DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING
*Gasp* another update?! It must be the apocalypse.
And I'm sorry, but this won't be a regular thing. I still don't know when I'll have the chance to post another one.
However, this is a particularly long chapter, and I rather enjoyed writing it. Thus, I hope it satisfies your fanfiction needs.
It's even about J'son and Peter, so I'm not leaving you wondering what's up with them.
Gah. I really should finish this damn story up, but there's just so much more plot that I have planned THAT I JUST DON'T HAVE TIME TO WRITE.
*Sigh* Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Reviews make me more likely to update! No, really. It was the reviews that got me back on the horse.
Also, if anyone's looking for a chapter soundtrack (I hear some fanfic authors do this) try Peaks by Speak. Or any song by Speak. That band is amazing.
~ Peter Quill's (aka Star-lord's) PoV ~
Have you ever had a really awkward family dinner? Like the kind that has you praying for something - anything - to interrupt the trivial conversations and cold silences? The kind that demonstrates just how much you don't know the people around you? How about the kind that scoops out your self-esteem with a jagged shovel?
Well, my friends, whatever awkwardness you had experienced at familial events, it had nothing on sharing a meal with my so-called 'dad.' Nothing.
Extravagance had never been something I was familiar with. Even in Missouri, my life had been pretty simplistic. My mother and I had lived on a farm with very little except the bare necessities. I think the fanciest dinner we ever shared was at the hospital when she was...you know.
Needless to say I hadn't lived a life of affluence among the Ravagers, considering they were space pirates and all. They sold all the fancy stuff they found for double the price. The only stuff that ever got kept were the trinkets on Yondu's control console, and those were just knick knacks. Nothing really valuable. Because if they were, they'd be sold in an instant.
So if you want to imagine awkward, just picture me - the Missourian Ravager - in the biggest, most ostentatious hall you've ever seen. The kind of hall with ceilings that probably touched the planet's atmosphere, with actual moving constellations projected onto that ceiling. Picture me surrounded by golden walls lined with vigilant attendants, each one standing erect on the lush red carpet.
And imagine me sitting at the end of the world's longest marble table - a table completely covered with foods that were complete mysteries to me, and to be honest, looked pretty nasty. And lastly, imagine the Emperor of Spartax staring at me reproachfully from the other end of the table.
Oh yes. That, my dear friends, is the epitome of awkwardness.
"So..." I said, raising my voice so that J'son could hear from...well…the other end of that mile-long table. "Nice place you got here."
But then my voice just seemed too loud, like a child screaming for attention. And I didn't want J'son to think that attention was what I wanted, because it wasn't. It really, really wasn't.
Plus, every ounce of my being was fighting the urge to fix a wedgie in front of these fancy people. A wedgie caused by Spartoi clothes, I might add. Those things were uncomfortable as hell.
It was many moments before J'son responded, and when he did, it was a single word: "Indeed." Then the hall descended into silence again, with J'son staring at me like a total creeper.
He hadn't started eating yet, even though the food was right in front of us. And because he hadn't started eating, I hadn't started eating either. And damn, I was hungry. So hungry that I was willing to eat the weird alien foods that had been placed in front of us, whatever they were. But no. Apparently, tonight's agenda consisted of simply maintaining this freaky staring contest.
Ugh. This was ridiculous. I wanted a damn explanation. I wanted my old clothes. I wanted my ship. And I wanted my friends.
Utterly fed up, I stood, pushing my chair away from me dramatically. "Welp, this has been...weird. But I've got better things to do than sit around, you know."
I threw my fancy dinner napkin on the table. Yeah, I was being a bit of a drama queen, but come on. My dad was acting like a total asshole.
"For example," I continued, "I need to find my friends. After all, you still haven't told me what happened to them. You haven't told me anything, actually. So if you'll excuse me, dad..."
After pouring an excessive amount of ice into the final word, I began to march away from the table, hoping to walk out of there unchallenged. I mean, clearly I wasn't the son that J'son was hoping for. Otherwise, he'd stop looking at me like I was a complete disappointment. Or hell, he'd say something other than 'Indeed.' So why wouldn't he just let me go? What exactly did he have to lose?
So I was caught completely off guard when I heard the frantic "Peter, wait!" come from the other side of the room. When I turned, I saw that J'son had stood, his hand outstretched toward me.
"Please wait," he pleaded. But then the moment of weakness ended quite rapidly. The outstretched hand was quickly repurposed to straighten the collar of his suit, almost as if he had never reached for me at all. With his composure completely regained, he proceeded to speak.
"I am...I am sorry. I am not quite sure what to say in this sort of situation."
I turned back to the door, only to find that my way was blocked by a pair of crossed electric spears, each one in the hand of a heavily armed, resolute guard. It was then that I realized that there were no such things as requests when it came to my father. Only orders, sometimes with a bit of decorum - if you were lucky.
Fine. Two could play at that game. And I was his son, wasn't I? How similar did he want us to be?
"Where are my friends, J'son?" I demanded in my most commanding voice, spinning around yet again and approaching him angrily. I purposefully omitted the titles dad or your highness in the hopes of pissing him off. He seemed like the kind of guy that liked titles. "Tell me. Now."
From my peripheral vision, I could see the attendants and guards stiffening, clearly disconcerted by my even more blatant disrespect toward their emperor. A man standing off to my father's side - some sort of advisor - even gasped.
Instead of taking my place on the opposite end of the table, I aggressively pulled out the chair adjacent to my father and sat, leaning toward him by placing my elbows on my knees.
"You want to stare at me, J'son? Fine. Stare all the $%&# you want. But you're going to tell me what I want to know," I pressed, my tone very serious. So serious that I wasn't even sure it was my voice. After all - I'm rarely ever serious. Jokes were my thing, really. But my father's behavior was so far from funny that I couldn't help getting mad.
Somehow the hall became even more quiet than previously. I suspected that it was because the attendants were now holding their breath, which was probably a further indication of how ruthless my father was with his subjects. Those attendants probably expected him to behead me, or something.
"I'm waiting, asshole," I snarled, ignoring whatever consequences that might occur. And those consequences were probably dire. After all, calling someone an asshole is a pretty major form of disrespect, especially in front of other people. It was one thing to yell at him when I didn't know who he was. It was one thing to yell when I thought he was lying to me. And it was certainly another thing entirely to disrespect him in front of a few of his guards, with no one else around. But here I was, treating him like common scum in front of a ton of his subjects. And this man was an emperor - an emperor of a huge empire too. So scratch that. It wasn't just disrespect, it was probably freaking heresy. And given my treatment so far, I'd be crazy to think I'd receive any amnesty from him, regardless of our relation.
But with the blood roaring in my ears, I just did not give a damn.
And surprisingly, when I tried to return the reproachful stare to my father, he stared right back. But this time there was less patronization and a little more...admiration. Respect. Pride.
And something I didn't like. A look that suggested that he was planning something.
And don't say I was imagining it. After all, they were my eyes. Same blue color, same shape. Same tells.
J'son finally took sip of his wine. He then set the chalice on the table, revealing the slight smile playing at his lips. It is very slight, but there all the same.
"My soldiers did not harm your friends. Like you, they were simply incapacitated for a short time. I'm sure they're fine - out raiding a supply ship, perhaps," J'son remarked, picking up the chalice again, using his finger to lightly swirl the wine around the cup.
"I need to contact them," I stated, ignoring his subtle insult.
His smile immediately disappeared. "Peter, if they cared about you, I'm sure they would have arrived by now. Clearly, they are unconcerned - as you should be for them."
I could tell that my father tried to soften his voice, like a parent trying to soothe a naive child, or deter one from a particularly foolish course of action. But he couldn't hide the anger that flashed in his eyes when I said I wanted to contact them. Not from me, anyway. Not while he was sporting my eyes.
I shook my head. "You're wrong. The only reason they're not here is because they think I'm in some Spartoi prison. Not because they don't care. Either way, I need to contact them."
His grip on the chalice was tight and shaking slightly, as indicated by the wine splashing on the edges of the cup. When he set it down on the table, it clanged perhaps a decibel too loudly. Loudly enough to show how discontent he was.
"Fine," he conceded. "If you are so determined to waste your time, then go ahead. I will provide you with a means of communication."
After that, I wasn't sure what to say. Should I have thanked him? Should I have stayed silent? He had still kidnapped me. Had still knocked out my friends. Had still abandoned my family. Did I really owe him thanks? Did I owe him anything at all?
I felt like these were things I'd never know the answer to.
"Good. Now onto the next order of business," I proceeded, clearing my throat a bit. "That explanation about mom. You said you'd give it to me."
Instead of replying directly, J'son folded his hands and turned to his advisor. They exchanged brief whispers, and soon enough, the advisor was ushering everyone out of the room. There was no hesitation when they were told to leave. Obedience to their emperor was first instinct to these people. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't mine.
"Why'd you do that?" I ask, confused.
"What? Would you prefer to have an audience? I assumed this was a private matter. Father and son."
It was still strange to hear something like that - father and son. For all my life, I had never thought of myself as a son to any father. A son to a mother, maybe. But that hadn't lasted very long, anyway. I had always been just…me. No family, no ties. Just Peter Quill. My last name belonged to a dead woman, after all.
"You know, I was a lot like you when I was younger," J'son told me suddenly, his eyes trained on me again.
Oh jeez. Cue the cheesy sitcom music. How overused was that line?
Laughing, I replied to him as seriously as I could manage, "I seriously doubt that."
"Laugh all you want, but it's true. I was exactly like you. I had little respect for authority. I spent time with a bad crowd. And like you, I was always - always - looking for a fight."
"So...what? You're chalking my behavior up to teenage rebellion? Look, man, I'm in my thirties. I'm not exactly a teenager," I pointed out with irritation, utterly incredulous that he would pull this piece of conversation out of some long-forgotten parenting manual.
"No. That's not what I'm saying," J'son clarified. "When I was thirty-five, my father banished me because he believed I was telling imperial secrets to a group of smugglers I had befriended. He was a very...uncompromising man."
I couldn't help but see the resemblance between them, and I had never even met the other guy.
"I traveled around, trying to find a new place in the Universe," he continued. "It was a complete accident when I crashed on Earth...on the farm owned by your mother. The crash was nearly catastrophic, and your mother, being as unbelievably kindhearted as she was, nursed me back to health. Over the course of my healing we...bonded."
I resisted the urge to plug my fingers in my ears, hoping that he wouldn't go any farther into detail on their whole 'bonding' thing. After all, I had asked for an explanation, not a play-by-play.
Luckily, he moved on.
"We planned to build a life together, Peter. A family. And we would have, if it was not for my father and his empire. An empire that was going to war, and that needed me, its most belligerent soldier, on the front lines.
"I did not want to leave your mother. Truly. But she encouraged me to go. She said I had lives to save. So I left, promising her that I would return once the war was won.
"But after ten years of war and waiting, I had to break my promise. My father was killed in combat, and despite my banishment, he had returned my title to me. I was crown prince again. Or more accurately, in light of his death, crown emperor."
After a few moments, I considered his words. The choices he had made, and whether I would have made them differently. I couldn't say that I would have. And that scared me. Because if I couldn't be angry at J'son, then how was I supposed to feel about him?
"Shortly before my coronation, I sent Yondu to bring you and Meredith to one of the outer planets of the empire. I was impatient, I admit. I should have waited until after my crowning, which was when I could resume free travel. But like I said, I should have waited. I placed my trust in Yondu and he betrayed me by doing the very thing I had feared. And you paid the price, Peter. I am truly, truly sorry."
The story seemed so heartfelt. It even sounded heartfelt. But when I looked at him, looked at his eyes, something in my gut told me that something was...wrong about him. That he was bad.
But maybe I was imagining things.
"Your mother died because I wasn't there. Because I was trying to save lives elsewhere. I know, it is not an excuse, Peter, but it is the only one I have. And I don't know if it'll change the way you feel about me, but I can only hope it gives you the closure you are looking for," he finishes, his voice embellished with fresh sadness.
And even I have to admit, as excuses go, it was a pretty good one. And I hated that. I hated that I couldn't hate him as much as I wanted to. Because there was something in my gut that told me that I should - I should hate him.
But maybe that was the little boy talking. The little boy who was left behind by both his parents. A little boy who can't see beyond himself and his petty wants and needs.
It would have made sense for this distrust to be entirely in my head. But no matter how hard I tried, it just wouldn't go away. Especially when I looked into those eyes.
But I was going to keep trying.
"I believe you," I decided. "I believe you and I want...I want to forgive you. But it's gonna take time."
J'son smiled again, and it was a little warmer than usual. "We Spartoi have particularly long lifespans. Time is something we have a lot of."
And you know what? Maybe there was hope. Maybe I'd end up on good terms with my dad, despite everything. Maybe I was telling the truth when I said that I wanted to forgive him, and that it would only take time.
But there was one glaring factor that was preventing these potential futures, and I just couldn't help noticing it. Couldn't help letting it mess with my head.
Because nothing could change the fact that the smile didn't touch his eyes.
To be continued...(eventually)...