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The hum of the Milano nearly drowns out the music playing but Gamora can hardly focus on the melody anyway, not with the warm press of Peter’s hand against the small of her back.
It’s a strange ritual they’ve started –– one she’ll never admit to, even if put under the most extreme forms of torture –– dance lessons in the dead of the ship’s night cycle. Turns out they’re both insomniacs and while Peter uses music to help lull himself to sleep, Gamora prefers physical exercise. Between the smacking of her fists against the punching back and his new mixtape blaring loud enough for her to hear even with headphones, all they managed to do those first few nights was keep each other up. On a ship as small as theirs, a compromise was necessary.
That compromise is why Gamora finds her fingers laced with Peter's as they sway to a rhythm still fresh to the both of them. She doesn’t bother learning the song titles –– despite his insistence on noting them each time a new one plays –– but she does bother remembering which of the new songs are Peter’s favorites, and she knows whatever is currently playing is one of them.
“And now time for the big spin,”
“I still think this is ridiculous,” She’s made sure to remind him each time he brings it up.
“Ridiculous is my middle name.”
“I thought it was Jason?” Gamora still doesn’t quite understand his odd Terran humor, and she’s not sure she ever will.
“That too. Ready?” Gamora rolls her eyes but nods anyway, and Peter sends her turning out. The cockpit becomes a blur around her, and the only thing that grounds Gamora is his hand guiding her. She’s reminded very briefly of her childhood –– the one she had before everything was stolen from her –– when she had been free to play with the other children. They’d spin together until the dizziness took over and sent them falling into the soft cushion of the tall auburn grass that grew in the fields behind her village.
Now there’s a firm hand on her waist to steady Gamora as she spins back towards Peter, only losing her footing slightly as she returns. The brief loss of balance means she’s now closer to him than she was before, almost as close as they were on Knowhere before she’d come to her senses. And just as she had on Knowhere, Gamora finds herself hyper-aware of his lips, and how they curve upward into a soft smile.
“Not so ridiculous now, huh?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Mhm, but you were totally thinkin’ it.” She doesn’t dignify him with a verbal reply, preferring to shove the shoulder her other hand had been resting on light enough so that she wouldn’t hurt him, but firm enough that he’d stop. He takes the hint.
They continue to sway in silence for a while longer, content in each other’s presence even when the tape stops and the only sound left is the distant rumble of Drax’s snores. It’s nice, Gamora realizes, how comfortable being with Peter like this is. Not feeling the need to be on high alert, allowing herself to forget the danger that lurks in every corner of the galaxy. Right now, in Peter’s arms with the vast emptiness of space peering through the windshield, is probably the closest Gamora has been to feeling safe in decades.
Of course, he has to ruin the moment by yawning.
“Well, that’s my cue.” Gamora’s guard slams back up as they pull away from each other. “Goodnight, G’mora,” Peter says through another yawn, shooting her one last faint smile as he begins his descent down the ladder to the bunks.
“Goodnight Peter.” She replies only when she knows he’s too far away to hear. He’s too close, they’re all too close, and she’s learned that the people closest to her always end up getting hurt one way or another. So these late night dance lessons will be enough –– they have to be enough –– because Gamora can’t risk letting Peter in any further.
And they are, at least for now.