Gamora looked at the hand he held out, at that enormous hand smeared with Drax's blood and Groot's sap.
She remembered a long time ago, on another planet, another equally enormous hand reaching toward a little green-skinned girl.
That little girl had just lost her mother, lost her planet, lost her entire world.
That hand was the first warm thing she saw in the darkness, though she later learned that its owner was a monster.
But in that moment, in that little girl's heart, that hand represented—safety.
She took that hand.
Not because she wanted to, but because she had no other choice.
Thanos's fingers closed, enveloping her hand in his palm.
His hand was warm. Gamora had never told anyone that Thanos's hand was warm.
That warmth had once made a little girl feel that the universe was not quite so terrible.
"You killed my family," Gamora said, so softly that only Thanos could hear her.
"I am your family," Thanos said.
He turned around and dragged Gamora toward the torn hatch.
Gamora did not struggle, not because she did not want to, but because she knew it was meaningless.
She turned back and looked at the wreckage inside the Benatar. Quill lay behind the console, completely still.
Rocket was curled up in a corner, his blue fur covered in blood.
Drax was embedded in the wall, his eyes half-closed, his breathing so faint it was nearly imperceptible.
Groot was in the engine room, his roots reaching through the gap beneath the door like a powerless hand.
Mantis was in a corner, clutching her head and still trembling.
She looked at them, and her lips moved.
No sound came out, but Quill saw it.
He lay behind the console, one hand braced against the floor as he tried to