Several arguments, a photograph, and one wicked ice-cream headache later (Quill called this phenomena "brain freeze"), a series of red symbols flashed on the tiny Terran comms device. He read the text out loud, and with a hiss, the door unlocked.

"I hope these puzzles are sorted randomly in difficulty," Quill groaned. "That was unfair."

"Which is true, but I don't think we need to solve these to move on. We could have always just taken off the goggles," Gamora replied.

Quill stuffed the comms in his pants pocket and shrugged. "Well, beats me. Wanna open the last box?"

Drax nodded and Gamora shrugged. I hopped onto the center of the table and used my nails to slice open the adhesive, but the package was too bulky to get my arms around. Groot lifted the lid clean off.

Clothes.

Each was tagged with a name. Gamora's were on top, a large-collared knit top, scarf, light coat, and pants. No shoes. Either the Ravagers had no idea what size she wore, or, more likely, given Yondu's thoroughness, assumed that the shoes she had wouldn't draw undue attention. A small box was also placed inside, containing several bottles of a tannish-brown liquid, some powder, a few sticks of charcoal, and a tube. Gamora opened one carefully and squeezed a few drops of the contents of the bottle on her skin. It dyed the spot the color of sugar that had been cooked too long, a deep brown caramel.

I took a quick look at Gamora. If you squinted, she could pass as a Terran. She was humy build, and, as long as people didn't take a look at her insides, painting her a color Terrans actually had would be enough for her to pass. But the shade was wrong. Shouldn't the makeup have been closer to a peach-white, like Peter's skin? I looked to the side, and noted that Quill had been nonplussed at the color choice, so I supposed Terrans, like Xandarians, who were occasionally hot pink or sun-yellow, came in more colors than he.

"I suppose I will be joining you, once I have turned myself into a Terran," she said wryly, as she carried the clothing and paints to the sleeping quarters, pulling the curtain around them. "I would like to see Peter's reaction when I am done," she added with a small smile to the gaping humy who was probably mentally running through several naughty scenarios of himself and a Terran-Gamora.

"Uh, right…" Peter said, trailing off. "Uh, so what else we got? I don't think there's going to be much we can do to hide Drax or Groot," Peter added, as he fished out a felted coat for himself, trying it on.

The bottom was where we saw the last of it. A plastic jacket, a yellow harness. And a freaking leash.

Oh hell no.

I reached up to protest, and then felt the strut along my collarbone. The thick, padded harness would probably sit right over that spot, and the jacket would hide the implants…

Peter picked up the jacket intended for me, examining it. "It says SERVICE ANIMAL," he said, simply, and noticed the harness had an ID tag on its carbineer. "ROCKET, RACCOON" he continued to read, "SERVICES FOR THE PHYSICALLY DISABLED: TRAINED TO LIFT AND CARRY BY THE WEST SHORE SERVICE CENTER IN SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA FOR PETER QUILL. PERMITTED FULL ENTRY IN ALL PUBLIC SPACES AND TRANSPORTATION. ADDITIONAL PAPERWORK AVALIBLE UPON REQUEST," Peter finished, as he held up a piece of important looking paperwork with headshots of both myself and Quill, lots of text, barcodes, and other official looking things. Official looking and deliciously fake.

"So that's why there's a wheelchair," I said. "'Cause you're supposed to be dis-abled." I snorted.

Yondu, you brilliant asshole.

"Heck, it even has a phone number, I wonder what happens if we… whoa," Quill added, as a small card fell out between the pages. "Hah, cool. ID. I can buy us some beer." He flashed a grin and showed the three of us the card.

"You need identification to purchase alcohol?" Drax asked curiously, while I snatched up my costume and ducked under the table to change, before admitting defeat with the harness (which I realized needed to go under the jacket).

"Uh… little help here?" I asked, deflated. This was going to feel like an eternity, but at least I'd be a step up from a pet. Some species in the galaxy had hired assistance- that's all I would be. Right. With, you know, the reproductive bits that any species who wear clothes hide before anything else hanging out for the world to see. I puffed out my fur best I could, but still felt horribly self conscious.

Drax squatted down and wordlessly began clipping the harness in place, no comments about my clothing or lack thereof. The fabric was soft and padded, but it still pulled on my shoulders in a way that was almost unberably uncomfortable.

"This was not meant for someone who walks upright with their shoulders shrugged backwards," Drax commented, as he noticed my discomfort. "Is it an annoyance or are you in pain?"

"Just an annoyance, really," I replied through slightly gritted teeth. "Finish up so I can see if it is still a problem when I am on all fours."

Drax let out the straps, anyway, making them as loose as possible without the device slipping, before hooking the plastic jacket with reflective taping around my torso.

"Done. Get on all fours and show me a neutral expression," commented Drax a moment later, seemingly pleased with himself. I complied, stretching myself out and trying to look natural.

"You look like you are planning on removing my fingers with nothing but your teeth," Drax commented. "Calm down… however you do that."

"Groo? /You alright, Rocket?/" Groot cooed overhead. I skittered out from under the table to see Peter already slumped in his moving chair, trying to consider how much of his body to leave limp.

"I know this allows as many of us as possible to stick together, but I feel like Yondu's giving me the short end of the stick here," Peter grumbled.

"An exercise in humility," replied Drax. "I remember as a child members of my classroom blindfolded themselves for a week in solidarity for a female born without sight. Be grateful that you have legs which work."

"Ah, who needs 'em? I can always build Pete here a new pair if they get blown of by Badoon," I snarked, climbing up on Peter's shoulder.

"They better have thruster packs like the ones on my boots," Peter commented, trying to see if he could give himself a lazy eye.

"Thrusters, rocket launchers, RPGs, the works, man." We high fived while Drax and Groot simply placed their heads between their hands, Peter's charade shattered.

"I am Groot. /Seriously, though, Rocket, you need to calm down and act like a…like an animal, or you'll blow your own cover. Remember, Earth's only prior interactions with those from outside have been with the Chitauri- you know they'll be on edge./" Groot started scratching behind my ear, and before I could stop it, a low rumble formed in my throat. Purring. Great. But Groot only nodded in approval, before sneaking a hand to my backside and pulling my tail. I screeched, and almost bit my lip, then snarled angrily at Groot.

"I am Groot. /Sorry, but you're really out of practice./"

"Ugh, whatever, tickle me then," I replied, paws up. I wasn't really annoyed at Groot, everyone knew. If I were, I'd be clawing at him; I knew how much damage he could take. The fact that I was still on Peter's shoulder was my form of approval, because as much as I hate being manhandled, I'm still ticklish. And I start… squeaking. My upper back is mostly numb, from the implants and hairloss, but my armpits and under my chin? I squeal like a…

"Would you boys stop molesting Rocket? People are herd animals and quite stupid. As long as he doesn't talk, he'll be fine," Gamora said, sliding back the curtain to reveal her handiwork.

As Groot unceremoniously dropped me in Peter's lap, I actually, literally felt his heart skip a beat. Humies didn't really categorize as pretty in my book, but apparently Quill found the deep copper skin tone and layered Terran clothing on Gamora attractive. Gamora noticed the reaction, and responded with an eye roll as she tied her hair back.

"Let's just get this over with, I'm not sure how quickly this will rub off."

And that's when I heard the low, deep persistent hum. I quickly removed my headpiece so I could look out the window of the cabin, the real, wooden cabin that wasn't quantum locked.

Low orbit air vehicles. Quill never mentioned Terra having aircraft, but considering the comms device, I wouldn't be surprised if Terra wasn't quite as backwater as Peter's stories made it out to be. I slipped the headset back on.

"Flightcraft, heading this way. How worried should we be?" I asked pointedly.

"Describe them," Drax demanded.

"Kinda oblong, ong tail, a propeller above the center, another smaller one on the tail. Looks to seat six Terrans, plus cargo."

"Helicopters?" Peter said, scrunching his nose. Maybe he wasn't so forthright with his information on Terra, or maybe these vehicles were not a common item.

"I didn't know Terrans had low orbit vehicles," I said, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice, despite the sound from the propellers getting louder by the minute.

"We have, since like, a hundred years ago? But people don't own them, unless they're rich. Unless things have changed, the only people owning choppers are the news, the police, and the Army," Peter replied defensively.

A random civilian stumbling onto the Milano would be an annoyance. We had all the cloaking we thought we needed in place. Peter shot out of his chair, ripping off his headpiece, and looked out of what must have been the windo of the cabin before ducking back into the quantum field.

"Crap," Peter hissed. "Think they're military, because they sure as Odin don't look like reporters. We don't have time to run now, there's like six of 'em and we'll knock one out of the sky running back to the ship to flee. If we stay here in the bunker and they walk into our ship, they might send her to Area 51 or something, and then we're really fucked."

I would ask what Area 51 was at a later time, but now, I had to think fast. Yondu apperantly had been here many times before without issue… maybe some members of the government knew about what was going on and kept mum in exchange for foreign goods? What if Yondu knew of a way to steal back his ship if the Terrans impounded it? Clearly he had a strategy.

I needed to buy us time.

"Quill, get back in your chair, and after you hear my instructions, turn off your translator. I have a plan."


Eight minutes and forty two seconds by my internal clock, and the wooden door to the cabin was kicked in. A young woman, black hair, pale skin like Peter's in a jacket-and-pant style combat suit akin to Gamora's standard fare with less skin visible clutched a strange looking blaster at her hip. Not pointed out. Good. Ready to draw if needed, but not immediately assuming a threat was present.

"Aliens we mean you no…" the woman started, but faltered mid sentence, face dumbstruck.

"Mind telling me why you're on my property?" Peter demanded. I heard a slight translation delay, meaning he was speaking in English. Good.

"Your… what?" The woman asked quizzically."

"You have a search warrant? Or some kinda override?" Peter's speech was slurred a bit in my ear, and he sounded as he did when drunk.

"This cabin's mine. Or is now. My uncle Danny be-bequ- he left it to me. Said he left behind some of his hunting supplies. So my nurse took me up here to see. And unless you have a warrant, you can fuck off."

The woman flipped and flashed a metal badge from inside a wallet. Peter was right. Military or police. "I don't mean to make a fuss, mister…?"

"Quill. Peter Quill. Rocket? Bring wallet."

I leaned over Peter and awkwardly fished in his coat pocket for the piece of folded leather, holding it up, while Gamora stood to Peter's side, smiling down at me.

"That's… wow. Hi there little guy. Trained raccoon? But you have help."

"They asked me 'n a few others to see how viable they are as an alternative to trained monkeys- cheaper, less invasive in the US. His name is Rocket and don't try petting him when the harness is on. He's working. If you want my ID, hold out your hands, palms up and say 'Rocket, give'."

"I'm Joanie," she said tentatively, as she held out her hands. "Rocket, give."

I dropped the wallet into her hands, then leaned on Quill's head. expectantly.

"Good work, bud," Peter said, and Gamora held out a small sliver of chicken from lunch, which I inhaled. I wasn't hungry, but it definitely did the trick in shutting the Terran up. She leafed through the slab of leather, found the identification card Yondu had provided, and returned it to the sleeve when done.

"Where's your car?" Joanie asked him.

"Do I look like I drive?" Peter started, and I scratched him with my back foot. Gamora could conceivably have driven a Terran groundcar. How Peter managed to keep his stories straight when charming marks is anyone's guess. But, then again, he never had to cover for multiple people at once, and get into character in less time than it took to make lunch. "Uh, well, we walked," Peter provided.

"Mountain's a bit steep for a wheelchair," she replied. This woman was good. Most Nova officers I'd met would have bought the story by now.

"Like I said, this is-was- my uncle's cabin. There's a hidden path, rusted old handrail and all, winding down the backside up here. You can go see for yourself. Used to call it Sledder's Row as a kid because it iced up something nice in winter." Thank Odin Peter was familiar with the area. "Guess you ain't from around here then, which goes double as to why you have business here."

She picked up a black box at her hip. Comms, I assumed. "Hey, Kirby, is there some kind of ramp with a rusty handrail back here?"

"Yeah, why? Though the entrance and exit are hidden really well. If you didn't know the area, you'd never know it was here," crackled a masculine voice from the other end of the line. "And damn, Eaton, you need to see this shi~."

Click.

"Ahem," she concluded, giving one last once-over to the three of us. "Your cabin may be yours, and not only do I promise it will not be touched in any way, we will compensate you for your trouble, Mister Quill and Miss…"

"Mora," Gamora replied pointedly. She couldn't speak English any more than I could, but she had her translator on and could at least say a proper noun without suspicion.

"Yes, Miss Mora. The cabin may be yours, but the rest of his hill is public parkland, and we're investigating a brushfire, possible arson. I don't see anything in here that could be the cause- no gasoline, kerosene, or ignition systems, and I will work under the assumption that as this is a hunting cabin, that you're pushing me out due to a lack of proper licensing or ownership of unlicensed firearms, but as long as you say nothing, I don't have any means to convict. I will say that with the region closed off to tourists, and you all have little more than day bags, it would be extremely advisable for you to vacate the area and go back down to town. Now."

"Yes'm," Peter replied. Exactly what we wanted- be guilty of a lesser crime to absolve us of a greater one. We could go down to town, and the local enforcement wouldn't try to pressure us for fear of Peter's retribution, and Drax and Groot could stay behind and observe the military members.

Gamora wheeled Peter's chair to the doorway, and I caught a glimpse of the white bird patch on Joanie's jacket's shoulder. Once we were out of definitive earshot, Quill, Gamora, and I could figure out our next plan.

We had work to do.