"What the hell are you doing?!" Pepper's three-inch heels managed to find a way to stomp their way to where the famous, prosperous and slightly insane Anthony Stark crouched with the proficient doctor Bruce Banner, who looked equivalent to a startled puppy wearing fragile but frayed glasses. Anthony, currently with his hands inside of what looked like a large, smooth tube-shaped object about the size of a double-decker refrigerator on its side. Sitting firmly above it was a fastened thin, black bar of some sort. It resembled a thin, pencil-width rectangular prism that stretched on either sides of the tube.
Anthony had his arms elbow-length plunged inside of it, apparently searching for something while Bruce fiddled with a screen showing an image of where his hands were inside of the container. However, it evaporated as he whipped around to face Pepper with reddening - cheeks as she strode in, eyes sharp, black suit and slacks that elegantly clung to her body.
"Nothing! Just, tinkering?" Tony attempted, nodding to Bruce expectantly to flip the screen back to life. Reluctantly, and rather embarrassed, Bruce obeyed, pressing a few LED buttons on the screen, murmuring to himself about getting in trouble for the upteenth time.
"Is that the...the - no! I thought I told you-" Pepper started, clutching a set of papers that were pressed onto a clipboard to her chest, glaring at the massive contraption in front of her. Tony sighed in exasperation, and replied dully, "I know you told me that this was a bad id-"
"Which it is-" Pepper nodded, flairing her hands at the contraption.
"But there is no reason to fear-" Tony continued, without taking a breath.
"No reason to fear you ripping space and time to bring more aliens? Tony, you are really pushing-"
"Pulling, actually. I'm pulling this wire because we wouldn't want more-" Tony mentally told himself he was going to win this "battle of counters", as he had many times before.
"Aliens knocking at our door? Yes, I thought that might happen when you mentioned doing this...this 'pet project of yours', which is why you should really stop pursuing to fashion this death trap of a toy!" Eyebrows furrowed, hair swishing, she stepped right next to the crouching Tony. Bruce shrunk into this corner behind the screen, and continued pretending he was being useful. Anthony yanked his arms out of the machine, cursing unintelligibly and stood fully to meet his CEO's stern gaze, which by now seemed to be permanently burned into her pointed face.
"I know what I am doing. How many times do I need to say this? I don't make mistakes." He argued, and backed up to take a sip of water that sat half-empty on a worktable near his right side. A long wrench sat next to his glass cup along with a few other tools that were halfheartedly placed around the workshop.
"I know that you are something of a genius and could probably invent a new periodic table-" Pepper started, taking a deep breath and setting the papers down on the same worktable, careful to avoid the dirt on them.
"Damn straight I could-"
"But even for you, or for anyone for that matter, this is dagnerous, and you shouldn't be messing with this area of science, Tony. You have never made something like this, and if you make a mistake, it's not like our tower can just be repaired from an explosion or-"
"Um, that was on you; distractions with so-called 'emergencies' involving conferences are not appreci-" He began defending with his black-stained fingers pointing at her, accusatory.
"Whatever physical damage happens." Pepper continued, shutting her eyes momentarily. "This window might encourage more aliens or worse creatures, and we don't even know-" Pepper's tight bun began to unravel at her ranting.
"Pepper." Setting down his glass, he finally shushed her with a gentle resting of his hands on her shoulders, careful not to smudge them with his dirt-smeared hands.
She quieted herself, eyes meeting his while her heart skipped a few beats. Whether it was from stress, or Tony's touch, she couldn't tell anymore.
"You worry too much. Relax. I have plenty of safety precautions and four eyes behind you to help me." Pepper looked confused for a moment, but didn't break eye contact. Bruce rolled his eyes, and simply sighed.
"Everything's under our control." He offered her a simple but adorable smile, and then turned back to Bruce, nodding once more to bring up the screen, along with an unexplained set of monitors that splashed behind his troubled, beloved woman.
Bruce glared, not fully appreciating the silent treatment of nods, but didn't argue as he complied once more, sighing.
The CEO could only search for confirmation in Anthony's eyes before closing hers once more, snatching her papers, and striding back to the door back upstairs to the elevator. Just before walking through the door, she turned and simply commanded in a tired, but concerned tone, "Just be careful, Tony. You're not a God." With that, she took her heels and clipboard with her, glancing one last time at his work, disgust and admiration overlapping in her eyes.
Tony stood still for a while, watching her go with a half-smirk and folded arms, urging her to continue on her full day.
"She worries way too much." Turning, he quickly crouched back down, and dove his short arms back into the large, square-shaped hole that led into the colossal tube once more, studying the screen with the camera.
"I think she has a point, but we are both more than capable of handling this." He paused, then added, "I must say, your relationship skills are quite fascinating, my friend." Bruce spoke finally, and moved closer to Anthony, who was still staring at the screen. Tony replied bluntly, "Well, I learned from the best."
"And who is that?"
"Me." Bruce scoffed, and asked if Tony needed help. His response was cut off by a large series of crisp snapping that resonated from the tube. Tony grunted, and jerked his arms out, which seemed to attract more dirt. He looked at them with distaste, then turned to Bruce.
"Where did this stuff come from? I didn't even get out the WD-40." He wiped his hands on a nearby black towel that lay on the silver tube while Bruce chuckled, glimpsing at his own hands, which were clean. The camera monitor disappeared, and a small green light blinked to life on the ends of the black bar.
"Shall we go for a test run?" Tony asked.
"Maybe we should clean up all of this, uh...mess, first." Bruce suggested, grabbing Tony's used towels that were strewn all over the room. Fire hazard, he thought dully, and continued rapidly picking up other miscellaneous scattered around the work area. Tony lazily watched him, wondering why he even bothered. With a swish of his arms and hands, he ordered the screens away as they disintegrated under his command. Walking closer to his creation, he tapped it a few times, and then picked up a screwdriver that lay on the floor next to his foot. Tossing it at Bruce, who barely caught it, he then demanded, "JARVIS, fetch the others for me will you?"
"Shall I inform them of a specific reason, should they inquire?"
"Tell them I have a surprise."
"Sir, I doubt they will comply if you require me to relay the specific message" JARVIS replied in his crisp accent. Tony walked over to Bruce to help him briefly before retorting, "Just do it. I will lock them on separate room and activate the fire showers if needed. This is too brilliant for them to miss, wouldn't you say so, doctor?" Tony didn't wait for a reply as JARVIS complied.
"Sure." He sighed once again. Bruce hoped they would hurry; his fellow scientist was very close to turning that "window" on, and Bruce found it difficult to push back his nagging internal gut that continued to twitch inside of him in its own language.
It repeatedly stated rather uncomfortably, this is a bad idea.
The clock read 7:23 am.
"WHERE IS THE AMMO GODDAMMIT?!" Rocket screeched, snaking his way up the towering shelves in the corner of Peter's ship, tail whipping back and forth.
"I hid them!" He shouted back from the left pilot seat, not bothering to turn around. Gamora sat on his right side, ignoring the bickering with a scowl on her face, as per usual. She focused on the controls in her hands with forced concentration.
"WHY?!" Rocket howled, tossing his gun on the floor while he searched the weapons area for the clips and magazines.
"For the thousandth time Rocket: you don't need to have a gun loaded in my ship at any time!" He shouted, glancing at Gamora for support; she instead replied with silence, remaining stone-faced and neutral, though Peter could tell she agreed with a twitch of the corner of her lip.
"What kind of reason is that?!" The furry creature knocked down several of Peter's possessions and other objects as he gouged each corner of the entire room of everything in the confined air-and-space craft. Boxes and small various objects and toys fell to the floor in small heaps, and tipped over with the ships' movement.
Snarling viciously, a loud 'aha!' was heard from the back of the ship; a loud snapping and various clipping noises followed as Peter bashed a few buttons on the control panel with his two fingers, snapping at Gamora to take over the ship. She gladly complied, for she knew that Peter was not as graceful as he thought when he was piloting the ship in the first place, recalling the last time they headed for Xandar.
The team had been on a check-in with the planet, and the security agency that buzzed fluently and efficiently in its heart. The Nova-Prime insisted on the "checkups" every few months as a regulation precaution after the incident with Ronan two and a half years back. She was grateful to them and stern, but had insisted because she doubted it was wise to roam the galaxy without a base to resupply and other maintenance that the ship, weapons, or themselves might eventually need. In fact, the Nova Prime could not be more grateful. She felt that she owed the entire group her life, and that her service from Xandar was the least she could do for the rag-tag youngsters and a kind tree.
Although the team of companions got along well, there was always the more-than-occasional brawl over what seemed like the smallest of problems.
"For the third time, Rocket you can't have a loaded weapon! No one else but you is even caring about this!" Peter stomped his way through the small corridor that branched to the right, boots making thick rubber-on-metal 'clanks' towards the weapon-storage area. Physically, it was a small berth that Peter dubbed the "throw your shit here" place, which for most was a jacket or firepower of some kind. Eventually, Drax convinced Peter it should be more organized, if that is where the weapons are going to be piled into. He agreed, and now it was a coat storage and weapons arsenal that was almost comedic to walk into. However, at the moment, it was nothing but such.
"I require a loaded weapon because I'm skeptical of everyone, including this planet full of jack-turds that can't even see where they are stepping!" Rocket spat, slinging his too-large weapons over his shoulder. He distinctly recalls a few months ago when an elderly stepped on his smaller foot for the smallest moment that he was on the ground, and not on Groot's shoulders of circular, wide cranium.
"We've been here like, 50 times now, " Obviously exaggerating, the Lord of Stars countered heatedly, attempting to grab Rocket's firearm from him, lunging forwards, fingers outstretched, face screwed into an annoyed grimace. He missed, and earned a solid and swift bite on the wrist.
"Blech! You taste like shit!" Rocket retorted, and spat on the ground of the metal ship, the fluid stained with a slight tinge of red.
"Eugh-don't spit, Rocket! That is disgusting, and with millions of more years of you doing that this ship is going be soaked in that stuff!" Peter bellowed, face red with frustration. He lurched for the creature once more, but Rocket slide underneath him, scrambling much like a cat to the ceiling, clinging to the thickly protected wires and handles, escaping quickly, a snicker clearly plastered onto his face, weapon in hand. Peter refused to pursue him and give Rocket the satisfaction he constantly craved.
"Gah! Son of a..." Peter sucked on his wound, and marched back to his seat, past Drax, who had just woken up from all of the screaming and slamming; he had fallen asleep on their start to Xandor hours ago. Blinking, he watched sleepily as Peter slumped down into the main pilot seat, pouted, and then slammed his fist on the buttons again, completely disregarding Gamora's slight chuckle and the sense of the requirement of a seat belt.
Sitting behind Gamora was Groot, who had fastened himself onto a handlebar near the exit of the ship by the winding of his thick, green and brown branches, as he was too large to keep balance or sit in a chair, much like the one Drax was nestled in. He sneezed, and a spew of small leaves drifted from his two holes of a nose, and he blinked a few times, gazing at his arms as he always did when he was bored, and breifly wondered if he could simply grow a few apples or lemons.
"Why can't that little shit just frickin' let. It. Go?" Peter complained grumpily, eyebrows furrowed, hands clenching the steering rod in a death grip. He exhaled angrily, teeth ground together almost into stubs by now.
"Maybe you could solve the problem by requesting, not demanding. He isn't all that careless, and he is just cautious, just like all of us." Gamora reasoned sincerely, and glanced at her own knives that were strapped in various areas around her body.
"Hmph. Requesting," Slightly in a mocking tone, Peter argued, " that arsenal-addicted, crazy little rat is not even comprehensible to him."
"Are we almost there?" Drax grumbled, now fully awake and aware of what just happened, yet again. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He was starving, and Groot turned his head as well, hoping to hear of a fountain he could drink from.
"Yeah." Peter huffed, and sighed as he angled the ship towards the island where the Nova Prime would be waiting patiently, hair whisked into some wicked shape, guards contentedly attending her authority-heavy presence. The ship finally broke the planet's atmosphere, and began its steady descent. Within minutes, the Milano would land on the monumental landing area that sat like a concrete deck above the Nova's main entrance.
"I think you two just need to come to terms with each other, rather than having screaming, child-like fits that resemble what it feels like to be in a nursery." Gamora explained again, and pressed a few buttons on the control monitor once more, helping Peter aim the ship.
"I tried, remember?"
"You mean when you 'accidentally' shot him in the shoulder, claiming that 'that is what happens when we carry loaded firearms in a small ship'? Yes, that worked quite well, as I can recall." Gamora flashed back to the incident, remembering the unpleasant situation Peter shoved everyone into. He stole Rocket's gun and "pretended'' to drop it, hoping it would fire away from everyone's feet and scare them into making Rocket give up his dangerous requirements. Unfortunately, in his near-fatal mistake, it landed towards them and caused a small bullet to land in the miniature creature's left shoulder during his so-called "presentation".
It was nothing serious; Rocket screeched, and nearly killed Peter in the next second, grabbing the weapons and aiming it at his own shoulder in an attempt to get back at Peter. It made most of them laugh, except Rocket of course, but it still had been a dangerous stunt that left Peter feeling somewhat guilty, but still fed his annoyance and heat towards Rocket's standards of weapons. It was an early trip to Nova, as the ship had needed quite the repair after that.
"It would have work, if I had-"
"Thought it through more? Yeah. I figured." The assassin scoffed, and Peter simply continued to pout. Today sucks, he thought irritably.
"I am Groot." The gentle tree grumbled. Drax's stomach growled, and Gamora guessed it was because of hunger that everyone was a little on-edge. She turned and saw Groot begin munching on his own leaves again near his knees and elbows, the faint crunching sound reaching her sharp ears.
"I know! That is why we are-" He was interrupted by something that caught his eye. Rocket clambered down, a newly-attached strap that he quickly fashioned to help secure the weapon onto his body. He hissed at Peter as he leaned against Groot's large arm, picking something out of his teeth as he sat down near the tall tree's head.
But Peter was unaware of the hiss; he was focused on what looked like a clear, rippling wave of some sort. It look much like thick, wide pieces of glass bacon, waving and surging just where the ship was pointed at. It blanketed where they usually landed, and it wasn't moving.
"What is that?" Gamora inquired, concern creased in her green forehead as she leaned forward slightly, her hair falling from her toned shoulders.
"Maybe if you put some glasses on ya' boyfriend, he might be able to see better." Rocket cracked, spitting something on the ground, near Groot's right thigh-branch.
"I don't know, but I don't want to-" He was abruptly cut off, because the bacon-glass rapidly moved towards them, like a flying net that wanted to capture them, and the two pilots were not expecting such.
"Wha-!?" Peter exasperated. Despite his slumped attitude, he started to 180 the steering console, but he was too late. He underestimated the speed of the rippling apparition.
He began fumbling with his seat belt.
Groot saw the apparition before Rocket, and eyes widening, he snatched the Raccoon-like animal. Rocket protested with a bark of questions as to why the tree grabbed him so suddenly, but he too was cut off. Drax gripped his seat and shouted at Peter and Gamora, but they could not hear them.
They both lost control, and a blaring groaning sound rumbled through the ship, and sparks flew in the cabin. The thunderous groan got louder as the clear-bacon strips slammed into the ship, engulfing it whole. The whole ship went pitch black, and a loud screeching and tearing noise was followed by a forceful jerking from side to side. It was as if a large monster had roared in the face of the vehicle, and then growled with them inside of its throat while it jumped up and down. The jerking and what felt like spinning combined with the noise because a dangerous blender of noise that drowned out the guardian's screams.
It also immersed the sound of Peter's body slamming into nearly everything. His seat belt was not on, and he was suffering heavily from the previous decision made in arrogance. He slammed into the wall behind everyone with a stiff 'thump', and then managed to tumble back into the narrow hallway that branched. His weight made a decent indent, but then he rolled to the right, where the weapons sat. Luckily, Rocket only loaded his personal one, and empty guns and sheathed long knives rained on him as he was thrashed about the small area. Peter barely inhaled as he attempted to curl into some sort of ball to protect his head, but to no avail.
His skull smashed into the ceiling, and his vision blurred. He cursed, but was slammed into the corner of the coat-space, knocking him out cold.
The ship was still dark as it seemed to be spiraling out of control in no where, but all of a sudden, the ship nosedived into what looked like a larger version of the island of the Nova headquarters, and they were headed for a large green rectangle of some sort, the ship completely out of control as Gamora began to panic.
Light finally filled the cockpit, and the others remained mostly unharmed and none of them had time to process that damage that was down on each other, or the entire ship itself, Gamora regained herself, and quickly reacted.
Shoving the worry behind of losing her co-pilot, with more force and conviction, the assassin tackled the controls once more. Yanking with all of her might, she tried to level the ship, and avoid the chaotic hysteria that was rising at the thought of slamming into the ground. Shouting in frustration, and ignoring Rocket and Drax's shouts of advice, she jabbed her fingers into a series of buttons that glowed above her. They read, "Emergency use only: one-use brake." She cursed, and pulled the final lever that activated the lower brake-jets of high-speed propulsion. The ship came to a stomach-sickening slow, and in a whirlwind of panicked humans scattering below, the ship managed to level itself several feet from the ground, a deafening rumble coming from below as what sounded lke bombs released themselves from the ship.
Gamora flipped the lever once more, and the ship dropped heavily into the green grass of the large rectangle they crash-landed in.
Gamora breathed heavily, and sat back in the chair with a grunt. She blew her hair from her face, and unbuckled with strangely steady hands. This can't be happening. Where are we? She thought, groaning as she rose from her seat. She felt dizzy, and somehow heavier than normal, as if a set of bricks were set upon her shoulders, and were implanted into her stomach. Swaying slightly, she croaked, "Rocket?" Groot was still on the ground, fastened to the handle, though he seemed to have made more that grasped almost anything attached to the ship securely: handles to locked storage places, various pipes and wires above him, and Drax's seat. His branches were surprisingly undamaged, despite a few splinters and cracks along his shoulders. Groot let a large bump on his leg unfold, and a gasping Rocket slid out like a fat slug.
"Urg...what...the hell just happened? I knew Peter was a bad navigator, but man..." Rocket shook his head while checking his gun, and then looked up at Groot, who offered a weak smile. Groot retracted his branches, which were also wrapped around Drax for more support, who was now unbuckling as well. He slowly moved over to Gamora, who was blinking rapidly, and looking confused.
She still felt heavy, as if gravity was pulling on her tightly. Drax suddenly felt it too, and while Rocket and Groot stood as well, he asked, "Do you feel that?" He swayed, a little off-balance, and studied his hands, as if they had the answer.
"Yeah...where is Peter?" Gamora's mind shifted. Everything was forgotten. The spluttering sparks that began to sprinkle the cockpit like snow-fire were forgotten. Her "heaviness side effect" of some sort was ignored. Her rats' nest of hair was brushed aside, and her legs began to move once again. They all made their way past deep cracks of the ship that snaked their way down the hull, and into the branched - off spaces. Drax and Rocket moved into the left opening, and Groot and Gamora nearly ran into the right opening. Gamora sucked in a shaky breath when she saw Peter.
Splayed like a large ragdoll, he was slumped up against he far wall of the weapons cache, various objects littered around him like trash. Blood trickled like a leaky faucet down his nose and onto his red, leather jacket, and his left hand was smeared in his own blood as well. His right leg was bent at an awkward angle, and a knife was implanted halfway into the side of his pelvis, where more crimson dripped at a steady rate onto the metal floor of the ship.
Groot got there faster than Gamora could, but only because of his longer legs. He stuck his face in front of Peter's, and sniffed two brisk sniffs. Looking back at Gamora, she expectantly glared at him, searching for an answer. He nodded slowly, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her.
But it was quickly interrupted by someone slamming on the front pilot window in a rushed fashion.
"Please tell me you're not making out back there!" A metallic voice called from outside, and was followed by another pounding on the thick glass.
As Drax stepped out to investigate, he was greeted with a man-shaped creature who appeared to be covered in some type of armor, and anoter man-shaped figure with a strange circular, metal shield of some sort with bright colors. He growled, and ran straight for the window, footsteps shaking the entire, tempest-tossed ship.
This is not a one-shot. I plan to continue this story.