A/N: hello everyone! ArcelSkye here with my first GotG fanfic! Just in case anybody is wondering, this story will contain Starmora. Just thought I would let you know. But Starmora won't be the main focus, but it will be important to the plot. Also, I apologize in advance for any OOC-ness, I've only seen the movie twice at this point and it's a bit hard to fully grasp their personalities. This also contains an OC.

without further delay, here's chapter 1!

"I do not take kindly to failure, Gamora."

Gamora, who was kneeling on the cold stone behind Thanos' throne, flinched slightly.

"I- I'm sorry..." she said, her head hung in shame. "I'm sorry I failed you, Father..." tears threatened to fall, but she dared not allow them to fall. That would be a sign of weakness. A weakness she was not allowed to show.

"Whether or not you feel sorry is of no concern of mine. Child, your failure has caused me to waste valuable resources to clean up your mess. The very fact that I haven't killed you yet is a great mercy in and of itself." Thanos' cold tone cut her like steel.

Her head whipped up. "Thank you-"

"Stay your tongue, child. I am not finished. While I have decided to spare your life, it seems necessary for certain... modifications to be made."

"M-modifications...?" Gamora's eyes went wide. What sort of modifications was he talking about?

Thanos' throne finally turned to face her. "Heed me, Gamora, last of the Zehoberi, I will craft you into the deadliest woman the galaxy has ever seen. To that end, I will recreate you... from the inside out."

Thanos raised his right hand, four spheres of green light manifesting out of nowhere, encircling Gamora. She was lifted to her feet, and she was unable to move.

"W-what is this? What are you going to do to me?!"

Thanos only smiled, but there was no humor in it, only a sadistic cruelty.

"Aroreus, come forth," Thanos commanded.

A shadow materialized, and from it, a man. He was tall, and he looked to be quite a bit older than Gamora, at least in his mid-twenties by human standards. He looked human too, aside from his ash grey skin and crimson red eyes. Feathered black wings portruded from his back, folded neatly. A sword hung at his waist, a ruby gem situated on the hilt of what appeared to be an obsidian black blade.

"You called for me, Father?" The man named Aroreus asked. He bore no resemblance to Thanos, leading Gamora to assume he was another "adopted" child like her.

Where he was from, she couldn't tell. He didn't look like any species she'd ever seen before.

"Yes... Aroreus, I'd like you to meet the newest addition to the family." He gestured at the green skinned young girl, "Gamora."

Aroreus' ruby eyes examined her. "She's a Zehoberi. And a young one at that. Were there none other more suited for your plan, Father?"

"No, as she is the last of her race. I killed the rest."

Aside from the slight lift of his eyebrows, Aroreus did not seemed surprised by the information. It wasn't the first time Thanos had done so, and it wouldn't be the last.

Aroreus took one last look at Gamora before returning his attention to Thanos. "What would you have me do?"

Thanos smiled again. "Reconstuct her."

Aroreus looked taken aback. "Reconstruction? She's too young, she wouldn't survive the process, and if she does, then the after effects will-"

"Do not defy me, boy." Thanos said, a warning note in his tone.

"Father, please reconsider! She could die!"

A shiver went down Gamora's spine. Was this 'reconstruction' really so dangerous?

"Aroreus Starstream, need I remind you that I am the one who saved your life, when you should've died on your collapsing home world? Am I not the one who has been your benefactor for almost two decades?"

Aroreus bowed his head. "You are, Father..."

Then do not question me again. That is, if you value your life."

Aroreus knelt down. "Yes. I will do as you command, Father."

Thanos leaned back in his throne. "Good. Now begin the reconstruction process. Immediatly."

Aroreus got to his feet and gave a small bow. He then turned to Gamora. He reached his hand towards her. "I won't ask you to forgive me," he said, voice thick. "I have no choice."

His fingers lightly touched her forhead, and suddenly her eyes fely heavy. "Please don't hurt me..." she whispered.

"I'm sorry..." his voice faded to nothing.

First, there was darkness.

Then there was pain.

Gamora bolted upright, her body drenched in sweat. She cast her eyes about her surroundings, her thoughts in a frenzy. She was surrounded by the familiar setting of the Milano's bridge. She was sitting in the passenger's chair, the one opposite the pilot's seat. Slowly, she began to calm down. She wasn't back at that place. She was here. She was safe.

"Gamora?"

She glanced up to see Peter, concern written all over his face.

"What is it?" She asked.

He stared at her, an emotion she couldn't place in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

She gathered her composure. "I am fine, Peter. I apologize for worrying you."

The look on his face meant he didn't believe she was okay. She wasn't sure if she believed it either.

"Mora..." she started at his nickname for her, the one he rarely used.

She searched his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Peter started to touch her face, but thought better of it. "You were crying," his voice was barely a whisper.

Her hand touched her cheek. She felt the remnants of tears streaking her face.

She quickly wiped them away.

"Were you having a bad dream?" He asked softly.

Gamora didn't meet his gaze as she spoke. "A nightmare. I've had them for as long as I can remember."

She looked at him again, a fake smile plastered upon her face. "Sorry for waking you. I'm fine now, really."

She was far from fine. That wasn't just a nightmare. It was...

A memory.

Peter sighed. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head. "No, but thank you."

He looked unconvinced, but didn't pursue the matter further. Instead, he sank into the pilot's chair. He was silent, his gaze fixated on the cieling. He seemed to be lost in thought, but of what she couldn't tell.

Neither of them spoke. Though she wouldn't openly admit it, just having Peter around was enough to soothe her nerves. It was a feeling she couldn't accurately describe; still, she felt content. Happy, even. It had been quite some time since she had felt happy, or felt that she belonged.

And that, despite her past, was enough.

There was nothing remotely interesting about staring at the cieling. But, well, Peter was too afraid to look at Gamora just yet. Seeing her so vulnerable had left an uneasy feeling within him.

She was strong. Overwhelmingly strong. It awed him just how much she was able to suffer and endure and still survive.

But now, he realized that there was also a part of her that was shattered mentally. She seemed to be at the edge of her breaking point, it was as if she could break at any moment. However, he knew that she wouldn't. After all, she was Gamora, the deadliest woman in the galaxy. It would take more than nightmares and a tragic past to break a seasoned warrior like her.

But if it did happen someday...

No.

Peter would never allow that to happen. Not to anyone, especially not her. She was his friend. More than that, she was someone whose exisence had become very important to him. He would not allow her to fall into darkness. He feared that if that were to happen, then he would as well.

It would be a fate worse than death.

No matter the cost, he wouldn't allow her to face anymore hardships than she already had.

Not alone.

Peter almost laughed. Since when did he think like that? Maybe it was because now he finally had something to protect. And not just Gamora. He would protect them all. Drax, Rocket, Groot... Gamora, he would protect them. Even if it meant sacrificing himself for their sake.

Suddenly, the ships communicator buzzed. Peter started at the sound; he was so entranced by his own thoughts that he was taken off guard.

He leaned up, looking at the display panel. It was a private channel.

"Who in the world..." he muttered.

He swipped at the panel to answer. A video feed appeared before him and Gamora, who was still seated in the chair next to him.

The image of a man (who appeared to be around Peter's age, if not older) occupied the screen. He had raven-black hair that descended to his shoulders and fell into his eyes.

His blood red eyes.

Gamora drew in a sharp breath.

Peter only had a brief moment to cast a confused glance her way before the man spoke. He said:

"Hello, little sister."