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celeste9 for the Wish Fulfillment Ficathon.“Space, huh?” Natasha says, and then she takes Gamora’s hand to leverage herself up into the ship.
“You do not seem surprised,” Gamora says as the bay doors shut behind them.
Natasha shrugs. “I’m kind of hard to surprise.”
***
Deep space travel involves a lot of sitting around, Natasha learns. She hooks her iPod into Quill’s stereo, and soon the cabin throbs with electric bass.
“Rocket!” Quill screams before he realizes that it’s just the speakers turned all the way up, but Rocket hides what he’s doing under his tail, anyway.
***
They are still halfway to wherever the hell it is they’re going, and Natasha is about ready to tear her hair out. She sits on the bed in her quarters cleaning her guns.
Natasha’s door is open, and she watches Gamora walk by with her black boots and her flawless posture. The Milano is tight quarters, and they are constantly in each other’s space, but for the most part Gamora ... isn’t. It’s like she inhabits space differently than the rest of them. Natasha noticed it early on, because Natasha inhabits space the same way: like smoke. It’s something she learned long ago, something she was taught in the Red Room.
Instead of ghosting down the hallway, Gamora stops. She cocks her head slightly, bird-like, before speaking.
“That,” she says, “is an excellent idea.”
***
Gamora sits beside Natasha on the bed in Natasha’s quarters. They clean their weapons. Gamora’s hands are dead steady and incredibly adept. She is almost mechanical in her movements. Natasha finds herself watching Gamora’s fingers, and then stops herself.
She reassembles her side arm. “Have you ever seen one of these?” she asks.
Gamora gives her an unamused look. “I am a warrior and an assassin,” she says. “I am skilled in the use of many weapons.”
“So, you know guns.”
“Of course.”
Natasha pulls out a mag. “How about guns that shoot bullets?” she asks.
Gamora blinks. For a moment, she’s speechless, and then she says, “That’s something new.”
***
They land on some backwoods moon to refuel, and to get out of the ship and stop driving each other crazy. The menfolk go into a bar, and the ladies go out back. There is an alleyway with dumpsters and puddles of something Natasha doesn’t want to think about. She and Gamora follow the alley out until they hit a vacant lot.
They set up shop. Natasha shows Gamora how to shoot a pistol. Gamora shows Natasha how to shoot a blaster. Natasha shows Gamora the widow’s bites and tells her exactly what they feel like. Gamora smiles and says she’s experienced something similar.
They spar, falling into rhythm easily. Natasha is a much more organic, artistic fighter than Gamora is; Gamora is precise and practical, and Natasha uses her body like an instrument. They are well matched, but they aren’t the same.
Above the smog, Natasha can see stars. She asks Gamora if they can see Earth from here. Gamora squints up at the stars, and then points, a blue-green dot in the Milky Way.
“Wow,” Natasha says, and everything else seems so small; something the width of an eyelash could blot out everyone she’s ever known.
She looks at Gamora. Gamora’s face is turned up the sky, the moonlight pale on her face. Natasha reaches for Gamora’s hand, intertwines their fingers. Gamora’s hands are strong hands, smart hands, like hers.
They are looking up at the sky, and then they are looking at each other, the stars in their eyes and the moon on their faces, and then they are kissing, as well matched here as when they were sparring.
Gamora isn’t so technical here. Natasha gasps. “Now that was a surprise.”
“You do not seem surprised,” Gamora says as the bay doors shut behind them.
Natasha shrugs. “I’m kind of hard to surprise.”
***
Deep space travel involves a lot of sitting around, Natasha learns. She hooks her iPod into Quill’s stereo, and soon the cabin throbs with electric bass.
“Rocket!” Quill screams before he realizes that it’s just the speakers turned all the way up, but Rocket hides what he’s doing under his tail, anyway.
***
They are still halfway to wherever the hell it is they’re going, and Natasha is about ready to tear her hair out. She sits on the bed in her quarters cleaning her guns.
Natasha’s door is open, and she watches Gamora walk by with her black boots and her flawless posture. The Milano is tight quarters, and they are constantly in each other’s space, but for the most part Gamora ... isn’t. It’s like she inhabits space differently than the rest of them. Natasha noticed it early on, because Natasha inhabits space the same way: like smoke. It’s something she learned long ago, something she was taught in the Red Room.
Instead of ghosting down the hallway, Gamora stops. She cocks her head slightly, bird-like, before speaking.
“That,” she says, “is an excellent idea.”
***
Gamora sits beside Natasha on the bed in Natasha’s quarters. They clean their weapons. Gamora’s hands are dead steady and incredibly adept. She is almost mechanical in her movements. Natasha finds herself watching Gamora’s fingers, and then stops herself.
She reassembles her side arm. “Have you ever seen one of these?” she asks.
Gamora gives her an unamused look. “I am a warrior and an assassin,” she says. “I am skilled in the use of many weapons.”
“So, you know guns.”
“Of course.”
Natasha pulls out a mag. “How about guns that shoot bullets?” she asks.
Gamora blinks. For a moment, she’s speechless, and then she says, “That’s something new.”
***
They land on some backwoods moon to refuel, and to get out of the ship and stop driving each other crazy. The menfolk go into a bar, and the ladies go out back. There is an alleyway with dumpsters and puddles of something Natasha doesn’t want to think about. She and Gamora follow the alley out until they hit a vacant lot.
They set up shop. Natasha shows Gamora how to shoot a pistol. Gamora shows Natasha how to shoot a blaster. Natasha shows Gamora the widow’s bites and tells her exactly what they feel like. Gamora smiles and says she’s experienced something similar.
They spar, falling into rhythm easily. Natasha is a much more organic, artistic fighter than Gamora is; Gamora is precise and practical, and Natasha uses her body like an instrument. They are well matched, but they aren’t the same.
Above the smog, Natasha can see stars. She asks Gamora if they can see Earth from here. Gamora squints up at the stars, and then points, a blue-green dot in the Milky Way.
“Wow,” Natasha says, and everything else seems so small; something the width of an eyelash could blot out everyone she’s ever known.
She looks at Gamora. Gamora’s face is turned up the sky, the moonlight pale on her face. Natasha reaches for Gamora’s hand, intertwines their fingers. Gamora’s hands are strong hands, smart hands, like hers.
They are looking up at the sky, and then they are looking at each other, the stars in their eyes and the moon on their faces, and then they are kissing, as well matched here as when they were sparring.
Gamora isn’t so technical here. Natasha gasps. “Now that was a surprise.”
no subject
Date: 2016-08-02 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-02 10:37 pm (UTC)Hee, yes. :)