(Thank you all so, so much for the feedback, follows and the like; it really pushes my writing process. And along that line, I hope this is good enough as well)


He pulled out her seat, gesturing grandly at the hovering, padded white seat. Gamora sat, still trying to wrap her mind around the hurried explanation of why they were in this establishment in the luxury belt of Saturn. Peter could not afford to breath the air in here, same with her, but that was an entirely different situation. Even with their criminal records being wiped, Peter was still mixed up with the underworld, paying back the people he'd 'borrowed' money from(with hardly a plan to return it). And that money was used to buy trinkets like the glittery disco ball that'd he'd hung in the depths of their spaceship. Critical investment decision.

The most recent attack was from a short female who owned a series of planets with disgustingly expensive real estate. With all that money and clear intelligence, Gamora had to wonder why she'd given Peter money, but she saw the picture of him that he'd submitted (in a religious outfit from his own planet), with his hair slicked down and parted, looking pensive, a cross hanging from a silver necklace, collar up to his neck. He really did look...clean. Trustworthy, even; and not a space pirate down on his luck. Maybe that was something close to description of his previous allegiance to the Ravagers, but with all of their flipped morals and greed, their reputation or getting shit down (or getting things stolen) erased any bad definition that was involved with their aesthetics.

So; the next thing. Valentine's day. It was some Terran tradition, of sorts, though she wasn't going to trust Peter's telling of it, especially as he started in on the sex part, a slow smile crawling over his lips as he expressed it's importance on the day. They'd been together long enough her to catch at least 25% of his bullshit. In response, she'd elbowed him, missed, and was pulled hard against him, hand under her knee. Simply, the conversation was dropped.

Peter pulled her back to the present as he reached under his jacket, holding out the left flap as he rooted around in the inner pocket. As if the mode of transportation and reveal wasn't bad enough, he set a bunch of fake flowers on the table. Another grand gesture that wasn't needed towards an object, Peter's smile almost blinding her, camped out in the chair across from her, almost snuggling further down as she poked at the roses.

"Are these fake flowers?" she asked, because despite all the technology, fake flowers had a smell that made her eyes water, and all that over vibrant red pigment in the blooming area wasn't helping at all.

"What-" Peter sat up, brow creasing as he lifted the flower. "Really?"

"Did you honestly not know?"

"It was an impulse buy, Gamora, I bought them on the way here."

She remembered the vase in the hallway, studied the flowers intently for the moment needed to, knowing if she walked out of the restaurant, she'd see an empty vase in an alcove, "You stole them out of the vase."

Peter took a breath, a hand raising briefly, before he let it fall to the table. "Yes. But it's kind of romantic, even if they're fake." He frowned, tipping forward to ask, "Are you crying? I was so sure stealing was hot."

"It's the smell of the flowers, Quill," she snapped, pressing her hand over her eyes, pushing away the damp, tipping her head to the side to better glare at him.

He winced at the Quill, superstitiously brushing the 5 flowers off the table, foot moving into veiw enough for her to watch him slide them under the table. Her lips quivered, and she smiled, looking away from him in general as she shook her head, hoping she'd find a reason to not reward his blunders with laughter. She occupied herself with bringing up the menu, tapping two fingers on the glowing sphere in the center, a menu expanding quickly, red words flashing once, twice, 'your server has been requested'.

"It's a bit old school, isn't it? Not a lot of places do servers to this extent anymore."

"And that's why the cost is going to put you into an entirely new world of debt, am I correct?" She asked.

"No it's not, Gamora, so there," he said, as if that was the deciding factor.

She looked him over, laughed almost against her will, but that photo of him with a high, stiff collar; so ridiculous. "I had no idea you moonlighted as a priest."

"I never told you?" Peter asked, eyebrows raising. "I have a degree."

"Did you really?" She knew her tone was dripping with disbelief, and Peter leaned back, pulling his holopad from his belt, slapping it on the table.

A couple deft movements, and he pulled up a certificate, the projected screen flickering in testimony to the overused and outdated technology. But the certificate was clear enough for her to read; Congratulations! You've received the final part of a religious degree earned in 48 hours! Gamora stopped reading when she hit the *, tracking the postscript, which told her the truth behind the certificate, as it was only allowed in certain places in the galaxy.

She raised her eyes to Peter, who smirked, closing the holopad, leaning back to slip it back in it's notch, "It's too easy sometimes."

"I do not know how you've lasted out here."

"Dodging death with my good looks, I think," Peter shrugged as he spoke, "oh, oh; and pissing off the right people."

She hummed, distracted by the sudden appearance of their waiter, a novelty she'd never experienced, used to keying in her orders, having them brought out in short time. Here, she had to go through three courses, which seemed tedious, really, and all though Peter was more than happy to send off his order and help her, she wasn't too happy at staring at a printed menu. Peter being pressed close was nice, but she just-she didn't want to be helped.

Or come off odd because she still ate within a minute's space of time, because Thanos didn't place enjoying meals at the top of lists when training could serve to fill that spot, followed by another painful genetic tampering, a spar afterwards with one of her sisters.

Gamora took a deep breath to rid the memories from her mind as best she could, letting her finger track down the menu, hoping Peter hadn't caught the starting retrograde, but he did. Maybe because it was a trade off between her ability to call that 25% bullshit level, and this. It meant something to her that he was able to see a tiny flicker of emotion. She'd hardly had more honor and decency than him when they first met, clinging to the humanity that Nebula had already discarded in the hopes she would soon be able to make up for her past transgressions. What she was doing now, with him at the rest of them.

"You good?" he asked, breath hitching as she shifted, large hand spanning over her hip. No one else could read her like this; in fighting terms, he'd be a much better match now. He dropped his voice even lower, whispering into her ear, "I'll eat your food if you want me to, no problem."

Usually when he whispered into her ear, the words were a bit better stated. She'd even say she was let down, any remaining buzz from the breath falling away, and she shook her head, relaxing further into him, armrests hardly doing anything good now, "You are ridiculous."

"I'm so serious right now, I think I made the wrong choice," he said, still whispering into her ear. "I'm thinking chocolate with that fancy antigrav plate that makes the fountain look like it's gonna go the other way; then no it doesn't. And it's a shitty recountment, but I've only gotten pictures and rumours, it's like a fucking state secret these rich people hide. So here we are, in the belly of the beast, Gamora, and we're not even going to take advantage of this."

She stifled a laugh, believing that someone would hide dessert secrets from Peter, swayed by the drama he was invoking to take her mind off anything else but his borderline desperate desire to sample desserts. And she wanted to see that chocolate thing. "I'm surprised you didn't suggest a strictly dessert dinner. It really seems like an oversight, Peter. Perhaps you should suggest that."

"Oh fuck, are you serious?" he asked, practically hissing now, as if they were planning an attack, or something similar.

It probably didn't look good, with the other couples straight backed, even if they were as close as the two of them. If Peter moved any further, he'd be in her lap, and he was rather heavy. Besides, she'd prefer a reverse of that.

"Yes."

"If you're kidding, you have a very bad sense of humour. You don't put that in front of someone and then pull it away, Gamora,"

"I'm hardly the one to joke, Peter, I will leave that to you, stick with my rather dry humour."

He tipped back, serious for just a beat, eyes traveling over her face, taking her in before he murmured, "I like your dry humour." Then his wide smile was back on his face,

For a very brief second, she was sure he bounced out of his chair, kissing her quickly on the cheek. She was caught off guard, hand hovering near her cheek, grateful that blush didn't show well on the green hue of her skin. Peter had his hand up, as if pressing the call button wasn't good enough, leaving her to review the extensive dessert menu.

She was happy that they would be going soon, preferring the familiar comfort of a room for the two of them, something more intimate. He did convince her to stay for a drink, waiting at the bar instead of that table, which was too small anyway, for their boxed desserts. Apparently the antigrav plate was more than half of the unit price, but she'd like to see what it did to other food in the containment area.

"So what is the real reason you can afford these 200 unit drinks, Peter?"

"My friend works here. It's pretty much free."

"Is he the one serving our drinks?" she asked, watching him put up his hand to catch the man's attention, on the other side of the circular bar now.

His wave was returned, and Peter grinned. "Pretty much."

"At least you took advantage of it," she said, eyes tracking over the displayed menu.

"What, do you want me to spend units on you?"

"Hardly," she scoffed, letting her pinky swirl the dark liquid, "I am not one to want silly things like that to affirm you care about me."

"'Cuz you know you've got me around your finger, don't you?"

She looked to him out of the corner of her eye, a tiny smirk curling her lips before she shrugged, tucking her hair behind her ear, though she kept some of it between her fingers, studying the purple ends. "Maybe."

He made a little noise, hand moving to rest on her mid-back, an area revealed by the space in the simple black dress she wore, skin warm against hers. She felt a little quiver run through her, fighting against an instinctive tense up she was still learning to get rid of when it came to him. Gamora tipped, trying to catch a glimpse of his hand, maybe a waiter bringing their assorted desserts. There they were, thankfully, though the waitress that'd been no doubt commissioned to help their original waiter didn't looking pleased at the numerous containers that stacked up to her head, though she held them at the level of her waist.

She turned again to inform him, "Peter, our desserts."

"I could eat one of them everyday and still have that stockpile last at least a month, maybe," Peter said, rubbing his hands together.

Gamora missed the presence of one of them on her back, but they were going back to their over expensive suite, so. She could leave that topic open to speculation.

Peter had a box on top of his head, ones dotted over his arms, shoulders. She carried the chocolate antigrav plate, catching sight of the empty vase. Gamora stopped, pointed, but Peter feigned a loud cough, walking fast as he could without dropping anything. Stealing flowers out of a vase; he sometimes did things that made her question his general existence, and, once again, how he'd managed to stay alive this long.

He was at the door before her, watching her press her hand to the center, the door opening to her. The man at the front desk had been sure to make her the one who could open the door exclusively. Probably because Peter didn't look trustworthy to people.

Peter set down his boxes, filling the huge, authentic oak table; this close to Earth, she assumed that's what it was made of. She was holding the cake, lifting it to the better lighting here than the hallway and the restaurant. The center, triangular piece remained somewhat stationary half way between the two plates, and the icing swirled slow around it without much direction.

"Are you going to eat it, or look at it?"

She glared past the cake to him, said, "I would like to, but it is…"

"Scared?"

"Peter, why would I be frightened by a cake, that is absurd." She dropped her gaze back to the cake, hesitating before she spoke again, "It's very...pretty, and I don't want to ruin it."

A slight cough from another side room, specifically the one before the doors that led to the huge bedroom, drew her attention away from Peter and the cake. Rocket, followed by Groot, walked towards them, the raccoon's paws tightening the tie of the bathrobe. For whatever reason, his fur was well groomed, white tips of hair that protruded from his ears curled, his tail puffed out like it'd been combed through. Very interesting, as she hadn't seen much personal hygiene from Rocket, as he always seemed to be working on a project, preferring that over a shower. Peter had sprayed an odor neutralizer on him once; the mistake was never made again.

"If you don't want the cake, you should pass it down here," Rocket said, holding one paw up as far as he could.

Rocket's head turned abruptly to focus on Peter, his eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring. His eyes scanned Peter up and down, even went as far as circling him, nose twitching constantly in a way that made her own itch. The raccoon zipped off back the way he came from, though Groot didn't follow, staring at the cake, his head tipped to the side.

"What was that? Why is he even in this-" Peter cut himself off as Rocket stuck his head into the room, though his confusion was still palpable.

Rocket patted the wall he was bent around urgently, "Come on, Groot, you don't even like chocolate, why the hell are you starin' at it like that?"

Groot turned, shrugging as he lumbered into the next room with his friend, his, "I am Groot," audible as always.

"That doesn't matter right now, moron," Rocket snapped, pushing at Groot's leg in an attempt to move him faster.

"How did he get into the room?" Peter walked to the drapes, looking out the window that was directed towards the sun. The numerous barriers that surrounded the establishment, protecting against solar flares and other dangers was as good as an atmosphere; maybe better than the one that kept the nearby Earth safe now, if she'd heard about their deteriorating environment properly.

"I've stopped asking those kind of questions when it comes to Rocket, Peter."

She watched him drop on all fours, inching along the closest wall, shoving aside obstacles, snapping the few drawers he could. Maybe he was mimicking Rocket, she didn't know, really. It was Peter, so normal assumptions were fairly up in the air.

"I'm going to solve this mystery, I swear if he doesn't get his furry butt out," Peter said, standing up to walk in the center of the room, doing a circle under the painted ceiling. "What is up with artists and naked small things?" he asked, pointing up at the lounging, magenta skinned infant on a sphere, it looked like. "Is that weird, or is it just me? You know what, I'll add that to my case list."

"What, are you a licensed detective now?"

"Actually yes, that was a 12 hour degree program, much snappier; I can show you the certificate."

She laughed, shaking her head, using her free hand to grab one of his, pulling him after her, in the opposite direction Rocket had gone in. Away from the painting as well. Peter closed the doors behind him while she set the plate down on the low table in between two couches. And she caught sight of him looping his belt around the handles(he wasn't as sneaky as he thought he was. Or maybe that's what he wanted her to think), apparently not wanting to devote time to a simple locking code. Gamora had hardly straightened before he had her, unceremoniously diving in, but she didn't care. He hadn't been able to get closer to her with all of those chairs, and she really, really disliked that. REally- or, a lot, she couldn't really put her mind to any thoughts of 'before', just now.

Her stomach felt hollow, nerves crashing through her, and it was only emphasized by his kiss. The nerves weren't bad, her fingers in his hair, clawing through the brown, inviting him to move this a little faster, and he responded to that, walking them back to the close wall. She hit it with some force, air pushed out of her lungs, taking a deep, hard breath when he pulled back. His hands fisted in the sides of her dress, yanking at it without much point, and she felt she should've informed him that, no, she hadn't mysteriously removed the shoulder straps.

He was warm. A silly, silly observation, and she was warm too, but she always focused on the fact that he was touching her. Silly, but, she'd never experienced another living, breathing organism touching her in a way that would not eventually lead to her demise. Which was always nice, and a relatively new thing.

"What about that cake, Peter?" she asked, pulling back, though it hardly stopped him, head bent, feathering kisses lower.

"Fuck the cake," he muttered, pressed flush to her now, a low chuckle escaping him before he continued, "I'll eat it off you. Yea?"

She considered that, opened her mouth to agree, but her name was called from beyond the door. Drax, it sounded like. Peter whined, closing his eyes tightly, as if doing that might add to some deaf factor, forehead to the wall beside her head, exhaling softly on her neck.

"I should go talk to him."

"How the hell do they get in? And, I think I set the door to, do not disturb. Ever."

"Sounds nice, no disruptions." She couldn't help if her tone was a bit wistful.

"I know, I know…" He nodded, giving a little snuffle, though a grin was already on his lips, taking away from any sincerity, as usual. "It's so sad, Gamora, so sad."

"I'm going to go out there and solve the case for you."

"Yea, except you aren't licensed, so," Peter said, shrugging as he eased away enough for her to move to the door, "that's an issue. I think you'd be cast as the painfully beautiful, intelligent sidekick who gets the somewhat bumbling, but good-looking main detective out of trouble in every case. With a good helping of unresolved sexual tension, due to the fact that Sherlock, me, knows that you, Watson, is the only reason I'm still alive."

"I do not understand that reference, Peter."

"It's a complicated compliment, my dear Watson."

"How about the case of the belt used instead of a simple locking mechanism?" She asked, holding the folded letter up, stepping back up to him, hooking her finger briefly in the loops that had held the belt in place. "Lock it, next time." Rocking up on her toes, she made to kiss him, lips barely brushing against his before she turned, stepped out the door. "I'll get spoons as well, Peter."

"Get three."

"Why three?"

"I'm fairly sure I can make it rest on my nose for a bit."

She honestly didn't have anything to say to that.

He reached for her, but she pushed him back by his abdomen, letting him grab his belt again. She closed the door, walked across the foyer into the fireplace room. A hiss came from close by, and she stopped her progress into the bedroom, the thick carpet under her boots silencing any other noise. Gamora stood still, eyes flickering around the room, trying to judge where the hiss had come from. When she saw Rocket's paw waving urgently above a highback armchair, Groot hiding. Or Groot's version of hiding, crouched enough to that his head didn't get over the back of his chair, but half of his body was visible on the left. Drax didn't do any better, bulky body able to be seen from the right, the same way Groot had stationed himself. All in all, it was a terrible hiding job, and she was very grateful that they didn't do anything remotely covert.

"Psst!" Rocket hissed again, claws digging into the top of the chair, the white, small robe still on him. "Here, Gamora, hurry up."

She picked up her pace, stopping where she could see all of them, bunched behind the chair, sighing heavily before she asked, "What are you doing?"

Rocket's legs were working, trying to hitch onto the chair like his forepaws were, the red material that covered the chair looking scuffed. If nothing else, her friends were very, very good at destroying things. Individually, she'd say the tie was between Rocket and Drax

"Peter smells weird," Rocket said, narrowing his eyes, "And I can place it. Checked with Drax. It's not good. Did he drink something, recently?"

"Yes, he did. What is it, Rocket?" Gamora didn't have time to engage in a guessing game of any kind, crouched to better

"It is some sort of hormone that has only recently been manufactured, and can be influenced by an outside source," Drax said, his brow darkening, head bowed somewhat.

"Okay, so, he drank something, which means it's definitely in his system."

"Tell me in the simplest terms, Rocket."

"It's a rare biotechnology thing, and it ain't cheap or easy to handle, so, they're almost just for show, trinkets maybe. I've been itching to get my paws on one of those bad boys, it's cutting edge, 'head of it's time. Dunno why I didn't think about it, but fuck 'em, weapons are a sure fire way to fuck people over-"

"Rocket."

"Okay, okay, okay, don't get your panties in a wad, jeez," Rocket said, held up his paws to feign surrender before he scratched at one of his ears. "Basically, if you've got the right chemicals in him, or hormone, whatever the essential ingredient is, and a control platform, you've got almost complete power over the person influenced." Rocket tipped around her, pointed at Peter who was at the door, leaving the suite, steps oddly mechanical. "And look at that, the Humie is on the move. Or should I say the debtor, who probably owes someone here..."

As a group, they stood, and ran after Peter.


(there is a part 2 in the works, so. Reviews are always nice)