pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ what does someone who makes vases and the state of their hair have anything to do with this. ]

Cut me some slack. I’m just now learning magic is apparently a thing on Earth, aside from the shit David Copperfield pulled.

[ a pause. ]

He’s not actually a wizard, is he? ‘Cause that seems like an abuse of power.

[ Eh, all right. They’re actually having a kind of decent conversation, and he’d hate to ruin it by being an asshole. He’ll back off. ]

David Copperfield? I don’t think so. The rules about letting normal people know about magic are pretty strict, and doing actual magic on TV is bound to get you in trouble.

We kind of have little communities of our own, but unless you’re rich and super powerful, you gotta blend in with the normies best you can.

“Normies.” [ He parrots it back flatly. ] Charming.

That why you left? [ The question comes unbidden, and it’s a little more prying than what Peter usually goes for. He doesn’t seem to care much, though, already stretched thin and exhausted by everything that’s happened. ] Didn’t wanna blend in anymore?

[ He hesitates for a handful of seconds. This is getting personal, more personal than he cares to be, but, in the end, there's probably not much they can keep from each other. He's trying to embrace this.

He's trying to do something about it. ]

I just felt like there wasn't anything left for me there.

[ The hesitation clues him in to the fact that Peter might be wandering a little too close to the barbed wire, to the big, giant fences that scream keep the fuck out. Usually he knows better, considering the company he keeps, considering he typically knows how quickly folks are liable to slam doors down in his face, but right now, it’s hard to muster up the capacity to give enough of a shit.

So it comes as a surprise when Alec answers him, rather than asking him to fuck off, or telling him where he can shove his questions. Peter watches him for a second, as if weighing his options.

Then, carefully, ]

Why are you telling me this?

[ He… doesn’t know how to answer that at first, and spends a moment prodding at his lower lip with his tongue while he turns the possible answers over in his head. ]

Because you asked. Because you know fuck all about me, and I’m trying to be less of a selfish prick about it.

[ For a second, Peter’s eyes narrow, as if he suspects a trick. As if he expects Alec to somehow pull the wool over his eyes.

(Again.)

But when Alec prods at his split lip, Peter shoots him a quick glare. ]

Quit that.

[ Running on autopilot, apparently, given the absent way he says it.

He watches Alec for a few more seconds, arms crossed over his chest. It’s an olive branch, he guesses, and a hard-earned one at that – not that Peter was looking for it. Not that he even wanted the invitation to probe into Alec’s life in the first place.

He’s making an attempt, though. Peter has to concede that point, at least. ]

You know you don’t actually have to do this. We can get by just fine with this thing without either of us knowing the intimate details of the other’s life.

[ The fact that Peter scolds him catches him by surprise, enough that he does stop, looking rather like a kid who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ]

I'm trying to give some ground here, Quill. You wanna know what I can do, I'll try to tell you. You wanna know where I'm coming from, I'll try and tell you that too.

I'm not gonna share my whole life story, but I owe you something.

[ ... It's a start, he has to admit.

It's not at all what Peter wants (because what he wants is to rewrite the universe, is to take each strange little atom connecting him to Brennan and crush them into microscopic dust), but it's more than he expected from day one. And far more than he expected that first day Brennan's bunk turned up empty, when he left Peter with a gaping pit in his chest.

But because Peter's a surly bastard when he wants to be, ]

Guess it's only fair. I'm still pretty sure you've dug up my entire life story before we even met.

[ If Peter’s goal was to offend him, then it really failed. Of course Alec researched every single one of the Guardians before approaching them. He dug up their records, their rap sheets, anything he could, but he would admit there were some gaps in his knowledge. Peter’s life on Earth, aside from what very little Nova could figure out about his parentage, was a complete unknown.

But all that aside, it’s becoming clear that he needs to treat Peter as more than a set of statistics. When Alec ran, he was unprepared for the consequences, both physical and emotional. In avoiding the former, he needs to learn how to avoid the latter. ]

I know things about you. That doesn’t mean I know you. I may be an asshole who has no idea how relationships work, but I can at least figure that much out.

So we learn a few facts here and there about each other. You hopin’ that’ll tide things over?

[ Flatly, gruffly, though there’s no heat in the question. An honest question, or at least as honest as Peter can ever muster. ]

I'm hoping it's a start.

You said as much, we're stuck with each other. Maybe we'll be friends and maybe we won't, but at the very least I'm gonna make an effort to be easier to work with.

[ He grunts in acknowledgment, and for a handful of seconds, that seems to be answer enough from Peter. At length, though, he lets out a long breath, drawing slow circles at his temple with the knuckle of his forefinger. A headache quietly blooms behind his eyes. ]

So what’s that mean, then?

[ Still flat. Unenthused. Like he doesn’t want to hear the answer, but knows he has to ask the question anyway. ]

You plan on stayin’ on with us?

[ He wrinkles his nose a little at the dull throb that starts in his head. ]

You have a better idea? How much do we really want to test the boundaries of this thing?

[ Peter cuts him a sharp glare. ]

I would’ve said “not at all” before, but that got yanked out of my hands, didn’t it?

[ But they’re trying to move forward. Alec’s making an effort, and Peter should extend the same courtesy – even though he abso-fucking-lutely does not want to. Even though he’d rather just go back to how things were before: silently skirting around each other. Begrudgingly tolerating the other’s presence.

This “getting to know each other” thing could be dangerous. It’s like inching out onto an iced-over lake, not knowing when the surface will give way to leave you spinning and freezing in the water.

Baby steps, he supposes. Tiny, tentative baby steps, and at the first signs of cracking, Peter intends to bolt away. ]

What do I tell the others? [ Still in that tired, resigned voice. ] About— this.

[ He is... probably never going to hear the end of it for his little disappearing act. Nor should he. It just sucks. ]

Dunno, but I get the feeling the big guy figured it out already.

If anyone could figure it out, it'd be him.

[ Peter lifts an arm, traces out a line across his bicep. ]

His wife.

[ He mouths a silent ah. He knows about Drax's wife and daughter, and their fate at the hands of Ronan. (And suddenly he wonders what it must feel like, to be separated from your match by more than just time and distance, but by death itself. He doesn't know that he could handle whatever that brings.)

But he's quick to shake off that line of thought and go back to Peter's original question. ]

I mean, might have to just go with the truth on this one. After all the bullshit I put you through, they're gonna hound you about wanting to keep me around.

[ Grumbled, ]

"Want" is a strong way of putting it, buddy.

[ He scrubs his face with both hands, presses the heels of his hands against his temples as he thinks. Drax knew for sure, or at least had a strong inkling. And Gamora probably was probably cottoning onto it, too, given everything that happened. He doubts Rocket gives much of a crap, though he'll undoubtedly give the two of them so much shit for this, once it comes to light.

Goddammit. ]

Yeah. Alright. I'll— I'll tell Gamora. Let her figure out how to tell the others.

[ ugh. ]

[ He heard that, though it draws little more than a snort out of him. He can feel the ripples of reluctance and resignation coming off of Quill (and it's still so weird, to be experiencing feelings that are not his own), and it pretty much kills any humor he might have dredged up from the situation. ]

They'll probably let me out of here in a day or two. Then we can put this place behind us.

Good.

[ Though there's little conviction in it. He fucking hates this place, to be sure. Hates the smells and the sounds and the sights, hates that sensation of dread that creeps up his spine the longer he stays here. Hates seeing Brennan in that fucking cot, hates that familiar feeling of helplessness when he sees him there.

But leaving means they have to actually start dealing with this bullshit and figuring out what the hell they plan on doing about it. Peter's still of the opinion that they ought to just go back to how it was before. Dodging each other in hallways. Ricocheting off each other to opposite ends of the ship. Ignoring the other's existence.

It wasn't perfect. Hell, Peter knows it didn't even work, but it was easy, for all that it sucked. ]

The fuck even happened? Thought you were careful about not getting caught.

[ Because even days after rescuing Brennan, Peter still hasn't bothered to get the story out of him. How he got captured, why he got captured. Only researched enough to know that the men who took him were fuckmooks working for another fuckmook, and when a rotation in their guards would leave the facility vulnerable to one of Rocket's homemade explosives. ]

[ He was waiting for that question, and in fact he’s surprised it didn’t come sooner. That Peter asks it now startles a laugh at him, a short noise filled with bitter resentment- mostly aimed at himself. He has a very long list of “shit that went wrong since he left the Milano”, and until Peter was tearing him a new one he was pretty sure his capture was the shittiest and wrongest thing on there.

Go figure. ]

I wasn’t exactly operating at one hundred percent. [ Literally and figuratively. ] Didn’t cover my tracks as well as I usually did, and one of Grun’s rivals got wise to the fact that I was sniffing around. He sent a couple of his guys to offer me a job, or beat the information out of me if I said no.

Guess I wasn’t thinking then, either. I could have led them on at the very least, but I just flat-out told them to shove it and they didn’t like that much.

But you’re so delightful and persuasive. [ This, said without inflection, expression kept mostly neutral. ] How could they possibly take that poorly?

[ Flatly, ] Wow yeah. It was almost like I was off my game or something.

[ Then, almost as an afterthought, ] Fuck you.

Even if you were on your game, you probably would’ve pissed ‘em off, somehow.

And not even if you paid me, Brennan.

Ramey > open rp

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