[ Peter Quill lived like a slob, there was no denying that. The other Guardians had their own ideas of what made for an acceptable living space, but with six of them practically on top of one another, clutter just sort of tended to... happen.
And there would come a point where Maya would hit her limit, and she had to clean something before she went totally crazy. She wasn't a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination, but she liked a certain degree of organization and... empty horizontal surfaces in the common areas of the ship.
So sometimes when the Guardians would go out on the town for a bar crawl or whatever else they did, Maya would take it upon herself to stay behind and do some cleaning. (Common areas only, though. She didn't invade peoples' rooms or mess with whatever projects Rocket had going in the cargo hold.) She didn't mind it- actually, it was sort of meditative in its own way, and since Peter had introduced her to the idea of playlists, it had sure become a lot more fun.
She's currently in the galley with a mop, the others having departed for the evening. Her hair is tied back in a sloppy ponytail (she still hasn't gotten it cut again- she keeps teetering on the issue), and she's wearing a ratty t-shirt and an old pair of jeans. No shoes, though.
She must be pretty confident in the fact that she's alone, because she's dancing around the galley like a goober, singing aloud to the song currently blaring through her headphones. One moment the mop is her microphone, the next it's her dance partner as she slides across the wet floor on bare feet. She's cleaning, really.
Once she told Peter she wasn't a dancer. Funny how all that time with him has changed that. (She enjoyed Star Wars as much as the next girl, but if nothing else, she had really learned to let loose and enjoy the music. It was... sort of freeing.) ]
[ Peter has pretty much always been a slob. It definitely doesn't help that during his formative years, he had been picked up by space pirates whose idea of manners was not barfing up the shit you ate and whose idea of cleanliness was fluid at best. They didn't care if his bunk was a disaster zone, so long as the important parts of the ship were clear.
It's a habit that he's carried over to the Milano. So while Peter tends to leave shit lying around in his shared quarters with Maya, the helm is surprisingly bare. While he has a habit of leaving his coat or guns or whatever random thing he happens to pick up just sitting around on the table in the common area, the walkways from the helm to the engines are mostly free of obstacles.
But Peter is and always has been the worst when it came to leaving his shit everywhere. Sure, everyone else would leave a thing or two behind, but for everyone one thing someone left out of its place, Peter would leave four or five. Despite his shipmates' insistence that he keep his mess contained to his own bunk, he would stick to a routine for about a week before going, "Fuck it," and reverting to his old habits. Eventually they all learned to take what they could get, and learned to live with Peter's upswings and downswings when it came to the ship's cleanliness.
When Maya stays behind the first time to clean the common areas, Peter has to admit he's a little relieved -- mostly because he doesn't want to do it himself. The second time, guilt started to gnaw away at him. And all the times after that, the guilt kept building and building until they've finally come to this: Peter decides he's being a prick about this, pays his tab (a surprisingly short one, with only two beers), and heads back to the ship.
Naturally, he grumbles to himself the entire way, but it's messed up to have Maya do all the work on her own. And, hey, maybe he'll get some brownie points for helping out? Yeah, good, his mind says encouragingly. Think of the outcome, not of the grueling, tedious, boring-as-hell process to get there.
He punches in the access code with a sigh, climbs the ladder from the airlock to the ship proper, and as he's pushing aside the hatch, he calls out. ]
Lucy, I'm home.
[ It occurs to him after the fact that Maya probably wouldn't get that reference, and he sighs a little again as he's hauling himself up and shutting the hatch behind him. When he doesn't get an immediate response, he frowns-- then hears her voice from the galley and wanders over, thumbs hooked in his belt.
... The sight that greets him is amazing, and there's no way in hell he wants to interrupt, so he just leans against the bulkhead, grinning as he watches her dance and sing. ]
[ she's in her own little world, dancing through the relatively small space with her mop. When she finally does a little twirl, she catches a glimpse of Peter and very nearly puts him in a phaselock on instinct.
As it is, she lets out a startled yelp, jumping back and nearly colliding with the table. ]
Fuck! Shit, Peter. You nearly gave me a heart attack!
[ She glares at him, cheeks blazing with the embarrassment of getting caught. The look on her face suggests two things: one, that she doesn't find this anywhere near as funny as he does, and two, that she's sorely tempted to phaselock him anyway. ]
Huh? [ For a moment there, he had nearly forgotten why he'd turned back around -- he remembers now, though. ] Oh, uh, no. Everything's fine, just decided to call it an early night, is all. Folks at the bar were pretty boring.
[ He rubs the back of his neck, hesitating. He could totally just bail, he thinks -- but that'd be an extra dicky move on top of laughing at her and making the mess in the first place, so after a few seconds of dithering, he finally ventures, ] You, um. You want any help around here?
[ Sometimes he is such a terrible liar, and at this point she likes to think she can read him fairly well. She knows he didn't come back "just because" and the pieces suddenly fall into place when he offers to help. ]
You came back to help me clean?
[ Bless her heart, she actually looks a little incredulous ]
[ She sighs, her tone and her facial expression softening ] You don't feel... I don't know, obligated to do this, do you? Because I really don't mind it.
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And there would come a point where Maya would hit her limit, and she had to clean something before she went totally crazy. She wasn't a neat freak by any stretch of the imagination, but she liked a certain degree of organization and... empty horizontal surfaces in the common areas of the ship.
So sometimes when the Guardians would go out on the town for a bar crawl or whatever else they did, Maya would take it upon herself to stay behind and do some cleaning. (Common areas only, though. She didn't invade peoples' rooms or mess with whatever projects Rocket had going in the cargo hold.) She didn't mind it- actually, it was sort of meditative in its own way, and since Peter had introduced her to the idea of playlists, it had sure become a lot more fun.
She's currently in the galley with a mop, the others having departed for the evening. Her hair is tied back in a sloppy ponytail (she still hasn't gotten it cut again- she keeps teetering on the issue), and she's wearing a ratty t-shirt and an old pair of jeans. No shoes, though.
She must be pretty confident in the fact that she's alone, because she's dancing around the galley like a goober, singing aloud to the song currently blaring through her headphones. One moment the mop is her microphone, the next it's her dance partner as she slides across the wet floor on bare feet. She's cleaning, really.
Once she told Peter she wasn't a dancer. Funny how all that time with him has changed that. (She enjoyed Star Wars as much as the next girl, but if nothing else, she had really learned to let loose and enjoy the music. It was... sort of freeing.) ]
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It's a habit that he's carried over to the Milano. So while Peter tends to leave shit lying around in his shared quarters with Maya, the helm is surprisingly bare. While he has a habit of leaving his coat or guns or whatever random thing he happens to pick up just sitting around on the table in the common area, the walkways from the helm to the engines are mostly free of obstacles.
But Peter is and always has been the worst when it came to leaving his shit everywhere. Sure, everyone else would leave a thing or two behind, but for everyone one thing someone left out of its place, Peter would leave four or five. Despite his shipmates' insistence that he keep his mess contained to his own bunk, he would stick to a routine for about a week before going, "Fuck it," and reverting to his old habits. Eventually they all learned to take what they could get, and learned to live with Peter's upswings and downswings when it came to the ship's cleanliness.
When Maya stays behind the first time to clean the common areas, Peter has to admit he's a little relieved -- mostly because he doesn't want to do it himself. The second time, guilt started to gnaw away at him. And all the times after that, the guilt kept building and building until they've finally come to this: Peter decides he's being a prick about this, pays his tab (a surprisingly short one, with only two beers), and heads back to the ship.
Naturally, he grumbles to himself the entire way, but it's messed up to have Maya do all the work on her own. And, hey, maybe he'll get some brownie points for helping out? Yeah, good, his mind says encouragingly. Think of the outcome, not of the grueling, tedious, boring-as-hell process to get there.
He punches in the access code with a sigh, climbs the ladder from the airlock to the ship proper, and as he's pushing aside the hatch, he calls out. ]
Lucy, I'm home.
[ It occurs to him after the fact that Maya probably wouldn't get that reference, and he sighs a little again as he's hauling himself up and shutting the hatch behind him. When he doesn't get an immediate response, he frowns-- then hears her voice from the galley and wanders over, thumbs hooked in his belt.
... The sight that greets him is amazing, and there's no way in hell he wants to interrupt, so he just leans against the bulkhead, grinning as he watches her dance and sing. ]
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As it is, she lets out a startled yelp, jumping back and nearly colliding with the table. ]
Fuck! Shit, Peter. You nearly gave me a heart attack!
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Still, he can't help it-- he laughs at the way she jumps out of her skin. ]
Holy shit! [ It's choked out between gasps. ] You should've seen your face--!
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How long have you been standing there?
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So he tries to spare her: ] Not very long. Couple seconds at most.
[ It was more like thirty seconds, maybe? But she doesn't need to know that. ]
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What are you even doing here? Did something happen?
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[ He rubs the back of his neck, hesitating. He could totally just bail, he thinks -- but that'd be an extra dicky move on top of laughing at her and making the mess in the first place, so after a few seconds of dithering, he finally ventures, ] You, um. You want any help around here?
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You came back to help me clean?
[ Bless her heart, she actually looks a little incredulous ]
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Well, not-- specifically, no. But I'm back now, so I mean, if you want a hand, I'm, uh-- available?
[ Jesus. For someone who makes a living on lying, he really is shitty at it sometimes. ]
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[ She puts a hand on her hip, leaning her weight on the mop in her other hand. ] Why?
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Look, if you don't want my help, I can just head back out. I'd probably get in your way anyway, right?
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[ She sighs, her tone and her facial expression softening ] You don't feel... I don't know, obligated to do this, do you? Because I really don't mind it.
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It's mostly my mess, man. I really oughta be the one cleaning it up, so-- obligated in that way, yeah.
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[ She offers him a small smile, but she's unable to stop the hint of color that rises to her cheeks again ]
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Yeah, about that. I thought you said you weren't a dancer?
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And singing.
Can't forget the singing.
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