Disclaimer: Angela, Gamora, Peter Quill, Rocket Raccoon, Groot, Drax, and the Guardians of the Galaxy are the intellectual property of Disney/Marvel. No copyright infringement intended.

Hooked on a Peeling

Chapter 6

Two days went by.

Things were not quite as...awkward...as one might imagine. Angela and Gamora were both adults. They were both hardened warriors – both veterans of countless battles. Gamora had once had all her flesh burned away by the flames of a blazing sun. Angela had once carried a wounded angel across a searing desert whilst poison coursed through her veins. Neither of them were about to let something as trivial as a stolen kiss cause them shame or discomfort. Neither of them were going to be embarrassed or humiliated by a fleeting moment of passion.

Still. There were questions that needed to be settled. Matters that needed to be resolved.

Late one evening, as the sunlight was receding across Earth's Pacific Ocean many thousands of miles below, Gamora stepped into the mess, and faced Angela.

"We need to talk," Gamora simply said.

Angela wordlessly followed Gamora into her tiny cabin, and the door shut behind them. Gamora motioned for Angela to sit – Angela set herself down in a strange alien armchair, a curiosity that Gamora once dragged aboard the ship from some nondescript flea market on some faraway, forgotten planet.

Gamora sat opposite Angela, on her bunk. She rested herself on the mattress, and then crossed her legs beneath her.

"I want you to leave your wife for me," Gamora said.

Well.

Gamora and Angela were nothing if not forthright with one another.

The words hung in the air. In the background, there were the ambient noises of the Guardian's vessel – the hum of the engines, the creaking of the hull, the hiss of the life support.

Gamora peered into Angela's opaque white eyes. The red hunter's marks, running down the side of her face. Her strawberry red hair, tumbling and falling...Gamora allowed herself to get distracted for a few moments, and then she realized that more needed to be said.

"I want you to leave your wife for me," Gamora said, again. There was a sort of challenge in her eyes. "I want you to tell me, truthfully, that your marriage is over. I want you to promise me that, if tomorrow, a portal to Heven appeared in this universe, and your wife came through...you would no longer be hers."

Angela did not say anything, for a while...and when she did, her voice was almost a whisper. "Bellowyn has been my companion for thousands of years," she said.

"You were the one that kissed me, Angela," Gamora replied, with more than a hint of reproach. She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Why did you even do that? What were you thinking?"

"It was a moment of weakness," Angela protested. "I did apologize, Lady Gamora."

More silence followed. Neither of them could meet the other's gaze, for a time. Gamora stared sullenly into a corner. Angela shifted awkwardly in her seat, then realized that she was fidgeting, and so sat ramrod straight.

Then...

"Do you love me?"

Do you love me. There was something incredibly fatalistic about the way that Gamora said these words. Something morbid. Some sort of grim anticipation.

Do you love me?

Gamora said these words in much the same way she might say: go on, cut my arm off. I trapped my arm under this great big boulder, and now I can't get free unless you slice it clean off. Go on. Cut my arm off. Go on. Go on.

Do you love me?

Do you love me?

Gamora said these words in the same manner and the same tone that she might say: do it. Shoot me in the head. Put a bullet in my brain. I stood on a mine, and now my arms and legs are gone, and my internal organs are spilled all over the ground. Do it. Put a bullet through my brains. Do it. Put me out of my misery. Do it. Do it.

Do you love me?

Do you love me?

Angela looked at Gamora...and then she gave a tiny, almost-imperceptible nod.

"Yes," she said.

She said it very quietly, as though mere words were things that could hurt them both horribly.

Yes.

She loves me.

She loves me.

I want this woman, Gamora thought, then. I want her more than anything else in the universe. I want her almost as much as I want father dead.

I want to fight a thousand battles at her side. I want to spill the blood of a million adversaries. I want to end the lives of a million idiots, and I want Angela to be there for EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

I want to take her to a thousand worlds. I want to travel a trillion miles. I want to stand with her beneath the light of a thousand different suns.

I want her in my bed. I want her screaming my name. I want her trembling at my touch. I want her hair in my fingers. I want her breath on my neck. I want her taste in my mouth.

I want her. I want her NOW. I want to reach forward, and grab hold of her, and pull her onto this bed. I want her clothes on the floor. I want these sheets tangling and twisting around us. I want her ribbons wrapping and coiling around me.

I want her NOW.

I want her NOW.

Gamora stared hungrily at Angela, and then...

...and then...

Then, ice and steel began to seep into Gamora's eyes.

"I don't steal other people's wives, Angela," Gamora said. She leaned forward on the bed, urging Angela to pay close attention to what she wished to say now. "I will not be responsible for breaking your wife's heart. I don't want that on my head. I don't even know who your wife is – I've never met her, I don't know what she looks like, I only know her from what you've told me. She's a complete stranger to me, and Thanos knows, I've hurt plenty of strangers during my life. But I'm not going to hurt her, Angela. Do you understand? I'm not going to steal you from her."

Gamora's expression softened. "I need you to tell me that she is no longer your wife," she said. Her voice was a hush, as though to ease the pain that her words might cause. "I need you to tell me that Bellowyn is no longer your wife. If you do that..."

Gamora took a brief pause. She closed her eyes, as though bracing herself.

"If you do that...then I'm yours." Gamora let her words linger a little, and then she gave Angela a smirk. "And you're mine."

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Almost two years, Angela had lived in this galaxy, now.

How much longer was she going to wait?

How much longer was Angela going to wait for Heven to find her again? How much longer was Angela going to wait for a way back home to miraculously appear?

Angela did not truly understand how she had come to this galaxy. One moment, she was battling demons in the wilds of Heven – the next, there came a blinding light, and Angela was adrift in a strange, unfamiliar universe.

From what Angela could gather, time and space itself had been ripped apart, and she had fallen through a great fissure between the dimensions. In order for her to find a way back home, a similarly ridiculous, improbable event would – theoretically, at least – have to take place.

How long was Angela going to wait for this ridiculous, improbable event to occur?

How much longer was Angela willing to wait for the impossible to take place a second time?

How much longer did Angela intend to live her life as though the coming morning might bring Heven back to her? How much longer did Angela intend to live her life as though the next day might return her to Bellowyn? Or the day after that? Or the day after that?

How much longer was Angela going to wait to return to her old realm?

One more year?

Two?

Three?

A decade?

A century?

Almost two years, Angela had lived in this galaxy.

Almost two years, Angela had served with the Guardians. I will only be with you for a few months, she had warned them, at the beginning. A few months, and then I will take my leave. As soon as I find the way back to Heven, I will be gone. Ha! She wondered if the others had forgotten that little promise.

Almost two years, Angela had been exploring Earth. Africa, China, Europe, the Americas, Antarctica, Australia – Angela had seen so much and journeyed so far, but there was still so much left to see...

Sometimes, Angela fantasized about building a permanent home on Earth. She wondered what it would be like to live in one of the human cities – New York, perhaps, or Shanghai, or Dubai, or London, or Rome. Whenever her mind wandered to these thoughts, she would mentally chastise herself, and push such notions away. She was an Angel of Heven. She would not remain on Earth forever. Her place was among her sisters.

On the other hand...

How much longer would Angela wait?

How much longer would Angela wait until Heven claimed her again? How much longer would Angela wait until she was back in Bellowyn's arms?

()()()()()()()()()()()()

"Are you sure that this does not hurt, Groot?"

Groot slowly shook his head. "I am Groot."

Angela arched an eyebrow. "As you say," she said, and then she brought the hammer down again.

There was a wide pile of sawdust on the floor. Angela was not wearing her usual angelic attire – today, she was dressed in a long apron, with her hair gathered in a cap and her eyes protected by a transparent plastic visor.

In her hands, she held a hammer, and a chisel.

Angela was busily chipping away at Groot's bark-like skin. All over Groot's massive form, Angela had carved an assortment of beautiful little sculptures, cutting the images into his plant flesh. There were angels, blowing upon trumpets. There were angels, carrying banners and standards. Angels, brandishing swords and spears. Angels, flapping about in the air. Angels, crouching on plinths and pillars. Angels, embracing one another as they floated in the sky.

There were angels up and down Groot's arms and legs. Angels across his chest and back. They were all as resplendent and glorious as Angela herself – all strong and powerful, all clad in exquisite armour. Groot stood there in the middle of the room, a serene, contented expression on his weather-worn face. He had never before looked so splendid, so magnificent.

If Groot was a humanoid, then Angela would, at this moment, be braiding his hair.

Angela struck the hammer upon the head of the chisel, tatt, tatt, tatt, tatt, countless dead shavings tumbling down Groot's body and joining the rest of the parings on the ground. Angela was currently working on the image of an angel with her hands clasped to her heart and her head bowed in contemplation. She carved the angel's hair, falling down around her neck and shoulders. She carved the angel's fingers, entwined together. She carved the angel's eyes, tightly shut in reflection.

There was music playing in the background – a mournful piano piece named 'Aisatsana' that Angela had heard on her last visit to Earth.

Angela tapped away with the hammer. She carved the angel's feathery wings, spread out wide.

"When I first joined the Guardians of the Galaxy," Angela said, "the only reason I did so was because Lady Gamora promised me that I would find myself in a few good fights."

Angela tapped away with the hammer. She carved the angel's robes, flowing all around her.

"I am Groot," said Groot.

Angela gave a soft smile. "Yes, Groot," she said. "We have fought some wonderful battles, haven't we?"

Angela tapped away with the hammer. She carved the angel's tiny nose. Her mouth. An ear.

We have fought some wonderful battles, haven't we. Angela remembered the time that Thanos invaded Earth. She remembered the time when she helped rescue Jean Grey from the Shi'ar.

"All my life," Angela said, "I heard stories of Earth. I never...I never dreamed that one day I would one day become one of her protectors."

Groot gave a gentle nod. "I am Groot."

Angela leaned in close, and blew. A cloud of sawdust exploded into the air, and fluttered away, and another piece of sculpture was revealed.

Then, Groot turned, and looked down at Angela. "I am Groot?"

Angela peered at Groot in surprise. "How long do I intend to remain with Earth?" she said. Angela pondered this a moment...and then she seemed to become sad, and lowered her head. "I...I do not know, Groot. I always assumed that I would remain here until I found a way back home...until I found a way back to Heven."

Angela paused for a second, and cast her eyes towards the massive viewscreen that took up one side of the room. Earth was looming large in her sight. She peered at the oceans, and the continents. She peered at the white clouds, drifting across the entire planet.

Angela gave a deep sigh. "To be frank, Groot, protecting this world has brought me much joy. I...I think I would be quite stricken, if I ever left."

Groot stared disconsolately into a corner. Angela refocused, and then gave the chisel a few strikes. Flakes of wood floated down to the ground.

"Jeez, Groot. You gettin' a makeover?"

Angela and Groot turned towards the doorway. Rocket was standing there, gazing at Groot in astonishment.

"Hello, Rocket," Angela said.

Rocket wandered into the room, taking care not to place a foot on the piles of wood chippings and sawdust – Groot's discarded bodily matter.

"Groot...I never thought you would ever qualify for pretty, but...damn."

Groot narrowed his eyes, and gave a deep frown.

Angela beamed with pride. She raised the hammer, and brought it down.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Peter Quill wanted to talk to Angela about something, but he wasn't sure how to broach the subject. Then, it came to him.

"Hey, Angela," he said. "I have a question about Heven..."

Peter was sitting at the control console, guiding the ship through an asteroid field. Angela had taken a seat at the back of the cockpit – she was busy repairing a length of frayed ribbon. No one else was there.

Angela looked up from her work. "Yes?" she said.

Peter leaned back in his seat, and peered at Angela's reflection in the viewscreen. "In Heven, do angels ever try to, like, set their friends up with other angels?" he said.

Angela creased her forehead in confusion. "I...I do not understand..." she said.

"Do angels ever try to find dates for their friends?" He shrugged. "Are they ever, like, hey, uh, Angelique, I'd like you to meet, uh, uhm..." Peter snapped his fingers, trying to think of suitable names for angelic beings. "I'd like you to meet Angelica! She's a really nice girl, maybe you'll hit it off..." Peter cocked his head. "No? They don't do that in Heven?"

Angela seemed slightly perplexed by the question. "Perhaps?" she said, idly twirling a ribbon in her fingers. "Possibly?" Then, she lowered her head. "I...I am not the best person to be asking that question, Peter. I...did not have many friends, when I was in Heven..."

Well, damn. Peter didn't mean to make Angela sad.

The ship drifted around an enormous mass of floating space debris. "Well...anyway, the reason I ask is, you know...that's something we do on Earth. Sometimes, people decide that their friends are lonely, and so they take it upon themselves to find 'em a girlfriend, or a boyfriend."

Angela raised an eyebrow. "Do you intend to find me a lover, Peter?"

Peter gave a snort. "You'd probably frighten off any woman I introduced to you, Angela."

Angela gave a cruel smile. Yes, she would.

Peter altered course slightly so that the vessel could avoid a collision. "Same goes for Gamora," he said. "Hell, Gamora would beat my ass if I ever tried to set her up with someone."

A few moments went by, and neither said anything at all. Peter tapped away at the command console. Angela focused on her ribbons. Occasionally, tiny pieces of junk and rubble struck against the hull.

Then:

"She'll never say as much," Peter said, "but...if you ever go back to Heven, Angela...Gamora's really gonna feel it. You know that, right?"

Angela looked up from her ribbons, and gazed at the back of Peter's head.

"She'll never let it show," he said, without turning to face her. "She'll forge on, like she always has. She'll keep on protecting the universe, no different than before. She'll never let it show. But if you leave, Angela...she'll feel it. I know she will."

()()()()()()()()()()()()

The moment Gamora saw Angela, she knew that she had made a decision.

She could see it in the way Angela walked – there was unmistakeable purpose in the way she held herself, an undeniable intent.

She could see it in Angela's expression, in her eyes. This was the look of a woman who had been wrestling with doubts and misgivings, but now could see so clearly the way ahead.

The Guardians had made port at some anonymous, unremarkable space station, in the orbit of some unexceptional, unmemorable planet. Rocket, Groot, Drax and Quill were elsewhere, at the moment. Angela wasn't sure what they were up to. She wasn't sure that she much cared, either.

Angela went searching for Gamora. If she wanted, she could have used the ship's trackers to locate Gamora anywhere within a hundred thousand mile radius. But she didn't. Angela always opted for the more challenging route, and so instead she began hunting Gamora by smell. Angela wandered through the streets and back alleys of an unfamiliar spaceport, pushing through throngs of aliens and robots and cyborgs and mutants, Gamora's lingering scent leading her left and right and here and there, down this alleyway and under this archway and up these steps and through this door.

Gamora's scent. Sweat. Pheromones. Lotions. Perfumes, exotic and obscure. Waste products secreted by cybernetic enhancements. Angela followed her nose, and drew closer and closer.

Eventually, Angela found herself in a club, somewhere in a basement deep in the bowels of the station. Crowds of revellers, all in various stages of drunkenness and narcotic-induced euphoria, jumping and dancing about. Flashing, strobing lights, red and blue and green and purple. Loud, thumping music, of the sort that Angela utterly despised, filling the place up from floor to ceiling.

Angela took a disapproving look about, and frowned distastefully. She allowed her nose to lead her again.

Gamora was standing at a railing, a sea of hopping, bouncing party-goers moshing and bobbing about beneath her. She was by herself. She had a drink in her hand. She was gazing off into the distance – clearly, this was a woman with much on her mind.

Gamora sensed Angela's presence as she approached.

"I thought you hated places like this," Gamora said, shouting to be heard over the music that so irritated Angela. "Are there no ballet performances on in this station, or anything?"

Then came Angela's reply.

Angela's hand found the back of Gamora's neck. Her ribbons reached around her waist. Gamora felt herself being drawn forward, and she did not resist. She closed her eyes, and then Angela's lips were against hers.

Angela could taste traces of the drink that Gamora held in her hand. It contained a good deal of some strange alien fruit.

Angela tasted of mint.

Angela and Gamora kissed, and no one in the club paid them very much attention. The bartenders mixed and dispensed drinks. Enormous, hulking bouncers scanned the place for signs of trouble. The revellers danced and chatted and milled about. The music kept on playing.

Gamora's fingers went around Angela's arm, her blood racing faster and faster at the feel of her biceps in her hand. Angela ran her fingers through Gamora's hair, thrilling at the sensation. Teeth scraped against lips. Noses pushed against one another.

The kiss came to an end. Angela's ribbons remained around Gamora's waist. Gamora's hand remained on Angela's arm. They stood together, gazing into one another's eyes.

"I mean to court you, Lady Gamora," Angela said.

The corner of Gamora's mouth curled upwards in approval.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

"Hey, Gamora," said Rocket. "Hey, Angela."

Gamora and Angela did not hear Rocket. They did not notice that he was there. They carried on down the street, and as they passed, Gamora reached up, and took Angela's face in her hand. She leaned into her, and then, somehow, Angela and Gamora managed to navigate their way through a busy crowd whilst kissing with their eyes closed.

Rocket watched them go. He drooped where he stood, and let out a weary sigh. "Aw, this ain't gonna end well," he said.

"I am Groot."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Angela smashed Gamora into the door of her cabin.

Angela had her hands on Gamora's hips – she was lifting Gamora clean off the ground. It was an unusual feeling, for Gamora to be so vulnerable, so defenceless. Gamora wasn't entirely sure that she liked it...but, she knew she would turn the tables on Angela soon enough...

They were kissing furiously, tongues pushing together, nostrils snorting. Gamora's fingers were roaming through Angela's hair. Her hand was gliding across Angela's back, drifting across her bare skin. Angela's ribbons were wandering hungrily all over Gamora – they were slithering and crawling around her arms and legs, slipping around her ass, wrapping around her neck.

Their lips parted, for a moment. Suddenly remembering her surroundings, Angela gave a glance around. "Are we alone on the ship?" she asked. "Perhaps we should take care that none hear us..."

Gamora peered at Angela with the sort of cold pitilessness that she normally reserved for poor idiots that she was about to dismember and disembowel. "If I wish you to scream," she said, "I will have you scream."

The door was unlocked, and Angela and Gamora tumbled inside.

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Gamora impatiently tore the golden wings from Angela's head, and then threw them on the floor with a clatter.

Angela fiddled with the holsters at Gamora's side, and a pair of guns fell to the ground. Gamora tugged and pulled at the belt around Angela's waist, and then her sword struck the floor with a thump.

Angela began fumbling with Gamora's space armour, searching for some sort of zipper around the neck area. Gamora began fumbling with Angela's chest piece, searching for a clasp or a fastener which would allow her to remove it.

Angela's ribbons crawled ravenously over Gamora's entire body. A thought occurred to Gamora, then: Didn't Angela once tell me that her ribbons were a sentient creature, separate from her? Am I about to have a threesome?

They kissed, and slid their hands over the other's skin, and pressed against one another...and then, for a brief moment, Gamora opened her eyes, and took a glance around the room.

Gamora stopped.

Gamora froze entirely still, and so Angela paused, and looked at her.

Gamora was peering around Angela's cabin in mute, wide-eyed, bewildered horror. Wondering what the matter could be, Angela followed her gaze.

They were being watched.

A gigantic spider, dozens of red eyes filling its great head, was peering inscrutably at them.

A enormous wolf, massive, sharp fangs and a lolling tongue and hungry eyes, was staring at them.

A huge toad-like monster, with yellow, grape-like eyes and bright green skin blotched with poison.

An immense demon much like a bull, cruel black horns twisting and curling from its skull.

A giant snake, thick green scales and a forked tongue and fangs with crystallized venom at their tips.

Gamora's hands fell from Angela. She stood, and looked around the cabin in amazement. The place was filled, from top to bottom, with severed heads, all mounted on wooden plaques. There were heads, hanging on the walls. There were heads, piled on cupboards and tables. There were heads, lying on the floor.

Gamora peered around the room with a sort of appalled, incredulous wonderment. "Did...did you make all these trophies, Angela?" she said.

"Yes," Angela said, with a nod. She was standing next to Gamora, her hair dishevelled, her ribbons impatiently groping through the air. "I suppose I should have warned you that my living area is a little...cramped. I do not have much room to store my trophies, I think you'll understand. When I lived in Heven, my trophy chamber was enormous, but I simply do not have the space, in this universe..."

Gamora looked around. She needed a few more moments for the weirdness of this scene to sink in. Did Angela sleep in her bed, every night, with all these dead monstrosities peering down upon her?

Angela tilted her head, curious. "Is something the matter, Lady Gamora?" she said. "Have I perturbed you?"

Gamora pulled her eyes from the mountains of grisly trophies, and looked back at Angela. There was something oddly innocent about Angela's face.

Gamora peered at Angela in disbelief for a moment...and then she gave her a bright smile. "Why don't we, ummmm..." She jabbed a finger over her shoulder. "Why don't we take this to my place, mmmm?"

The lack of Angela/Gamora fanart on the internet is a DISGRACE.

Also, is it just me, or would Angela and Gamora both utterly despise the name 'Murder Girls'?