(Sure he had cried, but crying didn't mean love.)

It's strange, she thinks, in the held seconds as she falls further from the edge and closer to the end, she's never seen her father — no, not her father — cry before. But it's there. A single drop of salted water staining his cheek. Clear and...hmm. It's strange.

Or maybe it's not. After all, Thanos has the reality stone so maybe he can simply will himself love her. She's not quite sure how it works, to be perfectly honest.

I don't belong to you. Not anymore.

I'm sorry, she tries to whisper but it doesn't quite reach past her throat to her lips. For her team, her love, her sister, her entire fucking universe.

But Thanos has tears to shed, and Gamora has to die.

The old stone thuds cold and hard against her bones, her lungs hollow and cave, there is a merciful split second of sour pain, and everything blinks out.

Okay.

It's okay.

It's okay.

Relax, it hums lowly. Just relax.

He doesn't love me, and she tries to scream. HE DOESN'T LOVE ME HE DOESN'T LOVE ME HE DOESN'T LOVE ME—

This isn't love.

Shhhhhh…

Stop fighting us.

It doesn't have to be love to be a sacrifice. Just a loss.

She would laugh, if she could, and something silent rings numbly out of her. A loss, not love then.

Okay.

Gamora opens her eyes, breathes. No air rushes in, though. The stone is in Thanos's hand, resting peacefully in his palm, gleaming. A sort of reddish-orange. Pretty enough to be part of a necklace, or a crown, maybe a ring, she thinks shallowly. Or even a gauntlet.

A soul for a soul, right? the Stone whispers, and Gamora tries to snarl.

Relax, it says again. We'll take care of you.

She's not sure who we is and she doesn't want to find out, but it's not as though she has a choice.

Who's we? she asks. It feels as though she is teetering on the edge of something, drifting between phases. But she's already dead.

Surprisingly, of all the things, the Stone smiles. Somehow. She's not sure how that works either.

Thanos holds the Stone, impossibly powerful and impossibly small, between his thumb and finger. He could crush it.

She wishes he would.

But he doesn't.

He drops it into its place on the Gauntlet impossibly gently for the Mad Titan, as though it is his own child. Carefully, caringly, lovingly.

(Well, not like his own child, because he treats his children like he would a stone, forging them, chipping away at them, carving them; and the stone he holds with reverence and tender.)

No, she thinks, though timidly because it's already too late. No please don't, please don't, please don't — please!

How many times has she said heard that, as a child. Not from her own lips, no never hers (because it was always "Yes, Father"), but from her sister's. Screaming, screaming, screaming and sometimes just quiet, desperate resigned pleading. Like a prayer.

Gamora can't quite remember which was worse.

Don't think about that. It makes you unhappy.

Being dead makes me unhappy too, she replies a more than little disgruntled.

The Stone smiles again. Precisely.

She tries to ignore it.

Thanos stands up, looking around and over the horizon of the universe. Clenches his fists. He looks so big, so small, so strong and weak all at once. When do children first see their fathers as old? In just this moment, Gamore thinks that he might topple and believes it.

There's a girl she recognises, with grass green skin and scarlet hair curled in messy mounds on her head, and she looks up. The Titan looks down, and offers her his hand.

The girl takes it — she has to.

Gamora tries not to look.

Are you coming? asks the Stone, as though there is a choice.

How? she replies. Aren't I supposed to be dead?

Because she can still feel, her thoughts still have words and anger, though they are dulled a little. She still has her mind.

Hmm, but that's not the important part. Not the mind.

The stone is probably biased, anyway.

She gets tugged along. Into the vortex. Through Power, Space and Reality. Only two left.

Come on.

And Thanos steps through into a familiar place: Titan. Peter and their guardians and her sister are there, along with some more of Peter's species. One who is just a boy, a man of armour, and a magician.

She spots the Stone on his chest as it calls to her — to them. The green connection singing in harmony.

It's just there. Just hanging on a chain around his neck.

What are you doing? she asks, looking around. Even though she already knows where she is. Knows it like the back of her palm and the stars in the sky and the route of the map leading to the Soul Stone.

Looking, it replies. And she can feel it searching.

[Father steps out, no gauntlet on his hand but his eyes still gleaming with that cruel madness. She shivers. He's holding a hand of a child, and Gamora almost doesn't recognise her.

Today was the first day she'd witnessed Thanos adopt his second child. It had been cold, she remembers, and feels it. She is not the first child, or even daughter of Thanos, but he calls her his favourite, though she does not understand why.

Balanced, is all he says, she is balanced.

She does not recognise from what race the boy comes from, but he holds Thanos's hand and that's all that matters. Is he also balanced? she thinks.

"Gamora," says Thanos, greeting her. He strokes her cheek with a finger softly. "This child doesn't have a name. Would you care to name him?"

She would not care, if she is being honest. And though Thanos does not tell her to lie, she knows what he wishes her to say. Gamora nods.

"Yes, Father," she says.

They are passing by dimmer star system, where the most notable world is Terra which is not notable at all. But Gamora doesn't mind it. She looks at the boy, gives him a quick assessment. Flighty, she thinks, sharp. There is a glaive in his hand, sharp and glinting dully in the light, scrappily made but effective enough.

Because Gamora is only a child, and she does not care so much, her eyes dart out to the brightest constellation and to his flighty eyes and to the silver in his hand.

"Corvus Glaive," she says, to the now-named child. Two words, six letters in each, three syllables, two threes are six. Nice and even and balanced. And her eyes flicker up to her father for approval. He smiles, teeth showing.

He pats her head gently. "Get along, now. You are siblings."

"Yes, Father," says Gamora.

And Corvus Glaive does not say anything, but he nods, and Gamora frowns. Father smiles again.

"Come along Corvus Glaive, there is much to learn."]

Why are you showing me this? asks Gamora, and it hums.

Why are you showing us this? it returns, and it does not even sound mocking. Gamora wonders if Infinity Stones even can mock.

Perhaps they can. If any could, it would be the Soul Stone.

They come so close, so close, those humans and her Guardians. She can feel Mantis, who she has never let touch her, shouting. Sleep! Yes, SLEEP! A forceful wave of smoke and fog and haze, and they are so close to going under. For once, Gamora doesn't fight it. And she feels the burning, tight stretch as they try to rip the Gauntlet off him. The Stones scream and it hurts.

Yes! she thinks, though, even as her ears bleed and she feels his soul trembling. Sleep!

And it was her Peter's plan. Her clever, brave Peter, and she loves him so much.

He should have killed her first.

It almost works but it doesn't. He is too angry, they are too angry, and she can hear him crying, his soul wailing. And suddenly she sees him as a boy and his voice crying out in the darkness: "Why does everyone have to leave?"

She knows what he means.

Her sister stands ways behind him, metal fists tense, snarl held on her lips and she is trembling. Because she stands before their father, and for all they are not his children, they are still his.

They fight well, even as Thanos wields four — three, insists the Soul Stone — Infinity Stones. But in the end, they have what Thanos does not, and it overcomes them. Sentiment. He has the human's head in his hands, to be crushed, and the magician wavers. The green stone flickers.

Like Gamora, like the little prince whose essence still hums in tune with the Space Stone, he is overruled by his sentiment.

"Wait," croaks Strange, and for a second there she thinks he sees her, gazes directly at her. It's the only way, apparently.

It's the only way? whispers the Stone.

And the Time Stone joins it's siblings. And yes, it's the only way. 14 million, six hundred and five possibilities and only one outcome where —

Where what?

Where we win, Gamora realises and, oh. Oh. It's all hopeless isn't it?

But the Stones don't care yet. They don't have their mind, yet, to care. (But they have all the time in the universe, now.)

["Gamora," says Father, smiling down at her, "this is Nebula. She's your new sister. Take care of her, she has a lot to learn."

The child (because she looks so very young to Gamora who feels grown at only ten) is a mottling of deep blues and purples, and eyes which are as dark as the endless Void. Luphomoid, she recognises, because she helped Father to erase them (not half, all. Nebula is the last of her kind.)

"Yes, Father." replies Gamora dutifully.

Father turns to Nebula, placing a big purple hand on her tiny quivering shoulders. Weak. "Pay attention to your sister, Nebula. For she is my most favoured daughter."

And Nebula's eyes dart briefly to Gamora's face warily, but her eyes are soft. "Yes, Father," she imitates, but Gamora sees her wince when Father's grip on her tightens. And Father sighs, disappointed. (Gamora never winces.)

When Gamora shows her to her quarters, Nebula smiles and asks questions and says goodbye, and even tries to hold her hand. She's practically a baby, Gamora thinks, in her superiority. And it's strange to see someone so different. But the girl is still little, and it can be fixed, and they can probably start repairs today before dinner.

(Gamora's never had to be repaired.)

She has more energy than Gamora expects from her after dinner, gets back up on her feet quickly. Is able to snarl and scream and giggle all in the same breath—it's almost dizzying. But then again, she was chosen by their father, so she has to be something.

She loses, of course, Gamora's sister that is — Gamora never loses — her left foot placed too far behind and making her stumble.

Father gives a short sigh of displeasure but smiles patiently down at them. There's nothing else for it.

Nebula must be fixed.

She must become balanced.

Gamora listens to the wailing of that little girl, her new sister, as it echoes down the winding hallways and through her walls as though Father purposely means to project it, which he may well have. Nothing happens here without purpose, after all. Gurgling whines and harsh choked sobs, stuttering and pleading.

Gamora closes her eyes and reminds herself that the sounds are just proof. Proof of her, that she is Father's favourite, that she is balanced, that she is his balance.

And here, listening to her sister being broken apart and reassembled…

Here, that can only be a good thing.]

["Sister," says Nebula, eyes brittle and harsh, a tightly contained fury. "Welcome back. Heard you failed."

But Gamora still has the name Vormir on her lips, and lingering traces of ash on her fingertips, from a map burnt down and sprinkled into the Void and burnt into her memory. Sloppy, she knows, but it's hard to concentrate when her fear makes her lungs freeze.

After all, Father has never taught them to lie.

But somehow Gamora still has her pride (stupid, stupid, stupid) and replies, "When have I ever failed a mission?"

Nebula's eyes narrow.

It's hard to get a read on her sister, so most of the time Gamora does not bother — she cannot afford to waste the energy — but there's a glint in her eyes, of wonder at the very thought of lying to their father. Like all children are eager to disobey their parents, she supposes.

"What do you mean?" asks her sister, as though she does not understand. But she does, because despite all her failings Nebula is still very clever. Resourceful.

Nebula, she knows, is a survivor. Like Gamora herself, but not at the same time. Both the lasts of their kinds. But Gamora has balance, and Nebula is twisting and ragged and scrappy and wretched and only a quarter of her body is her own flesh (even half would be better, for it would at least be equal.)

"Listen to me," and she does not trust her sister (does not trust anybody) and this is important and she cannot tell anybody, least of all her siblings. But the words are bursting on her tongue and she has to get them out. Selfish, selfish, selfish. "I didn't fail the mission." I never fail my missions, she wants to snarl.

"You— "

"Lied. Yeah, I know. I found the map to the Stone and then I burnt it!"

"Gamora why— Father will kill you when he finds out! Or… or—"

"Father is not going to find out. Father can never find out. You know what he would do if he got the Stone!"

And Nebula pauses, and seems to think. Because yeah, her sister knows the reckoning that would be caused if Thanos got the Stone; has experienced a fraction of it herself and both of them still remember, even if it seems like lifetimes ago (and it was; many, many, too many lifetimes.)

"You can't tell him anything, got it?" she says, and allows her tone to slip in the threat.

"I know," Nebula replies, scowling. "I won't."]

Gamora is pretty sure the Stone is laughing at her.

[Gamora takes another pace forward and aims a strike at her sister's right side, stupidly left open. Nebula dodges but has to step back, going on the defense, whilst Gamora is safely on offense.

She is getting better, her sister, but she will never beat Gamora.

She sees Nebula feint and try for a kick at her ankles but Gamora is the best and three and a half seconds later Nebula is under her, her neck trapped in a choke hold.

Yield, Gamora thinks furiously, her hold getting ever tighter. Yield!

But Nebula does not. Struggling, flailing desperately, helplessly, pathetically. She looks like an animal caught in a snare, and briefly, Gamora feels a hint on pity for her.

But survival is stronger than pity and Gamora lets her nails dig into her throat — still flesh and skin, for now — and she can feel Nebula's heart beating in her chest.

From his throne above them, Thanos looks on, face impassive and unreadable. But the outcome is the same every time he pits them against each other; she wonders if it is disappointing. Or if he would be more disappointed with the other option.

Or maybe he doesn't care anymore, now that he knows what will happen. Just a way to pass the time, a necessary boredom lest they suffer from a lack of practice.

But then Nebula stops. Goes limp. And for a second, Gamora thinks she might have actually done it. But her sister's chest is still thudding beneath her weight and Nebula slaps the ground thrice to signify her defeat.

Gamora gets to her feet quickly and holds out a hand to offer her sister. A victor's gesture, she knows. Mocking, even when sincere.

Nebula glares sharply at it and stumbles to her feet herself, touching her throat with one hand, and then both, as though she will never feel it again.

Which may well be, most likely.

Her fingers are shivering and her posture is hunched and drawn tightly in, her eyes not leaving the floor because she dare not raise her faze to meet the eyes of their father. It's a look Gamora has seen many a time before and will so again.

She, however, raises her chin and meets her eyes to her father's, confident even as she bows at his feet.

"Well done, Gamora. You win again," says Father, in a tone Gamora thinks might be amusement, but she doesn't know for sure.

"Thank you, Father," she replies, straightening.

Beside her, Nebula is still breathing heavily, and favouring her left leg, bowed low — too low.

"Nebula, stand up properly," Father instructs her, "Congratulate your sister. Don't you think she fought well?"

It takes a few moments for her sister's breathing to even out, as she stands upright, forced and painful to watch, even out of the corner of her eyes. And metallic clicks of iron plates shifting within her and gears turning.

Nebula strokes her neck again and coughs.

"Well done, Gamora," says Nebula.]

The last stone, the Mind, is here, somewhere, amongst the long grassy fields and pastures, and the gnarly, tall, brightly coloured trees and flowers and fruits.

Gamora has been on Terra once, when she was still a child (in age only, though, not experience), tagging along behind her sister Proxima Midnight, but it had been a rather unremarkable mission, like many others, because Thanos was not so picky with his sacrifices then, all death was the same. Half the universe all at random.

The irony isn't lost on her, though, that sacrifices cannot simply be random, it must be a loss, and Thanos has had to lose in order to win.

Anyway, it's been a long while since Gamora has seen Terra, and she can't remember much of it. Terra is weird, besides — so many different climates and extremes cohabiting such a small planet, the kind of chaotic balance that Thanos would either love or hate.

There are so many souls here, she can feel, see from her amber coloured window. Bright and strong and she can feel herself thrumming with them. Red and bright and hot. The anger is almost delicious.

And there are greys and blues, fear and pain. Thick fog of overwhelming, maddening sadness.

There is a people, armies and soldiers and heroes and generals and mothers and sons. Fathers and daughters. A symphony of souls and it's all so, so, loud.

They must have been great, Gamora thinks, before he got to them, because their hearts still sing of love and pride, even when they know it is their final stand.

And it will be.

Thanos is unstoppable and he lacks only one last Stone for his gauntlet.

Eventually, the Witch screams, and the Stones…

They sing.

Thanos snaps his fingers, and Gamora feels half the souls in the universe pass through her and into ash.

It's over, says the Stone. We've won.

No, replies Gamora, and she's so, so tired. He's won. Not us.

["Gamora," says her mother gently, but she's tugging on Gamora's hand so harshly. "Come here."

The place her mother is leading her to is the kitchen cupboard, big enough for Gamora, small as she is, but not enough for both her and her mother. But Gamora knows she has to hide, and she does not have a choice.

Beneath her the ground shakes. Gamora is young, and she doesn't know much about what is happening, but she isn't stupid. Outside she can hear the distant screams of her neighbours, and the bang of heavy artillery, and all the chaos outside the walls.

"You hide with me too," she insists, tugging back on her mother's wrist, even though she knows that her mother will not fit because they do not live in a big house and the cupboards in their kitchen are all too small.

Her mother curls an arm around her and hugs her close to her chest. Idly, Gamora wonders where her father is, the last time that she had seen him being when he went off to the market. Her mother holds her tight, shaking just a little, and Gamora breaths her in because her mother smells like home and comfort and that is what she so desperately needs right now. She is only a child, after all.

"You have to be brave, Gamora," she whispers into her hair. "Be quiet and brave and then live."

Mother holds her as though this might be the last time.

And then Gamora finds herself being all but lifted into the cupboard, the one under the sink, and Gamora closes her eyes as her mother kisses her face all over. And when she opens her eyes they sting and she is crying, and she doesn't quite know why but there is something.

"I love you so much, my daughter," her mother says, and she can tell she is trying not to cry as well. Gamora wouldn't mind it. Her mother is beautiful, as father says all the time, always, even when she cries, though especially when she smiles. "I love you forever, never forget."

"You hide, too," she says again. "I love you, too."

Mother nods, slowly and says that she will, but Gamora is young, not stupid.

The door shuts firmly, with a short screech because the hinges are a little stiff and it is dark. Gamora tries not to tremble.

"Keep quiet, and don't come out," she hears mother say through the door, and she might have said something else but Gamora doesn't hear it.]

Is this better? asks the Stone.

[They are sitting at the controls, just the two of them, staring out into the vastness of space.

They've got that old set of headphones between them, listening to Peter's stupid Terran music. Peter is perhaps the dumbest fucker she's ever met — with the exception of maybe everyone else on their goddamn ship — and she's so incredibly lucky to have him. He's dancing in his seat a little, bobbing his head up and down to the rhythms, and Gamora feels herself content, more or less, to just watch him, a smile finding its way to her face before she even knows it's there.

His right hand comes down to take her left and he pulls them up, both their other hands still holding the headphones between them. Yeah, they should really invest in speakers or something.

"Really?" she says, quirking her eyebrow up at him, even though they both know she's enjoying this as much as he is.

"What?" he returns, starting to sway his hips a bit now in a way that she's sure looks even stupider.

Gamora rolls her eyes, "It's not even the right song."

And it's not, because she could hum their song in her sleep by now, probably.

He grins and shakes his head, releasing his hold on the headphones briefly to twirl her.

"So? It doesn't have to be the right song, you know? Just has to be us."

And it's so goddamn stupid and dumb and cheesy and perfect, and she elbows him in the side as she spins again.

"Idiot," is all she says. I love you.

Peter smiles, eyes bright, somehow, still, in this big fucked up universe of theirs. "I know."]

[Its unthinking now, years of hard earned muscle memory taking over, driving her faster and faster, and never faltering.

There is movement to her left and a blade slices through the air before she even realises she's thrown it, and then another, and she's still on her toes with the soldier in front of her. Another quick strike, this time to the throat and dead.

Her pulse is thrumming in her ears, pushing her onwards. Twist left. Two strikes. Duck under. Kick and strike. Stab. One pace back. Elbow to the jaw. Cut clean through.

She can hear the commands as they are, rhythmical, like a choreographer for a dance, but the voice is her father's still, the same as it was when she was a child decapitating her first kill, and now when she's taking out a hive of Broods because the universe is still a bitch.

Baby Groot is tucked into her hair, though, yelling encouragements and silly, high-pitched little sound effects, and she can hear the rest of her team swearing back and forth at each other caught up in the adrenaline.

And it might just be enough, she thinks, to block him out. They're certainly loud enough.]

This is my family, she wants to growl at the Stone. THIS. Not Thanos, not him. Never him.

The Stone says nothing.

[Nebula is cold against her skin and it's a brittle reminder of, well, just about everything.

Her sister tenses under her touch as Gamora embraces her, trying to soak in, as much as she can, everything they've shared. Everything they've lost. Every ugly, brutal, vicious thing they have gained. Together. Because that is them. That is all of Thanos' children.

It's an ironic title, Child of Thanos, because they never have been his children. Not just in the way that calling Thanos Father makes Gamora want to tear a hole in the ship and get sucked into the Void, but also that… none of them remained children when Thanos first claimed them. Not even little Nebula who had still tried to smile after seeing her species erased, or Corvus Glaive who had not yet been named and was still shaky on his feet, not Proxima and how she sometimes hummed to herself, or Scull Obsidian who liked to play with his food before eating, or anyone.

Certainly not Gamora who was balanced.

Slowly, cautiously, carefully, Nebula leans into her, with none of the feral wildness she usually exudes. Just… gentle. Soft. Just like the sister who had tried to hold her hand from before. One side of Nebula leans heavier than the other, unbalanced. There's the soft mechanical click and whirring of gears and metal plates as she brings her new arms up to rest on Gamora's back, hesitant too.

It's quiet around them, which is rare. Silence is rare, but she welcomes the noise nowadays because it's happier. It's either music or laughter or Rocket and Peter cursing each other into oblivion. It's good. It's better than what it used to be, back on Sanctuary (a stupid, dumb, empty name for that place) where it was never truly quiet because the quiet, when it was there, was deliberate. Was not actually quiet but a punishment. Or a secret. Or a test. It made you hold your breath and start counting down. Was just as bad as hearing the screams.

Right now, the air is still. The light is warm. The ground feels as steady as it can in the vacuum of space. It's quiet around them.

Both sisters sigh. ]

Oh, says Gamora. I see.

Do you? asks the Stone, testing her.

Because Thanos snaps his fingers.

And Gamora feels them, half the souls of the whole universe crumble and pass through her. And she catches them. And the spaces they occupy, and their realities and their power and minds and their time — for the Soul Stone is special and commands the others.

The Space Stone glows bright, and Gamora feels their essence of that little prince weaved in, still fighting, always fighting that one, because they don't know how to stop, always running and hiding and now they have all the space in the universe to do so. Stop, says Gamora, give in. Because giving in is not the same as giving up.

The Time Stone thrums, abuzz, the doctor's impatience showing through, wanting to speed up and hurry along or slow down or do anything, other than let things move at their own pace. Paces, really, because things have their own time. Stop, says Gamora, let go. Because the universe has its own balance, and its own rhythm, pulse. He should know, as a doctor.

The Mind Stone is silent, for once, uncannily so. It is mourning, as minds often do, But there will be time for mourning later. They have work to do.

The Reality Stone is wild and phrenetic and dark and leaks a blood red light. Too many things at once, as reality often is, so Gamora reaches out to the voice that seems, not quite the loudest, but the fiercest. The echo of a scholar, a little scientist girl who held it within her, holding pure curiosity for everything. Bravery for the sake of knowledge. It's perfect, Gamora thinks, because reality is what you make of it, what you do with your knowledge, how you perceive it.

Billions of realities and only one where we win, the Keeper of Time had said.

The Power Stone is the last. It is familiar with her already, though she had not been alone when she last wielded it. There's Peter and Drax and Rocket and her — Groot's sacrifice still fresh in their hearts. They do not seek power, not really, but they dance and power seeks them, and they need it just enough to keep living. To thrive.

And then there is Thanos.

Yes, she answers with clear certainty and prays to every force in the universe that this will work. I understand.

[Gamora is sitting alone in her bunk. The rest of the Guardians are out, and it's her turn to keep the ship. Normally she would be opposed to this, much preferring to be out there with them to keep them out of trouble, but it always seems to find them no matter what she does. Besides, she can hardly talk — they all found each other, after all.

And anyway, she could do with a little time to herself.

So the ship is empty, just her.

It's not that Gamora is afraid of being alone, no, it's just.. When she's alone, her thoughts seem so much louder. More prominent. Which is a good thing, probably, it's good to be able to listen to her own thoughts, obviously, but it's so much easier to ignore them. Tune them out.

But she knows she should, once in a while.

For a minute, she just listens to the stillness around her. Her own breathing; the air filling her lungs and spilling out when she exhales. The slow, steady beat of her heart in her chest. She feels the clothes on her skin, the weight of her many knives and other things, the softness of her bed beneath her, the soft brush of tangled hair against her neck, the heaviness of her muscles.

It's strange, and she finds herself thinking this more often now, and yet it's still strange, but: she's so fucking glad to be alive.

So fucking happy to be here in this beautiful junk of a ship, waiting for her teammates, her friends — her family — to come home, and she knows they will. So fucking happy that she can be alone and it's because she chose it.

She's free, even here, sitting in her bunk, in this empty ship. She is free.

Gamora thinks of her before, as a child. When she still had the rest of her kind and two loving parents to tuck her into bed at night and she had never known pain more than skimming her knee playing outside. She thinks of Father's laugh and his voice singing her to sleep. Thinks of Mother's words, telling her to be quiet and brave and to live. And she knows, really, that she is lucky to remember how her father sounded, how her mother looked that last time, even if it hurts still. After all these years. A hollow, empty ache, a sort of longing. But she is grateful to remember, even still.

She stands up, slowly, at her own pace, and walks across the small space to grab her mirror and hair-comb, before sitting back on her mattress, leaning the mirror on the wall, and turning to face it. Slowly, she parts her hair, scarlet-red against her green skin — colour opposites, balanced, she thinks, and winces — and begins to comb softly through the tangles.

Balance, thinks Gamora, is overrated. What is it anyway? Who is Thanos to say what is balanced and what is not? This whole universe is so messy that nothing and everything is already balanced. At least, that's what Gamora thinks. Fuck Thanos, anyway.

She still dislikes it, of course, that so much of her is what Thanos made her to be, but she can accept it now. Besides, she got away, by herself, on her own fucking accord. And that has to count for something.

She is strong and fast and careful and a fucking badass. The Most Dangerous Woman in the Universe. And that's a part of her that Thanos made her to be, but it's also what she made herself to be. She would be long dead otherwise. It's part of her, and she's not quite proud of it, but she'll be damned if it makes her feel ashamed.

Gamora is sitting in her bunk. It belongs to her. And she's alive.]

A soul for a soul, says Gamora, calm, purposeful, powerful. You said! That was the bargain.

And mine was not his to sell.

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A/N -Thanks again to my beta who is wonderful and puts up w me somehow. You're great!

And, thanks for reading! :D