Hey you there, I know you! You read the last chapter right? Yes...? Well welcome back! So glad you came! Just a few note before we begin.

(1)This is set as the Milano flies to Xander. It's kind of a filler...a really long full length chapter filler... But a kind of filler all the same.

(2)See I don't really like holes in plot lines, so when I do stories like this I'll fill up most holes. Don't worry Gamora, Groot and Rocket should appear in the next chapter.

(3)I would like to thank the following for their kind words,

Wolf Boy 95

gibina11748

Sapphire-Willow

And a big 'much obliged' to all those who added this story to their Alerts and/or Favorites list(s).

(4)I still don't own Guardians of the Galaxy. If I did I'd probably make it into a TV show...or a book...

Anyway...enjoy this chapter and think about giving me a review. I love reviews.


Peter and Philly laughed as quietly as they could. Philly's left hand grasped the steering yolk, guiding Milano off world with a practiced ease. Her right, resting on a leaver that controlled the thrusters, pushed forward and back to adjust speed.

"So what'd we get anyway?"

"This." Philly turned to glance his way. The Terran's body was draped comfortably over the co-pilot's chair, his face was arranged in a cocky smirk, and his hands were tossing something in the air and catching it. Peter held it still just long enough for her to see.

"A ball? No seriously, what'd we get?"

"Hey, It's an orb." Peter snapped a smidge crossly "Have a little respect." He'd risked his life for this thing, orb just sounded so much cooler.

The Zeldonain made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan, "Give me." She demanded letting go of the thruster control to snap her fingers in Peter's face.

When the orb was pressed into her palm Philly released the joystick style steering yolk. Simultaneously her feet kicked up, clasping the stick in-between her ankles.

"Philly…"

She ignored him, blowing a strand of her blue side bangs out of her face. Ash gray eyes surveyed the object. It was silver, about the size of a fist, and perfectly round. Philly couldn't decide if it was made of metal shards sloppily melted together, or if it'd taken a skilled craftsman to mold the unintelligible symbols onto the sphere.

"Shiny. So, back to Yondu?"

Peter hesitated, "…No. Set course to Xander."

"Xander? Why?" Philly moved her legs and the ship banked right.

"Well I just thought we'd sell the orb directly to The Broker. Cut out the middle man." He shrugged, and seemed to find his boot very interesting.

"Peter…you're double-crossing Yondu and The Ravengers?"

He gave a short laugh, "Well, technicality so are you."

"Hey I'm just the pilot. You tell me where to go and I fly."

"Plausible deniability?"

"You know it." She said, turning the orb over in her palms, "what will this mean for me? I mean how 're you going to pay your half of the bills? Whatever price this orb will fetch might not last for long. And don't know 'bout you, but an empty fuel tank don't sound like much use."

"It's not like whether or not I work for Yondu is going to affect odd jobs, or your freelancing."

"Yondu's got a lot of reach. What if it dose?"

Peter rolled his eyes, "Then…I'll eat my hat."

"You don't own a hat." She deadpanned.

"I'll buy one, then I'll eat it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Pals?" Peter asked, offering a fist-bump.

Philly nodded, "Pals. Just keep me in the loop next time, will ya?" She tapped her knuckles to his. As she did so the Terran leaned over and swiped back the orb.

He nudged her feet down from the dash, tucking the stolen object in his jacket pocket, "Now, eyes on the sky before you get in another fender-bender."

"That was not my fault and you know it!"

"Whatever you say…"

After a few more moments of platonic banter, Peter gave a melodramatic sigh. He glanced sideways at Philly fully expecting for her to acknowledge him.

She didn't.

He tried again. Louder.

Nothing. The Zeldonian kept her face carefully blank and eyes front just to tick Peter off.

It worked, and he finely got to the point, "I kind of feel bad about forgetting…uh.." he gestured toward the hatch.

"Bereet."

"I know her name, just testing you. I just wish I could make it up to her, you know?" he rolled his head to the side; giving her the best impression of a puppy-dog he could muster.

"…Oh, alright. Just…" Before she had finished the third syllable, Peter'd leaped to his feet, practically skipping down the ladder.

Philly's sharp, "HEY!" made him pause and poke his head back into the cockpit.

"Keep it clothed, will ya? I'm coming down for breakfast soon as I can go on autopilot. M'kay?"

He shot her a roguish grin and a mock salute.

Philly was wondering just how hungry she really was when Go all the way by the Raspberries blared through the ship.

Philly bobbed her head to the opening guitar, feeling the way the two pigtail buns perched near the top of her head pulled at her roots when she moved.

Zeldonians were a petite humanoid species native to the planet Zeldon. They had almost a pixie appearance, with their delicate features and pointed ears. The most characteristic aspect was their hair.

In infancy all Zeldonian hair started white. Through out their lifespan the hair would choose a color and shift from a light shade of that specific color, getting darker until finely ending up jet black in old age.

According to a strict custom ones hair was a symbol of dignity and fortitude; it was one of the highest of disgraces to cut it. So everybody on Zeldon, male or female, young or old, kept his or her colorful locks long and well groomed. It was a prize to have long strands going from white to black.

Although Philly had never been on Zeldon except the occasional refueling, she kept her hair long and uncut. Philly's hair was blue and at her roots, the periwinkle of a noonday sky. That was where the comparison between her and an ideal Zeldonian ended.

An ideal Zeldonian female was refined, poised, graceful. She was well versed in the arts, played an instrument, or at the very lest knew how to cook. She could dance the waltz and kept her skin stylishly un-tanned.

Philly wasn't any of these things. Raised by some form of wolves or another, her whole life she was 'un' everything an ideal Zeldonian was. Unrefined, unpolished, ungraceful. Never had the interest or patience to learn an instrument, didn't care to know how to cook, had two left feet, and loved the sunshine.

She liked being an 'un' though, it was a lot more interesting.

The communication systems beeped and Yondu's picture flashed on the monitor.

Philly made a face as she reached over to decline the transmission. But someone accepted before she could.

She put her camera on mute, and turned on the split screen. Yondu's angry face took up the left half, and an annoyed Peter took up the right.

She upped the volume and mostly listened.

"Quill?"

"Hey Yondu…"

"I'm here on Morag, ain't no orb, ain't no you, ain't no…Philly! I know you're listening girl, come on out!"

Philly winced and activated her camera. "Hey Yondu."

"Well," Peter started, "We were in the neighborhood thought we'd save you the hassle."

"Well where you at now, boy?"

"I feel really bad about this, but I'm not going to tell you that."

Yondu grit his teeth and flared his nostrils, "I slaved putting this de-"

"-Slaved?" Peter cut off with a laugh, " Making a few calls is slav-"

"-And now the two a you 're ripping me off!"

"-I mean really?"

"We do not do that to each other! We're Ravengers. We got a code."

"Yeah, and that code is steal form everybody!"

"When I picked you up on Terra, these boys of mine wanted to eat 'cha. They ain't never tasted a Tarren 'fore. I stopped 'um. You're alive 'cause a me! I will find you and-"

Peter pointedly turned off his screen, leaving the pilot with a growling Yondu.

"And don't go thinking I forgot about you, Philly! I'll get you and I'll-"

"Yondu!" She cut him off, "I'm not on your pay-roll, and I think Quill just quit. Have a nice day!" she said in a singsong voice before hanging up.

Philly took a deep breath as the music started again.

Huh…that felt good. She thought, pushing the thruster lever a little farther then was recommended and engaging the autopilot. Philly unbuckled, climbed down the ladder, jumping the last three rungs.

I mean, he'll probably send someone to track us down…but we'll worry about that later.

Right now she had to worry about catching someone in the act of intercourse on the kitchen table. She tiptoed past the bedrooms, bathroom, and the small shower, pausing every few feet to listen. Not much could be heard over the ship's audio systems blaring the end of Go all the way by the Raspberries, but Philly was almost completely sure she'd be able to hear them if they were…ya know…

Her blue haired head poked cautiously in the doorframe to the area known as the common room. It was a combination kitchen, dinning room, living room, and TV room, all rolled into one. She let out a breath seeing Peter and Bareet fully clothed and sitting at the table.

The pilot strolled into the room and popped a bagel in the flash toaster.

"Hi-ya." She chirped, pouring herself a tall glass of pofro juice, taking a few gulps and topping the glass off again.

Peter had an elbow propped on the table, head resting on his fist. A steaming mug of caf sat in front of him. He and the other female had apparently been conversing about something they didn't want Philly to hear.

If you could organize Peter's vast array of overnight guests into a spectrum, it might range from airheads, who had nothing interesting to say, and had been charmed into Quill's bed. To, trampy gold-diggers who always made a fuss when they found out there was a female living aboard.

All Philly could tell about Bereet was that she seemed to fit somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. A nice girl, albeit a tad dazed, just not worth remembering.

When her bagel popped up, toasted and warm, she smeared it with yellow zebu butter. With food and drink in hand she strolled out the door.

"We'll be landing on Xander in 15!" she called over her shoulder.

Back in the cockpit Philly checked the readings on the dash for any signs of anomalies or imminent danger. Nope, all good. She settled back into the pilot's chair, ate her bagel, and drank her juice. Xander was in view by the time she was done.

The communication icon beeped across a monitor.

"Unidentified starship," a bored voice intoned over the comm in basic after she'd answered, "this is Xander control tower requesting serial number of your vessel. Do you copy?"

Philly's fingers had already started punching in the code for a phony ship dossier, "I copy control. This is the pilot of the Milano, sending over the info now."

There was a pause as control read over the information they were given, "what is you business on Xander, Milano?"

"Sightseeing and refueling." Philly answered without missing a beat. She was well accustomed to going through the stiff motions of planet approach protocol.

"Alright Milano you're approved." She was given a landing slot number and waved on with a dismal, "enjoy your stay on Xander."

She chirped a thank you, switching off the long-range comm.

It was a marvel how far a shipping job for the right forger could go, she mused, letting the ship's nose dip down.

For the duration of the short trip to the designated parking spot Philly was careful to stay within the posted speed limit, waited her turn to merge into the space lanes, and always signaled before turning.

By the time the landing platform was in sight she felt half asleep. She killed the forward thrusters, lowered the landing gear, and guided the ship neatly onto the platform.

Milano settled down with a slight jolt. Philly began flicking switches, and pressing buttons.

The engines were powered down, generators turned on. Recycled air was released and set to restock.

A message flashed on the monitor, telling her that the paperwork grunt was there. Humming The Runaways' Cherry Bomb with a spring in her step she once again hopped the ladder. Navigated the twisty corridors to the cargo hold. Let the ramp down. Opened the bay doors.

Waiting on the landing platform, one foot on the ramp, stood a shabbily dressed uniformed guard. He was balding, with an ample middle, and a perfectly curved frown.

"Where's the pilot?" he asked, wrinkling his bushy eyebrows.

"You're lookin at her." Philly said, handing over a forged pilot's license. He gave the small alien a once over. Rusty red pants, faded yellow button up shirt, boots.

The attendant gave a shrug and exchanged the license for a data-pad. Philly filled out the necessary paperwork, ordering the fuel and water tanks be refilled, trash picked up, and fresh supplies delivered. The man scanned her cards for payment and took the data-pad, gave her cards back. He gave a curt not and stalked off with out so much as a 'farewell'.

The Zeldonian tisked after him before spinning on her heel and marching up the cargo ramp all the way past Peter who was waiting for Bereet to grab her stuff.

"Hey, Philly, why don't you come with me to the Broker's place?"

"Come with you," She echoed, "off the ship?"

"Yeah, you can get some fresh air, stretch your legs, and see the sights. What do ya say?"

"Off the ship?" Philly bit her bottom lip, considering. "Well…okay. What's the worst that could happen, right?"

"That's the spirit!" Peter laughed, reaching out to flick one of her blue hair buns.

She made a face at the Terran, scampering down the hall. Climbed the ladder to the cockpit. She dug out an ankle holster, fastened it to her inside boot. Grabbed her stun gun, or zapper as she called it, tucked it in the holster.

She joined Peter and Bereet at the end of the cargo ramp, wheeling the trash bin out. Left it on the landing pad. Closed the cargo bay doors.

Peter looped his arms around the two women, chatting cheerfully with his one night stand. Philly cast a wistful glance over her shoulder at the Milano.

Calm down Philly-girl, She chided herself. Honestly, what could happen?