Hello, all! I'm currently re-writing the first few chapters of this fic (after four years away from it, EEK) in hopes of revamping my passion for it. It's really a fascinating story and I can't believe I just...stopped?

But anyway, hope you enjoy the story! If you like it and want me to buck up and continue writing this fic...

PLEASE REVIEW!

.: Adda :.
a Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic
by Sapphire-Raindrop

"My love is alive way down in my heart
Although we are miles apart
If you ever need a helping hand
I'll be there on the double just as fast as I can

Don't you know that there ain't no mountain high enough
Ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough
To keep me from getting to you, babe…"

~Ain't No Mountain High Enough, by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell

I watch without much surprise as Kiluu stabs the sickly-looking Adiri male's stomach. The boy's slanted black eyes widen and his equally black lips open to release a gurgling scream. I saw the attack coming a mile away—the Adiri is painfully untrained and unaccustomed to combat, but that was entirely the point.

Kiluu is one of the more deadly slaves in the fighting pool; rumors declared that a prolific assassins guild was hoping to buy her. Not one to waste an opportunity, Reeve—the Centaurian fighting-ring owner—gave her an easy kill, to prove her lack of mercy. Assassins can't feel pity for their prey, and the Adiri boy was the epitome of pitiful.

Kiluu's face is impassive as her red eyes flicker to her weapon, which is coated in the Adiri boy's green blood. Probably wondering how long it'll take for her to clean the blade. Would I be thinking that, if I were in her position?

I celebrated my fourteenth year a month before the strange men came to Zo's and my ship—a SkyWing, and my home—and yet I haven't been picked to fight in the rings yet. I think it's because of how small I am; they must think I'm younger than my true age. I don't bother enlightening them because I like being under the radar. It makes escape much more of a possibility.

Tiredly sighing, I reach for my mop and bucket of cleaning fluid. It's the last fight of the day, and I've learned over the past six months that if I don't start cleaning right away after a fight, Reeve will beat the 'laziness' out of me, as he so eloquently puts it. If I weren't a slave in danger of being killed at any moment I would shove my mop up his ass until he tasted his own shit on the handle.

The crowd of prospective buyers gathered around the ring is cheering more obnoxiously now, excited by the blood I assume. I have grown so used to the sight that I can only stare into the ring and wish for the Adiri's death to come more quickly. The faster he dies, the faster I can get in there and finish cleaning.

I hear the crowd murmuring to themselves and if I try, I can hear snatches of Basic along with the other alien languages. Basic is the universal trade language and as such is the most commonly spoken language in the galaxy. Zo and his wife, Kita—she died of sickness when I was six years old—taught me their native language as well as Basic.

Well, they didn't teach me Basic, exactly.

I attended school on Xandar, which is where I learned to speak, read, and write Basic. But Zo and his wife couldn't have taught me Basic even if they wanted to. The Thagoran language is primarily silent hand gestures, sometimes accentuated with short vocalizations, clicks and whistles—the whistles are vaguely similar to the Centaurian language, but much lower in pitch. The reason for the limited vocal communication is that Thagorans have extremely underdeveloped vocal chords. They physically can't speak in the way that most species can. They understand Basic just fine, but speaking it is another story.

A Nova Corp officer told me that Thagoran is considered one of the most difficult languages to learn, both because of the complexity as well as the fact that Thagorans consider their language to be very sacred. When they need to communicate with trading companies they enlist the assistance of those who permanently reside on their home planet Thagor—usually spouses of native Thagorans. Zo told me that his people didn't like their language used simply to get something from someone else, and as such were very reluctant to teach outsiders that weren't bound to Thagor in some way.

"Speaking to someone acknowledges their existence," Zo said to me once, his calloused purple hands moving swiftly to create the signs. "Acknowledgement is an affirmation of their importance; it shows that you are embracing who they are, that you are giving them an amount of your time that you can never get back. That kind of exchange shouldn't be taken lightly."

I'm fluent in both Thagoran and Basic but prefer Thagoran. Until six months ago I spoke it most often, seeing as it was just Zo and me most of the time. We left Xandar after my seventh birthday—he never told me this, but I guess that the move was because of his wife's death—and we traveled the galaxy, making and selling weapons as well as outrunning bounty hunters. That was my life until the time of my capture and Zo's death.

Thinking of Zo is a mistake. I push away the sudden tightness of my throat and focus on the sight of Kiluu roughly shoving the Adiri boy off of her sword and letting his body crumple to the ground. The floor of the fighting ring is roughened glass; smooth while still proving plenty of traction.

"He was nice," a soft, familiar voice sounds from slightly behind me. I know without turning that it is Falar, the only person I trust in this horrible place. When the fifteen-year-old Krylorian arrived on the ship a few days after I did, I was confused as to why she was placed in a fighting pool; female Krylorians are usually sold as personal assistant or pleasure slaves. But when she looks you straight in the eye it's clear why she was diverted from that path.

A thick, terrible scar mars her otherwise beautiful face. The scar—the pale color of it stands out against the normal red-pink of her skin—starts in the center of her forehead, curves around her face and ends below her bottom lip.

I glance back at her and see that her expression is sagging with sadness. I look away, irritated. Who is she to pity a weak fighter? It's the way of things; only the strong survive. That was how the world worked.

Falar takes a step forward so that she's standing directly next to me.

"His name was Reyd, and he–"

"Falar, I don't care who he was," I harshly whisper. "He's dead. End of story. C'mon, we have to get cleaning," I tell her, seeing Reeve gesture for the cleaning crew to enter.

The crowd is dispersing, heading toward the main hall where the bidding will take place. Falar and I are on the off rotation, meaning that we're only displayed in the main hall once a week rather than every other day, as is normal for a young slave. I've been on the off-rotation for my entire time here on the slave ship. Reeve's to blame for that. Terrans aren't exactly a prize. I'm not like Kiluu, whose distinctive red skin and ruthless fighting style is something that many will be clambering to obtain.

I've managed to hide my knowledge of weapons and ability to fight, and so even though it kills me to play the meek, weak little girl…it keeps me off the market. Better to be seen as the pathetic little Terran than have them know what I'm capable of. I have the upper hand—the slavers just don't know it yet.

Falar's been on the off-rotation as well but we both knew why that is. I for one am glad that she's never been on the main rotation—she deserves more than a life of being groped and tossed around like meat. I don't know when I'm going to escape but I know that when I do, Falar is coming with me. I'll drop her off on the nearest planet, help her get situated, and then go and find the bastards that killed Zo.

That plan is what's been keeping me going for the past six months. All I need is a ship and access to the codes that open and close the exit ports. I've been scouting for the past few months and I'm pretty confident that I could fly one of Reeve's scout cruisers—they're small and fast. The codes are all I need, now. I've told Falar of my plan, because even with all of her kindness I know that she won't dare share our plan with anyone else. We've both seen our fair share of escape plans getting revealed to Reeve by slaves who hope to get a good deal out of their show of compliance.

I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get the codes but I'll come up with something. I could always sneak into Reeve's office and torture him until he gave them to me. And then I'd kill him, because I hate that worm far too much to even consider sparing his life.

The worm in question is walking over to Falar and I, his red eyes peering out from his broad, fleshy face. His rolls of fat are barely contained by his too-small shirt and trousers. His personality is even more repulsive: greedy, cruel and abrasive. I focus on cleaning the blood off the floor, letting the harsh smell of chemicals fill my senses and distract me from the burning loathing I feel for this man.

"Hard at work, my beautiful girls?" he asks, immediately cackling at his personal joke. I can see Falar's lips pursing together in hurt—she's always been insecure about her looks—and I move slightly closer to her, offering her silent support. I don't approve of Falar's sensitivity and inability to ignore the suffering of others but I care for her despite the flaws. She's the only person in this place who treats me with kindness, the only person who makes me feel like I matter.

"Yes, sir," I say, so sweetly I'm surprised I don't choke on the words. Reeve's eyes narrow. I can see the suspicion crossing his face and keep my face carefully neutral.

"I expect this floor to be as white as your flimsy Terran hide when you're through," Reeve snaps, his red eyes boring into mine. I nod, ignoring the pang of anger that always comes when Reeve calls attention to my humanity. I hate my fragile Terran body just as much as he does but of course I'll never tell him that.

"Yes sir, of course. Only the best for you," I reply without thinking, immediately berating myself for rising to Reeve's bait. I know better than to give him any power over me and yet I still let him get under my skin.

Reeve's face darkens and his gun is in my face in a flash. I have to bite my tongue to stop my hand from going to my staff—she's strapped to my forearm, hidden under a loose gray sleeve. If only I could take her out and touch the cool metal. The rush of mental connection would be like coming home and the sight of Reeve impaled by her blade would be equally pleasing. But I can't, and that makes me more frustrated than anything.

The gun is inches from my eye and yet I feel only contempt. He's nothing but a fat man who hides behind his guns. Not even skilled enough to use a blade; that would require actual effort.

"Listen here, you little piece of shit," Reeve hisses. "I own you, d'ya understand that? If I wanted, I could bend you over and fuck you in the ass right here and now, and you couldn't do a damn thing to stop me. Or even better, I could make your ugly friend here service every single one of my guards with her mouth. Is that what you want?"

"No," is my response, and it takes everything in me to not reach for my staff. If he so much as touches either of us I'll cut his head off, and screw the consequences.

Reeve sneers. "That's what I thought. Better watch that mouth of yours, Terran. It'll get you into trouble one of these days," he warns, pressing his gun harder against my cheek. He threatens me daily but this is the first time he's brought Falar into it, and my control slips as a result.

I look up from my feet and glare at him, letting all my hate pour through. Let him feel how much I despise him. Let him feel the promise of his death at my hands.

Reeve's eyes are thoughtful as he pulls his gun away, slowly, as if he has all day to release me. I stay where I am, not even tempted to take a step back. Falar is silent and afraid beside us—she's clinging to her mop like it's a lifeline.

"Finish this and get back to your cell."

With that, Reeve leaves, slipping his gun back into its holster. He disappears into the darkness of the nearest hallway and I let out a harsh breath through my nose.

"That was foolish of you," Falar whispers.

I nod because she's right. I didn't feel too guilty though; it felt good to finally fight back a bit. I mean, what is Reeve going to do? Tell his fellow associates that he was intimidated by a weak Terran slave? Yeah, that'll be the day.

"I'm sorry," I mutter.

Falar puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing for a moment before returning to her mopping. I turn to look at her, and her loveliness is so palpable that it hurts. Maybe I'm just used to looking at scars—Zo has quite a few, and none of them hidden by his clothing—but even so, Falar is beautiful. Smooth red-pink skin, delicate features and large golden eyes that remind me so much of Zo's. I've never met a more gentle and caring person in all of my years of traveling the galaxy, and those traits shone through every pore of her skin.

Maybe I should stick to gouging Reeve's eyes out before killing him; he was obviously blind if he looked at Falar and saw something ugly.

Such strong attachment to a fellow slave is dangerous, I know this. I don't know when she became so important to me, but it's a bit too late to question it.

By the time we finish cleaning the lights are dimming, signaling that it's close to lights out. We have about ten minutes before our cell door closes and locks. The slaves are divided into cells, two per cell.

Being placed in the same cell as Falar was one moment of good luck in a mountain of bad.

We're at the top of the stairs when I hear a low voice echoing down the hall, just past where our cell is. I frown, ignoring Falar's gentle tug on my arm. I recognize that voice. It sounds familiar, and as it grow louder I realize that it's one of the guards. We see him go past us every morning to go to the control tower!

I move down the hall before I can help myself and Falar lets out a angry sound before reluctantly following me. I stay close to the wall and when we reach our cell I try to push Falar inside. She shakes her head and stays next to me.

I frown but there's no time to argue, so I settle for giving her a look before sinking into a crouch and moving forward. I keep our cell door in sight as I creep around a corner. If there's a chance we could get those exit port code, I'm taking the risk.

The guard is taking into a radio.

"…come in, Gerak, come in?"

"What is it, asshole?"

"Ha ha, very funny…do you want the code or not?"

"Oh, yeah, go ahead."

"If you go blabbing about this, I lose my goddamn job. We're not supposed to give it to lower-level guards…"

"I promise, my lips are sealed."

"Okay, it's 345092. That sequence is only good through tomorrow night, so better use it quick."

Falar and I stare at each other, eyes wide, and I know that she's repeating the code in her head just like I am.

345092. 345092.

A metallic wail fills the air; it's the sound that signals the doors of the cells to close. The two of us scramble backwards, the machinery screeching and hiding the sounds of our footfalls. I push Falar into the cell before me, barely managing to slip in before the door slides down and seals us in. The only light comes from a single bulb in the ceiling and in a few minutes it'll go out. I'm breathing hard, more from excitement than from exertion. Falar is staring at me and her eyes are wide and full of hope.

We have the code. We have the code!

"Tomorrow, after we clean up the last fight. We'll hide in the hanger until the doors close, and then we'll go." I declare, so softly she has to bend forward to hear me. There are no cameras or recording devices in the slave cells—that would cost Reeve too much, and to say the man was frugal would be an understatement.

Falar nods, her lips turning up in a delighted smile. Without another word we both ready ourselves for sleep and climb into our respective beds. The mattresses are full of holes and hard as rocks but I'm not going to get much sleep tonight, anyway. Not with the code and the thrill of escaping running though my mind at top speed.

The light bulb timer runs out and the cell is thrown into complete darkness. I lie on my back and fold my hands behind my head to use as a pillow of sorts. It suddenly hits me that in less than twenty-four hours, I'll be staring at the stars instead of this bleak cell ceiling.

"Goodnight, Adda," Falar whispers.

I'm very grateful she always waits to tell me this until the lights are out—the darkness hides the stupid smile that always appears when she says my name like that.

"Goodnight, Falar," I whisper back.

Her breathing is deeper and deeper until I know for certain that she's sleeping. I close my eyes, and if I try I can almost see the night sky, full of life and unexplored depths. It'll be like SkyWing, except…

Zo won't be there.

"I hope I'm making you proud," I impulsively sign in Thagoran. It's the first time I've spoken in the language since that terrible day six months ago, and to do so fills me with a bittersweet feeling.

My hands hover uncertainly in the air. I want to say more but I also feel foolish. Zo is dead. There's no point in communicating with someone who will never again hear my words or see my signs. I place my hands on my chest, letting out a slow breath and focusing on the code for tomorrow. I know there's no way I could ever forget it, even if I was to wait a week before escaping, but I didn't want to take chances.

345092…345092…345092…

Tomorrow can't come fast enough.