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Peter remained motionless in the spot where he and Yondu were pulled in, the only movement being the rugged shaking of his shoulders as he sobbed soundlessly into the Ravager's cold form. It was apparent almost immediately that Peter was the only survivor, but no one made any moves to detach him from his father figure's corpse.
Gamora quickly noted the awful eeriness surrounding the silence on the ship—coaxing the air with a thick, suffocating ambiance. Their home on the Milano was many things, but quiet never made the list. She was accustomed to the tedious measures required in order to get some resemblance of peace and quiet on their ship, often having to resort to threats of violence when the group's bickering interrupted any one of her attempts at it. She couldn’t help but think of their home, half repaired and yet still stranded in a forest on Berhert—left with the same dismal silence that consumed them now. Were it not for her automatic respiratory regulators, the thought would have taken her breath away.
The most disconcerting of all of the silence was Peter. It was not in his carefree nature to be so still and quiet. Even on late, sleepless nights when her mind was filled with nothing but forced combat, cold floors, and hollow ration bars—Gamora's enhanced hearing could pick up the soft humming that reverberated from Peter as he slept, soft and pacifying. Never this.
Gamora broke from her thoughts as she took a few meager steps forward, ignoring the way her mods popped and shifted as she knelt down beside him. The fight with Ego paired with Rocket’s attempt to keep her from certain death was beginning to take a toll on her body.
The reminder of the debilitating electrical shock coursing throughout her body caused her to snarl involuntarily. She had woken up in a chair, screaming out as she jumped from it—demanding they turn the Quadrant around in search of Peter, or, whatever they could find that was left of him. Rocket had complied, likely to avoid being stabbed, and also because a deeper part of him was hoping that she was right, that there was something left to find. Gamora didn't know what she would've done if they didn’t find the two bodies, adrift in the cold vastness of space.
She shook her head, trying to clear her mind enough to focus on the trembling man beside her.
"Peter," she called out softly to him, afraid that the sudden noise would drive him further into shock. She reached out and deactivated his spacesuit, hoping that even the recycled air on the Quadrant would help him breathe more easily.
Gamora couldn't help but recognize his vulnerability as he curled up beside Yondu, short and muffled sobs escaping his lips. Her first instinct was to get Peter somewhere private so that his weaknesses could not be exploited and used to best him in combat. At least, it was something she would have done if she was still on Thanos' ship. It was hard for her to accept that that part of her life was over and that they were among a family who wouldn't dare hurt each other intentionally.
The rest of the group shifted anxiously on their feet, obviously uncomfortable, but wanting to do anything they could to help. Kraglin walked over and grimaced when he caught a closer look. His eyes were rimmed red, yet he was clearly trying to keep himself together. Whether for Peter or for himself, Gamora didn't know. She looked up at him and nodded, knowing that letting Peter lie next to his dead dad wasn't going to do either one of them any good.
“Come on, Peter. We have to-,” she paused, feeling unsure. “We have to move him.”
Peter’s tight-fisted grip on Yondu’s jacket slowly, but surely began to release. He brought his shaky hands towards his chest and held himself, pressing hard into the spot where Gamora knew his heart was. Kraglin took this as a sign and wrapped his arms around the Ravager—Drax swooping in after him to help carry some of the dead weight. The two left the room, leaving Gamora, Peter, Rocket, and Groot to occupy the airlock.
“Gamora,” Rocket spoke with Groot perched on his shoulder, the two looking visibly worried. “What do you need me to do?”
It was odd, seeing Rocket showcase any semblance of concern for somebody else's well-being. It wasn't like he never was, he just typically kept those emotions under lock and key.
Gamora could handle Peter on her own. In fact, things would likely go smoother without the entire team there to overwhelm him during what was quite possibly one of the most traumatic events in his life. Peter, of course, enjoyed the company of his team, but she knew from personal experience that large crowds were never ideal when dealing with emotional pain of this magnitude.
She looked up at him and shook her head slightly, nodding to the room that Drax and Kraglin had just entered. They probably needed some help anyway. Rocket seemed to understand well enough and headed out, stroking one of Groot’s vines absently as he walked off.
With the rest of the team gone, Gamora sank further down onto her knees beside Peter. She reached out and ran a hand across his back. He flinched under her touch and curled further into himself, deep sobs escaping his throat as he cried. She wasn’t hurt by his response, but it was painful to watch nonetheless. Gamora saw herself in him—afraid and confused, unable to accept comfort from the people he trusted. She tried to fight back images of her holding a knife to his throat as he shared what was one of his most prized possessions with her.
Destroyed. By Ego. She saw the discarded pieces lying on the floor and noticed the absence of his Walkman on his belt as she helped him up shortly after being pierced by Ego’s blinding light.
“Peter,” she said again, ignoring the way her voice cracked from her anger at the unwanted memory. “It’s me.”
She thought she could see his muscles relax at that, and she lowered her hand onto his back again, cautiously. When he didn't flinch, she began to rub lazy circles across his shoulders. “I’m here,” she said soothingly. “I’ve got you.”
Peter clenched his eyes shut as hard as he could, like he was trying to erase an image from his mind. He was still quiet and timid, and Gamora wasn’t completely sure that he had any grasp on what was going on—aside from the unforgiving pain that consumed his body and emotions.
“Come. Can you stand?” She rocked back onto her heels and moved her hand to stabilize him on his shoulder.
Finally, his eyes opened. They were bloodshot and full of unshed tears, ready to escape at a moments notice. Gamora noticed the glazed look they held, and she wondered briefly if he had a concussion—remembering his broken mask which had gone and went with the rest of that awful planet.
Peter didn't respond verbally, but slowly lifted himself into a sitting position, leaning forward into Gamora’s touch. He rested his forehead onto her shoulder as she wrapped her other arm around his. They got up slowly, Peter stumbling over his legs like they were jelly and relying almost solely on Gamora to get them walking in a straight line.
As they walked past the team, Gamora pondered the miracle that Peter had been too focused on walking to look over at whatever the team was doing to help prepare Yondu’s body for the inevitable funeral that would take place. Although, Gamora noticed that Peter didn't seem to be focused on anything at all. He didn't look like he was really comprehending what was going on. She noted it as something to worry about later.
Gamora got him into one of the rooms on the Quadrant, one that she knew wasn't the captain’s, and gently set him down onto the large furred comforter. He stared at the wall, face morphing from an expression of grief to a blank emptiness.
Gamora looked down at him sympathetically. She felt stuck—wanting to reach out and offer him all the help she could offer. She didn't know where to begin, if her help would even be wanted. She was the one who encouraged Peter to trust Ego. He was the skeptical one at first, and she convinced him otherwise. Now he was in a world of pain, because for once she decided to put her trust in another person. Because she foolishly believed that something good could happen to them, that fathers could be honorable and families could be made whole.
She sat down at the edge of the bed, legs hanging off the side. Gamora ran her hand across his cheek, smoothing the lines of distress by the corners of his eyes.
Peter reverted his gaze towards her and allowed his tense face to relax, albeit only slightly. He looked like he was teetering the line of having another breakdown or succumbing to unconsciousness—his overwhelmed brain conflicted on which of the two was the best course of action.
Gamora decided that she’d have to stop sitting there feeling bad about herself eventually and help Peter. She shifted onto the bed, allowing herself to sit more comfortably—kneeling back on her legs. She sighed before helping him into a seated position, with his back pressed up against the headboard and his head hanging forward listlessly as he stared down at his lap. She had never seen him so dejected looking, so utterly and completely broken. The sight of him rocked her to her very core.
Gamora swore silently under her breath before grabbing one of his hands gently. She reached over onto the bedside table and grabbed an empty glass. With a quick squeeze of his hand she jumped up out of the bed and crossed over into the quarter’s connected bathroom.
She gasped at the sight of herself upon entering the bathroom. Her face was covered in dirt and grime, dark green blood crusted around a shallow gash on her cheek. Her usual, perfectly maintained hair was left in tangles and littered with debris. She bit back a cry as she thought back to the events of the day that had left her looking so worn. Especially the moments where she thought for certain that the man she had grew to… tolerate… was dead. No, not love. She could never love.
At least, that’s what she told herself before. She thought that maybe it would be easier if she didn't. If she never loved again then nothing could ever be torn away from her, like how Thanos took her from home world and slaughtered her people without mercy.
It would be easier, maybe, but she knew. Gamora knew that she loved Peter. There was no denying it anymore. There was no denying it when the thought of him dying had caused her to feel sick to her stomach. She didn't even know it was possible for her to get sick in that way anymore. She quickly turned on the tap and filled up the empty glass, rushing back into the quarters.
When she stepped back into the room, Peter was curled forward into himself—face down in his knees as his fingers curled around his shins. Gamora was alarmed at the abnormal, rapid rhythm of his heart beating against his ribcage. She was oddly accustomed to listening to the comforting lull of his heartbeat with her enhanced auditory senses, and so it was rather simple for her to tell when something made him particularly excited. Or in this case, anxious.
“Peter. Hey, Peter.” She sat on the bed again and placed the full glass back on the desk. “Look at me.” She took his hands into hers.
He looked up at her, pupils blown wide as frantic breaths escaped his mouth. Peter blinked rapidly and squeezed her hands in his, attempting to ground himself. He calmed down in her presence and Gamora couldn't help feeling guilty for leaving him, even if only for a few minutes.
When Peter seemed to be relaxed enough, she let go of his hands and reached over to grab the water. “Here,” Gamora said, placing the cold glass to his lips. “Drink this.”
Peter obeyed and allowed the liquid to cascade down his burning throat. He placed his hands on the glass on top of hers and greedily swallowed the rest of the liquid in the glass.
“Better?”
He nodded slightly and leaned back against the bed. He shut his eyes as he sank further into the headboard—allowing his heartbeat to return to normal. “Tha- Thank you,” he spoke, the sound music to her ears.
“How are you feeling?” She sat in front of him, her hand rested on his knee as she rubbed at his tense muscles. Gamora knew the answer, but she was desperate to keep him talking.
“Shitty. Like passing out. Only I don't think I have enough luck for that.” He sighed.
Gamora nodded and bit her lip. She tried to clear the fog in her head in order to say something that would lessen the tension in the room, but she could not utter the words before they left her train of thought completely. The silence seemed to thicken into a dense cloud above their heads, and the sheer pressure of words left unspoken became unbearable.
“I’m sorry,” Gamora blurted out, regretting it almost immediately. The last thing she wanted to do was remind Peter of the thoughts that were already consuming him whole.
Peter opened his eyes. He looked at her for a moment—encouraging her, in a wordless way, to explain the thought she had been trying to get across. When she didn’t respond to the silent gesture he sat up and straightened his posture. "Why? For what?"
“Because I convinced you to trust Ego. And then when I thought things didn't feel right,” Gamora paused, the words getting caught in her throat. “I made you feel foolish for wanting… a family.”
“No,” he said with such fervor that his vocal cords shook with its intensity. “No, you were right. I’ve already found my family. Here.”
Gamora found herself lost in his eyes. She was captivated by the way they were still full of childhood wonder, despite his innocence being stripped from him countless times. The soft light they emitted filled her entire being with a sense of home and familiarity. Home. Her heart ached at the word. They were her home. They had been her home since Ronan, and just when she thought there was no more room left in her heart—their family expanded. Mantis. Kraglin. Nebula. Yondu...
“Yeah.” She smiled. “We’re home.”
Peter nodded, thick tears rolling down his face—slowing down as they mingled with blood and dirt. Gamora reached out her hand and cupped his cheek, catching a stray tear with the pad of her thumb. She moved from her spot in front of him and settled herself to his left, leaning her head onto his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his midsection. Peter sighed with relief and allowed his eyes to shut, slowly drifting off to the sound of Gamora’s breathing.
In about two hours, Gamora would wake him up to make sure he didn't succumb to his head trauma. Two hours after that, they would get up and clean off all evidence of the day. Then, the two of them would make an appearance at Yondu’s funeral.
But for now, they were content being curled up together—exhaustion catching up with the both of them. There were still scars left to be mended and unspoken things left to be said, but all that could be handled later. For now, they just needed each other.