pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ 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.

Maybe I would have, but I would have been able to get away from them first.

Don’t you have anything better to do right now?

[ Pointedly, he holds Alec’s gaze as he shifts in his seat, arms crossing over his stomach. Getting comfortable, ostensibly. ]

I thought we were supposed to be bonding.

[ He glares at Peter. He’s trying but this is draining, and Peter constantly harping on him is starting to grate on his nerves. ]

I thought you were supposed to be telling Gamora about just how much we’re bonding.

[ He keeps his position for a few seconds longer, uncooperative little asshole that he is, but he finally breaks eye contact and kicks his feet off the chair. He shrugs into his jacket, rolling his shoulders as he does. ]

Yeah, fine. I’ll go do that.

[ Chipper, but in tone only. When he turns to face Alec again, he offers a tight-lipped little smile and crosses the room to the exit. As he does, ]

I’ll find Gamora. Tell her what the hell’s going on. Try to convince the gang not to kill you for all this bullshit.

[ He steps through the open door without so much as a goodbye, but a second later, he pokes his head back in. ]

Oh. If you decide to fuck off somewhere while I’m gone, try to keep it in the same system, at least.

[ This, punctuated by a fond little pat on the doorjamb and half-hearted smile. ] Please and thanks, bud.

[ And he disappears around the wall again. ]

Ramey > open rp

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