Her eyes snap to the set of his shoulders like sniper sights. Just as piercing, too, even if they're not making eye contact right now. Gamora has gone still behind him anyway.
Everything in her screams that his need to share is weakness, that she should take the food if he is so foolish as to relinquish a dwindling resource that easily. That inner voice sounds like Proxima Midnight. Perhaps even like Ebony Maw, preaching over the children of Thanos as they fight for scraps.
There's another part of her. One that hungers for things that have nothing to do with food, but with softer edges she doesn't dare name. A starved and wide open chasm inside of her, gaping like a carcass.
Her movements are slow, deliberate as she comes up behind him. Quiet, her steps always so soft because of how she's been trained and raised, but with enough weight to make sure it doesn't seem like she's sneaking up on him.
"Say I have two ships," she says, slow and careful, "and they burn fuel at different speeds. Is it smart then to give them the same amount?"
It feels so foreign on her tongue - kindness.
Gamora reaches around him, still standing partially behind. Nudges the bowl on the counter in his direction.
"You know how Earth works. That keeps me alive. You pull my weight, too." A small pause. "We share. But even splits are not equal." Her jaw clenches, but she pushes through the need to look out for just herself - they need to look out for each other. And Gamora knows how to do that. "I don't need fifty of the soup. Enough for me means more for you. We pull the weight together."
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Everything in her screams that his need to share is weakness, that she should take the food if he is so foolish as to relinquish a dwindling resource that easily. That inner voice sounds like Proxima Midnight. Perhaps even like Ebony Maw, preaching over the children of Thanos as they fight for scraps.
There's another part of her. One that hungers for things that have nothing to do with food, but with softer edges she doesn't dare name. A starved and wide open chasm inside of her, gaping like a carcass.
Her movements are slow, deliberate as she comes up behind him. Quiet, her steps always so soft because of how she's been trained and raised, but with enough weight to make sure it doesn't seem like she's sneaking up on him.
"Say I have two ships," she says, slow and careful, "and they burn fuel at different speeds. Is it smart then to give them the same amount?"
It feels so foreign on her tongue - kindness.
Gamora reaches around him, still standing partially behind. Nudges the bowl on the counter in his direction.
"You know how Earth works. That keeps me alive. You pull my weight, too." A small pause. "We share. But even splits are not equal." Her jaw clenches, but she pushes through the need to look out for just herself - they need to look out for each other. And Gamora knows how to do that. "I don't need fifty of the soup. Enough for me means more for you. We pull the weight together."