Due to suggestions and my own relentless, stupid muse, what was originally intended to be a oneshot has morphed into a two-shot. I'm not even sure what I'm writing, anymore, except that sappy Peter/Gamora fics are going to be the death of me.

Also, somehow all my fics end up with them talking in the cockpit of the Milano. I don't even know.

Enjoy!

It's been approximately one week since Peter woke up, and Gamora is officially losing her mind. Peter, of course, is fine. He still looks like he was shoved through a blender then trampled by Thanos, and he can't get anywhere without crutches- or this ridiculous hop-skip thing he always resorts to that Gamora yells at him for-but other than that he is Peter again, their loud, hyperactive leader who hasn't stopped blasting his music since he was handed it back in the hospital.

Said Xandarian hospital has forever gained Gamora's love. Apart from saving her idiot's life (her idiot?) and putting up with Drax's threatening glares, they also took the care to contact Nova Prime, who not only paid them in full for their work, but covered Peter's hospital bill and their fuel in thanks. Four days later and Peter was released from the hospital, and for all his reaction you would have thought he was a convict spared the life sentence. Or the death row. The point was he was far too excited, and at the rate he is going now he is about to land himself right back in the hospital bed with his antics.

That is part of why Gamora is losing her mind- that despite the obvious color back in his face and his happy expression, Peter still looks horribly fragile, and hopping around the ship-Use your crutches fool!-she is seized by a miniature heart attack every time he stumbles.

The other part is considerably less straightforward and much stickier. She is not entirely sure if Peter remembers their words in the hospital that first night he woke up, drugged as he was. He certainly hasn't treated her any differently- he jokes with her as always, teasing her and conversing with her over the most trivial of things- and that should be a relief. She does well with normal. Normal is how they have been functioning the past few months and it's served them well enough.

Except now she doesn't know if she can do normal. Because now that she has finally let those traitorous words slip out her lips it has become impossibly hard to ignore the glaringly obvious fact that her heart, in fact, meant them. Which is a problem. Because as much as Gamora does not do comforting and weak sappy crying, she does lo- love, even less so.

But her accursed, traitorous heart is apparently trying to inform her differently, because every time she even looks at Peter her chest does this vertigo thing and it feels like she's filled with helium again.

In short, Gamora is still screwed. And three days out on the Milano without so much as a shred of a confrontation with Peter and Gamora is going crazy. It is pathetic and humiliating, that she could be brought this low by simple emotions, but it is her reality now and that is why she is curled up in the cockpit, glaring out at the galaxy and blaming it for all her problems instead of sleeping.

This sucks.

"Gam?"

And seeing as the voice that just spoke has been the bane of her existence for the past week, this night just got a whole lot suckier.

She spins the pilot's seat around to see him just hauling himself up the last rung of the ladder, skip-hopping himself into the seat next to her. She doesn't know whether to laugh at how stupid he looked hopping, yell at him for not using crutches, or break down and shove a knife to his throat and demand answers. So she goes with the only thing she can strangle out.

"What did you just call me?"

"Gam," he replies, that idiotic half-grin on his face again. "It's a nickname, y'know? Like Gams. Or Mora. Got a preference?"

It's a testament to how much their friendship (why is the word friend coming to grate so when it comes to him) has progressed in the past months that she does not even hesitate to quip back.

"Well if I am to be called Gam, I suppose this means I can call you Pete?"

The look of disgusted horror on his face is so hilarious she almost breaks her deadpan façade to burst out laughing.

"Ew, no. God no, why would you even-no. My name sucks for nicknames. Just call me Star-lord or something."

"That hardly seems fair," she smirks. "At least shorten it to Star?"

"What? Now I just sound like a girl."

"With that shriek of yours, you could fool some people."

"You're hilarious. And I do not shriek."

"Thank you, I take pride in it. And yes, you do."

"I do not!" he protests indignantly, and Gamora laughs at the childishness of it.

Though considering her reply is "You do too", she is apparently as bad as he is now. That or she just loses all her warrior's composure with him. Oh wait, that's already happened.

"Whatever, I've never shrieked in my life," he mutters, pouting. "It's a very manly yell of terror."

"Sure, Pete."

Peter throws one of troll dolls decorating the console at her with an indignant "Hey!" then winces as the movement pull s at one of his many half-healed injuries, leaning back in the seat, arms and legs instinctually curling up against the pain.

She has to brutally murder the urge to jump up and hug him until his face stops looking like that.

Brutally murder.

She settles on a far-too concerned "Are you alright?"

"I'm fantastic," he says, flashing her a smile as the pain fades from his face. "The real question here is why aren't you catching up on your beauty sleep?"

"I do not need sleep to give me beauty," she says, affronted.

"Aw,no-it's just an expression," Peter sighs. "I'm just asking why you're awake."

"Ah," she says. She considers her options-lie, and continue to go insane; tell him the truth, and end up utterly humiliated (she can't think about the other option on that one); or bust open the front window and let the cold vacuum of space take care of all her problems for her.

She'd happily go with option three, but that would result in Peter's death as well, and that has already proved not to be a viable option for her. In any world. Ever.

So she just stares at him. He stares back.

It is profoundly awkward.

He gives her a questioning look.

"Uhhhhhhhh…" she needs to come out with it. She needs to get answers. She will never rest until she does.

So why is this terrifying her more than the thought of throwing herself off a building would?

Peter sighs. "Gamora-"

"I like being friends with you." He looks startled at her outburst. She probably does, too. She's not even sure where she's going with this but she plows on.

"I really, really like being friends with you. I have never had a best friend- so having you as one is- it is…great."

Peter smiles softly."Hey, you know I like being friends with you to-"she puts a finger to his mouth, desperately continuing before she loses her nerve.

"And I like talking with you, and making stupid jokes with you, and listening to your obnoxious music while you try to get me to dance and I just like being comfortable with you. I like being friends with you. And I do not…"she swallows. "I do not want to lose that. Ever."

"Gamora," Peter says, looking concerned. "You seriously don't have to- to worry about that, I'm not just gonna stop being friends with you-"

"But I don't know how to continue doing this, Peter!" she nearly yells at him in exasperation, the only thing quieting her tone the present knowledge of the rest of the team sleeping below. "I just- you just- at the hospital- I know you do not remember, Peter, but it was horrible, it was awful, and then you woke up and I was so happy that it scared me and then we talked but you do not remember which is good because I do not want to lose our friendship but I have no idea how to function now because-because stars I just hate you-"

And then her humiliating rambling is cut off by Peter's lips on hers and the entire universe grinds to a halt.

Her mind is frozen but her lips are moving (why are you moving like that you rebellious little traitors) and her chest had exploded into a thousand pieces and left the galaxy but it doesn't matter because she can't remember ever feeling this warm before.

Damn it all, she loves every second of it.

They break apart (her heart giving a traitorous little whine) and Peter brushes the hair out of her face, tilting her chin up so their eyes meet.

"Believe it or not, I do happen to remember everything we said in the hospital," he says, deadly serious and eyes far too intense for her heart rate. "And I meant it."

She stares at him, her insides no longer existent, brain stuck like Peter's music player does some times, repeating his words over and over again. There are a million replies she could say to that. What she goes with is considerably less smooth than she wanted.

"Then why the hell didn't you say anything?!" she practically shrieks in his face. Peter jumps back in shock, then dissolves into laughter while simultaneously trying to hush her.

"I'm sorry. I'm-shh, you'll wake the others-I'm sorry. I honestly thought-" he looks sheepish, now. "I should have said something, I'm sorry. I just thought, maybe…with the whole near-death thing you'd kinda just been worried, so it was just a- a post-adrenaline relief thing, not…" he ducks his head. "I wasn't sure if you still…meant it."

She stares at him for a minute. Then, voice drowning in incredulity,

"You are an idiot."

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry," And in his defense, he really does look sorry. "I'm just not-good, at relationships. Yeah. I actually suck at them, really."

Relationships?! Well, she supposes, that is what they are steering dangerously close towards now. He is certainly not the only one out of his depth- she can be deadly and calm and icy cold, and hell, she can even do casual friendships, as she's proved in the last month, but a relationship is a different story entirely.

Why-what, ever in the universe possessed her to fall in love with Peter Quill.

"But hey," he says, looking at her determinedly. "We can still do all the stuff we do as friends- heck, we cans still be best friends- and be in a relationship, too, y'know?

"I…guess?" She answers uncertainly.

"I mean, hell, it's our relationship, we can do whatever we want with it!" he says, growing far too excited for the subject they are discussing. In Gamora's opinion, anyways. "We can still do all the normal stuff, just, like, throw kissing and stuff in there."

"I can do kissing," she says, her lips still tingling from Peter's kiss earlier.

"Yeah," he says, grinning. "That was pretty awesome-"

"But you have to make some changes," she cuts him off, regaining her hand in the situation. "You are not going to make eyes at every female we pass anymore."

"I don't-what are you talking about!" he sputters, flushing. "I would have that one would be obvious!"

"And you cannot obnoxiously announce that we are 'a thing', as you put it," she continues. "You will continue to treat me like the terrifying assassin I am, which means respect."

"I do respect you," Peter pouts as Gamora smirks. This is becoming almost…fun.

Oh she is so screwed.

"And you have to clean your ship."

"What?! What does that even have to do with our relationship?!"

"And finally," she continues, ignoring his sputtering. "You must make me those chocolate-chip waffles you talk so much about."

"Now that one, I can do," he grins. "But here are my terms."

"You do not get terms-"

"Calm down, I've only got like, two."

She huffs at him, but nods for him to continue.

"First off, you have to watch Footloose with me."

"Fair enough," Gamora agrees. She's been wanting to see that anyways.

"And second…." She braces herself. "You have to dance with me."

Gamora stares at him incredulously. Peter just keeps smiling. Far, far too big a smile.

"Alright," she finally says resignedly. She does her best to keep a put-out look on her face, but in all honesty, it isn't that bad. Dancing looks…well, fun, to be honest.

It's just not exactly number one on an assassin- warrior's list of things to do.

But then again, neither is engaging in relationships with moronic fools who have horribly endearing smiles.

One of which he is wearing right now, looking stupidly happy at her answer.

"Alright!" he says enthusiastically. "Let's go now!"

"Wait-what-" she has no time to reply before he pulls her out of the chair and towards the ladder. Except he has, once again, forgotten that one of his legs is currently immobilized in a cast, so he goes down with a yelp and she falls on top of him with a shriek, and they both flop gracelessly on the floor of the cockpit.

"You idiot!" she cries, smacking his chest from where she is laying atop him.

"Ow, ow, ow, definitely not my best move there," Peter moans from beneath her.

"Well whaddya know, morons finally got it figured out."

Gamora's blood freezes in horror and she turns her head towards the ladder slowly. Then groans. It is just as she feared- Rocket, Drax, and even Groot are all squashed haphazardly on the ladder, watching them.

She feels it should be illegal for someone to smirk like that.

"Oh haha, hey guys," Peter's voice comes muffled from beneath her arm.

"Rocket…" she hisses.

"Do not mind us," Drax says amusedly.

"Yeah, just get back to…whatever you were doing," Rocket says, eyeing them both. Gamora has the growing urge to stab herself in the head.

Peter, on the other hand, seems far too nonchalant about the whole thing.

"Wanna watch Footloose with us?"

"That odd Terran movie you prattle on about?" Drax asks.

"Ah, it's not like we're gonna get any sleep anyways."

"I am Groot."

"Okay!" Peter says cheerfully. "To my room!"

"Why your room?"

" 'Cause that's where the movie is, morrrrrron."

"Fine. Just as long as you two don't go getting all kissy-face on us."

Gamora chokes. Peter just smirks.

"You never know, Rocket! That right, Gam?"

He gains another bruise on his arm for that one, but as they lie sprawled in front of the video screen, Kevin Bacon flipping his hair dramatically and Peter's hand intertwined lightly in hers, she decides that maybe she can do this relationship thing.

She's going to need those chocolate-chip waffles, though.

And she's definitely calling him Pete.