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“When I was a kid,” Peter explained, the glow of the campfire lighting his face, “I thought that the Luke and Leia being brother and sister thing was a lame way to resolve the love triangle.” He took a sip from his mug, enjoying the slightly confused reactions on his companion’s faces. “But now that I’m older and wiser–” he ignored the scoff coming from Rocket’s direction, “I think it’d be pretty cool to have a secret relative.”
He didn’t notice how Mantis’s eyes widened, nor how her lower lip trembled at the words. Neither did anyone else.
The Guardians were camped on a forested bit of rock somewhere in a sparsely populated system. They had answered a distress call earlier that day and were now taking a well-earned break. Mantis hadn’t experienced many moments of ease like this on planet Ego. In some ways, she was still getting her bearings, but the last few years in the Guardians’ company had healed her. Although things were still far from perfect.
Drax roared in approval. “We have a similar tale from my world,” he said, “but there was more stabbing in it.”
“There’s some serious stabbing in Star Wars,” Peter said with a pout. “And some hand chopping off and–”
Drax clapped Peter on the shoulder in a companionable manner. “You can tell me more of the mutilation later. I’m going on a hunt! I think we need fresh meat for this fire.”
“I’ll go with you.” Gamora’s offer came not from a sincere desire to hunt, but mostly to keep her companion out of trouble. “Keep the fire hot?” she asked Peter.
Peter wiggled his eyebrows. “Smoldering.”
With great affection, Gamora pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. “We won’t be long.”
Once Drax and Gamora were out of earshot, Rocket spoke up: “Groot and I will grab some gear from the ship, who knows what they’ll bring back.”
Peter’s nose wrinkled as he imagined it. “Good point.”
“I’m sure you’ll make something edible out of it,” Rocket said as he took off with Groot, who had recently grown into a gangly teenager.
“What makes you think I’m cooking it?” Peter called out but he received no answer.
Mantis and Peter were left alone.
The burden of her secret had often kept Mantis from seeking time alone with her brother. The fear of developing a bond, only to have it shattered once the truth came out, haunted her at night. Still, Peter’s words were encouraging. Maybe, just maybe—
She got up from her seat and scooted over closer to Peter. Startled, Peter made room for her on the fallen log. “What’s up?” he asked her.
It was strange looking at him sometimes, noticing the little ways in which he resembled their father (or at least the form he would take the most often), but also how those features were transformed into someone softer, less frightening. Mantis thought it was a good face.
“The history you were sharing,” Mantis said, wringing her hands together, “did it say how Luke and Leia got along after finding out they were siblings?” Maybe she could find her own wisdom there. “Were there more texts?”
The look on Peter’s face was one of profound bafflement. “History? Uh, Mantis–” Peter set down his mug and stared at her. “Did you think I was telling a real story?”
“What?” Mantis blinked in alarm. Why was he looking at her like that? Had she said something wrong?
“Did you think–” Peter’s lips contorted into a smile. “Oh my god, aliens, I swear.”
“What?” Now Mantis was really alarmed. “What?”
Peter’s hand reached out.
For a fraction of a second Mantis flinched, but then she remembered, this is Peter, this is Peter–
His palm rested on the top of her head before mussing up her hair. Peter laughed and laughed, his joy infectious. “It’s a made up story, it’s fiction. It’s not real, Mantis.”
She allowed her powers to open up just a fraction, just enough to get a glimpse. There was amusement there, of course, but there was something deeper at play too. Affection, fondness, love, similar to the kind she felt from Drax. It was warm and comforting. Though she had not told him, though she had not had the courage, Peter thought of her as family. He loved her as one of his own. She was his sister, he was her brother.
Mantis burst into tears.
Peter’s hand stopped. “Whoa, are you okay?” He withdrew from her. “Did I do something wrong, did—”
Mantis grabbed his hand and placed it back on her head. The tears made it hard to see and she was certain she looked a mess, but she wasn’t letting this go. She wasn’t letting Peter go. She needed this.
Peter’s voice was soft. “Okay,” he murmured, the semi-aggressive gesture from before morphed into a gentler pat. “That better?”
All Mantis could do was nod; her sniffling was loud to her own ears.
Peter wasn’t the kind to let silence linger for too long. “Do you want another story?”
She nodded, she was too emotional to answer verbally. Her hand clutched at his wrist, keeping him from moving anywhere. Mantis had gone far too long without this kind of connection. Ego had thought of her less as a child than a tool. Peter was different and she couldn’t be more grateful.
“So,” Peter started, resigned to patting Mantis’s head until she tired of it, “there were these two kids and they needed a nanny–”
“What’s a nanny?” Mantis asked.
“That’s a lady who’s paid to take care of your kids,” Peter said.
As Peter continued his tale Mantis listened, enraptured by the strange mysterious woman with magical powers who saved a family from themselves. She let his voice wash over her, determined that some day, somehow, she would tell him the truth. She would tell him that they were family for real.
But not today, no today, she would just let him talk and she would let herself pretend she was brave.
Oh brother, I can't, I can't get through
I've been trying hard to reach you 'cause I don' know what to do
Oh brother, I can't believe it's true
I'm so scared about the future, and I wanna talk to you
Oh, I wanna talk to you