A Lovely Night
Peter Quill knew Gamora was brave. She never fled from a fight-- be it with a Vanlivvian space biker or the ravenous bugblatter beast of Traal. Not to mention, she also was currently the Milano’s designated spider killer.
But despite all this, Quill didn’t think he had ever seen the warrioress as courageous as she was that one hazy night on Trantor. They left the ship as dusk fell, bidding farewell to the other Guardians under the guise of purchasing parts for the Milano. Most likely it wouldn’t have mattered either way-- the others were already submerged in a deep dispute about the latest contestant on Sontaran Idol-- but Gamora had not gained her reputation as the deadliest woman in the galaxy without being very careful.
The two walked down the disembarkment ramp connecting the Milano to Trantor’s spaceport, hands almost touching.
“Get ready,” Quill told his fellow Guardian. “This will probably be the last few moments of silence you hear in the next couple of hours.”
The warrioress raised her eyebrows, giving away nothing but a subtle amusement. “Really? How many people live here anyways?”
Truth be told, for all he had heard about the planet, the star captain wasn’t entirely sure. So he ballparked it. “45...billion at least. I think. Or maybe that’s just the number of McMar-vells.”
“45 billion...My father would despise this place.” Quill glanced over at Gamora just in time to catch one of her rare smiles. Presenting an intergalactic passport to customs official, the titan’s daughter stepped into the crowd, spreading her hands wide enough to almost hit a disgruntled spaceport-goer in the face. “And yet, look at it. It’s thriving.”
Star-lord stepped to her side. Quite frankly, there was no place in the galaxy that he’d rather be.
“Yeah, it totally is. Looks like Thanos doesn’t know everything, huh?”
Gamora stopped herself before she could spit out her father’s constant reply-- “not yet”-- and nodded. Then she smirked. “Not at all. He doesn’t know about us. Or how to give a good compliment. Or even how to bake more than half a cake. Trust me Quill, reports on the mad titan’s efficiency are far overblown.”
At first Gamora felt brave saying it. Then guilt seeped into the edges and she was left with a mess of emotion she didn’t know how to deal with. So she changed the subject. “Anyway, you promised me food and dancing tonight. What would you say are the chances I’m going to get it?”
“Hmmm. I’d go for ten million to one on.” Quill grinned-- he was learning not to push too far. Gamora would tell him things. But like the warrioress had said before, she just needed the time to figure them out first. “The planet’s kind of freaky actually because they make almost everything from yeast. Hot dogs, spaghetti...I just realized I’ve never actually seen spaghetti in space so maybe not...”
Gamora knew what neither of those things were-- which meant they probably were from Earth. Maybe one of these days, she’d actually travel there and figure out what in the Systems made Peter Quill love it so much. But for now…
“Yeast isn’t so bad actually.” She replied amiably. “They add nutrients so that, if complemented properly, it can comprise almost an entire diet. Great for space travel.”
“Horrifying otherwise.” Star-Lord grimaced.
Gamora shrugged. “They have barbecue-flavored. And chocolate. I’ll tell you what, Quill-- I try your Trantorian restaurant, you try my yeast.”
“Ha. No. I’d rather give Rocket mouth-to-mouth.”
“What? Don’t tell me the great Star-lord is scared?”
Peter Quill gave his fellow Guardian a look half of exasperation, half of grudging admiration. “For a existentialist space assassin, you really shouldn’t be that good at burning people.”
“So you’ll do it?” Gamora raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, I guess so. But--” Star-lord raised his index finger in a gesture more philosopher than space pirate. “That means you have to try whatever I say too.”
“Deal.”
And that was the end of the one argument that Gamora and Peter Quill would have on Trantor-- for though no moon was visible through the haze that capped the city, they knew the hours of the night were waning.
First came dinner. Star-lord was true to his word and ended up trying the yeast. Though he did eventually admit that the taste wasn’t that bad, the Earthian insisted to Gamora that the mushy texture was still enough to ruin the whole culinary experience. She was surprised and a little amused by his pickiness. “After the Pop-tarts I assumed…”
But Star-Lord shook his head. “You live onboard a Ravager ship long enough and you get to sample stuff from all over the galaxy. Not to mention… Yondu’s a pretty good cook. You didn’t hear it from me though.”
“Ex-assassin remember?” Gamora teased, touching his shoulder in a brief moment of intimacy. “Your secret is safe with me.”’
And Peter Quill believed her.
After dinner came the dancing. Trantor was full of nightclubs but the best could only be found by those who knew how to look-- then how to get in without arrest or some form of serious injury. Fortunately, between Star-lord’s dubious charisma and Gamora’s somewhat less dubious fighting skills, the pair was fine. The two Guardians came across a seedy looking joint-- “The Emperor’s Folly”-- and entered without more delay than a brief moment to admire the neon glow.
Then it was straight to the dance floor. True to Trantor’s reputation, the club was filled with to the brim with people, sporting various styles of dress and speech from every side of the galaxy. And Gamora was soon surprised to find that despite the one beat splitting the night, there was no single dance. Some twirled. Some stomped. Some even flew-- all without any trace of self-consciousness.
Peter Quill offered the other Guardian his hand just as Ren McCormack might. “You ready?”
For a moment Gamora hesitated-- none of this: the people, the lights, the music-- felt real. The scene could have just as easily been plucked from a fairytale, even a Hallmark movie. And she didn’t believe in those.
Right?
A split second before, the world had been clear but, just as Star-lord offered his hand-- doubt had entered yet again. Was it possible for her to deny what was right in front of her face? Could she really look upon this paradise and turn her back on it?
Gamora knew the answer was no. And while should have made her feel weak, the choice was freeing. So with a wild grin--“I was born ready, Quill.”-- the space assassin grabbed hold of her Earthian’s wrist and pulled him into the pulsing heartbeat of the crowd.
Within, the dance was intoxicating.
Star-Lord swirled and shook as though under a spell stronger than any Mind Stone. Here in the middle of the music, he could forget everything else for a while and just be.
Be with Gamora--
For someone who claimed she couldn’t dance, the titan’s daughter was moving with a grace and fluidity to rival the most masterful ballerina. There was no rigidity in her-- every movement flowed with the music as though she was a stream tumbling around pebbles and reeds. And… she was happy. The intense stare that Quill had learned to know and love had melted away into a slight smile, relaxed and free upon her lips. This, the Guardian knew, was no small feat either for Gamora...or him for that matter. Both had learned long ago that the act of forgetting the past, of throwing it all away for a moment in order to simply live, could take all the courage in the galaxy.
But the two were braver together. So they held each other close and lost themselves to melody and touch until dawn was at hand.
***
The streets of Trantor were just as crowded in the early hours of the morning as they were at night, blanketed in a chaotic din heavy as the smog that filled the air. But even among this discord, even with feet hurting from a night on the dance floor and jaws aching from too much smiling, Gamora and Quill were impossibly relaxed as they entered the spaceport. The pair joked like friends that had known each other for decades instead of mere months, lips loosened by a potent mixture of exhaustion and ecstasy. Perhaps they felt invincible, immortalized by a night of fantasy. Perhaps they finally felt free.
Either way, it was no wonder when it all ended in disaster.
The slip started innocently enough-- as such things always do.
Gamora was the one who spotted it first. A souvenir stand just outside the Milano’s terminal selling such travel necessities as T-shirts emblazoned with the slogan “Froody for Trantor” and plastic bobbleheads of the planet’s famed mathematician Hari Seldon. At first the two only laughed at the sight-- the warrioress because she had never seen such a pile of useless junk before in her life and the star captain because it boggled his mind that someone would be selling useless junk without adding a troll doll or two into the mix.
Then they found seats across the concourse and settled in to wait for the moment the terminal’s gates unlocked for the day. A half an hour passed. The spaceport announced (as it did near weekly) that it was facing delays due to an unexpected influx of travellers.
At last only three options remained for the stranded Guardians: either call Rocket and ask him to get the terminal open somehow-- a risky game considering that most days he slept until noon-- continue to marinate in their own boredom waiting for the gears of bureaucracy to turn, or check out the tacky little tourist trap on the other side of the concourse. Peter Quill knew which one he preferred.
“Hey,” he said to Gamora who was half-asleep in one of the plastic spaceport chairs. “I’m going to take a look at the souvenir thing, okay?”
“Mmmmph.” The other Guardian let out what could have been a snore. Star-lord decided to take it as a confirmation. “Be back in five.”
The Earthian rose to his feet, stretched and began to push through the Trantorian crowds. That was the first mistake.
Even at such early an hour, getting through the swarm of spaceport goers was near impossible. For a brief moment, as he accidentally crushed the toes of a man in pink pastel skinny jeans-- Quill even wondered if Thanos had a point. Not in a let’s-kill-half-of-the-people-in-the-galaxy way of course but more along the lines of wondering how people could even live here on a daily basis. The star captain knew he couldn’t that’s for sure. It was only hours from leaving the Milano and he already missed the wide open expanse of space.
Speaking of space-- the sea of people finally began to thin as Star-lord finally reached the souvenir stand, the overt tackiness taking on a repellent effect. It didn’t drive away Quill though-- he supposed he was made of stronger stuff than to be driven off by “Taken with Trantor” shot glasses. Or... well, he had to admit he kind of enjoyed the showiness too.
The shopkeeper smiled and gestured to his goods with four greasy hands as Star-lord rifled through the display. “Four credits apiece,” he declared, an obvious rip-off. It didn’t matter though. Spaceport sellers were always willing to haggle and Quill had learned the trade from the best.
“How much for this?” he asked, holding up a small sun-dome snow globe.
The shopkeeper played dumb. “Like I said, four credits a piece.”
“Right, and I’m a Guardian of the Galaxy.” the ex-pirate picked up the knick-knack and pretended to examine it. “We both know no one’s going to pay that much for this piece of--”
Suddenly Star-lord stopped mid-sentence, eyes fixed in rapture upon the place where the snow-globe had been. He reached out a shaking finger and asked about an octave higher. “How much for those?”
The store owner perked up. “Five credits.”
“I thought you said--” Quill quickly submerged his awe in frustration. Not that it was any use. He had broken the cardinal rule of haggling-- don’t care-- or as Yondu put it “Never show interest unless you want to spend the rest of your life paying it off”.
“Fine.” the star captain sighed. “I’ll pay. Just gimme a moment-- there’s someone I want to--” He pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick message.
Hey.
Gamora
U got 2 see this
He hit send. That was the second blunder.
A few awkward minutes passed. For a moment, he wondered if the other Guardian hadn’t got the text-- or, just as likely, whether she was ignoring him. But finally the ex-assassin stumbled out of the crowd a somewhat milder version of the trademark death glare fixed upon her face. “This had better be worth it Quill. Because I’m fairly certain they’ve actually started opening the terminal.”
“It is.” Star-lord confirmed. At least he was pretty sure it was. “Look.”
Gamora leaned over a mass of Imperial Palace paperweights to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that her partner was so excited about. Then she squinted. “Is that... supposed to be us? On a bubble gum packet?”
“I know, right!”
The space assassin was lost. “Listen, uh Quill. I’m kind of getting the vibe that this is a really big deal to you. Which I’m sure it is. But you might have to explain it to me a little more.”
Quill looked deep into her eyes with great gravity. “Gamora, if there’s one thing I learned in my brief childhood in Missouri, it was that once you get your own bubble gum trading card, you’ve made it.
“Made...it?”
“Yeah, it’s like you’re famous-famous. I mean Cyndi Lauper was on trading cards. David Hasselhorf was on trading cards. And now... Star-lord.”
Gamora shook her head, unable to keep a slight smile from painting her face. She still hadn’t the faintest clue why her partner cared so much whether others knew his name. Not even the real one--Peter Quill-- but the one he had adopted for himself. Maybe it was different when you were a self-proclaimed “nobody from Missouri” rather than a mad Titan’s daughter. That was Gamora’s best guess. Not to mention, she couldn’t deny it was refreshing. At least Quill thought of the galaxy as more than a faceless mass, half allowed continue their lives, the other half chosen to die for their own good.
She handed a crumpled credit-bill to the vendor. The third mistake. “We’ll take the lot.”
Star-lord almost fell over in shock. “Oh man, Gamora-- you don’t have to do that. I mean that’s a lot of money and these are just--”
The shopkeeper pocketed the money before he could get out another word. Meanwhile, the ex-assassin smirked to herself as she dumped the candy in a flimsy bag.
“Hush Arse-lord.” she said “I’m buying the gum. Just don’t think you’re keeping it all for yourself.”
The Earthian seemed to recover, only the faintest tinge of red remaining in his cheeks. “Alright then... But I’m gonna say this is the new food I’m making you try. Like the promise from earlier”
“...I’ve had gum before, you know Quill.” Gamora raised her eyebrows. “Rations were fairly minimalist on the Sanctuary but they were never that strict. Besides, gum helps with concentration.”
Star-lord shrugged. “Okay-- so maybe you’ve had gum before. But you’ve never tried Guardians of the Galaxy gum.”
“I...don’t think there’s a difference.”
“What? Nah. There’s totally a difference. I’ll tell you when we’re back on the ship.” Peter Quill was bullshitting and they both knew it. All the same, Gamora smiled as he grabbed her hand.
It may be bullshit but at least it was entirely his own.
And fingers laced, the Guardians returned to their ship unaware that the final nail had been struck into their proverbial coffin. For a mere five minutes after they left the terminal, the picture was uploaded to Spacebook-- GUARDIANS IN LOVE? emblazoned across the front like a neon pink eyesore. In just under fifteen minutes it went viral. Half an hour later it popped up as clickbait on the glowing screen in the hands of one very bored, easily distracted intern. Fame, it seemed, could be a fickle mistress.
***
And as this disaster took shape, the vendor smiled. Selling souvenirs in Trantor’s biggest spaceport was a crap job to be sure. But the interesting people made up for that.
Oh yes, they did.
