So, I'm not even completely sure what this is. Honestly, the idea came from the Marvel 100th Anniversary comic (or whatever the anniversary one was). In it, there's a storyline where Gamora has become Star Lord in the wake of Quill's death. As I was reading it though, it made me wonder if there was something deeper between them and somehow this came out of it. This based on a blend of the comics and the movies.

It was strangely light in her hands; she would have expected the mask to be heavier given the technology crammed inside. Slowly, her fingered brushed over uneven metal, tracing the edges of the mask her teammate always wore: smooth here, chipped there. The red-lenses of the eyes glinted with every turn of the object in her hands, almost enchanting as they reflected the artificial light from above. Handling the mask up-close like this felt weirdly intimate, which was made all the weirder because of what she'd been doing only a few hours before.

"Seriously?" called out a sleepy voice from behind her half a second before pale, surprisingly strong arms wrapped themselves around her naked waist. Peter's stubbled cheek brushed against her back as his head came to lay in the crook of her neck. She could feel the weight of his chin against her shoulder and just knew he was peering down at the mask in her hands. "Is my mask really more interesting than me, Gamora?"

"Given how much you wear it, it's basically your second face," stated Gamora, her fingers still tracing the metal edges. It wasn't an ornate mask; really it wasn't even what most would call pretty. That was still a term she was struggling to understand completely, but she imagined the mask didn't fall under that definition in any regard.

Lips brushed her shoulder, her throat. The fingers resting along her sides began to twitch and move, stroke her skin. "It's still just a mask. Anyone can wear it, technically."

"As if you would allow that," scoffed Gamora, her lips twitching somewhat at his comment. She knew how much his beloved mask meant to him. It was a part of his identity, something she'd come to understand working with him over the past year. That he was even letting her handle it was a surprise, if she were being completely honest.

"The right person, maybe," murmured Peter, every word brushing her skin like a caress. It was almost uncomfortable, this level of intimacy. She'd grown more accustomed to it in the passing months though. She no longer felt the need to bolt or lash out when he surrounded her outside of sex. It had been an adjustment, but one she'd made. And now? She couldn't imagine being without it.

"I doubt that person exists outside of your head," murmured Gamora, her fingers brushing a particularly rough edge where the mask had been struck or thrown. She wondered sometimes if he'd sustained major head injuries from any of the strikes that caused the damage. It might explain a few things.

Smirking against her throat, Peter lay one more kiss against her skin before his hands left her sides suddenly. They rose to lay over hers where they rested on his mask, deftly guiding her fingers to the latches, showing her how to flip them open. "That person might be closer than you think."

Gamora felt her throat tighten a little as he guided the mask towards her, his hands still covering her own. When he slid it over her face, she tensed. The darkness inside the mask was terrifying in its own way. Then she heard the latches click and the power came on. Immediately, the eyes in the mask opened, tinting her vision red. It felt heavy as he guided her hands down, away from the mask. Without the support of their joined appendages, the metal settled evenly across her face. It wasn't uncomfortable, just different. She'd suffered much, much worse.

Taking a slow breath, she allowed Peter's scent to fill her senses. It was embedded in the lining of the mask after so many years of wearing it. It was like being wrapped up by the man himself. She didn't want to take pleasure in that fact, but the comfortable sensation that filled her was there all the same. Not acknowledging it wouldn't change its presence.

"I'd only ever let two people wear this mask," stated Peter, his voice muffled by the metal and padding that surrounded her head. "Me and you. That's it."

"You and I," corrected Gamora, almost automatically; it was some kind of a distraction something to break the tension with. Something to downplay the intimacy that came from her literally wearing Peter's other face.

His chuckle was a low rumble she felt more than heard. "You and I, me and you, semantics." His lips returned to her shoulder, his voice brushing her skin again with every word he spoke. "You're the only other person I would ever let wear that mask. It's an extension of me, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. That mask is a part of my identity, and you're the only other person I'd ever trust to use it with the respect it deserves."

"It's a piece of metal," stated Gamora as she tried to separate herself form this. Tried to break free from the depth and actual meaning behind his statement. It was as good as saying she was the only person he'd trust with his life, except this mask was so much more. This mask was a representation of him, something that would survive him. Something of him that would continue as an echo in the universe for eons past the end of his life.

"It's a part of me," repeated Peter, his fingers brushing over her shoulders as they rose to trace the edges of the mask, deftly finding the latches and deactivating the power. Again, the space inside the mask went silent and dark. Almost cold. His scent was the only thing she could register for a second, until she heard the latches click open again. Then the mask was gone, her vision her own again- no longer tainted with the red of the lenses.

For a long moment, she simply sat, naked, on the edge of the bed. Behind her, she could hear Peter shuffling around, likely storing the mask where it belonged rather than on the floor where she'd found it. It wasn't a sign of disrespect; it spoke to their urgency following his near-death encounter with a laser. If it weren't for Groot, it was likely there would be two halves of Peter now, rather than the single whole.

The familiar weight of his hands returned to her hips a moment later, skimming her sides and drawing her against him. His lips returned too, tracing her neck before he tilted her back so he could kiss her. They didn't speak of the mask again that night, but his words haunted her conscious, barely at the edge. What he was asking was something she wasn't sure she could ever do or was even worthy of. It was something she prayed she'd never have to consider again, either.

It can't be real. That's all that she can rouse from her mind. Even as she stares down at the empty mask in her hands, even as the kiss that he'd planted on her lips moments before lingers like a ghost, she can't seem to accept the truth. Her mind won't accept it.

Peter can't be dead; it isn't possible.

But she'd witnessed it, all the same. Stood there as he'd kissed her silly and shoved his mask into her hands before suddenly jumping in that small ship and taking off, ramming it into the one carrying Thanos' general with Rocket's massive explosive build specifically to take out the command ship. The explosive they were supposed to launch at the ship to stop its invasion of the planet beneath their feet. The one that had malfunctioned so it couldn't fly.

Peter was gone.

He'd fucking sacrificed himself to save a damn planet full of people. Rather than risking them taking on an invasion and losing, he'd just let himself get killed. She could kill him. If he were in front of her, she would kill him.

Her fingers tightened around the metal of the mask in her hands as shock echoed through her. It wasn't possible, yet she'd witnessed it with her own eyes. He couldn't be dead, but he couldn't have survived either.

"Hey, Gamora," Rocket's harsh, irritated tone snapped through her thoughts like some kind of a bullet. Her eyes immediately fell to the science experiment and she wanted to snap at him. Wanted to ask how he was still so calm, so in the moment. How he wasn't shaken up like she was. It should have been her that was like that, not Rocket. She should have been the one who was icy calm. What the hell had happened to her? "Sorry to break your, you know, train of thought and all that, but we've kinda got a fucking invasion on our hands to deal with!"

Rocket's course words drove away whatever shock or sadness or whatever it was that had clouded her mind, allowing her to focus once more on the battle at hand. The familiarity of a fight wherein they were greatly outnumbered and outgunned. It was familiar, safe. This, battle, was something she knew all too well.

"So what's the plan?" prompted Rocket, hefting his gun against his shoulder as he, too, turned his eyes towards the sky slowly filling with invading ships. Startled wasn't the right word for what she was feeling. Why was he asking her? As if sensing her misunderstanding, he nodded towards the mask. "Quill gave you the mask, so I'm pretty sure that means he wants you to be the new Star Lord. I'm no fan of taking orders, but I'm outta ideas on this one. So what've you got?"

She was the new Star Lord? But then, he'd told her as much almost two years before, the first time he'd helped her put on the mask. He'd said she was the only other person he'd ever allow to wear the mask. Well, fuck. Guess it was too late to argue that one now.

Lifting the mask to her head, she settled it against her features and closed the latches. The foreign hiss and click of the mask sealing and booting up filled the darkness surrounding her for a moment before the red lenses came on, the ships descending from above coming full into view. And there were a lot of them.

"So, plan?" prompted Rocket, his voice becoming annoyed.

Checking her own gun from her side, she offered the raccoon/science experiment a nod. "We guard. And if we manage to avenge Peter in the process, all the better."

"So, I'm hearing explosives," stated Rocket, a grin slowly unfurling across his face. "That, we can do." Turning, Rocket took off in the direction of his friend, the living tree. "Groot! We need a cannon!"

Taking a deep breath, she turned back towards the ships that were descending upon the planet and mentally prepared herself. After all, this battle wasn't about the planet anymore, at least not completely. No, now it was about Peter Quill. He trusted her to be the new Star Lord and defend the Galaxy. She wouldn't let him down.