and dreadful. But there was a strange… comfort, in these lights, in this display.
Perhaps when you loved someone, really loved someone, you had to make saying goodbye beautiful. Inside her chest, her heart seemed to ache with the want, no need, to be that important to someone. Or better, perhaps, for someone to be that important to her. Could she, whose hands had wrought violence across the galaxy, dream of that kind of love?
Her gaze falls on Peter.
She hopes so.