someone is friendless, and cannot find their way (so I keep a light in my window)
Summary: She’d had her own room, yes, because thank the stars Peter had the sense to move some of his junk out of the various hidey-holes in the ship into the cargo bay on the assumption that they would all kill each other within the week if they didn’t have their own spaces, but she’d still been stuck in a modified M-ship built for half the number of people it was housing, and her housemates were a motley assortment of questionably sane males and a baby tree.
Things aren’t all that different now, except for a few significant changes:
The Quadrant is definitely bigger than an M-ship; Mantis is here, trying her best to learn how to smile and keeping on a pair of gloves Gamora had dug out of her own bag for her; and Gamora is … comfortable.
not sure what this is specifically but i just really love gamora and i had a lot of Feelings. is the narrative linear? is there actually a plot? i, personally, could not tell u. anyways. vague vol2 spoilers, but like – not really anything explicit? title’s from the get down. 100% not proofread, bc i clacked it out in like two sittings, so it may or may not be a mess. have fun kids!
She has to relearn a lot of things.
This is a thought Gamora has, one of the first nights she falls asleep in a dog-pile of different-shaped limbs in the captain’s cabin on the Quadrant. Peter is draped against her side, his face pressed against her shoulder; Drax is hugging him from behind, Rocket is curled up against her knee, and Groot has nestled himself into her hair, somewhere, making very soft snuffly noises in his sleep. Kraglin’s feet are hanging off the side of the bed, his face smushed somewhere in the middle of the tangle of limbs, and on her free side, Mantis is curled up into a ball, hands kept close to herself, nose occasionally twitching as she breathes in and out.
It’s the only way any of them can fall asleep.
So – she has to relearn a lot of things. She’s not used to a lot of body heat, for one thing. Her own temperature is easily controllable, her body mods allowing her to bring it up or down according to her needs. She rarely needs a blanket for anything more than comfort – something she’d slowly come to allow herself in the months aboard the Milano before everything imploded so spectacularly this past week – let alone the heat of someone else’s body. It’s impractical, she thinks. Not at all a reliable thing, if you start depending on that heat to survive the night or get your required minimum four time parts of sleep. If you’re not like Gamora is – not able to control your temperature – how can you put your trust in something like that? You couldn’t, Gamora thinks, is the point. It could be too hot, or your bunk partners could steal all the blankets and then you’d be colder than when you started, or the people whose heat you needed could – go.
That, Gamora thinks, is a very real possibility.
She resists the urge to wrap her other arm around Peter’s shoulders and takes a long, deep breath.