Peter Jason Quill thought he knew everything there was to know about women. He'd romanced dozens of females, of all ages and species, from one end of the galaxy to the other. He'd never, though, had what you would call a lasting relationship with one. And definitely not one that lasted for more than a week or so.

Therefore he was unaware of one basic fact of female biology, one that very shortly would make itself known to him in a big way.

It was the sound of smashing crockery that woke Peter out of a sound sleep, at-he strained to look at the clock-four forty-seven in the morning. What was going on? Were they under attack?

He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and followed the direction of the sound to the galley, where he found Gamora, clad in a blue flannel robe, systematically smashing all the dishes in the sink one by one.

"You're up early," was all he could think to say.

She turned on him with fury in her eyes. "Do none of you know how to wash a dish? Or do you think they magically wash themselves?"

"Yeah, I was gonna get to that . . . sometime when I wasn't sleeping."

"All I wanted was a cup of tea!" she raged. "Could I find a cup? NO! Because you refuse to clean anything in this filthy, disgusting hell-hole!"

"Okay, listen," he said, trying to defuse the situation. "It's late, well, it's early, we're tired, let's just go to bed-separately, of course-and we'll talk about whose turn it is to do the housework in the morning. Okay?"

It was the tone more than the words that got to her. She dropped the mug she was holding back into the sink and sat down, one hand holding onto the small of her back. "I just wanted a cup of tea."

"I don't think I have any tea."

That just set her off again. "You don't have any anything! Look at this!" She threw open the fridge door so hard that it bounced back. "You keep your shoes in the fridge?"

"Keeps 'em nice and cool. They're in a sealed plastic bag!"

"I don't care! This whole ship is filthy! I can't live like this!" Now she looked like she was going to cry-but that was impossible, wasn't it? Gamora never cried. At least, Peter had never seen her cry. Then again, he'd only known her a month or so.

"Would you two," a gruff voice interrupted them, "kindly restrict your lovers' quarrels to normal business hours, and not the middle of the night?"

Peter turned and saw Rocket standing there with a pissed-off expression on his furry face. "Hey, sorry we woke you, uh . . . little misunderstanding here-"

"Misunderstanding?" Yep, Gamora was back in rage mode. "You are a thoughtless, inconsiderate, disgusting, chauvinistic pig!" Then she suddenly winced and held her hand to her back again, like it pained her.

"Ah," Rocket said, "so that's what it is. Come on, Quill, let's get outta here, now."

"Wait a second, I'm just-"

"Now," the raccoon emphasized, and practically dragged Peter out of the room. "You don't try to reason with 'em when they're like that. Just stay outta her way."

"Like what? What's wrong with her?"

"Sheesh, for a guy who's supposed to be such a ladies' man, you don't know much about women, do you? It's her time."

"Her time for what?"

"You know. Her time of the month."

Peter just stared at him blankly.

"Oh, for the love of-" And he briefly but thoroughly explained the particular factor of female biology that was in play currently. "You get it now?"

"Yeah," Peter said, though he wasn't sure that he did. "So she's moody and cranky because she's in pain?"

"Yeah, but she'll never admit it."

"So what can I do to help?"

"Maybe ask her what you can do for her. If there's anything she wants."

"Other than clean dishes?"

"You could try washing them once in a while!"

"All right, fine! I will! Then I'll ask her what I can do for her! Happy?"

"Thrilled," Rocket quipped. "I'm goin' back to bed. See ya in the morning-if you're still alive."

That did not exactly fill Peter with a lot of confidence, but he was already up, so he might as well do it now.

Gamora was still sitting in the same spot when he came back into the galley. "Hey . . . sorry about before. You're right, I should clean up after myself. I'll make you your tea."

She looked up at him. "I thought you didn't have any tea."

"I might. If I do, it's all yours."

This seemed to satisfy her, and she nodded and rubbed her back again.

"Need some help with that?" He went to her, but held back from actually putting his hands on her until she gave the okay. After all, he wanted to live.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Okay, then. I'll just get these dishes done . . . the ones that are left, anyway. By the way, I notice that you don't have shoes on, so don't move till I've had a chance to sweep all this up."

It took him the better part of an hour to finish both the dishes and the sweeping, but he didn't mind. He told her about his childhood with the Ravagers, how they taught him to fight, to shoot straight, even to build his own weapons. He expected her to tell a few stories of her own, but she didn't seem to want to talk about her own past.

" . . . and Yondu said, 'The hamster goes in the other end, you dumbass!' Took him almost an hour to get it out of there. And I was on PD for two weeks for being stupid."

"Only you," she said, "would think of building a hamster gun, and then doing it the wrong way around. You were lucky to have someone who cared, even if he didn't show it much. That was pretty stupid, though."

"Yeah, it was. Well, I can't find any tea, but maybe this'll help." He set a small plastic container in front of her. "It's cottage cheese with pineapple chunks."

"Pine . . . apple? What is that?" She lifted the lid off and stared at the creamy substance inside.

"It's a fruit. It's sweet, and crunchy, and . . . just try it. If you don't like it, I promise that on our next supply run, I'll be sure and pick up some tea for you. As much as you want."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because you're-" No, he wasn't supposed to talk about her body processes, was he? "In a bad mood," he finished, "and I just want to help. Go on, try it."

She did, and it wasn't bad. The sweetness of the fruit made the bland milky stuff palatable. Before she knew it, the entire container was empty.

"Any more surprises?" she asked.

Peter grinned. "Maybe. Tell me something."

"Mmm?"

"Is there anything you really want? Besides a major cleaning job, which I promise I will get right on as soon as I've had a few more hours' sleep?"

"Sure you will."

"I will. I really will. I promise. So . . . anything?"

She thought about it. "The one thing I would really like," she said, "is . . ."

"Yes?"

"Is . . ."

"What?"

"A bath."

That wasn't quite the answer he was expecting. "A bath?"

"I haven't had a real bath since I was a little girl. I haven't had the luxury of being able to just sit and relax in a tub full of hot water. If I had a million units, I would buy myself the biggest, fanciest, most beautiful bathtub in the galaxy, and fill it with bubbles. All different colors of bubbles. Then I'd just sit there and play with the bubbles, all day, and all night."

"Well, I don't have a million units," he said, "but I'll see what I can do. Anything else?"

"Maybe . . . do they still make Star Tacks?"

"What are those? Some type of weapon?"

She gave him a look. "They're cookies. They're rich, delicious cookies, only made on one world, only sold at one time of the year. I had them once, and I would sell my soul to taste them again."

"Okay, I'll . . . look into it. I'm going back to bed now. You should, too. I mean, your own bed."

"I can never get back to sleep once I'm up. I'll just sit here for a while longer."

"Okay, then. I'll . . . see you in a couple hours." Peter shuffled back to his own room, knowing that she could take care of herself. He thought about what he'd have to do in the morning (well, later in the morning), and hoped that the All-World Market was still open early. Once he finished the cleaning, he had some shopping to do.


"She wants what?"

Peter had left for the market right after breakfast, dutifully cleaning up after himself and wiping down the rest of the kitchen for good measure. He had brought Rocket with him because the raccoon was better at bargaining than he was, and because he claimed he needed a bigger pot for Groot to grow into. Once they were safely away, Peter had filled him in on the true purpose of their mission, prompting this incredulous response.

"A bathtub. A nice one, but not too expensive. Something I can hook up to the ship's water supply without having to tear everything apart."

"Oh, sure. Cause they're just giving those away."

Peter lowered his voice. "Don't tell anyone, but I've got some money that I was saving up for a new gun."

"Like, how much money?"

"Not here! I'll tell you when we're alone. Enough. I hope." The market was visited by beings from all worlds, most law-abiding . . . some, not so much. Announcing that he was in possession of a large sum of money would be like strapping a target to his back. "Let's go look at pots first. We probably should have brought him with us, so he could choose one himself."

"And spoil the surprise? No way! Besides, he won't be using it for long enough to really get attached to it. But we want a good one anyway."

"If you say so."

They came away with a good-sized pot in a sunny shade of yellow, which Rocket insisted was Groot's favorite color.

"Can he even see colors?" Peter asked.

"Course he can! He loves anything yellow. And we can keep it around after he's done, in case he needs it again. Maybe we can even keep stuff in it. Well, here we are."

"What? Here we are what?"

"The bath department. Go get Princess Emerald a tub already."

"You're not coming?"

"Nah, I'm not gettin' involved. I give you bad advice, she doesn't like it, she might kill both of us. If it's just you, I can claim plausible deniability and live."

"I don't think it works that way . . ."

"Just go, will ya?" The raccoon gave him a shove through the door of the bath fittings shop. Peter stumbled into a free-standing shower unit in the middle of the floor and almost fell on his ass.

"I was going to ask if I could help you," the shop clerk said, coming over, "but it looks like that goes without saying."

"Thanks." Peter brushed himself off; no harm done. Except possibly just a bit, to Rocket, later on.

"What can I do for you today?"

"This is a little embarrassing . . ." And he explained his situation as succinctly as he could.

"Ah, I see. You need something . . . economical, and yet still serviceable."

"I want it to be nice. She deserves nice."

"Well, all right. Let me show you our economy range."

The first one was too small. She might have fit into it if she scrunched her knees up, but then it wouldn't be comfortable. "No. Sorry."

The next one was collapsible, folding into a pouch that could be stowed in a closet or under a bed. A good idea in theory, especially considering the limited space that five people now shared, but the material looked thin, and Peter was afraid that it might spring a leak at an inopportune moment. "Water and shipboard electrics . . .yeah, not really a good mix. What else you got?"

"This one is made from the carapace of an Arcturan mega-beetle-"

"No. No dead animals."

"Well, how about this lovely model over here?"

But Peter's attention was drawn to a beautiful claw-foot tub sitting off in a corner by itself. It looked like marble, although it was probably ceramic over stainless steel, and the color was a lovely shade of green just a bit darker than Gamora's skin color.

"Oh, baby." He ran his hand over the finish; smooth as silk. The edge was scalloped and looked like her head would rest perfectly against it. "How much is this one?"

"Erm . . . I don't think you want that one. This was originally a custom order for a client who unfortunately was not able to take delivery."

"Changed his mind, huh?"

"No, er . . . bomb in his personal transport."

"Oh." Peter gave it another long, loving look. It was perfect, just perfect. "I'll take it off your hands for you. How much?"

"I don't think-"

"How much?"

The clerk quoted him a figure.

"How much?" If he'd heard correctly, that was their entire grocery budget for a month.

"As I said, it was custom-built. I could perhaps knock ten percent off for you, but that's the best I can do. Perhaps one of our less expensive models?"

Peter thought about it. He looked over his shoulder at the rejects, and then back at the wonder before him.

It's so beautiful, he thought. She'd love me forever if I brought this home. She might even let me scrub her back.

"I didn't need a new gun anyway," he said out loud.

"Then you'll take it?"

"I'll take it. Oh, one more thing: do you have anything that makes bubbles?"


Getting the tub onto the ship was not the problem. Getting Gamora off the ship while he brought the tub on board, so as not to spoil the surprise, was the problem.

Fortunately, Rocket was a bit more cooperative this time.

"Yeah, sure I'll take her out."

"And you'll get, um, the other thing we discussed?"

Now Rocket looked a little annoyed. "You know how hard it is to get Star Tacks out of season? Even in season, they ain't cheap."

"But you can do it."

"Please. It's me you're talkin' to here. I can get anything. It'll cost ya, though."

"Sure. Whatever." Peter still had a little cash left from the bathtub expedition. "How much?"

For the second time that day, he was quoted a monetary figure that was light-years beyond what he expected to pay. "What?"

"Told ya it'd cost ya. If it's too much, I could call off the deal. Maybe she'll be happy with just the tub. It is nice."

For a moment, Peter actually considered telling Rocket not to bother with the Star Tacks. That amount of money was just too much to pay for a damn cookie. But then he pictured Gamora's face when she saw the tub and the cookies, spread out on a fancy plate-wait, he didn't have any fancy plates, did he? On a regular plate, then, with a napkin under them; that would do.

It might not totally make up for the fact that she was in pain, but hopefully it would go some way towards making her feel better.

Peter sighed and handed over the last of his cash. "Oh, well," he said. "And I heard Taste of Terra had real Twinkies, too."

"Twinkies?" Rocket looked at him quizzically.

"They're, um, a kind of snack cake with cream in the middle. Haven't had one since I was a kid. They're hard to get out here. Maybe they'll have some more when we get paid for our next job."

"Yeah, maybe," said the raccoon, with that look in his eye that meant he was putting together a plan. "You just get that tub where it belongs, and leave the rest to me. And while I'm gone . . ."

"Yeah?"

"See if you can coax Groot into his new pot."


The first task was easy enough. Peter enlisted Drax's help in getting the tub filled with water, and then setting it up where it belonged.

"I do not understand," Drax said, "the attraction of baths. What is the point of just sitting there?"

Peter shrugged. "Some people find it relaxing."

"And Gamora is one of these people?"

"Yeah, I guess so. She's not feeling too well right now, so I wanted to cheer her up."

"She is ill?"

"Not . . . exactly. She's having her . . . um . . . time of the month."

Drax nodded in sudden understanding. "The monthly secretions. I remember it well. So you wish to provide her with the ritual cleansing?"

"No, I just wanted to give her something that'll make her happy. I asked her what she wanted, and she said a bath. Oh, the bubbles! We have to add the bubbles!"

"Bubbles?"

"Over there."

They added lots of bubbles to the water, set a heating element under the tub so the water would stay warm, and then Peter remembered the second thing he was supposed to do.

Transplant Groot to his new pot.

"Oh, boy."

He found the tiny tree creature, who was not so tiny anymore, down in the engine room where Rocket bunked down. The yellow pot was there as well, along with half a bag of the soil-like nutrient mix that went in the pot.

Here goes nothing, Peter thought. "Hey there, Groot."

"I am Groot?"Groot spread his upper branches and looked up.

"I noticed you're getting a little too big for your pot there. Now, see this nice big yellow pot over here?"

Groot rotated to the left as much as he could. "I am Groot?"

"That's gonna be your new home, at least till you're big enough to start walking around on your own." Peter heard the condescending tone in his voice and cringed. Just because Groot was the size of a toddler didn't mean he was one. He still had his own brain. "Um, I'm gonna just move you over as soon as you're ready. Okay?"

Groot bent his head to the side quizzically. "I am Groot?"

"Yeah, Rocket's not here right now. I told him I'd do him a favor and help move you. I promised. We can do this together, right?"

"I am Groot!" Groot reached out with his tiny hands and grasped the edges of his current pot.

"Oh, come on! Help me out here! Five seconds, and you'll be in a nice new pot, and everything will be fine! It's yellow; Rocket said that was your favorite color."

"I am Groot."

"Is that a yes? Come on, buddy. Look, I know you're not happy about being stuck in a pot. I'd feel the same way. But it's only for a little while longer. I bet you'll only be in that pot for a week, tops, before you're ready to come out. You can put up with it for a week, can't you? Now come on."

Groot looked at the yellow pot. He looked at Peter's face, silently pleading for him to work with him here. And he slowly but deliberately worked his roots free of the smaller pot.

"I am Groot," he said triumphantly.

"There we go! Okay." He gently picked Groot up by his small grasping hands and lifted him up, setting him gently into the new pot. He added enough of the soil to hold the sapling securely. "There. How's that?"

"I am Groooooot," he sighed, turning his face upwards.

"Oh, right. Sun lamp! I'll go get it." Peter started across the room to retrieve the device, but his foot came up against the old pot, and he pitched forward. He put his arms out in an effort to break his fall, and one of them struck the yellow pot, which rocked back and forth wildly. Just as it was about to overbalance and tip onto the deck, a strong hand caught it and set it upright.

"I am Groot!"

"You are welcome," said Drax. "Are you all right, Quill?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine." He slowly got to his feet, brushing himself off. "Thanks for the assist."

"Is there anything else you require?"

"Yeah. A plate. The nicest one we've got. And one of those fancy napkins that I stole from the state dinner on Xandar. Excuse me-I mistakenly tucked into my pocket and brought home with me, totally by accident. One of those."

Drax nodded and disappeared upstairs. Peter, once he had regained his equilibrium, grabbed the sun lamp and brought it over, setting it close to Groot's new pot.

"There you go, buddy. Enjoy."

"I am Groot."

Now there was nothing to do but wait for Rocket and Gamora to return. Peter popped the tape from his Walkman into the main console, so that everyone could have a little music. Groot swayed back and forth happily under the sun lamp; Drax, on the other hand, was resistant to the power of the tunes.

"What is it for?" he asked.

"What's it for? It's music, man! It makes you feel good!"

"How?"

Peter had to admit he'd never thought about it before. "I dunno. It just . . . speaks to me. I mean," he added hastily, "that listening to the music helps me think about things. And dancing! Dancing's great!" He showed off a few of his best moves, but Drax was not impressed.

"What is the purpose of this . . . movement?"

"Just to feel good! To have fun!"

"Fun?"

He heard voices approaching. "Great, they're back. Everything's ready, right?"

Drax nodded. "The plate has been prepared."

"Good, thanks. Let's hope Rocket was able to get what goes on the plate."

It was obvious that Gamora was in a mood again. When she entered the main compartment and heard the blaring music, she put her hands over her ears. "Could you possibly turn that down so I can hear myself think?"

"Oh, sorry." He turned it off. Groot, who was still dancing, noticed the sudden silence and looked up.

"Hey, you got him in the pot!" Rocket said. "Thanks!"

"It was really a team effort." Peter sidled up to the raccoon and lowered his voice. "Did you get that thing we discussed?"

"In the bag."

"There's a plate in the other room. Put them on that. Nicely!"

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna show Her Highness my little surprise."

"What are you two whispering about?" Gamora demanded. "You're not planning anything illegal, are you?"

"Of course not! I have something to show you, if you'll just come with me."

"Oh, no. What have you done now?"

"Don't worry, it's a nice surprise. You'll like it."

"I'll believe that when I see it." But she reluctantly allowed him to lead her out of the room and into her private quarters . . . where she saw the bubble-filled tub in all its glory.

The expression of amazement that came over her face was quickly followed by one of absolute joy. "You . . ." she said, momentarily at a loss for words.

"You said you wanted a bath," Peter said proudly. "I made it happen. With a little help from our friends."

"Can I-can I try it?"

"Sure, it's yours. Enjoy yourself. The heating coils under the tub will keep the water warm for as long as you want, but don't forget to switch them off when you're done."

"And you even remembered the bubbles!"

"And that's not all. When you're done-and take as long as you like; we'll wait for you-there's another surprise for you in the lounge."

She looked at him seriously. "Why are you doing this?"

"I promised to take care of you guys. I know you're . . . not at your best right now, and I want to help you feel better. Whatever it takes. I could help scrub your back for you, if you want."

"Don't push it."

"So, privacy, then?"

"It would be appreciated."

"Fine. We'll be in the lounge when you're ready."

Tempting though it may have been to stick around and catch a glimpse of Gamora unclothed, Peter knew that to do so was risking a serious beatdown, and he left her to her bubble bath in privacy. He went to the small lounge area to see how Rocket was getting on with the cookies.

Star Tacks didn't come in an ordinary cardboard box. What was sitting on the coffee table was a tin of some brightly colored metal, like the cookies his mom had bought around Christmastime. The label, which seemed to be embossed on the box itself rather than printed on paper and glued onto the metal, was in a fancy script that looked like the process itself had cost a good hundred units.

"So those are Star Tacks," he said, looking at the open box. "What do they taste like?"

"Try one," Rocket suggested.

"No! They're not mine!"

"You paid for 'em!"

"I bought them for her! They're her cookies! If she says I can have one, I'll take one, but we'll wait for her!"

"Yeah, about that . . ." Rocket brushed what looked suspiciously like cookie crumbs out of his fur.

"You didn't."

"I only had one! Not like she's gonna count them!"

"That's not the point! We're a team here! We respect each other's property, and we ask before we borrow something!"

"You gonna snitch on me, Quill? Huh? You gonna tell her I took one?"

"Well . . . no. Not if she doesn't ask. You'd better just hope that she doesn't ask!"

"No problem! We'll just spread 'em out so it looks like there's more! She'll never know the difference!"

"All right, but don't take any more!"

"They really are somethin' else. You should try one."

"No!" Peter carefully arranged about a dozen cookies on the plate and then sealed the box up again. "No one is having any more of these till she says we can! Drax, what are you doing?"

"If we are celebrating," the giant said, "we should have proper decorations. I have made a ceremonial banner." He stepped back and let Peter get a good look at it. In large hanging letters crudely cut from colored paper, it read HAVE A FANTASTIC PERIOD.

Peter buried his face in his hands. "Get that down before she sees it."

"Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, uh . . ." How to explain it? "See, all cultures aren't so . . . open . . . about the monthly secretions. I think Gamora doesn't like being reminded that she has weaknesses. I mean, think about the amount of pain she must be in to even feel it."

"I had not thought of that."

"Just the cookies will be fine. Thanks for trying to help, though."

"Is there nothing else I can do?"

"Right now, no. Sorry. Once the party gets going, though, you're more than welcome to join us."

"But the banner is . . . inappropriate?"

"Something like that. It's okay, big guy, we know you care." Just to show that there were no hard feelings, Peter helped take the banner down, and then he folded it up and hid it in a storage cubby. "Now what have we got to drink around here?"

"Funny you should mention that," said Rocket, pulling out a bottle of Altairian blood wine. "I had a little money set aside, too."

"A little? Blood wine isn't cheap! You been holding out on me?"

"Nah, just saving judiciously for the proverbial rainy day. Metaphor," the raccoon added, before Drax could ask. "I know there's no weather in space. Okay, so we'll be broke all around till our next job, but we get to enjoy ourselves. I think that's worth it."

"Yeah, we deserve it!" Peter pumped his fist in the air in triumph. "Let the good times roll!"

In due time, Gamora appeared, hair still wet from her bath and the blue robe wrapped around her, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of leg. Despite the tease, Peter was determined to be a perfect gentleman, for probably the first time in his life.

"Did you enjoy your bath?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm. The bubbles were nice."

"Wait till you see what we have for you next! You are going to love this!" He turned around, picked up the plate of cookies, and presented it with a flourish. "Ta-daaaah!"

If the look on her face when she'd seen the marvelous bathtub was something unexpected, it was nothing compared to her expression when she beheld the wondrous Star Tacks, laid out in neat lines, actually before her and a real thing. It was as if she'd asked for a unicorn horn (though she wasn't likely to even know what a unicorn was), and been served up one on a silver platter, in the middle of a bed of greens and-

She was saying something, and he'd missed half of it. "What?"

"I said, what did you do?"

"Do?"

"What kind of trouble are you in, that you go to these lengths to distract me?"

"No trouble at all!" Was that really what she thought of him? "I just wanted to do something nice for you, to make you feel better. We're a team; we're a family. It's up to us to take care of each other out here. That's all I wanted to do for you." He gave her his most sincere look. "Are we good now?"

She looked from the plate of cookies up into his eyes. "Oh, yes. Yes, we are."

"Great! Let's have a party, then!" He pressed the button, and music flooded the room. "C'mon, Gamora, dance with me!"

"Oh, I couldn't-"

"Come oooooon!" He grabbed her by the hand and led her to the middle of the floor. And once she got going, she wasn't that bad of a dancer. Still needed some practice, but there'd be plenty of time for that.

Eventually, Peter got tired and took a break. And it was then that Rocket approached him.

"Saved the best for last." Rocket presented him with a familiar white and yellow box.

"You didn't."

"I sure did! And you know what, Pete? You deserve 'em."

Peter stared at the box he held in his hands. Real Twinkies, all the way from Earth. He almost didn't dare open them, but he had to taste one, just to prove they were real.

He slipped a finger under the flap of the box, lifting it slowly, anticipation growing every second. Gradually he worked one end free, and opened the box bit by bit. The rustle of cellophane within was driving him crazy.

Finally he opened the lid and looked at the golden treasure within. They were smaller than he remembered, but maybe they had just looked bigger because his hands had been smaller then.

Gamora could keep her fancy cookies. This was his guilty pleasure, and he was going to savor every sweet, spongy bit.

He unwrapped the first Twinkie, lifted it to his mouth . . . and stopped. No, not yet. There was something else he had to do first.

Drax was sitting off by himself, but when Peter approached, he looked up.

"Here," Peter said, holding out one of the Twinkies. "You've earned this."

"What is it?"

"It's . . . you know what, just try it. It's really good."

Drax nodded and started to take a bite of the Twinkie while it was still in its wrapper.

"No, no! You-you take the wrapper off first." He peeled it and handed it back. "Okay, now try it."

He did so. "What is this . . . amazing food item you have brought me?"

"It's called a Twinkie. They're highly valuable on Earth." Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration, but since it was unlikely they'd visit Terra any time soon, he'd never find out. "I've got more."

"More?" The warrior's face lit up like a supernova. "I must have another!"

"Oh, sure. Just one more, though." Peter went back to where he'd left the box and took out two more of the wrapped goodies, but he noticed that it left a larger gap than it should have.

Wait a minute. I had one, Drax had one . . . there should be six still in the box!

"Looking for something?"

Peter saw Rocket sitting by Groot's pot, holding up two of the precious Twinkies. "Hey, those are mine!"

"Twenty percent finder's fee."

"Finder's fee? I found them! You just picked them up!"

"Relax, Star-Geek. I bought another whole box." He tapped the hidden storage compartment under his seat. "Save 'em for later."

"Save what for later?" Gamora came over to find out what was going on. "What is that?"

"It's called a Twinkie. It's a snack food from Terra."

"Is it good?"

"I'll bet it's not as good as your cookies."

"Trade you," she said, holding one of the precious Star Tacks out to him.

"Really?"

She smiled. "Really. You were so kind to put all of this together for me."

"Well, I hope you're not expecting a party every month," he quipped. "I don't think our finances could take it."

"That's all right. I'm happy that you care enough to put my happiness first. Now since you paid for these wondrous creations, you should have one."

"On three?" He counted to three, and they traded in the same instant.

The cookie was even more delicious than advertised. Well worth the exorbitant price tag, though, as he had said, he couldn't afford these every month. "You're right, they're awesome."

"I have already put the rest of the box away," she said. "I have counted each and every one remaining. If anyone touches them without my permission . . . there will be pain."

"You guys hear that?" Peter said around a mouthful of cookie. "No sneaking cookies!"

He was already plotting how to get his hands on another one without her knowing. They were just that good.