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“Hold still,” Gamora admonishes as she wipes the blood off Drax's greyish-green skin—so different and yet so similar to her own. At least, 'similar' when compared to Quill's pale pink skin, Rocket's fur, and Groot's bark. But in a universe where she is the last of her kind, sometimes it's nice to find someone who looks even a little familiar.
But right now, his greenish skin is broken, smeared with blood. And it seems to be far too much blood for such a tiny wound. They were in a fight, a minor skirmish with some four-legged creatures on an unfamiliar world, and a very fast and very vicious one managed to clip Drax's muscled neck with its needle-sharp teeth before falling. The wound is quite near the marks on the back of Drax's neck—oddly coloured and fingerprint-shaped: soul-marks. Almost everyone has such marks—she's seen thousands of them, but they don't matter. She has nothing to do with them.
And it's not like she doesn't know they're private, even sacred, but she's just never been as careful, because it's impossible— Her eyes go wide as her hand curls in on itself, safely away from his skin. Her breath curls tightly inside her chest. “What—?”
“Gamora?” Drax asks, and he doesn't turn around to look at her; he holds still, like she asked. When she doesn't respond, he adds, “Is the injury severe? It does not feel severe.” He still doesn't move, but there is a sense in his voice like he might normally shrug. “It only hurts a little when I move.”
“I apologize,” Gamora says, carefully pressing the wet cloth to the wound once again. “I thought...” She presses her lips together, swallowing. “I might have accidentally touched one of your soul-marks.”
“I only have one soul-mark,” Drax responds, voice sure. But...there are clearly two marks on his neck, and now that she's looking, one is scarred and one—the one she might have touched—isn't. The scarred one is pale orange. The other is a bright magenta. (And when her finger had brushed the edge, it had looked like—it might have—turned silver. A tiny flash like light glancing off a blade in motion, like lightning crackling.) Both nearly blend in with the red of his tattoos, wouldn't stand out at a distance. “My wife,” he adds, shoulders slumping ever so slightly.
“Well,” Quill says, sauntering up and leaning over to examine Drax's neck, “that may have been true the last time you checked, but you definitely've got two now.” Grinning, he slaps Drax on his large bicep. “Congrats, buddy.”
As Gamora carefully applies a healing ointment and bandage to the wound, Groot helpfully comments, “I am Groot.”
“Yeah,” Rocket agrees, voice abrasive as he rolls his eyes and shrugs his small shoulders, “I don't have any soul-marks either.”
“But...” There's a frown in Drax's voice. “Is it not...rare to receive a second mark?”
Quill shrugs, leaning against the wall and crossing his ankles. “I think it's supposed to be less than fifty percent of the time or something?” He shrugs, folding his arms. “Don't look at me; I'm no expert in soul stuff.”
“We're done,” Gamora tells Drax, her hands falling away from the secured bandage. “You can move again.”
Turning to face her, he offers a grateful smile. “Thank you, my friend.”
“You got a soul-mark, Quill?” Rocket asks, swinging his short legs a bit as he leans back on the crate, arms braced on its sides.
“Yep,” Quill replies, still leaning indolently against the wall.
“Scarred?” Rocket asks.
“Nope.” Quill shakes his head, turning around and tugging down the collar of his jacket to reveal the mark—nearly the same colour as his hair, but a shade or two lighter.
“Ever meet—?” Rocket begins.
Quill cuts him off, “Nope.” Turning back around, he shrugs again. “Probably someone on Earth.” The way he says it sounds like that means he's never going to meet them, like he gave up that hope long ago.
“What about you?” Rocket asks, turning to Gamora. “You had a soulmate on your planet before Thanos killed them all?”
Sighing and shaking her head slightly, Gamora sits down, back against the wall. She stares unseeing at her folded arms where they rest on her drawn-up knees. “I don't know,” she admits. “Thanos...he would cut the marks off—of all his daughters.” Turning slightly so they can see, she pulls her hair aside to show them. She remembers, Nebula cried—she was so young then.
Stepping closer, Quill crouches down near her. “Okay, so I see the scar there—and that's horrible; I'm sure we all agree.” A low chorus of vague agreement follows, even from Rocket. “But did you know you've got another one? I'm assuming it's new...”
“What?” Turning, Gamora searches their faces for confirmation, finding it, and rejecting it—she cannot trust their eyes. Standing quickly, she says, “I need mirrors.”
o0o
She only has one damned mirror, because she never needed to see. Quill, helpfully—and blessedly quietly—lends her a second.
There is a new mark, yellow, bold and far too bright, to the left of the scar Thanos gouged into her skin.
“So,” Quill says, and of course it was too much to expect him to remain quiet for any real length of time, “congratulations to you as well.” He's leaning against the wall as she sits on her bunk.
“I thought...” Gamora begins somewhat hesitantly, because while Quill isn't exactly the sort of person she'd rather confide in, he is her friend. And Nebula isn't around. Isn't exactly on 'confiding' terms at present. “Drax's second mark, I thought it...changed colour.” She meets Quills eyes.
Surprise registers in Quill's face. “You touched it?” He gestures back to where the others are still congregated, smile flashing with childish excitement. “When you were fixing up his wounds just now?”
Gamora grimaces, pressing her fingertips into her forehead. “I'm not sure.”
“Okay.” Crouching down near her, Quill looks into her face, eyes gentle with sincerity. “You gotta know for sure, Gamora. You gotta find out, okay? Because you—and Drax, both of you—deserve to know.”
It hits her, suddenly, that her first soulmate is dead. That's what it means, for a new mark to appear. She has no idea when it might have happened. Recently, or long ago? It might even have happened in the Battle of Xandar; so many died that day. But, more likely, it was when Thanos wiped out her people. More likely that Thanos carved an already scarred mark from her neck. It's not like he let her see.
“What about you, Quill?” Gamora asks suddenly.
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Your soul-mark.” Gamora nods towards his neck. “Don't you deserve to know?”
Quill grimaces thoughtfully. “Maybe someday? I mean, I don't know when I'll get back to Earth.” Then his eyes narrow and he flashes her a grin. “But let's not get sidetracked; my soulmate is one thing, and, sure, it's important—I'll give you that—but your soulmate is probably sitting right out there.” He points back in the direction of where she left Drax. “Go find out,” he cajoles, expressive eyes hopeful and encouraging. “For sure, so you know for sure. It'll drive you crazy if you sit around wondering about it.”
Standing up, Gamora takes a steadying breath, offers Quill a smile. “All right.”
o0o
Drax is in fact where she left him. She hasn't really been gone long.
“Drax?” Gamora tries.
He blinks at her, as though he'd been lost in thought. She grimaces—no doubt thinking of his lost family.
Gamora crouches down next to him—the others are all still there, watching. Apparently have nothing better to do. She doesn't care. “When I... Earlier, I think I might have touched your soul-mark—the new one.” She takes a breath. “And I think it might have changed colour. I'm not sure,” she hastily adds. “I was looking at your wound.”
Drax's eyes narrow and his brows draw together. “You have a new mark too; we could be soulmates.” Then his face brightens. “We should find out!”
“I am Groot,” Groot puts in helpfully. Rocket just rolls his eyes.
Quill, who of course has followed Gamora, is leaning with his shoulder against the wall, arms crossed and one side of his lips turned up. “You try his mark again first, Gamora; we know they don't always react.” He's right, of course, but it still rankles a bit to be directed like actors on a stage—the thrilling tale of Drax and Gamora's new soul-marks is clearly the most entertaining thing they've seen in weeks.
Drax turns around, offering up his neck for her inspection. “Here, touch it again.” He just sounds so eager. Not nervous at all.
So Gamora touches it—purposefully this time, and watching closely. But it's obvious, the colour change is so bold, so clear and unmistakable: magenta turning silver, following in her finger's wake as it moves.
“Well, I'd say that's a pretty clear match,” Quill says, all pleased 'I was right' smugness as he looks around the group.
“What does—?” Drax begins.
“Silver,” Gamora tells him, rolling her eyes and not quite sighing in frustration, because... Why didn't they use the mirrors? Quill could have held one and Drax the other, so he could have seen—he doesn't even know what colour his new mark is. She turns to Quill. “Quill, can you grab the mirrors from my bunk? I'd like to let Drax see.”
Drax grins as he holds the mirror, watching as Gamora touches the mark again. “My wife's never changed colour,” he says, expression sobering, “but it felt cool and soothing when she touched it.” Gamora pulls her hand back, but Drax says, “I am happy to have found a second soulmate, and happier that it is one of my friends.” He flashes her a broad smile, so she offers a softer one in return.
“Your turn, Gamora,” Rocket says. “Let's keep this show moving.”
Gamora rolls her eyes at him, but trades places with Drax, taking the mirror once she's pulled her long hair over her shoulder and watching as Drax's large finger approaches—slow, and maybe a little hesitant. “Go ahead,” she says softly, and he finally touches her. The sensation is pleasant, throbbing like a pulse. She can't help grinning, and she's almost—almost—distracted from seeing the colour change: black, blooming like ink dropped in water, follows Drax's finger as it traces across the bright yellow of the mark. “It...there's a sensory reaction as well,” she tells him—or, them, since everyone's there, leaning in with undisguised curiosity. “It's throbbing—it's...nice.”
“I am Groot,” Groot says sounding pleased.
“Yeah, I'll say.” Rocket hops off his crate and walks over to give both Drax and Gamora his congratulations. “Just try to keep the loud sex to a minimum,” he adds, and Gamora doesn't throw him against a wall—she just rolls her eyes, stands up, and heads back to her bunk. Show's over for the day.
Drax follows quietly in her wake. “Can I...?” He's hovering, unsure.
“Of course.” Gamora slides over, making room for him to sit next to her. Of course he'd want to talk. She kind of wants to talk too about what this means with him. Just without the audience.
Drax sits. “We need not actually mate,” he says, back curved, forearms resting on thighs, and head turned to look at her. “On my planet, it was quite common for soulmates to just be close friends.”
Gamora pulls one knee up, resting her chin on it and considering him. “Would you want to, though? If I wanted to.”
“Yes,” Drax answers simply.
One side of Gamora's lips quirks up. “I think I will want to.” Sometime. Not now. But sometime. Reaching out, she takes his hand where it rests upon his thigh, watching as their green fingers thread together—hers, smaller and brighter. “This is a lot of...change for one day.”
Drax nods. “Surprises for both of us.”
“Good surprises.” Gamora shifts so both feet are on the floor again and rubs her thumb along the side of his where their hands are joined.
“Yes.” Drax nods again. “But it takes time to get used to surprises.”
Gamora smiles, leaning a bit against his side. “It does.”
Drax puts his arm around her shoulders. “Is this okay?”
Gamora grins, leaning further into his muscular side. He's warm, and of course, shirtless as always. “Yeah.”
They sit like that in silence for a while and then Drax says, “I am sorry about your first soulmate.” And...she never met whoever it was, or at least she didn't know if she had. It's nothing like what Drax lost when Ronan slaughtered his wife. She hasn't found words to respond when Drax adds, “And for what Thanos did to you...and your sisters.”
“I'm sorry about your wife and daughter,” Gamora says, because she can't think of anything else to say. He's probably heard it a thousand times. But maybe he won't mind hearing it again. She means it, if that helps at all.
“One day, we will defeat Thanos.” Drax says it with such certainty, like it's more than a wild, impossible dream from a childhood before she understood how powerful her adoptive 'father' really was—really is—more than a promise she and Nebula would whisper to each other in the terrified darkness, hands clasped tightly so they couldn't lose one another. “You and I and our friends and allies, we will kill him, and you will have your revenge.”
“I think Nebula would like you,” Gamora says softly, because she can't answer his promise, though she might love him for making it. “She might be angry for that time you shot her, but in time she'd get over it.”
Drax nods. “It would be pleasant to meet your sister somewhere other than in battle.”
Gamora tightens her grip on Drax's hand. Perhaps Nebula will help them in the battle against Thanos. But it would be nice to just...be. To introduce her sister to her soulmate and the rest of her new friends. To sit and talk and eat and laugh. To live, without having constantly to fight. Since she was a small child, Gamora knew that so long as Thanos died, her own death would be more than a fair bargain. But maybe...for the first time in a long time, Gamora has something—people, a future—worth living for. “It would be,” she agrees.